Cold light spills up from the hidden stair behind the altar. The silver seam is nearly gone now, but the mark in Gutty Greenspot’s side still tugs like a hooked chain, promising warmth below and pain if she turns away.
Lord Vane
The chapel has shown its hand. Go down, and it claims you with power. Refuse, and it will try to take payment in full.
Lord Vane
He keeps his stance steady, but his gaze never leaves the stair, as if he expects the dark to answer first.
The pull tightens. Gutty plants her feet on the stone floor, and the air around her mark hums against her skin like a warning bell.
Lord Vane
If you descend, I will see the bargain honored. If you break it here, you may wound the future you just bought.
Below, the stairlight pulses once, patient and ancient. Above, the chapel roof groans softly in the dawn chill, as if the whole place waits to see whether she yields or resists.
Gutty Greenspot stands at the threshold, the hidden way open before her, the mark pulling hard at her bones. The choice is hers now, to step into the depths or try to sever the claim before it carries her down.
“"Fine, fine, I'll open whatever it is you want me to open with this mark... As long as it stops stinging afterwards." Gutty goes in.”
FAILURE (Fair Willpower, rolled -1)
Gutty Greenspot
Fine, fine, I’ll open it. Just make it stop stinging after.
Gutty steps into the pull, and the mark answers at once. Pain lances through her side, sharp enough to buckle her knees, but she keeps moving as the chapel gives way beneath her feet.
The stair does not drag her down cleanly. It jerks, then loosens, as if her refusal has scratched a seam in the claim. For one breath, the blue glow below spills sideways across the altar stones.
Gutty catches a glimpse of something waiting in the vault, not a chamber, but a narrow landing with a second iron latch set into the wall. The mark tugs toward it, yet the pull is weaker now, divided between descent and that hidden catch.
Lord Vane
It is opening differently now. That latch, Gutty, the chapel is giving you a choice in the claim.
Vane shifts one step after her, keeping clear of the stair mouth. His hand hovers, then lowers, careful not to touch the tugging light or her marked side.
Gutty reaches the first step at last, breathing hard. Below, the cold blue pulse waits at the landing, and the iron latch glints once in the dark, half-hidden but plain enough to use.
The hidden stair settled beneath Gutty's feet, and the chapel's pull eased to a low, watchful hum.
Lord Vane
You have honored its claim, for now. Tread carefully, Gutty Greenspot.
Gutty Greenspot
Aye. I am not its prize. Not wholly.
At the lower landing, the iron latch held in silence, while the Black Chapel remained still around them.
Gutty Greenspot stood between vow and severance, with the chapel's hunger muted but not slain. Lord Vane kept his distance, and the hidden stair had become a boundary instead of a trap. For this chapter, the bargain was answered, and the dark stone held its peace.