ALMS
What the Sheriff seizes, the greenwood gives back
to those still standing.
A wagering fable of five-and-twenty glades, hidden carts, and one road that burns.
Retold beneath the boughs of Sherwood.
The Greenwood
Five-and-twenty glades, laid five by five beneath the canopy. Each riding, the wood wakes anew: some glades lie upon the King's road, the rest are cover. No outlaw alive knows which, until the Sheriff rides.
“The wood keeps its own counsel. So must you.”
The Cart
Stake your gold into one glade. That is your cart, one cart to an outlaw each riding, and how heavy it rolls is yours alone to choose. Bury the gold, whistle low, and watch the candle burn.
“A light cart slips away with little. A heavy cart eats like a lord, or feeds one.”
The Sheriff
When the riding closes, the hash chain speaks his patrol: one row and one column, nine glades in torchlight. Every cart caught upon them rolls chained to Nottingham, seized in the King's name.
The Alms
The seized gold is not the Sheriff's to keep. It returns as alms to the sixteen glades left standing, split by the weight of each wager. Sit beneath the patrol and lose your cart entire; sit clear of it, and eat the losers' gold.
“The Sheriff's loss is thy gain. Such is the law of the wood.”
The Quiver
An arrow is one shot, fletched before the riding and burned on release. Marian's eyes over the wood. Higher fletchings see further, and one dares to move after the horn has sounded.
Marian's Glance
Burn one to see the hidden gold of a single glade before you commit.
“She watched the road for him a hundred nights. One look from Marian never missed.”
Huntsman's Volley
One draw, a whole spread of glades unveiled before the horn.
“Loosed high over the canopy, and little in the wood stays secret.”
Robin's Gambit
When the horn has sounded and the row already burns, move your cart one last time.
“The Sheriff swore he had him cornered. The Sheriff swore that every year.”
The Last Arrow
One arrow was never fletched, and never will be. Its coordinates stand unresolved on every map that dares to guess. A tithe of every seizure flies to it, coin upon coin in the dark, and the outlaw who finds it takes the whole hoard forever.
The wood is open.
The horn is about to sound. Hide your cart well, outlaw.
Enter the Greenwood