Session #5, part 2 as told by Finn

 Two Weeks’ Notice

They put me back in the cell like nothing had happened.

Griggs—twitchy, foam-flecked Griggs—had come to behind the kitchen with eyes full of static and teeth looking for a neck. Took two guards to pry him off the third. Poor bastard ended up with his windpipe half collapsed and a soup ladle lodged where no ladle should ever lodge. Griggs, last I heard, got dragged screaming down to the oubliette.

So, problem solved.

For half a morning, I let myself believe the scales had balanced. Then the new problem strolled in.

By the time the dust settled, we were down one golem and up one campfire. Inez passed around her fancy-packet rations, all neat folds and clean edges like she’d been raised in a bakery. They tasted of citrus and shame, like she was trying to apologize for something unspoken. She was still blinking like she’d seen a ghost—and maybe she had. Us halflings, though, we were already swapping stories like squirrels on too much sugar. Jonathan was going on about which spices paired best with lamb chops, and I chimed in with my theory that slicing direction was more important than seasoning. Then someone brought up the moonstone.That stupid glowing pebble. Of course it was Jonathan who brought it up, all innocent-like.

“Inez still has it, right?” he said.

 

Inez clutched the shiny thing like it was a love letter from home and spun some nonsense about preservation. “We” still had the moonstone, she said, like it had been a team effort. I nodded along, of course. She was pink-cheeked and prickly about it, which meant we’d struck a nerve. Jonathan smiled like a saint. I let it go—for now.

 

Then she said something daft about me setting the course next. And here’s the kicker: nobody argued. I told her I wasn’t in charge of this parade of misfits. I reminded her that the deal was she would take me out of Nook, not the other way around. I had no map, no plan, and no interest in pretending otherwise. This was her show, and she was the director. That seemed to put a bit of color on her cheeks, and I could see the whirlwind of thoughts behind her eyes.

 

Jonathan revisited the carcass of Elkzilla Rex—his god only knows why—I noticed the owlbear chicks had passed out from stuffing themselves, one snoring like a tiny sawmill. I wanted to run. Instead, I cooked.  Ignoring Jonathan’s mutterings, I took some meat from the hind leg and started slicing it down into travel-ready cuts. It felt good to do something normal. Then we realized we had no water.

 

Jonathan, being a walking miracle, summoned some with a flick of his wrist and offered to teach Inez the spell. She tried. Failed. Tried again. Failed harder. I laughed. Said she needed a few good slaps—that’s how I learned. In Grint’s house, failure was met with knuckles, not patience.

 

Apparently, that wasn’t the done thing in gnome high society.

 

She flushed like a beet and nearly bit my head off. I was about to joke about her other cheeks but caught something in her face—tired, sad, the kind of pain that lingers. I let it drop. Told her that’s how I got schooled. She didn’t laugh.

 

When I went to heat up my cookware, I found it had gone cold. A quick check showed every piece of metal except Inez’s gear had lost its heat. In a brilliant attempt to look impressive, I grabbed her knife bare-handed and burned myself like an idiot. Real clever, Finn. Jonathan offered up his axe to see if Inez had some magical metal-heating ability, but it was too heavy for her, and she dropped it like it weighed a hundred pounds. Nearly cost Jonathan a few toes.

 

After the meal, the owlbear cubs perked up and started chasing each other around. Inez announced we’d travel toward Magki and the Light Academic tower. Both Jonathan and I raised the idea of heading back into the dungeon below, just to see if she’d bite. She didn’t.

 

So off we went, across the field and back to the road, making good time without incident. Suspiciously good.

 

Eventually we reached a hamlet so small it looked like it had been sneezed out of the dirt. A handful of buildings. Smallfolk-sized, mostly. Barely a soul in sight. Most of the paint had peeled off long ago, and what was left looked like rust trying to remember color.

 

And then there he was: one sagging gnome slouched on a pile of empty bottles like a wine god gone to seed, greeting us like a king.

 

Now Ross, this bit stuck with me. Inez must’ve thought she looked a right mess—red hair all loose and tangled, catching the sun like it wanted to set her alight. Freckles shone through the grime like starlight on a dirty window. She was missing a stocking, I think—the left one. Fidgeting, fixing her hair, brushing off her dress like she could wipe away the last few days. And still… still, she looked beautiful. Not the polished kind, not the ones they paint in parlors. No, she looked like the kind that grabs your heart. Wild. Honest. Like the world had tried to scuff her up and she just wore it like a badge. Couldn’t look away, if I’m honest. Not then. Still can’t.

 

The gnome introduced himself as Meyon Hiir. Least, that’s what Inez told me later. With his thick gnomish accent and slur, I thought he said “Mayor Here.” Which, for all I knew, he was.

 

Inez bowed like she was meeting royalty. He gave her sass about wine, and she handed him Jonathan’s conjured water. He took one sniff and called it piss. I nearly collapsed laughing. You’d think she’d stabbed him.

 

I saw a chance and snuck off to scout for loot, while they were having their conversation. Old habits. Found the place was even more rickety than it looked. Got my foot caught on a loose board and, trying to steady myself, shoved my hand through the wall. A bottle rolled out—straight into the king’s lap. He gave me the stink eye, claimed it was his by right, and downed it.

 

Inez smoothed over the blunder by introducing us all. Turns out Meyon had heard of the Systemix family from Nook. Gnomes stick together like that. He asked if her family would send more wine. She lied with ease. Not bad.

 

I asked if there was a tavern. He said the nearest one was six or seven days away and launched into a tale about giants, cheese, and cyclopes. Then came the quiz: name the ancient hero who fought giants. Inez froze—looked like a student caught scribbling notes during a sermon. I considered piling on. Briefly. But she didn’t need another slap from me that day.

 

So, I asked if there was a barn or hayloft, we could kip in. He implied we were all shagging and asked about Inez’s chaperone. She turned red again. I might’ve, too, from trying not to laugh.

 

He finally pointed us to a campsite up the road, less than an hour’s walk. Then promptly fell asleep.

 

Behind us, a crowd had gathered. The chicks—our owlbear cubs—had caught up. That sealed it. The townsfolk gave us the boot. Thankfully, no pitchforks or torches.

 

We found the camp just as promised. Inez tried to scrub dignity back onto her soul with a foraged meal of roots and regret. Jonathan and I picked berries—one of us said they were sour, the other said poisonous. We didn’t test it. Inez, still reeling from the wine-piss debacle, didn’t touch them. We dug for grubs to feed the chicks. They scarfed them down. We were gonna need bigger bugs soon.

 

We ate the rations I’d prepped that morning. I made sure we camped well off the road, hidden from view. That annoyed Inez—she seemed to think every traveler needed her approval to pass.

 

Later, she slipped off and came back with that mysterious glow of hers. The cubs loved it. She looked at Jonathan and me like we were supposed to be impressed too. I just don’t think I’ll ever fully understand women.

 

She said she saw someone—on horseback, watching us. Claimed it was the one from the monolith. If that’s true, trouble’s close. Inez seemed to enjoy the mystery and not consider much else.

 

Rosslyn, if you ever find yourself traveling with fools, you’d best consider you might be one yourself.

 

Tomorrow, we march. Probably. Or get eaten. Or murdered by a sentient tea kettle. Honestly, I’ve given up trying to guess. 

He made his entrance during airing time. That sliver of afternoon where they pretend, we’re still human enough to need sunlight.

He walked with the cocky limp of someone who’s earned every one of his scars and still thinks he won the fight. Half-elf, if you squinted, though something heavier lurked in the blood. Broad shoulders, neck like a stump, skin like dried-out hide. One ear gone. Not cut—bitten. Smile like a bad joke left out in the rain. 

Walked straight through the yard like the bricks owed him rent. And when he saw me? He grinned.

I didn’t recognize him, but I recognized the look. The kind of look a man wears when he’s not here to serve his own time—he’s here to serve someone else’s.

Calder sent him. Of course he did. Hanging was too clean for a man like me.

“Finn Slynt,” the half-elf said, crouching beside me like we were old friends at a funeral. “Calder says hi.” Voice like gravel rolled in blood. He smelled like cloves, piss, and powder. The kind of smell that lingers long after the body’s cold.

“I’ve got orders,” he said. “Two weeks of evenings. We’re going to get to know each other. Properly. And then, right before your neck stretches, you’re going to miss that appointment, but I’m going to make you wish you had made it.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but his hand was already on my throat. Fast. Like a snake that’d been coiled too long.

The world narrowed.

Air thinned.

The sky winked out like a dying candle.

I struggled. Useless. My hands couldn’t find purchase. My legs kicked dust. A distant part of me heard Rosslyn squeak—but I couldn’t see her. The world went black.

Then he let go. Just long enough to spit on the ground beside my head.

He stood. Maybe he stamped. I don’t know. Something crunched near me. Was it her? I don’t know.

I gasped like a fish on a dock, watching his boots walk away. Slow. No rush. Why would there be? He had time. Orders, after all.

The guards didn’t see. Or pretended not to. And me? I laid there. Throat burning. Eyes watering. Dust in my teeth.

They say every man’s got a clock in him, ticking down to something. Me? Mine’s loud lately. Fourteen nights. Fourteen reminders. Tick. Tock.

And Rosslyn? Gone.

Session #5, Part 1 as told by Finn

“Grease and Grudges”

 

Somewhere deep within the innerwalls of the Eastshore prison Finn has hit a wall with a grunt. Solid stone where there used to be space. “Lovely,” he mutters. “Someone’s been doin’ renovations.”

 

He slumped, back against the stone. “Well, Ross, that’s it then. Either I go out in front of a crowd, swingin’ in my best shirt, or I crawl back and wait for plan bloody B.”

 

Rosslyn squeaked and curled around his hand.

 

He closed his eyes. “Back to the cell it is. But not to stay.”

 

He turns back, shoulders aching from the crawl. Twenty minutes lost pokin’ about some fool hope of a tunnel. He just wants to get back to his cell before the guards count noses.

Rosslyn chitters on his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I should’ve left a sock in my bunk. Or a decoy rat.”

 

He eases open the old kitchen panel—just wide enough for a halfling and a whisper. The place should be empty. The scent of bland prison stew in the air. Along with something worse.

 

Boots. Heavy. Sloppy. And then—“Who’s in my kitchen?” growls a voice like gravel in a piss bucket. Finn winces. Griggs. Mean bastard. Prisoner. Used to be on kitchen detail until he tried to beat a lad to death for using his ladle. Wasn’t supposed to be here.

 

Finn ducks behind a sack of flour. Griggs stomps past, dragging one leg and breathing like a bellows in a fire. He stops, sniffs. “Smells like rat piss and cowardice.”

 

Rosslyn bristles. Finn mutters, “Don’t rise to it.” But then Griggs does something worse—he turns toward the pantry hatch. Right towards the hidden way. If Griggs sees it, if he figures out someone’s been sneakin’ through—he’ll run straight to the guards. And worse, he’ll smirk about it.

 

Finn weighs it. No time. No space. He can’t risk the man talking.

 

The room’s dim, but Finn’s eyes find something useful: a slab of congealed grease on the stone floor, slick and shining. Right next to a meat hook, left dangling from a nail.

 

He stands. “Oy, Griggs. Thought they banned you from kitchens.” Griggs turns, eyes red and wild. “You.”

 

He charges. Finn sidesteps. “Mind the floor.”

 

Griggs hits the grease patch head-on. Both legs shoot out. He crashes down, skidding into a bucket and denting a pot with his skull. Dazed.

 

Finn’s on him fast. Hook in hand, quick thunk to the side of the head. Not too hard. Just enough. Griggs goes limp.

 

“Sorry, mate,” Finn mutters, hauling him into the corner. “You’ll wake up with a headache and an alibi. Could’ve been worse.”

 

He grabs the nearest bowl—porridge, maybe—and a crust of bread. No time to savor. Just enough to line his stomach and not look suspicious.

 

He grabs a mop and bucket and strolls through the hall past a guard towards the mop room, joins the other prisoners on work detail and makes it back into the cellblock. No questions asked—if you look like you belong, people think that you belong where you are.

 

His cell’s still undisturbed. Rosslyn leaps off his shoulder and noses into the bedding.

 

Finn sits down hard. Breaks the bread in two. Hands half to Rosslyn.

 

“Could’ve been worse,” he says, chewing. He swallows, wipes dust from his brow, and sighs.

“At least we earned ourselves a breakfast.’

 

“Now, you wanna hear about the time me, Inez, and that long-faced holy boy fought a mountain with arms?”

 

So the sun pokes in through the tent flap like it owns the place, and I wake up face-down, mouth full of canvas. Brain’s full of fog. Stomach’s makin’ a sound like an angry badger. Somewhere out there, I hear crunchin’—something’s eatin’, and I feel left out.

 

I sit up, rub the gunk from me eyes, and right on cue—boom boom, there it is again. That damn phantom marching sound. Ghosts of a war telling us to be off, at least that’s the message that I got. Grab me medallion to keep out the Harrows. Still warm. Too warm. 

Add to that a low rumblin’ in the earth and the occasional twitch beneath me arse like the ground’s got gas. I hate this forest, Rosslyn. Hate it like I hate damp socks. Nothing good here. Shoulda left yesterday.

 

I step outta the tent, morning fog’s thick enough to butter. Stretch, I feel better than I deserve, which is always suspicious. The owlbear cubs gnawin’ on what I think is a lump of meat. One of the cubs waddles past, lookin’ like it took a bath in a blood fountain. I holler, “Your chick, your problem!” at Inez. She doesn’t laugh. Probably too busy makin’ eyes at her creepy rock idol again. Jon’s playing dead in the grass. I shuffle off to take a piss in peace.

 

Anyway, I’m standin’ there, whistlin’ a tune only half-forgotten, when I look down and—oh, what’s this? Blood. Guts. Bits of beast strung along like somebody’s idea of a trail mix. My brain wakes up proper, like a kettle hittin’ boil. I look back and realize—oh no, that ain’t just meat the cubs are munchin’. That’s a giant. Antlers and all. Elkzilla. Torn clean in two. Not chewed. Split. Which means something sharp, strong, or cursed did it—and we’re just sitting here like bait at a banquet

Right then, Ross, I made a decision. And that decision was: Time to go.

 

But not Inez. No, she’s over there pokin’ at the corpse with a stick, sayin’ fancy words like “Cervus maximus giganti” or “Antlered apex fauna” or somethin’ else that won’t help when whatever did this comes back for dessert. Jonathan’s noddin’ along like a lad at sermon. Neither of ‘em’s got a lick o’ sense. She’s got that “let’s investigate the creepy forest trail covered in blood” look in her eye. Like it’s a Sunday stroll.

 

I check for a trail—nothin’. Could’ve been dragged in. Could’ve crawled. Or maybe it just appeared. Either way, no sign of what killed it, which is somehow worse.

 

Jon and I exchange that look that says: Can we just go home already? I say we pack up in case we need to bolt. She pouts. Wants us to go back into that mad room underneath the idol to look for more stones. Ross: “you should have seen her face, when Jonathan compared her to his mad gran’father in the robes. Hahaha.” That seemed to annoy her and set her back right. We said we’d leave—Jon needs his little prayer, then he’s ready. I’m already packed. Inez too.

 

And then—curse the stars—those two tree-huggers decide to bring the bloody cubs. I tell ya, Rosslyn, if some monster’s bringin’ meat to feed its babies, and we’re sittin’ next to the buffet? That’s a problem. And if those cubs realize we killed their mum? Well, I like my eyes where they are.

 

As I’m thinkin’ that, we hear a noise. Stone on stone. Or maybe claw on stone. Scratchin’ behind the monolith. Of course Inez decides to go take a look. Because she’s clearly immune to basic survival instincts. Jonathan follows her. 

I’m torn between following them and maybe becoming breakfast to some giant monster or doing the sensible thing and leaving these deadweights behind.

I go ‘round the side, flankin’—smart, yeah? But by the time I catch up, she says she saw some cloaked figure bolt into the trees. I see nothin’. No rustle. No tracks. No nothin’.

 

But there’s a message carved into the monolith now. It looked like scribbles to me, but Inez reads it out with a face of a halfling reading the menu at a pie store. Says it’s a summons to a contest or duel. Skips a few lines, I think. Her poker face is terrible. I say we leg it.

 

Too late.

 

The earth has another tremor, like my uncle’s gut after eatin’ cabbage. The monolith shifts. Cracks. Bits fall off. And then—boom. Giant bloody golem, big as a barn and twice as ugly. Stone fists the size of ponies. Inez yelps. Jon panics. I consider my life choices. The thing raises its arms ominously.  I don’t wait. I shout, “Run!” and I run.

 

Wind wooshes past me head—barely missed. I hear a thud behind me, where Jonno and Inez were standing. One of em got hit, maybe. I look over my shoulder, the others waited around to see what the deal was. Like there is anything three smallfolk can do against that.

 

Inez starts screamin’, “Throw the moonstones!” I yank at me bag, trip like a fool, land flat, and the moonstone pops out like it’s got a mind o’ its own. I grab it, roll, and chuck it in one smooth toss. Should’ve been on stage, Rosslyn.

 

Just as it’s sailin’ through the air, I see the golem’s already got a hand on a stone behind it—drawing it into an awkward position. It makes a grab for my stone with its free arm and seizes too. And just like that—it stops. Eyes go dark. Whole thing locks up tighter than a miser’s coinpurse.

 

Jon and Inez are haulin’ each other to safety. Golem turns back to stone, like it was all a dream. And the moonstones? Look like regular rocks now. Bastards.

 

Then me stomach growled loud enough to startle birds. “I’ll make breakfast,” I say.

Because if the day’s startin’ like that, Ross, I need eggs. And possibly liquor.

Finn leans back on the cell wall, breaking off another crumb for Rosslyn, who curls tighter in his lap.

“We’ll get out, little mate. One way or another. Not today, maybe. But soon. Sun’s got no business shinin’ this long on rats like us unless it means to light the way.”

 

Session #5 as told by Inez

 Session #5 as told by Inez

Dear Diary,

My doubts about me being fit for adventuring, I daresay, I’ve left behind after today. However, all the more doubt about me being capable of leading the two halflings, and myself for that matter. Let me try to explain.

This morning I awoke from an unnatural deep, deep sleep. Visibly the sun had already set, the inside of my tent was brightly lit as I laboriously opened my eyes. The idol was staring at me from under the ravaged stocking, that had landed on it. The sight of the sock made me remember where I was and the reason why I felt dreadful. And why I was only wearing a stocking on my right leg. “But I still have a moonstone, you monster.” I hissed to the idol. And dear diary, I swear it smirked. Not with a mouth, but with the tilt of its terrible silence.

A mixture of noises came from outside: The strange marching songs could be heard again in the distance, as if armies were marching in. Closer by, the sound of munching and rustling of the owl bear cubs around our tents signaled that something odd was going on. As my mind was still trying to catch up, I carefully lowered the zipper of my tent door. Peeking outside, I saw my companions walking around, so I followed suit and left my tent. The sun was shining brightly, still shreds of mist were lying low around us, covering the field and blocking sight to what the Owl Bears were doing. 

Surprisingly, especially since it took quite some bit to wake and get up, I felt refreshed! Despite all yesterday's maltreatment, my body did not ache and when I checked my left leg discreetly, lifting my dress to look for spider bites and hairs, there were no disturbing marks to be found. Luckily the halfling men had not noticed my checkup, as they both had different affairs on their mind. Jonathan was lying on his back in the grass absentmindedly,  like a debutante fainted halfway through her curtsy (No not something that happened to me, dear diary!). Finn on the other hand, materialized from out of the mist, confronting me: “That the cubs were all mine, and my problem alone, and I should deal with them, and he was going for a piss!” Walking past me to the nearby row of trees, to fulfill his statement where I could actually hear and see him performing the act (Luckily only the resulting ‘outcome’, dear diary!). Appalled and angry, (What is it with these halfing men, dear diary?) I decided to look at what ‘my’ critters actually were undertaking. 

After a few steps in the direction of their gratified grunts, I caught sight with the cubs. All bloodied and gore, crawling over and diving into the carcass of a huge animal! Even at the festivities and banquets of the upper Gnome families I had never seen a carcass this size! No doubt it was, or better, used to be a giant elk. At least three times my size it laid, or more precisely, half of it laid on the ground, as the animal had been split cleanly down its length! Who or what had managed to do that? The Owl Bear Cubs certainly not, but they were very grateful to who or what ever had done it, tearing into the intestines of the dead creature.”Cervus maximus gigantii” I had to keep repeating for myself by thinking back to the lessons of Doctor Vexora, just to prevent throwing up or fainting at the sight of the carnage taken place.

With my hands covering my mouth I stood there for a while, baffled by this spectacle. Only then I noticed the trail of blood and gore, stretching from the corpse into the woods. Following this  for a bit, I walked into Jonathan and Finn. The two halflings were debating about what to do next; continuing to Magki, heading back to Nook, just get away as fast as we can..? As I suggested investigating the trail of blood leading into the forest, to find out how this carcass came here, both men turned on me, stating that the best course of action would be to get as fast as far away from the cadaver as possible, before the perpetrator would come back. Both halflings were seemingly agitated after the events of the last days, even hinting that it were my ideas that led them into trouble! Finally, we agreed to break up camp first, so we would be prepared for a hasty retreat if necessary. My plea for a further descent into the round room to find more moonstones also did not impress the men either. Jonathan even made fun of me, comparing me to his mad grandfather! Dear diary, those two representatives of the Grand Guild of Male Advisors really succeeded in annoying me! 

Deciding to take matters in my own hands, I strolled off to the black monolith. Approaching the giant stone, the shrill noise of the scraping of stone on stone welcomed me. I sped up, only to spot a figure, more or less my size, dressed in a black cloak retreating to the forest. “Hey, wait, come back!” I shouted, then back to the halflings: “Hey, there’s someone here, near the monolith!”. To their credits, and my relief, both men sprung into action. Jonathan spurted towards me, while Finn took up position with his sling between me and the tree edge where the figure had vanished. We waited for a while, but the being did not return, but we did find freshly applied scribblings on the monolith. Common characters ordered in columns forming a strange message. Both halfling men looked at me in awe as I managed to decipher the message! Dear diary, I was very proud of myself in succeeding here, though also a bit or a lot remorseful too, as I told my companions half of the instructions it contained. Telling them that it was some sort of summons to contest to come find and fight someone. And, like my father, stating that: “If this were serious, you'd be in a much less comfortable chair.” (My father was very proud of having a set of chairs for every size of customer). And like my father, not succeeding in reassuring my clients. And, dear diary, once more I must admit that the thought of losing my moonstone did influence me conflictingly. As I did not tell my companions about the clause that the challenger could be bought off with two or three moonstones.

Indubitably, this all would not have mattered, if there would not have been the sound again of stone rasping on stone, but this time much much louder and all too near! Not only was the monolith grumbling and tremoring, a nearby knoll of stones had seemingly awoken in a veil of dust. Raising up it slowly rearranged itself into the form of a crude, but huge, body. A huge reddish rock where I had just leaned against was now on top of its head. Dear diary, obviously the fact that brightly colored bonnets are definitely out of fashion had not yet reached these parts! But only when the construct opened its fiery glowing eyes, I realized that one: this was a Golem, as taught by Doctor Vexora and bragged about by High keeper Ironmantle and second: We were in trouble deep!

By the time I had realized that this was indeed a Golem, as spoken of and written about, and indeed, I was only standing a few metres away from it, and it was raising one of its arms and probably aiming its fist for Jonathan and me, it was much too late. Had it not been for Jonathan, unsuccessfully however, or the cubs, very successfully, my life as the best looking adventurer ever to originate from Nook would have ended here. Now I was steamrolled away by three furry balls covered with blood and grume, rolling away just in time from the spot the giant fist landed. In the nick of time Jonathan also managed to step away, though this cloak was caught and a piece of it was ripped off. 

Standing at a much safer distance, Finn had stared inquisitively at the construct and our reeling around it, only to conclude that ‘This creature has no weaknesses’ and ‘Discretion is the better part of valor’ and had started running in the direction of the trees. In spite of that he still responded when I shouted to both halflings to throw their moonstones to the golem. Standing nearby, Jonathan immediately reacted, and threw his moonstone in the creature's direction. Though he missed it and the stone fell on the ground, the golem was magically pulled to it, moving its right arm directly towards it. Now Finn tried to do the same, trying to get the moonstone out of his backpack while running. This resulted in an awkward manoeuvre, until the rogue somehow rolled over, somersaulted, throwing the gem and landing fluently and synchronously. Dear diary, under duress, halflings apparently channel divine will or sheer dumb luck.

The left hand of the Golem now changed its course from crushing the two dormouses that were Jonathan and me, towards picking up the second stone that just landed in front of the stone giant. Giving us the chance of crawling and running away as fast as we could. As the creature reached the stone, its eyes extinguished and it toppled over on its back. (Almost as elegant as Finn’s routine just before, but that is not very grateful of me, dear Diary.) As abrupt as the creature's arrival, so was its demise! And as abrupt as the creature's demise was the demise of the panic of the halflings! After establishing that the golem was harmless, no more than a new hummock of stones, and that the two moonstones were gone, the two men gathered, patted eachothers shoulders and started improvising breakfast. Which we obviously had missed this morning. As my mother would say: “Where a rat sneaks, a halfling snacks.”

In just moments time there was a small campfire with two happy halflings sitting next to it. Still confused from the clash that ended minutes ago, I joined them, throwing in the last lunch packages of the Trans Gnomish Pony express,  and their discussion. Subjects whirled around in the halfling conversation, from recipes to best places to eat in Nook, and from ‘how we beat a Golem’ to ‘which direction should we follow next?’ As I was afraid of, the question ‘why I had not thrown my moonstone’ was raised as well. Restraining a blush, I argued that thanks to this, we (Emphasis on ‘we’, dear diary) still possessed such a precious stone. Both of them agreed wholeheartedly, showing a blind trust towards me, which too made me almost turn scarlet. The direction of our discourse then changed to our next steps and destination. To my surprise, this time I was not only being taken seriously, but it appeared to me that both priest and rogue were expecting me so set out our course! Dear diary, I was and am still confused about this. And confused about my confusion, as this position is what I longed for at home. For all that, it still feels as scary as standing in front of a golem!

As we agreed, or as they agreed with my proposal, we would travel further to Magki.Our rations were low, we had some narrow escapes, it would be smarter to visit that town and return here later and better prepared. With that in mind, we found that our water supplies were empty. Jonathan volunteered to refresh them by mustering water magically. Once again I was stunned by his arcane power and ease, dear diary. As I said so, he offered me to learn this spell; showing me the ingredients and steps. So, I attempted to reproduce this, reciting the words, trying to invoke Chislev, failing miserably. To my shock, and to Jonathans too I think, Finn then suggested that Jonathan should hit me: ‘Just a little slap on the cheek, that will make her strive harder.” Being too confused to riposte in time, Finn could add: “Or on someplace else, if that has her preference.” This time I did turn crimson, both out of shame and anger. “That’s how I got schooled ”; Finn added, just before I would have erupted. Instead, I suddenly felt sad for him, dear diary.

After all of this, we finally set off in the direction of Magki. It was almost like strolling through the city park of Nook, no magic monoliths, venomous spiders or stone golems to bother us. Luckily we encountered no other folks until, after half a day of walking, we ventured into a small hamlet, with no more than fifteen houses. Half of these pillboxes were of gnomish, symmetrical and decorated with brass flourishes or some mechanical oddity. The other half was halfling making, disarranged by design, rounded corners and at least two food caches. And even one or two human houses, sticking out tall and shabby. Spotting some equally mixed inhabitants, I wondered if the people here would know of or have connections with Nook. And if they would know about my fathers solicitors practice or be able to recognize me! Dear diary, I panicked thinking of this possibility! Not only the risk of all kinds of interference, troubles and peril, but my appearance by now was abominable! My dress, although by no means a finery, was after the actions of last days besmirched with dust, mud, blood and gore. My hair was just slightly less sullied, and I had this morning just time to secure my hair in a ponytail. All of this and showing up in the company of two halfling rascals, even more murky looking than me, would seriously harm our families and companies name, and be the last drop for my reputation. 

As I was contemplating this, we reached what you could call with some fabrication the heart of this small village. There were several halflings and gnomes there, looking at us but minding their business, when we were addressed by a very old looking gnome, sitting in the remains of an armchair like a king on a throne, guardied by empty bottles: “Good afternoon travelers, what brings you to this place?” In some way I was irked by the aplomb of the grey patriarch and held back a little, letting the halflings do the talking. From what I could pick up, no relatives of Finn nor Jonathan lived here or nearby. Suddenly I got pulled into the gathering, as the old man was pointing at me: “And may I ask who's the young gnome lady traveling with you?” At that moment I did not have the wits to come up with a made up name as my dwarven etiquette lessons took over. So I introduced myself formally and with a cordial bow, that would have made my mother proud, and introduced myself. This did not seem to make an impression on the elder and I had to explicitly request his name (and courtesy) in return. “Meyon Hiir is the name, young lady, are you related then to that solicitor up north? I remember being served a very nice wine in that office.” Gobsmacked by his words, I looked to Jonathan and Finn, who were not impressed at all or had already lost interest. “You don’t happen to have any with you?” Asked the grizzled man, pulling at my dress. 

By now some more locals had assembled around us, so I decided to act polite and civil, handing him the small flask of “Moonberry Mead” that Jonathan had magically filled with water. “What is this piss!” ; he shrieked, spitting out the gulp he had taken in before, missing me only because I took a step backwards. Eyeing me up and down, he disdainfully asked: “Are you from Nook? I assumed so. So shiny. So polite. So unsorted.” Leaving me standing there like a junior solicitor caught in her nightgown at a tribunal. (Not that this ever happened to me, dear diary.) My mind was wandering around, trying to find anything in my memories about a client or family called Hiir. Meanwhile giving polite answers and nods to the barrage of comments and questions coming my way. Could this gnome by an agent of my father?

While I was entertaining the elder gnome, Jonathan was just standing there grinning. The old gnome and the priest seem to get along fine, chattering about nothing at all like two headed ettins.  Meanwhile Finn had slipped away and found a quiet spot behind some of the houses. There he had tried to open a hatch successfully, only to let slip his loot,  sending off a bottle of wine over the ground. (All of this I was told later, much later, dear diary.) This vial rolled past me, ending at the feet of our local sovereign. The old man just took up the bottle, looked at it, declared that it was his, opened it and swallowed more than a mouthful. “So little lady, can I expect a shipment of that splendid wine from your father anytime soon again?” “Surely, “; I tried to lie as best as I could; “within a day of two, three it should be arriving.” Jonathan was looking curiously at me and the old gnome likewise did not seem to be convinced.

Once more I was saved more or less by Finn, who re-entered our chat: “Where can we find a decent tavern around here, old man? We have traveled quite far and could use a good rest.” The gnome replied by starting a long lecture, which opened with the remark that the nearest establishment was six or seven days' travel away, meandered about the road to get there and history of this locality, only to expand for what seemed hours describing the battles fought here between giants and gnomes. It was a nursery rhyme retold as historic facts, in which every stone bigger than a hand is the remains of a slain giant and cheese is made off slain cyclops or gnomes or the other way around. Though I had seen a golem rising from the ground today, these old men's narratives are at its best metaphors or echoes of real events, not real history. And this old man with his never ending stories was working on my nerves.

Abruptly the old man poked me on my arm: “So young lady, I trust that you were schooled properly. In that case, you should be able to recall the name of the hero that fought off the giants?” It was like he had placed me under a spell. For years I had to learn those fables by heart, and now, while the two halflings were looking at me expecting nothing but the correct answer, I could not find it. “Ah, you’ve forgotten. Or perhaps it was never taught. That happens in Nook, they polish the silver but lose the family sword. Well all of this happened in the great fields between here and Magki.” “Dear diary, If heroism were measured in blushes, I’d already have a statue. Preferably placed in a very quiet corner of Nook.

So there’s no inn or tavern here where we could spend the night? What about a hayloft or haymow, just for the night?” interrupted Finn, leaving the man giggling: “Traveling together, so many shared burdens. So few separate bedrolls.” ; looking at me anew: ““You left your chaperone at home?” After this taunt and a chuckle, the old gnome seemed satisfied for the day and fell asleep straight away. Ignoring us and the crowd that had gathered and even the consternation caused  by the three Owl Bear cubs. These had followed us during the day, and now, at long last, had decided to enter the hamlet. This caused quite some disturbance amongst the town folks (with the exception of the old gnome, who probably was dreaming about blushing girls). The critters and us were escorted out of the village and pointed to an open spot nearby, where it would be safe to camp. Well so much for hospitality in the country! 

At least the directions were correct, and we found a nice spot to set up camp. We combined our last rations into a meal of some sort, by far not enough by halfling standards, by far not exquisite enough for the taste of this gnome city lady. But we learn and adapt, dear diary!

My halfling companions took improvising a bit too far though, as the berries they found turned out to taste a bit sourish according to the priest or were poisonous according to the rogue. I chose not to get involved in that debate nor the fruits, still feeling sour about the strange trial I had failed. My inner thoughts were disrupted by the noise of galloping hooves on the trail nearby. Though our tents were behind some bushes and would be hard to spot from a rider on the road, I thought it wise to check who or what was traveling here at this hour. So I made my way through the shrubbery only to see a glimpse of the small creature that I had spotted before near the monolith! This time riding a horse in the direction of Magki. For a short while I stared at the horse and its rider speeding away, wondering what this or even if this had something to do with us. Eventually I returned to the camp, where I was welcomed by both halflings and cubs like the missing rune in a dwarven contract! Finn and Jonathan had seen, or better: not seen, me vanish in an instant, then returning out of nowhere. The Owl Bear young, well, they’re always happy to see me arrive. 

All in all ended the day as curious and astonishing as it started, dear diary! Tomorrow we’ll be off to Magki, and I hope we’ll reach that place soon, as I miss the sophistication of a city. And hopefully we won’t find old Meyon Hiir on our route and was he not a spy placed by my father in that village... We’ll just have to trust Azuth and follow the path of law.

Session #4 as told by Inez

Session #4 as told by Inez

Dear diary,

Though I managed to secure a moonstone (I truly did!), I'm very much in doubt if I’m cut out for the job of adventurer! Today I nearly lost my life and/or my chastity, and I wonder which one would have been worse? 

When we came down the stairs again, back in the round room, Jonathan was conscious again, but still short-winded. Not surprising, as the conditions in the room had changed. An unnatural atmosphere had taken over. Hazy and oppressive, with a green dimness, the room had lost all of its hospitality. The murkiness around us couldn't be overcome by the torch Finn was still carrying. When I asked Jonathan about his fitness he put-on a brave face, but murmured some incoherent words, which was both worrying and reassuringly priestlike. 

As the three of us once more stood around the table, we tried to make a plan to find our way back to the camp. At least I did, showing the notes I made of the symbols on the monolith. Before we could seriously look into these, Finn showed us his knife, which was glowing white-hot. So Jonathan and I reached out for ours, and strangely enough, ours were glowing hot as well, like soup left on the gossip stove. Fortunately the handle of mine was of a wood like material and the sheath was made of thick enough leather that I did not notice the warmth of it through my dress. (Though I hope this did not damage my dress, dear diary).

This strange phenomena combined with the growing thickness of the greenish gloom around us, did not help in making well substantiated plans. As our gnome hire would say: “You can’t measure twice if your hat’s on fire." The first thing we could come up with was to bring about the magic illumination that helped us before. So anxiously we decided to place our moonstones back on the table. I was the last one to place mine (and I feel ashamed to tell you this, dear diary), as I had a hard time to part from the precious gem. Placing the stones back on the table did result in the stairs spinning upwards as expected, but the illumination did not return. In fact, only the green haze became even more intense! 

All of our planning was suddenly off the table (quite literally) as Finn was pirouetting through the room with the torch like he was imitating a Tressym! Shouting “Don’t you hear it! Don’t you see them?! They’re everywhere!” Leaving Jonathan and me looking at him deliberating if the rogue had finally gone rogue. But then we too became aware of the sounds,  a careless whisper surrounding us. And as we gazed around, we saw little stones falling from the walls, pushed by blacky hairy paws. Through the breaches large spiders came tumbling down! Though I’m not particularly afraid of spiders, it was clear that we had to get out of this room fast!

Still panicking, Finn headed to the door on the far side with huge steps. Pretending to be a seasoned explorer, or at least a calm follower of Azuth, or even as a rational solicitor, I started investigating the lever that we had damaged on our first visit to the chamber. It turned out to be covered by tiny webs and in use as a maternity ward for hundreds of even tinier baby spiders. Those tiny little creatures, swarming over the lever like glittering black diamonds come alive, were too beautiful and vulnerable to interfere with. I know, I know, dear diary, perhaps I should have consulted my fellow companions, but I decided to leave them and the lever alone for now. 

Looking around, I found my two companions in distress! Each in their own way was battling the critters. Apparently halflings, at least my two companions, were not very fond of spiders, to say the least. My attitude towards them was mixed; bullied at school spiders (much smaller than these ones luckily) were dropped on me, not a good experience for either spiders and myself. On the other hand, in our house there lived many spiders in the storerooms full of books not touched in years, and I had grown kind of fond of them.

Now, two steps away from me, a large, thumb seized, spider landed on Jonathan’s hand, sending the halfling in distress. He tried to shake off the creature, shouting curses I never heard before in my life. Near the door, Finn was battling with a spider that blocked his way, setting it to flames with his torch. And things were getting worse! More and more parts of the wall started crumbling as spiders were entering the room and on top of that all the lighting went out. All we had now was the luminosity of the single torch and the gleaming of many red spider-eyes!

Finn was using the torch successfully, but as I moved towards the door, I saw Jonathan falling down, probably overwhelmed or poisoned by the spiders. Nevertheless (and I feel ashamed to tell you this, dear diary), I just had to pick up the small moonstone from the table and store it again inside my dress (you know where, dear diary). Then I hurried over to Jonathan, grabbing him by the hand and lifting him up. At that moment we heard a large click, as if someone had activated a huge Clockwork Courtship Peacock at a garden party! Alas, no gnomish dance followed, but the room started spinning again! Literally, as Finn had reached the door and when trying to open it, triggered the room’s mechanism. 

The spiders were much less impressed than us, attacking Finn who burned himself  trying to get rid of spiders on his arm! I took a more gently and thoughtful approach with creatures on Jonathan’s legs, bristling them away with my Bellebrass travel powder brush. However, just as I wanted to brag about it, I felt a little sting in my shin. Looking down I saw one of the spiders I had just brushed away, wearing my favorite tint (Powdered Moonleaf) on its body, running down from my left leg (probably off to a spiders ball to make an impression, dear diary!). Then, Once again, I passed out. Dear diary, maybe adventurers are meant to bleed bravely. I, apparently, collapse elegantly. 

First thing I notice as my senses return is the terrible taste in my mouth. Like I drank a terrible kind of wine (or worse!) . Spitting and spewing I try to get rid of the taste; then I noticed my left stocking lying next to me on the ground, ruined by strangely green colored stains and a big rip halfway! Not only does this mean I’m left with just three pairs now, but someone, or some spider, stripped me of it while I was unconscious. Dear diary, I was dumbfounded, just sitting there trying to find my composure back in more than one way. 

With a little shove Finn brought me back to reality: “Inez, I’ll take one of your torches, this one’s almost done”. As I did not dare to ask, but was told spontaneously, was that Finn was the one responsible for the state of my left stocking (ravaged) and left leg (bare) and Jonathan and myself (saved from the spiders by heroic actions). Allegedly Jonathan and myself had been bitten by spiders, poisoned and had fainted. Finn had managed not only to scare off the spiders, but also to take care of Jonathan and me. Using wine (more exact, the ‘Moonberry Mead’ out of my backpack), mixing it with spider ingredients (what explained the bad taste in my mouth), the rogue had succeeded in patching us up. And he just had to remove my stocking to clear my leg of spider hairs and poison, he could not stop bragging; making me thankful, shameful and annoyed at once. Dear diary, I almost missed my chaperone Dame Tockwhistle, who would have made short work of both spiders and halfling men!

Once on our feet, we were more than ready to agree with Finn: “Back to camp, now.” The halflings took their stones from the table, triggering the chairs to return from above. Jonathan took the lead, moving up with the torch in his hand. Jonathan and I formed the rearguard, stumbling along. After the long climb, we found the hatch closed, and Finn not able to open it. Waiting and watching him bumping against the trap door. Coming more and more to my senses, I decided to try to cast ‘unseen servant’. And like an accomplished I managed to pull it off once more! Elated, I steered the magic creature, which opened the stuck hatch effortlessly. 

Both halfling men were looking at me like I had just joined the party. Finn continued the climb, head shaking and mumbling to himself. As I opened my eyes, I found myself face to face with Jonathan (who was standing some steps below of me): “Inez, Inez, what did you do? How did you manage to pull that off?”; the priest was questioning me. Confused, as I had seen him up till now as my superior in the use of magic, I did not manage to formulate a proper answer. Our conversation was going nowhere, until Finn urged us to follow him.

Reaching the end of the stairway, I held my breath. Luckily, this time we found ourselves back in the field near our camp. Where we were greeted by the three Owl Bear cubs. Wearily we walked towards our tents, no one except the whelps interested in conversation. After feeding the little critters, I stepped into my tent. For a while I sat there quietly admiring the moonstone. Stripping off my right stocking, my eyes fell on the Idol, sitting at a far corner of my tent. “Nothing happened, he was just helping, you terrible thing!” ; I cursed, throwing the sock towards it. And for the second time today, I lost consciousness, as I fell into a deep sleep.

And that’s how I found a moonstone and lost a stocking, dear diary!