Pre-prequel: Twiddling or the first diary entry by Inez

 Pre-prequel: Twiddling or the first diary entry by Inez

Dear diary,

Welcome to my life! As it’s my thirty-ninth birthday, my so-called Twiddling, which for gnomes in Nook means a big deal, and you’re my favorite gift I received on that occasion! Presented by Dr.Vexora, who hereby gets the honor of being the first person named in my diary to show my gratitude.

 Not saying I’m not grateful for all the other gifts. Every guest really had put efforts and thought into it, and I really felt twiddled. However, for a ‘Nook Twiddling party’ it was a really small affair with few guests. That all has hopefully nothing to do with me, and all with my father’s business and reputation, but that’s a story for another time,  dear diary.

So once more welcome, dear diary! Let me start by showing you our house. As I’m writing this I’m sitting outside on the stairs leading to our front door. Dr Vexara was the last guest leaving and let her out and waved goodbye, thanking her once more for getting me this nice gift. She was also the first guest to arrive this morning, insisting on doing some serious study like scheduled. That was a bit of a bummer, dear diary, despite that I really like her lessons; both the official and the other stuff, but that’s a story for another time,  dear diary. Still she insisted, stating that even a young gnome like me should learn to take some responsibilities, especially at this occasion. So, there I sat, doing serious arithmetics on my Twiddling day!

But her gift was perfect and she’s always good company, even as she’s my teacher.  My mother will certainly complain to me later on: “Not only did she stay for the whole day, but I have to pay her for a lesson as well.” My other teacher,  High keeper Ironmantle, also paid a visit. Luckily just a visit, no lesson in etiquette, but I’m sure my performance as hostess will be reviewed next time he comes over. And probably with lots of remarks and needs for improvement. Today he sufficed with a reprimand for both my dress and curtsy showing:  ‘Little lady, when ye curtone’s presentation should suggest dignity... not display, even gnomes should be able to achieve a certain level. This dress and the depth of your dip, I could near read yer future in the valley between your buttons.’ But though he is an old dwarven grumbler, I know he’s fond of me, and he too brought a great gift: a contract case. It’s engraved with dwarven runes to protect documents stored in it and even has a secret compartment. “Working for this office, it will have it’s use” he remarked with a wry smile. 

My parents gave me two binding ledgers, one engraved with the name of my fathers solicitor’s practice (‘Nook City counting house’) , the other one with my name. As my father handed the first one to me, he stated: “My daughter, this is not only to affirm that you have grown old enough to step into my footsteps, but also to express our thanks for your work in the practice in the last time.” Which was very sweet of him, dear diary! My mother handed me the second one, adding that: “We hope that your next steps will be wise, and that they will take you to where you need to go.” Which was also very nice, dear diary, since the three of us had some serious clashes lately. But that's a story for some other time, dear diary. Will this mean that they will grant me a greater license to do what I want and accept my choices? No matter what, it’s a much better present than a new dress or tiara to add to the package of ideal bride for a rich gnome son of a proper family! So this all ended with my mother and I crying together, my father pretending to console us and not at all being touched himself.

My dwarven school friend Thorga came over just to congratulate me, using the staff entrance. Her father does not want to be associated with fathers office, so her sneaking in was a big deal. Dwarfs, honour and grudges, still she showed up! She even brought me a gift, a self-made friendship bracelet! It’s in the same style as the one she wears herself (and that I was a bit jealous of), allegedly the runes on the bracelet hint that the two of us are now ‘bound forever’.  I thanked her as gracefully as my dwarven etiquette lessons have taught me, then hugged her in a gnomish way! It was good to see her, but sad that it had to be in secret and short.

You’ll probably have found out by now that I like to digress, dear diary. It’s great to have someone to write to! Sitting here, enjoying the last sunbeams of the day, I’ll try to get back to the promised topic: Our house. So, we’re now in the garden in front of the house. Looking from above it has the shape of a low gallow with one upright post on the left and a long crossbeam stretching to the right . Dear diary, if my mother would hear me describe the house like this, she would say: "You’ll never charm a suitor by whispering with the graveworms." I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to it, diary. 

The garden reaches from the base of the post to the lower right corner beam, creating a sort of strange sign pointing towards the cross road where several main roads of Nook are meeting. This bottom line of this triangle is formed by shrubbery, interrupted in the middle to allow a way through from the street to the main entry door. Our garden and its shrubbery wall are the last to stand in this street, other gardens have been taken over by stalls or are being used as parking spots for stagecoaches, ponies and horses. Being a solicitor has some advantages when it comes to guarding your property! Not only the merchants and coachmen stand by our gardenwall, also the schoolchildren and bullies obey this line.Which makes this little place a small safe haven where I, sometimes joined by my good friend Thorga, hang out and look out over Nook’s city life. For my parents (and our staff!) the few steps through the garden mean that visitors lose the dirt from their shoes before entering the office. But let us now enter the house ourselves!

The main door is huge, even for tall folk, you have to take the two step stair (one step for the long legs) up, step through and then go down the same height again, because the stair is only there to make an impression. And making an impression is what the whole ground floor is meant to do! Upon entering the hall your eyes would fall on the altar for Helm. Though not exuberant, Helm is about vigilance not spectacle, the granite stone construct is about my size, framed by stout carved wooden columns, like the gate of a fortress. On top of it is a with runes engraved dais, where offerings can be placed. Mounted on the stone Helm’s unblinking visage is depicted, a polished steel mask. Which I always find a bit odd for a solicitor like my father, he would never wear armour or ride to war. The gnome knight of Nook would not last long on a battlefield, dear diary!

Left of the altar is a normal door, small and almost undetectable for great folks as a bit of magic and trompe-l'œil is used to hide it for visitors. This leads to the parallel hallway, used by staff and ourselves to move quickly and unseen by visitors. To the right it leads you to the small stairway, leading to the first and second floor (only findable and accessible for small folk!). The whole wall of the high hallway is painted like marble and covered by big paintings of landscapes. All there to instill the idea that this is the most trustworthy practice to negotiate your businesses. Same goes for the big entry door directly to the left, leading to the main office. Here business guests are met and deals arranged. With an impressive collection of books on the inside walls and huge windows on the outside ones, this used to be my fathers kingdom. Nowadays it’s been more or less conquered by my mother and me, doing the paperwork and preparing meetings as much as possible. Only when guests arrive do we retreat, leaving my father to handle this and keep up the appearance for the outside world. Though sometimes I have to serve his clients, especially gnomish (‘Such a dutiful daughter, and the looks of a dancing queen, but no carriage at the door.’) and halfling (‘Your sure this little elven princess is your daughter?’) companies are apparently in need of my services. If things get too cosy I sneak out through the small backdoor, into my father’s study, the last resort where he spends most of his time nowadays.

From there, there’s a backdoor, yes to another backdoor, dear diary, leading to the true central hall. Our house is built on top of an old dwarven depository that sat itself on top of a depleted mine. This central hall forms together with the kitchen and stables the ‘upright post of the gallow’. Looking right (or ‘North?’) the hall ends with a door to the right to the parallel passage and an exit  to the left towards the staff entry (The third backdoor, our house feels like a collection of backdoors, dear diary). To the left (or ‘South?’) you’ll find the big spiraling staircase, leading both up, to the first and second floor, and down, towards the main room and sleeping quarters. In the middle of the hall there’s our kitchen. All rooms downstairs, together with the kitchen, form my mothers domain, still some of the kitchen staff might dispute this. As the ‘little lady’, I’m tolerated here by both mother and maids, the latter pretending to take orders from me. 

My father rarely descends the spiraling staircase anymore and neither do I, as I have found excuses (‘This document needs to be finished before tomorrow, father has not even started working on it!’) to settle in my study on the second floor. Achieving the privateness to do my own studying, but that’s a story for another time, dear diary.

From the sounds coming from the kitchen I conclude that our staff has reclined there, so let’s not disturb them, dear diary. We’ll use the spiral to move two floors up, towards my study. Only the ‘upright section’ of the first floor is accessible, as the segment above the public parts of the ground floor was broken away to make space for the heads of the tall folks. Leaving a narrow corridor above the parallel hallway, where you can sit and eavesdrop on the conversations taken place below. As I did many times, but that's a story for another time, dear diary.

The second floor is more or less compartmentalized the same way as the ‘crossbeam part’ of the ground floor. As the great hall is missing, both my study (above my father’s study) and the library (above the main office) are bigger than their lower counterparts. My study is so much bigger that a bed was easily fitted in, so I don’t have to use the one in the gnomish part of the house. And it’s here that I have found my kingdom. It’s quiet and dusty, with books and archived scrolls filling the cabinet after cabinet. Neither my parents or staff members will visit this part. Which suits me fine, and dear diary, this will make a perfect hiding place for the both of us. For all that, not the most ‘upper class’ part of the house, but I’m rather ambivalent about the ‘better sort’ of Nook’s gnomes, but that’s a story for another time, dear diary.

And here I will end our tour and the first entry, dear diary. Hope to write to you soon!

Session #3 as told by Finn

 Session #3 as told by Finn

 Read: Session #3 as told by Inez here..

Waiting for Time to Pass

 

Finn sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor of his cell, back propped against the wall, hands resting on his knees. The prison was quiet, save for the distant drip of water and the occasional scurry of rats in the dark.

 

One such rat—a plump little gray thing—sat comfortably on his knee, chewing on a stolen crumb. Finn ran a calloused finger down her back, watching as she twitched her whiskers.

 

“Y’know, Rosslyn,” he murmured, voice thick with years of cheap whiskey and worse decisions, “prison’s mostly just waitin’. Waitin’ for the next meal, the next piss break, the next time they remember you’re rottin’ away in here. Now, me? I don’t mind it much. The old, we’ve already had our stories. No hurry to make new ones. But the young?” He let out a dry chuckle. “The young can’t stand it. They need things to happen. Can’t just sit and let time do what it does.”

 

His fingers drummed against his knee.

 

“Jonathan and Inez—they always needed things to happen.”

 

Rosslyn twitched her tail.

 

Finn exhaled through his nose. “Jonathan, now he was a bloody disaster wrapped up in a cleric’s robes. They don’t always hand out divine wisdom to those with the strongest faith. Sometimes they pick the ones who can take a beating and still get up smiling.” He smirked. “Jonathan could take a lot of beatings.”

 

Rosslyn’s little beady eyes stared at him, unimpressed.

 

“And Inez,” Finn continued, shaking his head, “Inez was somethin’ else. Too sharp for her own good. City girl, through and through, but with a mean streak like a noble’s bastard daughter. Thought she was all refined and proper, ‘til you turned yer back and found her pickin’ a lock or makin’ somethin’ explode. And—” Finn grinned, tapping the side of his nose, “—secretly? Hot as the Nine Hells.”

 

Rosslyn let out a bored little chitter.

 

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Rosslyn. I’m old, not dead.”

 

He let out a breath and tilted his head back against the cold stone.

 

“Anyway. We were out lookin’ for moonstones. A simple job, right? Ha. Ha. Ha.”

 

Jonathan, Inez, and Finn had set up camp in the middle of the fourth field, their tents pitched beside a standing monolith. The moon hung fat and red in the sky, an eclipse creeping across its surface.

 

Jonathan was struggling to get a fire going. Finn was up to his elbows in owlbear guts, cursing his luck. Inez had kept the owlbear chicks around and Finn would fling bits and pieces of their mother at them. The critters had little compunction about eating their mother. Something was said between Inez and Jonathan, and they quickly wandered off to inspect the monolith.

 

“Can’t say I was too bothered about spendin’ a bit of time by myself. Inez never could keep her nose outta things. Somethin’ mysterious shows up, and she’s gotta poke at it like a cat with a bug. See where it gets her and Jonno”

 

Inez pulled out her arcane focus—a fancy little prism—and tried to do a bit of magic—the monolith wasn’t impressed. Meanwhile, Jonathan, in his usual manner, had decided to tempt fate and take a stroll around the stark monolith. Of course, he tripped over a rock and smacked face-first into the dirt.

 

“I’m tellin’ ya, the man had negative survival instincts. If he wasn’t gettin’ hit by somethin’, he’d find a way to trip, fall, or otherwise make life miserable for himself.”

 

Then, the wind shifted. Singing. Soft, eerie, comin’ from the field they’d just left—the one full of spiders. Sounded like marching music, like something was coming.

 

The two city kids were fascinated and moved towards the singing. Finn scowled. “Nope.” Unconsciously putting a hand on his father’s iron medallion hanging from his neck.

 

“We’d best stay put! The Harrows….” Inez, being Inez, ignored him completely and walked off. Jonathan, excitedly, following Inez like it was some grand adventure and spider hadn’t tried to eat him.

 

Finn, cursing under his breath, went after them. But decided to walk just off the road to be able to surprise a—surprise—coming at them.

 

“Bloody city folk—no sense of danger, no survival instinct, just straight-up walkin’ toward the creepy singin’ in the middle of the night like they wanted to die.”

 

Inez and Jonathan followed the song all the way back to the stone field. The stones had started glowin’, eerie blue light flickerin’ between them. Finn, must have caught something from Jonathan, tripped over a bush, tumbled out onto the road, and landed flat on his back beneath Inez’s dress.

 

Inez raised a single, unimpressed eyebrow before pulling him up.

 

“A woman of few words, that one. Except when she was givin’ me a headache.”

 

The field they had passed through with the unassuming stones all over it, now a several stone glowing with an earie blue, milky light.

 

“Guess that old coot in the robes, that was Jonathan’s Gran’pa wasn’t so crazy after all.”

 

Inez tried to pick up one of the glowing moonstones. Didn’t budge. Finn, glancing around at the creepy field, decided speed was of the essence. He didn’t want to stick around for whatever was singing aways further back.

 

“Right,” he muttered. “If I get ye a rock, can we leave?” Inez seemed to agree without too much commitment. Using his knife, Finn pried a stone loose and handed it to her. Strangely, where it had been heavy before and Inez couldn’t lift it, now as it was light as a feather. “As we were trying to decide who was bullshittin’ who”, Jonathan walked up and started yoking about how strong Inez was. “I guess the priest wasn’t just sweet of animals”

 

“Now Rosslyn—you may wonder—why didn’t you collect the moonstones for yourself?”, said Old Finn as he tapped his nose. “A grey stone, that lights up once a month under the Moonlight. Who needs that? A coal can do that too! When you want! And you can cook on coals!” Old Finn looking smugly at the moving rat that was scratching at his shirt.

 

Then Inez, being Inez, decided one stone wasn’t enough. She wanted more. Finn, exasperated, took a bite of his smuggler’s wedge to steady his nerves, turned on his heel and went back to camp.

 

“At this point, I figured, let ‘em have their shiny rocks. I had an owlbear stew to finish. Priorities.”

 

“Now Rosslyn, I’m not certain what happened out there. But when Jonathan and Inez returned, Inez was carrying three moonstones, big smile on her face. Jonathan came back empty handed. And I kid you not; as they walked into camp, the Friggin’ monolith began to lit up, runes burning across its surface!” The ground rumbled. Then, with a deep groan, the stone slid aside, revealing a spiraling staircase leading underground.

 

Jonathan, never one to pass up a terrible idea, yelled “Adventure!” and ran towards the stairs.

 

Finn sighed so hard his soul nearly left his body. “Halflings are supposed to be the sensible ones. I think he missed that particular gene.”

 

Finn cursed and clutched his iron medallion, wincing as it grew hot against his skin—uncomfortably so.

 

Jonathan, always eager for adventure, cast Light on his dart and, ever the optimist, prepared to head down. Inez and Jonathan each took a moonstone. Inez made hers disappear down the front of her dress—like magic—and tried to hand Finn one as well. But between the glowing sigils and his burning medallion, Finn wanted no part of this. Inez simply shrugged and set the largest stone on the ground before taking the medium-sized one for herself.

 

As Jonathan and Inez descended the stairs, Finn—muttering yet another curse—stuffed the large moonstone into his backpack, unwilling to leave it behind. Then, grudgingly, he followed them down.

 

Underground Chamber

The steps were human-sized, forcing Finn to climb down carefully. They led into a round chamber with a stone table in the center, upon which sat three cups of varying sizes.

 

“One thought crept through my head; Had we wondered back into one of Aalborr’s amusement halls?”

 

Cursing himself a fool, he turned to find Jonathan eyeing the whole situation like some grand puzzle, completely missing the gravity of their predicament.

 

Each of the cups matched one of the moonstones they had taken. Jonathan placed his small stone into the smallest cup. Inez hesitated, refusing to part with hers. Finn, with a long-suffering sigh, swung his backpack off his shoulder and pulled out the large stone. He set it snugly into the largest cup. Jonathan and Inez frowned at him.

 

Finn crossed his arms. “What? I thought we might bloody need it.”

 

Finally, Inez relented, placing her stone in the middle cup. The room lit up, and the staircase spun away, and the monolith above slammed shut, sealing them in.

Glancing around; one end of the room had a lever on the floor, opposite the lever on the other end of the room was a door. Jonathan, naturally, tried to open the door and immediately failed. Inez, not understanding the concept of how doors worked, ripped the doorknob off.

 

Finn stared. “Well, guess none of us know how doors work.”

 

The priest of good cheer—Jonathan—walked to the other end, laughing, immediately reached for the lever without a thought or care. Finn grabbed his arm. “Hold on.”

 

“Y’know, because self-preservation.”

 

After a thorough check for traps, Finn, satisfied there was no immediate danger, let Jonathan pull the lever.

 

Nothing.

 

Inez, ever impatient, yanked it back—sending the entire room spinning like a damn carnival ride.

 

Finn, cursing and slightly panicked, turned back to the door. Forget the lever; he could do this the right way. His lockpicks made quick work of it, and the door swung open with no resistance.

 

Beyond was only darkness.

 

Finn called for Jonathan to use his Light-spelled dart to light the way. The dart illuminated little—just a single flagstone. Annoyed, Finn grabbed the dart and tossed it further in. Still, it revealed barely anything before the light flickered out.

 

Inez, fortunately, had the sense to bring torches. Lighting one revealed a corridor leading to another stairway—this time going up.

 

They decided to take the moonstones with them. Strangely, their weights had shifted again. Jonathan found himself unable to lift the smallest one, but Inez, for some reason, could. She looked relieved to tuck it back into her cleavage.

 

“She had this way of keeping things in that dress of hers. I tell you, I saw her pull out an entire focus, two vials of ink, and a bloody notebook one time. Like a wizard’s personal vault, right there on her person. Fascinating woman.”

 

As Inez removed the stone from the cup, the spiral staircase descended once more. “I thought we could get out, but I should have known better.”

 

The Cube

Finn, wanting to get out of this mess, started up the stairs. But Jonathan, ever obsessed with treasure, insisted they explore further.

 

“Treasure?” Finn paused mid-step. Damn it. With a resigned sigh, he turned back, took a bite of cheese, and motioned for Jonathan to lead the way. “If he wanted adventure, he could walk in the front for once.”

 

That’s when they heard it.

 

Then, from the dark corridor beyond, came a wet, flopping sound.

 

Finn’s gut dropped. “Jonathan. Shut the door.”

 

Jonathan froze. And started to call for Inez.

 

“The door, Jonathan!”

 

Too late.

 

A translucent mass lurched out of the darkness—a gelatinous cube. It surged forward, engulfing Jonathan before he could react.

 

Inez, still in control of her senses, yanked the lever. The room spun, and the door slammed shut—and slicing the cube apart.

 

Unfortunately, that meant acid—which Jonathan took directly to the face. The poor bastard collapsed, unconscious. Inez started crying. Finn, cursing his entire existence, grabbed his water flask and started washing away the acid.

 

“A man gets himself melted, and what does she do? Cry. Bloody useless.”

 

“Tear cloth for bandages!” he ordered.

 

Inez, apparently still concerned with decorum, cut strips from Jonathan’s cloak rather than her own dress. “Typical!” Between the two of them, they managed to stabilize Jonathan. But lifting him was another problem. Finn, despite his halfling strength, found him far too dense. Inez, ever resourceful, pulled out an arcane focus and cast Unseen Servant—a ghostly force lifting Jonathan for her.

 

With their unconscious companion floating along, the three—now four—climbed the stairs.

Through sheer stubbornness, they got Jonathan back to camp.

 

A Different World

Emerging at the top, they expected to find their camp. Instead, they stood in the ruins of an unfamiliar place, in a field surrounded by trees. Above them, the moon shone silver—not red.

 

Finn’s medallion still burned against his chest, and now his knives, too, seared his skin. He quickly tucked them away in his satchel. “Let’s find cover,” he said, eyeing the treeline.

 

Jonathan began to stir, prompting Finn to shove a piece of cheese into his mouth. The halfling groaned back to life. Inez, relieved, kissed Jonathan’s forehead. Finn felt an unexpected twinge of jealousy.

 

Then Inez, thinking of her owlbear cubs, mimicked an owlbear’s call. A deep, guttural growl answered. Another call followed.

 

The three exchanged looks.

 

Finn paled. “Back inside. Now.”

 

Finn smirked at Rosslyn. “And that, Rosslyn, is why patience is a virtue.” Rosslyn twitched her whiskers. Finn chuckled, leaned back, and closed his eyes.

Session #3 as told by Inez

Session #3 as told by Inez

Read: Session #3 as told by Finn here

Well dear diary,

We found some moonstones, I have a moonstone, but despite all that, our errand has not been successful, far from it! Let me tell you!

As told before we had made camp at the last field and the halflings had fabricated a campfire from findings at the forest edge. The long awaited moon rose on the horizon, blood red, as if Selûne was fleeing, leaving this night to Shar. That must explain the smiling expression of the Idol that I could see hanging inside my tent. Quick as possible I closed the tent door, as a feeling of edginess crept upon me. Next I  made sure the cubs were alright, finding them like myself snappy, in their case both figuratively and literally, gnawing at my fingers! Was it me, was it the influence of the crimson moon, but the whole atmosphere had turned into an ominous chill. Before walking over to the halflings, I tried to lift my mood: We were going to hunt for moonstone! I would get myself some real magical ingredients to work with!

My companions, however, seemed not that keen on a search for stones of any type. Seated next to the campfire, Finn made remarks in the line of ‘having seen enough adventure for a day’ and ‘these two will cost me my head’... Meanwhile he was deboning the mother Owl Bear, throwing some pieces every now and then to her offspring, who had no problem swallowing these. I could see that this was upsetting Jonathan, so I took the priest with me to the center of the field, where a huge dark stone was standing on its own. The black monolith stood against the orange sky, void of any markings that could reveal its purpose. Against better judgment I attempted to cast the one spell that, well at least at home, I had more or less mastered, trying to find any clues on the stone. Using the little shard of crystal I scanned the surface, finding a pattern of runes that made no sense to me at all. With Jonathan interfering, asking what I was doing, I gave up in frustration, following him on the path upwards to the moonstone fields.

As we walked on, it seemed like in the distance, marching songs were sung or played from the other side of the hummock. It asked the halflings if they too heard this strange chanting. Both confirmed, and Finn warned us to be careful, like we were toddlers making our first steps! Both Jonathan, who was by now almost on top of the ridge and I, both ignored our  perpetually displeased associate. Jonathan now called out, reporting that he saw a field filled with Goodberry Bites, some glowing up in the dark. Those halflings relate anything to food or candy, dear diary!

As I dashed up to look for myself, I was almost frightened to death as from the bushes a figure jumped me, crashing right in front of my feet. As I looked down, I saw that it was Finn, who apparently had wanted to keep an eye on us (or just me, dear diary?) in secret. The great rogue he is, he failed miserably and now lay in front of me, staring under my skirt. As he looked even more embarrassed than me, I left it with a remark: “Dear halfling, I thought you had some more style! Though, I suppose a little peek never hurt anyone... except maybe your pride?" I even helped him up, offering my hand, which I regretted immediately as his hands were still bloodied by the boning of the cadaver. Cussing under my breath I cleaned my hands with the help of some grass.

Finn and I were now following Jonathan into the third field, where some of the stones (no candy in sight!) were glowing softly in a blue hue. Once more ignoring Finn, who urged us to stay on the path, I walked towards the nearest gleaming gem. As I tried to pick it up, I found it stuck to the ground, no matter how hard I tried. Frustratingly I had to ask close-at-hand Finn to help me, which he hesitantly did, after I promised him that with one stone I would be content and would follow him back to the camp. Of course, with just a few strokes of his knife he cut it loose, and handed it to me with both hands: “Here it is, be careful princess, don’t know why you needed me, it came off like the cork of a bottle of ‘Second Breakfast Brew’! However, it’s quite heavy, so handle it carefully!”. As I took it up, I had no problem lifting it with one hand, holding it in my palm to examine it. Finn and I stared at each other irked, probing if the other was serious or was trying to make one look like a fool. This contest was broken up by Jonathans joking at the expense of Fynn that a gnomish girl like me was stronger than the halfling rogue! 

Finn's irritation grew even more as his guidance and alerts were further ignored by Jonathan, who was walking further towards the next fields, and me, moving greedily towards the next glowing stone. Gesturing and biting his necklace, walking back and forth, Finn was having a bad day. I, on the other hand, was getting in a much better mood, as magical stones were lying around me for the picking! Sweet diary, I know I had promised, but those stones, they were beautiful and radiating magic, I just had to have them! The second moonstone was pluckable without the help of Finn or anyone, just a small one, but still a beauty! Then I went for the third, the biggest one, with my left hand; it turned out to be an awkward shaped one, appearing to be hollow, but glowing all the same. Showing them to Finn, he lost his last interest as he could not determine the value of these strange gemstones and decided to retreat to our camp. ‘A halfling on an empty stomach is harder to appease than a gnome woman.’ my father used to say, often followed by ‘with the exception of a certain young gnomish lady’ (Haha, father).

With Finn away, Jonathan came over, drawing my attention to our surroundings, as the strange music had stopped, and the other moonstones had stopped glowing. The priest asked me then if he could look at one of the stones, extending his hand. Dear diary, I’m ashamed to admit, but it took me a force of will to hand over the smallest stone to Jonathan. Jonathan, the most trustworthy soul I’ve ever met! Still, the stones felt that precious to me! After looking at it, he just smiled and gave it back, without saying a word (making me feeling even more guilty). Staring at the stones in my hands, I followed him back to the camp.

Arriving at our tents, we found Finn staring at the monolith. The black stone had started to vibrate lightly and the runes that I had managed to read with my spell, were now lighting up like a tinker's spark on a new gear. Both the halflings turned on me when I told them that I had seen those runes earlier, and maybe (Just maybe, diary) they had a point in that I should have shared that knowledge, but I was not having it. Luckily (?), the black statue started to drone like a dwarven water pump, preventing us from having a serious row. A scraping sound signalled the slow shifting of the stone away from us, exposing an opening where it once stood. It then ended its move with dry cracking noises, like skeleton hands were obstructing further .

All of the night Finn had not been his jovial self, biting his medaillon, and now he seemed at the verge of panic. Jonathan on the other hand looked overjoyed, using his priestly magic to light up a dart (The natural, easy looking way of him performing magic making me jealous again), revealing a staircase leading down into the hole. He gestured to me to follow him down, but to do so, I had to clear my hands of moonstones. The smallest one was easily secured, placing it within my cleavage, the second one I handed once more to Jonathan, who stored it in his backpack. The third and biggest one I just placed on the ground, hopefully I would be able to pick it up later. Satisfied with myself that I was able to part with the gems, I nodded to Jonathan. “Adventure!” he screamed, amazing me and shocking Finn even further, then he descended the stairs.

All in all we had to negotiate thirty to forty stair steps, human sized, before we reached the floor of a room. A stone table could be seen by the light of the dart, with three ceramic bowls placed on it (Once more a test devised by Aalborr?) was the only furniture. Despite being underground, the room did not smell moist or dampen. Rather it smelled and felt unnatural, like a perfume bottled by a witch. As Finn entered the room, stepping from the last stair, the staircase spun up and higher up, we could hear the monolith returning to its original position, sealing us in. Before I had the time to panic or despair, Jonathan was once more yelling, claiming he had found the solution to the puzzle. He placed the moonstone I had given him into the mid sized bowl, gave me a friendly punch, and suggested ‘Inez, you have to place the small one in the tiny bowl.’ Reluctantly I moved the gem from my dress, then replied: “But the third stone, I left it in the field upstairs”. Upon which Finn sighed, revealing the third stone, like he was the greatest hero instead of a savvy larcener, then placing it haughtily in the biggest bowl. With both men now staring at me, as if it was me who was causing problems, I unwillingly placed the last stone into the indicated bowl.

As the room now filled with light, like the walls were radiating it by themselves, the staircase started spinning and retracted upwards. Above us we could here the monolith move back, locking us in! A stream of curses was produced by Finn, luckily he got no magical or priestly powers, otherwise this gnome would have been transformed to an Owl Bear chick, dear diary. Thanks to Jonathan taking the brunt of the reproaches and reassuring Finn that it would turn out alright, he came back to his senses. 

The artificial light revealed a fully round interior. Besides the table there was a door on one side and a lever attached to some mechanism on the opposing side. As I was standing closest, I walked over to the door, but failed to open it. Even worse, I broke off the handle, driving Finn to once more burning his fingers on his boiling amulet. Jonathan joked about the lack of strength of his halfling companion compared to his gnomish girly one. Which both Finn and I did not take as a compliment.

Continuing in his all too cheerful mode, Jonathan walked over to the lever. Finn blocked him before he could manipulate it. The rogue insisted on checking for traps before the lever was pulled. And suddenly nothing happened. Both men were still staring at the lever as I wandered over, and though it was evidently not a gnomish construct, I reckoned pulling it back could possibly do the trick. And sure it did, the full room started spinning like the Cogwheel Carousel at the Nook carnival. When it stopped all three of us were certain of one thing: we had no clue how far we had diverted...

It was all too much for Finn, who while cursing gods, the city of Nook, his choice of friends, and the ignorance of a certain gnomish lady (No points for him there, dear diary) rushed over to the door and started to work on the lock. Incredibly, within the nick of time a ‘click’ could be heard and the door opened. Nevertheless it just revealed a pitch-dark passage. Jonathan handed him the dart, but as the magic was waning, it did not uncover much as Finn threw it into the walkway. As I revealed the torches I brought with me, Finn finally acknowledged that I brought some value to this party (Well, well). Using one to illuminate the corridor, we found that it led to another stairway, going up. We decided to try our luck with that one.

But I could not leave without at least one moonstone. Strangely, Jonathan failed to pick up the smallest one, where I could without difficulty, placing it back where it belonged, dear diary. Curiously, as the stone left the bowl, the original staircase descended as called for. 

One halfling, Finn, wanted to leave immediately, using the original one, while the other, Jonathan, was insisting on exploring the second stairs. The promise of treasure managed to convince Finn, but not with much enthusiasm. “You lead,” he insisted, pointing Jonathan towards the door. The halfling priest looked excited and enthusiastically got out in front. Finn followed him, obviously reluctantly, but still gestured to me to form the rearguard. The moment Joanathan crossed the doorstep, the sound of drizzling bounces could be heard. “Close the door, close the door now!” Finn was yelling, as a gelatinous cube attacked Jonathan. From somewhere an idea sprung up in my mind, and I raced for the lever, giving it the hardest pull I could muster. The room started spinning again, forcibly slamming the door shut and crushing the cube before it could enter the room. 

For a moment I felt heroic, as I had saved the day with my action. Then I saw Jonathan, who had been splattered with the acid remains of the cube! He laid on the floor, deader than a broken cogwheel. My stomach turned at the sight! Kneeling near him, I started crying, feeling responsible for his death. If only I had not pulled that lever, or even better, had aligned with Finn and had returned to our camp! Even though I had a moonstone already, why did I want to go exploring this hallway? Little lady Wishwinder, my mother would have said! And this was a real dungeon, not just a racing track set out underneath the city’s tavern! And now this poor halfing was lying there, like a broken Cogsorrow, just because I had lured him to join me...”

Then I was pushed out of it by Finn, shaking me forcefully: “Come on, we need to help him! Let me clean his wounds, while you search for bandages”. Together we started working, Finn using water to remove cuby acid, I using a dagger to cut bandages out of Jonathan’s cloak. (I know, I know, sweet diary, could have cut those of my dress, but this is a ‘The Upper Gear’ dress. And that cloak would not miss a piece, where this dress would have ruined. Case closed.) 

We decided on trying to get him and us out, using the stairs. But even a not too stout halfling as Jonathan is quite a load. Desperately I decided to cast a spell to help us, and once more I amazed myself, as I not only succeeded in evoking a servant, but also was able to sustain the spell for the whole ascend! From the bottom of the stairs, with each step, I was mumbling prayers to Azuth: “Please help me help my friend, ..”, concentrating on my task to control the magic energy and the floating body of Jonathan, while climbing up. Eventually we reached the top, and with my last breath and magical strength I settled Jonathan on the stone floor. The unconscious halfling was still breathing and I muttered a prayer of thanks. All I could think of was how I was liable for his condition, regretting all the stupid things I had done the last couple of days. Sweet diary, I almost prayed to Helm to take me back to my parents in Nook!

Till then I had been completely oblivious of my surroundings, but Finn poking and shouting at me made me aware that, well, that we were not where we were supposed to be! A big yellow moon shone its light at the ruins of an unfamiliar building.You’re right, dear diary, never before I left my hometown, so practically any building would look unfamiliar to me. What I meant was that we had never seen this ruin before!  Looking around past the crumbled walls there was a field, bordered by trees. No sign of the monolith or our camp! Finn was walking round us like a sentry, fiddling with his medaillon, then his knives, claiming these were boiling hot, then cussing and cursing, all of a sudden stating loudly: “Let’s find cover!”. Kneeling down next to the priest and me, he place a piece of his terrible reeking cheese under Jonathan's nose. Evidently inventing cheese magic, as the knocked out halfling bestirred and even ate the piece of cheese! Overcome with joy I kissed Jonathan on the forehead as he opened his eyes. Oh, dear diary, I could have kissed both men, and more, but Finn’s stern look made me stop (or was he just jealous)!

Apologetic I stood up and tried to make sense of our situation. A great idea came to my mind: I could call on the Owl Bear cubs! The past day I had trained them more or less successfully to gather at my whistle. Hence, I blew on my fingers, producing a harsh shrill sound as loud as I could. All too successful, as it was answered, but not by the cubs. A deep growling reaction came from out of the woods, followed by the sound of wings sweeping. “Back inside. Now!” Finn pushed us back towards the stairway down. “Can you walk?” I asked Jonathan, “Will manage, I think” came his reply. I let him and Finn pass, Finn taking the lead downwards, once more carrying the torch. Following them, I closed the hatch, hopefully preventing any the incoming Owl Bear of following us.

And that is how we ended up back in the round room, dear diary. Hopefully we’ll find us a way back to our camp and the cubs. For now, we’re stuck...

Prequel: "The Harrows", a ghost story by Finn Slynt

 Old Finn’s Story to Roslynn: “The Harrows”

The prison was quiet except for the occasional dripping of water and the shuffling of guards outside. Finn sat on the cold stone floor, arms folded, back against the bars. The dim torchlight flickered, casting restless shadows over his face. He sighed, rubbing a calloused thumb over his knuckles before glancing at Roslynn.

“You ever hear about the Harrows?” he asked, voice low, as if someone else might be listening. “They say they whisper to you from the dark, call your name just quiet enough that you think it’s in your own head.” He smirked, but there was something wary in his expression, like a man who still checked under his bed after all these years.

He pulled a small pendant from under his collar, the worn metal glinting in the low light. He turned it over between his fingers, then tucked it away.

“Back when I was just a runt in the Shambles, my father Hessan disappeared.” He let that hang in the air for a moment, watching Roslynn’s reaction. “No one knew what happened to him. Some said he ran off with a fortune in stolen gold, left us behind like smoke in the wind. Others figured he crossed the wrong folk and got himself dumped in the harbor with his pockets full of rocks.”

Finn tapped his fingers against the floor. “But the neighbors, the old ones - they swore it was the Harrows. Said the tunnels beneath Nook were cursed, that something down there didn’t like people poking around. They whispered about smugglers and beggars who’d wandered too deep and never come back. Some of them kept iron under their pillows, others left salt by their doors.” 

“I was stubborn back then. Everyone was talkin’ about my father, and none of them knew. So, I decided I’d go down there myself. Find out what happened.” 

Old Finn leaned his head back against the prison bars, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. "See, when you grow up in the Shambles, you learn quick - there's what's true, and then there's what's useful to believe. And when you're ten years old, scared outta your wits but too stubborn to admit it, you take every bit of useful you can get."

He reached into his shirt again, fingers brushing the iron amulet at his chest. "If the old folk swore by cold iron and salt to keep the Harrows at bay, you need to pay attention. Now, I didn't know what I'd find down there in the tunnels, but I knew I wasn't about to face it empty-handed."

He gave Roslynn a pointed look. "So I took my father's iron, because iron holds the line. And I nicked a packet of salt from my ma's kitchen, because if the Harrows came whispering, I wanted something to throw in their damned faces."

Found my way into the smuggler tunnels near the riverside. Now, I’d played around those caves before, but we were never allowed to go in too deep. It got cold the further in I went, and the air started to feel thick, like I was breathing in something that didn’t want me there.”

He glanced at Roslynn, raising an eyebrow. “Then I heard them.”

A long pause.

“They don’t call to you like a man would. It’s more like a breath at the back of your neck, like someone whispering just out of earshot. Soft, scraping sounds on stone. I should’ve turned back, but I was my father’s son, wasn’t I?”

His smirk returned, but it was a ghost of itself.

“Then the damn screamer mushrooms started howling. Near jumped out of my skin.” He chuckled. “I bolted straight into a cavern, nearly dropped my torch. And that’s when I saw it.”

Finn tapped his temple. “Now, I know what I saw. Folk can say what they want, but it wasn’t a man. It was something else. Bigger than me by a mile, hunched, it appeared to be stitched together like someone had built it out of spare parts. Patches of fur, scaled skin, hands too long for its body, too many teeth in its mouth. And the smell - like wet stone and old blood.”

He exhaled, shaking his head. “It wasn’t some restless spirit, but I’ll tell you, Ros, that didn’t make me feel any better about it.”

She didn’t interrupt. She was listening now, really listening. Her beady eyes watching Finn with intent.

Finn grinned. “So, there I was, a skinny little rat with nothing but a torch and an iron trinket against a monster in the dark. But I knew one thing - monsters are greedy.” He tilted his head. “I pulled out my Pa’s amulet and made sure it caught the light of the torch. The thing took one look at me, then at my neck.” He mimed a grasping motion. “It wanted my amulet. I knew if it got close enough, I’d never be fast enough to keep it.”

“So, I told it; I have more." And I pulled out my ma’s packet of salt. "Let me show you the good stuff." 

And as I pulled open the packet, as the thing leaned in, I threw the salt into its eyes and made a break for it.

Finn ran, heart hammering against his ribs. The tunnels twisted around him, unfamiliar in the flickering torchlight. Behind him, the mongrelman followed, its patchwork limbs scuttling over the rock with unnatural speed.

He clutched his father’s iron amulet as he ducked into a narrow passage. He had to think.

Then an idea sparked. As he sprinted forward, Finn ripped a copper button from his coat, rolling it between his fingers. If he did it just right. The passage suddenly widened into a low cavern, and Finn saw his chance. He faked a stumble, twisting his body as if he had just yanked the amulet from his neck and thrown it. The button flew through the air, spinning, gleaming - The mongrelman lunged.

Its clawed fingers snatched the button midair, triumph flashing in its sunken eyes. 

And then - a sickly pop.

The air surrounding the creature filled with a thick, choking cloud, and then - nothing. Silence. Like the whole world just stopped breathing.” He let that sit for a moment. “There he was - frozen, mid-step. Eyes wide, body locked up tight, like someone had pulled the strings from a puppet. A statue in a field of mushrooms”

Finn crouched, watching in stunned silence. He hadn’t done that. He hadn’t even touched it. Something shifted in the cavern beyond. A flicker of movement. Shuffling shadows. A presence just beyond the torchlight. 

Finn was certain he heard the Harrows start to whispers again.

He didn’t wait to see what it was. He ran back the way he had come. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw shadows surround the paralyzed creature.

Old Finn went quiet, lost in thought - his eyes focused on something far, far away. Then he snapped back, focused his eyes on Roslynn intently, tapped the side of his head.

“But I tell you, Ros - I still heard breathing. Even when I was back in the Shambles, even when I was safe in my bed. I heard breathing in the dark.” He glanced at her sideways, waiting. Then he grinned, nudging her with his finger. “Now, don’t go losing sleep over it, girl. The Harrows take their due, one way or another.”

He leaned his head back against the bars, closing his eyes.

“And that, Roslynn, is why you always carry iron.”

Prequel: “Freeday School Shenanigans: The Day Jonathan’s Goose Saved the Day (Inez's version)

Prequel:  “Freeday School Shenanigans: The Day Jonathan’s Goose Saved the Day (Inez's version)

Read Finn's version here...

Dear diary,

As it was Freeday I had to get out of bed early! While the rest of Nook was still sleeping, I took a bath in preparation of being made up by the maids. Then as the warpaint had been applied, I dressed myself in a (very!) decent dress and presented myself to my mother, who had to approve of my looks before I was allowed to leave for the so-called ‘The Free Library of Oghma’. 

If only it would have been a true library! Instead it was a weekly seminary in a small building next to the temple of Oghma. Some well-off families of all the three prevailing races (humans, dwarfs, gnomes) of Nook financed it and sent in their children. Which meant that I, as a to-be-bride of one of these gnome children, was sent there as well by my parents. Of course, I had to be properly dressed for the occasion, modest but stylish, as this was supposed to please both purse bearers, clerics, teachers and a god. So all buttons tight up and toned down makeup, not the glitter and metallic accents that made me shine on banquets. And certainly no showing of anything indecent!

Such hypocrites, as during working days they have me serve drinks to my father’s customers wearing dresses with ‘proper’ view of my chest. Especially when old Goldwhisk and his retinue was in, my father’s propositions needed visual support. Just before opening the door to the office for me, mother would eye me up and down as I was holding the tray with drinks, then undo the top buttons of my dress: “Without light, even the most beautiful diamond is just another stone!” Abusing the situation and this old Gnomish saying!  Oh diary, I learnt to maneuver through those ogling old men, keeping out of reach of hands. (After so many rounds of drinks my mother would send in Hazel or Zibella instead, and me to my room). 

Almost flattering and certainly amazing, was that me dishing out was appreciated not only by gnome clientele, but by dwarven (not that surprising), humans (a huge surprise, pun intended) and halflings (Too many surprises there!). 

Let’s return to today and the ‘Free Library’, dear diary. I always make sure to be early, to dodge bullies on the way in and to find a seat next to one more good-natured student, preferably of the same gender as me. As the offspring of the well-off had reserved places on the front ranks, and the rank of my family only granted that I was allowed in but not to pick a place until all of them were seated, that could not be guaranteed. Today I was in luck, as the place next to Thorga Deephelm was empty. She is a dwarven lady, from a prominent family, and we had come to an agreement: In exchange for me doing her assignments in class, she would escort me home safely. Very much to my advantage, as I learnt to write Dwarven runes well enough to fool our teachers into thinking that it was her work!

However, it turned out that I had cheered too early. At the end of the day’s classes, Thorga informed me that she would not be able to walk me home, as her family would pick her up directly after to visit another dwarven household. She was in the same circumstances as me, her short red blond beard was to be shown off in search for a proper suitor. Dear diary, I was not sure who I pitied most. Poor Thorga or myself, as I had both annoyed teachers and classmates with my wit, being confident that a dwarven bodyguard would be at my disposal. Things were looking grim...

As the lessons ended, we were sent out to the schoolyard, where I tried to make a run for it, but it was to no avail. Thrainna Stonebrow, the dwarven opposite of Thorga, stood before me, blocking the way to the gates! And when there’s one, there are three: Her friends Pipka and Trixie were standing beside her. Our local chimera had found me! An odd chimera, as each of its heads was half a feet higher: a halfling one, a gnome one and a dwarven one.

As always, Pipka Quickwit took the lead. A vagrant halfling from the Slynt clan, she ruled the schoolyard like a queen bee. “Hey, why are you leaving so soon, book girl? Do you need to bring your father his booze?” I fumed, as her taunt had too much truth in it. And there was not much I could do about it, even in an honest fight I would have been bested. “I think he can wait a bit, why don't you hang around a bit with your friends.” “Well Pipka, as long as he does not drink at your mother’s place there’s not much harm in it!” I heard myself say, overstepping, and enraging the girl. ‘Spicing up a fizzing potion.’ my mother would have said, my dear diary, a small reminder of her clan roots.  “Oh, please, you ink-blooded weasel!” Pipka erupted, spitting at me both verbally and literally. “You could prance around in silks and perfume all you want, and you’d still look like a painted-up mushroom cap with legs. Do you really think anyone’s looking at you like that? Even the drunkest dwarf in the tavern would take one glance and choose his own hand instead. Face it—you’re not charming, you’re not alluring, you’re just there, like a wobbling little toad that won’t stop croaking.”  With that the third one, Trixie Rattlecog, a proud member of the Fizzlebang Clan (As such a thing is possible), joined in: “Yes you succubus! You think you can steal Peredrin from me!”. 

Dear diary, I was as confused as you are! Peredrin? Peredrin Varnabus Evergleam? For two weekends in a row I had spent my Freeday afternoon with this high-class gnome youngling. The two of us sitting separately at our own table, but always within sight of the families. Bored me to death, as he kept on rambling about his collection of clockworks and watches - not having a clue about their inner workings or magical components, what could have been interesting, no no, just about their value and their ornamentation of rare metals and gemstones. After some unsuccessful attempts to change the subject, I gave up and faked some mild interest, keeping up appearances. In his defense (or did this make him even worse?): He did not once try to peek inside my low-cut garment. Exactly what my parents were looking for: A young, well-educated gnome whose family see me as a ‘stabilizing influence’ and an asset to their intellectual lineage. ‘Stabilising influence’, dear diary, if only they knew of my nightly studies in wizardry!

“Peredrin can talk of nothing else about how nice you are! And how good this or that watch would look on you! And I see what you’re doing—batting those little beady eyes, fussing over your ridiculous curls, like some desperate tavern wench who thinks she can flirt her way out of being forgettable. Hate to break it to you, but no matter how much you prance and preen, you’ll always just be a squat little sideshow act.” Trixie was still rattling, this time she was really, really upset with me!

“And the only thing you stick your head in are books!” Then she  reached out and got hold of my schoolbook!  The moment I stepped forward to seize it back, Thrainna pushed me back, and despite I succeeded in keeping upright, hitting the wall was still painful. If only Thorga was here! But, dear diary, I had to face this threat alone. Not much hope for support, as we were in a quiet corner of the yard and mostly surrounded by great folk, who would look at us and consider it child's play! Look at those little gnomes playing together. Well look how nice that one makes confetti out of that schoolbook...

Miraculously help was under way in the most unexpected form! Jonathan, a halfling who I knew only because he delivered vegetables to our cooks every now and then, stepped in. He just walked up to them and proclaimed: “Maybe, um… maybe you should leave her alone?” I mean, pickin’ on people isn’t very nice. Chislev teaches that, uh, we should be kind to all livin’ things.” mThe three vixens were completely baffled at first, until they realized that this guy was no match for them. Trixie dropped my book and turned to face the newcomer and the other two girls followed her example, encircling the priest. “Aww, look, it’s the little farmer boy come to rescue the gnome!” Pipka sneered: “You gonna read us a bedtime story, too?” added Trixie snickering. Even Thrainna  managed to add a little insult: “Or are you just gonna trip over your own feet again?” Not very creative, as Jonathan was known for his peculiar way of walking. Meanwhile I had picked up the book and was considering my next move. Running would be wise, however I felt I could not leave my aegis to face this group alone. 

Turned out he was not alone! A strange deep ‘honk’ sounded followed by the sound of flapping wings. The giant goose that often was seen following the halfling around town, had taken off and was now diving in on us! Fortunately I was not her target, but Pipka was. At the last possible moment the bird changed course into a steep climb, missing us with its body, but hitting Pipka straight in the face with goose droppings. Oh sweet diary, such delicate droppings it were! It was like the great Roc had released itself on the spot!

Pipka's upper body and face were covered with manure! Friendly Thrainna started to wipe it away, only to be rewarded by the embarrassed and angry halfling with a handful in her face. The chimera fell apart as Trixie beat a hasty retreat, the other two heads of the monster following in her path. As I watched them leave and heard Jonathan stammering excuses to the girls, commands to the goose and prayers to goddess Chislev, I started laughing. First a modest giggle, then breaking up, bursting into an unbridled laughter.

Catching my breath I looked up to find the schoolyard mostly deserted. All of the small folk had gone,ran off to spread the incredible story of the goose that beat the chimera. Some humans and dwarves had remained not paying attention anymore to the aftermath of this battle. Turning round I searched for the two heroes, finding them in animated discussion, if a halfling and a goose could be. 

I walked over and introduced myself (to the halfling, not to the goose). The conversation that unfolded was as strange as the one Jonathan had before with the goose. As I tried to make clear that I was very grateful for saving me, he was apologising for the behaviour of Gertrude (the goose), his failure to bring peace, his ambition to become a priest of Chislev. Personally I was getting a bit annoyed by his failure to notice a not that bad looking gnome lady standing in front of him. Then an inkling came over me, dear diary, which I couldn't stop. Lying a finger on his mouth, I ended his preaching. Then, before he could react, I kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, my priest and saviour” was what I whispered in his ear, followed by a hasty retreat, leaving him and the goose behind.

And that, my dear diary, was how a goose saved my day (and  I kissed a halfling in public!)

Prequel: Finn’s First Stint: The Teachings of Old Grint

Prequel: Finn’s First Stint: The Teachings of Old Grint

The mess hall was its usual stew of sweat, smoke, and unwashed bodies.

Finn sat in his spot, tearing off a piece of stale bread and dunking it into a bowl of gray slop. It was better not to think too hard about what was in it. Across the hall, a scrawny human kid — maybe sixteen, still growing into his bones — was backed into a corner by a squat, frog—faced brute. A bullywug.
Finn watched as the warty bastard patted the kid down, webbed fingers searching for anything worth taking. The boy didn’t fight back. Just stared at the ground and took it.
Finn exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Never changes, does it?” he muttered, scratching Roslynn’s chin as she poked her head out of his coat pocket.

The rat twitched her whiskers.

He leaned back, rolling a piece of bread between his fingers as the memories crept in. Finn smirked. “This lot thinks they invented the game.” He nodded toward the scene across the hall. “Same old story. The weak get picked apart. The strong keep taking. Reminds me of my first run in a place like this.”

His fingers absently brushed over Roslynn’s fur as he let himself slip back into the past.

It always started with Old Grint.

Grint Thornedyke — grizzled, limping, and pious as a priest to anyone who didn’t know better. To the city, he was a saint, taking in wayward children and offering them food, shelter, and guidance. But behind closed doors, the orphanage was a factory, and he was the master craftsman. He took in the unwanted, the discarded — kids with nowhere else to go. Then he shaped them into tools. Pickpockets. Burglars. Lockpickers. Cutpurses. If you were nimble — fingered, you were trained for subtlety. If you were strong, you were trained to break noses. And if you had nothing but fear in your belly, well — Grint made sure you learned to use that, too.

Finn had arrived at Old Grint’s in his early teens, just after his pop had died. His ma, lost in grief, had turned to Auntie Greer’s mushroom Foofoo dust for comfort, leaving Finn to the mercy of Nook’s streets. Auntie Greer Slynt had arranged his placement with Grint, though Finn never knew what bargain had been struck. Ma had cost the Slynt family a lot of money when she had let it spill that the cock fights the Slynts organized were staged. Maybe Finn’s exile was his punishment for her sins.

What mattered was that, in Grint’s care, mercy was a luxury.
“You think the world owes you something, boy?”

Finn still remembered the way Grint’s voice cut through the cold air of the orphanage’s back room. The Firbolg’s towering frame leaned heavily on his iron cane, his weathered smile never quite reaching his eyes.

“It doesn’t,” Grint continued. “You take what you can, while you can, and you leave the rest to the fools who think the law will save them.”

Finn learned quick; he became one of the orphanage’s twitchers. He could lift a coin purse when a mark was distracted, cut a satchel strap in a blink. He thought that was enough to stay in Old Grint’s good graces. Then he had a bad run. Three days. No good marks. Came back empty handed. Grint didn’t yell. Didn’t even look angry. It was just time to give Finn a life lesson as only Grint could teach it.
He had Calder drag him into the cellar and shove him into a cage. Finn had just started demanding to be let out when they threw Kip in with him. His stomach sank.

“See, Ros,” he muttered. “That’s when I got the real lesson.”

Grint crouched in front of the cage, tapping his iron cane against the bars. “See, boy,” he said, voice smooth and even. “It ain’t just about you. You fail, your friends suffer. That’s how the world works.” And with that, he left. Finn went to sleep hungry that night. So did Kip.
By the second day, hunger was a living thing, twisting inside Finn’s gut. Kip had it worse — smaller than Finn, already rail—thin to begin with.

Then the cage door swung open.

Finn barely managed to get to his feet. Grint watched him, hands folded over his cane.
“Go get something to eat, Finn” he said mildly. “Out there, the world is your kitchen.” Pointing to beyond the door. “But we have no place for the weak, you no longer welcome in this house. You want your friend to eat? Well, you’re going to have to show us you have what it takes, because we are not letting you back in here.”

“Yeah, Ros,” he muttered, running a thumb along the table. “You can imagine how that went.”

Getting food in Nook wasn’t an issue, getting past the ready waiting enforcers was impossible in the creaky old orphanage. Every time they’d catch Finn, eat the food he’d brought and give him a beating for good measure. Three days of this. By the end, Kip was so weak he could barely sit up. That’s when Grint let him out. Not because he had a heart. Because he knew we’d learned.

“Willa had to take care of us for a week after that, we were both a mess. “

That should’ve been the end of it. But Grint had one more lesson. “Kindness makes you weak.” Finn swallowed, tapping his spoon against the edge of the bowl.

“That’s the one that really sticks, Ros.” He scoffed. “You ever notice how people don’t like being reminded that they’ve got hearts?”

“That old bastard Grint may have had a predatory instinct to sniff out the kind—hearted. I don’t know, maybe he just had eyes everywhere.” Finn subconsciously touched his iron amulet. “The coincidence of it all always seemed too great! Just like he knew.”

Coming back from an errant in the Shambles, the Slynt family’s caravan park at the edge of Nook, Finn liked to pass through the old neighborhood around the old Temple of Oghma. He enjoyed the quiet and peacefulness; there was always noise in the orphanage. One day he’d came across a redheaded gnome girl crying, trying to pick herself off from the floor. Her books scattered around her. Her hair had been pulled from her braid and she looked like she’d been slapped with an open hand. Finn had gotten good at spotting those type of marks; he had seen them in the mirror.

In the distance three other girls were walking off, two of the small folk and one build like an ox with a five o’clock shadow on her cheeks. Typical Dwarf girl.
“They have it out for ya?”, Finn asked. “Hmm, you should hide next time. If you can’t; either make sure you have something to beat them back or get someone else to do it for ya. That’s all there is you can do.”

They chatted and despite their differences, Finn took a liking to this upper-class girl who normally would have been a mark for him. He had noted her fine clothing, jewelry, and expensive contents of her backpack, but felt bad for her and didn’t want to pile more misery onto her. He said his goodbyes and left but couldn’t shake the feeling there was something amiss.

As it was Freeday; Old Grint went to attend a church-service like he did every Freeday. He typically attended service with most children to present the idea that they were all there. But a few kids were assigned marks in Nook, usually houses from people attending the church-service as well. Finn was assigned a house and breaking in was kid’s play. But as he stalked through the house, he realized whom the owner of the house was. It was a widow, a friendly Dwarf lady who always had a kind word for him. Someone who had taken pity on him at the festival of Saint Morrin, the lantern Bearer. Finn had stood at the edge of the crowd, stomach hollow as other people feasted. The scent of roasted nuts and spiced cider curled through the air, warm and rich, but it did nothing to fill his stomach. The old lady had spotted him and given him a candied apple, her cup of spiced cider and a few kind words. He never had had such a treat and would never forget that moment.

And just like that, he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t take from someone who had treated him with such kindness. So he turned away.

And Calder was waiting. Finn didn’t even make it back inside before the beating started.
Fists and boots rained down. When they dragged him in front of Grint, Finn barely had the strength to lift his head.

“You think the world owes you something, boy?” Grint’s voice was mild. Like he was correcting a child’s manners. “It doesn’t.”

Finn spat blood onto the floor. Grint leaned on his cane. “You take what you can, while you can,” he said. “And you leave the rest to the fools who think the law will save them.”
Finn knew what came next. Grint wasn’t going to punish him. He was going to punish someone else. Kip. Willa. Finn had failed, and now they were going to suffer for it.

But it didn’t come as expected. The next night, Finn did what he was told. Calder knocked down a man in the middle of the street, hit him over the head with a cudgel. Finn lifted the coin purse off the prone man. Didn’t hesitate this time. But something was wrong. Too quiet. Then he saw Calder. Standing in the alleyway. Smirking.

Finn didn’t even have time to run before the City Guard was on him. Felt rough hands grab him, twisting his arms behind his back. The world spun as they threw him onto the cobblestones. A rough voice barked orders. Calder just whistled and walked away.
It was a setup.

The only mercy was that the magistrate took one look at Finn — small, underfed, and unlucky — and decided he wasn’t worth a long sentence.

Just a year.

A year to learn exactly what Old Grint had been trying to teach him all along.
Prison was a different kind of orphanage.

The rules were the same. The strong took from the weak. The weak either learned to survive, or they didn’t. Finn, being small and new, was an easy target.
The first few weeks were the worst. He was singled out for his food, pushed into “chores” he didn’t want to do, knocked around by prisoners who wanted to prove a point.

But he wasn’t entirely alone.

Old Wren, a wiry half — orc with a scarred face, took an interest in him. Not out of kindness, but because Finn amused him. “You got some fight in you,” Wren had said, after Finn had tried (and failed) to hold his ground against a gang of older inmates. “You just don’t know where to put it yet.” Wren taught him a few things — how to keep his head down when he needed to, how to stand his ground when he had no other choice. How to hide a shiv in plain sight. And so Finn survived. By the time his year was up, he wasn’t the same kid who had been dragged in.

When he got out, Old Grint was gone. The City Guard had raided the orphanage.

Grint had gotten greedy — overextended himself, sent his orphans into the wrong houses. When the rich started to complain, the guard followed the trail straight to the orphanage. They found everything. The stolen goods, the records, the hidden caches of coin.
Grint, of course, was nowhere to be found. Calder had gone with him.

Willa and Kip — somehow, they had slipped through the cracks. Finn found them in a ramshackle house at the edge of Nook. Kip and Willa had built something for themselves — something that wasn’t just survival, something real. And when Finn showed up, thinner, harder, and carrying the weight of a year inside, they didn’t ask what happened. Didn’t need to. They just let him in. No questions. No debts. Just home.

Back in the present, Finn blinked, shaking himself free of the past. The mess hall was still buzzing. The young prisoner had disappeared. Maybe he’d gotten away. Maybe he hadn’t. Didn’t matter.

Finn glanced down at Roslynn, whose small black eyes gleamed up at him.“You ever think about how lucky you are?” he muttered. “Whole world’s a cage, but you — “he poked at her nose “— you get to ride around in my pocket, eat what you want, never owe nobody nothing.”

Roslynn twitched her whiskers.

Finn smirked, shaking his head.

“Wish I could say the same.”

Prequel: “Freeday School Shenanigans: The Day Jonathan’s Goose Saved the Day (Finn's version)

 Prequel:  “Freeday School Shenanigans: The Day Jonathan’s Goose Saved the Day

Read Inez's version here...

Finn shifted on his cot, hands behind his head, smirking as he recalled the memory. “Ah, Roslynn, I should tell you the funniest story I’ve ever heard. Cracks me up everytime! The way Jonathan told it, with Inez rollin’ her eyes. And then the “true” version from Inez. Pure gold!”

So, this was back when Inez was still stuck in Freeday school, learning all about the gods and being, well… Inez. Always had her nose in a book, always asking too many questions, always carrying herself like she was just a little bit better than the rest of us—not in a mean way, just… Inez. Which, naturally, made her a prime target for the meaner kids.

There was this pack of girls—Inez called them the chimera, ‘cause they were like a three headed monster. Real nasty pieces of work, I think one was a second or third cousin of mine, always picking on the odd ones out. And Inez? Oh, she was prime pickings. Always reading, talked like she’d swallowed a dictionary. And let’s be honest—she had that particular brand of stubbornness that made her absolutely incapable of backing down. So, of course, the bullies took every chance to make her life miserable.

One fine morning, they cornered her in the courtyard after lessons. Started with the usual nonsense—calling her names, snatching her book, pushing her around just enough to remind her she was outnumbered.

And then, like the blessed fool he is, in stumbles Jonathan Wickham.

Now, Jonathan wasn’t even supposed to be there—he never took Freeday school too seriously. He only showed up when his parents forced him to, and even then, he’d usually sneak out early to tend his vegetable patch. But for whatever reason, he was there that day, and trailing right behind him was Gertrude.

Ah, Gertrude. His goose.

Not just any goose, mind you. This beast was the meanest, ugliest, most feral thing to ever waddle through Nook. White feathers all scruffy, a beak that looked like it had been carved from malice itself, and the attitude of a demon with a grudge. No one knew where Jonathan got her—probably wandered into his garden one day and refused to leave—but from that moment on, she was his shadow.

So there’s Inez, trying to fend off her tormentors with sheer stubbornness, when in comes Jonathan, all oblivious and well-meaning. He sees what’s happening and, in that big, soft heart of his, decides to intervene.

“Uh, hey now,” he says, all awkward-like, shifting from foot to foot. “Maybe, um… maybe you should leave her alone?”

The girls just laugh.

And Jonathan, bless him, tries again. “I mean, pickin’ on people isn’t very nice. Chislev teaches that, uh, we should be kind to all livin’ things.”

Now, that was the wrong move. Because these girls? They thrived on weakness. The moment they realized Jonathan was just as soft-hearted as Inez, they turned on him.

“Aww, look, it’s the little farmer boy come to rescue the gnome!” one of them sneered. “You gonna read us a bedtime story, too?”

Another one snickered. “Or are you just gonna trip over your own feet again?”

Now, normally, Jonathan would have tripped over his own feet—clumsy as he was, it was practically his signature move. But today? Today the universe had other plans.

If these girls thought they could pick a fight with Jonathan, and Gertrude—Jonathan’s monstrous, unpredictable, feathered companion—was going to let that slide...well they had the wrong idea.

Out steps that white demon beast, puffs out its chest and honked! Now, not just any honk. Oh no. This was the Honk of Doom.

Loud, shrill, vengeful.

And then, before anyone could react, Gertrude took flight. Straight at the lead bully. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a goose in attack mode, Roslynn, but it’s a sight to behold. Wings spread wide, beak open like she’s screamin’ war cries in her own foul language, feet kicking up dirt like she’s been summoned by the gods themselves. She didn’t just fly at that girl—she descended upon her like righteous fury incarnate.

And then, right as the bully shrieked and tried to duck—SPLAT.

A perfect, disgusting, vengeful pile of goose shit landed right on the girl’s head.

The courtyard went dead silent. Jonathan gasped. Inez gasped. The bullies gasped.

And then the girl screamed.

What followed was pandemonium. The other bullies scrambled away like rats abandoning a sinking ship, Gertrude flapped around like she was reveling in her victory, and Jonathan—completely horrified—started apologizing in a panicked mess of “Oh no, oh no, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen, oh Chislev forgive me—” while simultaneously trying to catch his deranged bird.

And Inez?

She just stood there. Wide-eyed. Stunned. And then—because even she couldn’t fight it—she started to laugh. The bullies ran off, humiliated and covered in goose vengeance. Jonathan finally got Gertrude under control, still muttering frantic prayers to Chislev. And from that day forward, no one ever really messed with Inez again.

Because no one wanted to risk crossing The Goose of Doom.

Finn chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “And that, Roslynn, is the only time Jonathan Wickham ever won a fight. Completely by accident. With the help of an unhinged bird.”

Inez’s Tale: The Booklet and the Bargain

 Inez’s Tale: The Booklet and the Bargain

Read Finn's version here...

Dear diary,

Somehow I managed to get hold of a treasure! Let me tell you how.

With every year (‘Year’? Rephrase that into ‘day’, sweet diary!) my parents become more obsessed with i: finding me a ‘proper’ husband and ii: making sure I become/remain an acceptable candidate for such a husband. Where ‘proper’ here means: member of one of Nook’s core families or at least one in high esteem and wealth. That those clans are involved in all kinds of stuff that bite laws and morals (working in my father's practice has taught me more than school!) , is of secondary concern. Much much lower on the list of concerns are my wishes and  preferences. Oh dear diary, I despair of the idea of having to marry one of those overaged heirs of an  ancient clan or one of those bullying bounders!

To my surprise I was allowed schooling and even nowadays doctor Vexora Nibwhistle comes over once or twice a week to educate me. She was supposed to teach me practical stuff that would come useful in the solicitor’s practice, besides general knowledge and conversation, to assure that I would be a favorable talking partner for gnomish salons. 

Additionally my teacher of Gnomish etiquette, a dwarven gentleman by the name of Kragan Ironmantle (‘High keeper Ironmantle’) , would come over every Earthday morning. (Sometimes this frequency increased, as part of a punishment by my parents for once more not fitting to the image of a proper Gnomish lady). The High keeper and I would only agree on one thing, that there was not such a thing as Gnomish etiquette. In his eyes we, Gnomes, could at best try to imitate the high Dwarven culture. Despite my failings in etiquette of any kind, the old dwarf had a soft spot for me. I provided a grateful audience to his stories of Dwarven History and Nook’s past, and every now and then he let me attend gatherings in the dwarven halls in our city. “I’ve taught this young Gnomish lady enough of our old ways, that she could fool you into being a dwarf. Except for the beard of course! “ Well, dear diary, I must say when I was escorted by the high keeper, those dwarfs would treat me with respect and politely. In contrast with when they would visit my father’s practice!

Doctor Vexora was my favorite teacher though — strict and demanding, never just taking her fee but ensuring her students reached their full potential. It took quite a while for us to grow accustomed to each other. True trust was established as she found out that I am magically gifted and kept that between the two of us. Later on she shared the secret that she herself was gifted as well! During teaching sessions, when we had enough privacy, she would even tutor me on the first steps of wizardry. 

All in all homeschooling was one of the highlights of my youth. But what I liked best was shopping for delicacies! As I grew older, my task became selecting luxurious side dishes, to be served during visits of important customers. As my father took care of the stocking of drinks (Always taking care of quality by sampling) and my mother had to manage the practice (and my father), I had to hunt for special treats in shops and markets of Nook. Either my parents did not trust our staff for this, or they wanted me to get used to the role of housekeeper, or just to get me out of the house. With the added bonus that there was a chance I would meet a proper marriage-candidate... And to make sure that in that improbable event ‘nothing’ would actually happen, a chaperone was mandatory. Fortunately for my parents, Dame Velindra Tockwhistle was available for that task.

Dame Tockwhistle was born into a family far above our own, and my parents could hardly believe she was inclined to do this job. Though high born does not guarantee high income, and the dame became insolvent, traveling from Gnome settlement to settlement, hiding for creditors, staying at clanfolks. Our relationship was appalling, and the old hag guided me through Nook like I was Zibella "Trickfinger" Nocktonick, ready to make a run for it anytime! Shopping would be done as fast as possible, afterwards we would visit the ‘Gilded Kettle’ and have tea with one of her acquaintances. Worst case, that acquaintance brought in a marriable grandson that I needed to entertain (only in proper ways, of course, diary!). 

Things improved dramatically as I caught her coming out of our home’s wine cellar, hiding some bottles in her gown. From that moment I was in charge of what shops we would visit to buy which delicatesse. We agreed on continuing visiting the teahouse, but no grandsons would be invited. Additionally we would take turns: I would guard the door at the pawn shops as  Dame Zibella had her dealings there, she would do the same as I visited the bookstores, hunting for books on magic.

Today, we went to visit the farmers market. Every other week this gathering at the town square of Nook allows farmers and locals to sell their stuff. Which leads to a hodgepodge of offerings, varying strongly both in category as in quality.  This morning we were in luck, within the hour I managed to obtain a week’s ration of charcuterie and cheese. And for a bargain, leaving me with a budget for personal shopping. Dame Zibella was also in a good mood, having secured some old jewelry for a steal. And enough time for our own explorations, in search of money at the pawnbrokers, for me in search of anything that could support my inquiries into hermeticism.

Strolling the market I spotted a little corner stall, where a halfling instigator had set up his wares. Approaching he looked familiar in a way, but I could not quite remember from what occasion. “Ah, my lady, I see that the stall over there is one you probably will indulge in. Let me wait here for you, this one is more my taste” said Dame Zibella to me as we passed a booth where a, also dubious looking, gnome was trading clockworks and magical trinkets. As many gnomes of age she was enamored with that kind of thing. Diary, I never will understand why gnomes do fancy magical paraphernalia, but loathe wizards and the study of sorcery!

The halfling lad seemed to recognize me, which was odd and a bit flattery (No further comments, diary), and after I greeted him gracefully, I started browsing the assortment. There were lots of old books and baubles, a strange collection for a halfling commoner. As I had handled some papers regarding the passing away of an old half elf and the sale of his house, I laid the connection with this assortment. Reading the covers of books, enquiring after the supplier and origins, he and I got into a curious conversation. Then I spotted, almost felt, the presence of a little black book. Picking it up, the book seemed to whisper to me. Excitedly I asked:  “Where did you get this? Do you know what these symbols mean?” Naturally my salesman had no real answers, other than that he did not read himself and did not work for free. 

That’s when I remembered where I knew him from. He was the young halfling who advised me years ago after a clash with some bullies at the Free Library of Oghma. I asked him if we’ve met before, he shrewdly replied that I had to improve on my pick up lines (Ha ha, diary). So, I inquired about the price of the booklet and he named a rather high price for a trinket, but I desperately needed to buy this and had double the amount in my purse. 

Nevertheless a plan came into my head that I wanted to put this halfling boy to the test. With the saddest face my gnome countenance could come up with, I looked at him, lowered my eyes, kept squinting them until half a tear had formed in the corner of each eye, then looked him in the eyes (As my father would say, “With that sad look,  you could make a fire dragon weep hailstones”). “I’m afraid I don’t have that kind of money, dear sir.” In his defense I must say that he did not give in right away. And that unlike many halfling clients of my fathers, he did not suggest I pay in ‘another way’. But he did give in, dear diary, he did give in.

Handing him the amount we agreed on (about half of the first bid), I introduced myself formally. “I know who you are, gnome lady, like you said, we’ve met before.”, he responded, “That time your eyes were filled with tears as well. But you seem to smarten up rapidly now you’ve obtained your little book!”. Did he see me through? Not sure he did, sweet diary. He told me his name was Finn, a member of the Slynt clan (which I only knew personally from their shop, as the clan itself was quite infamous in Nook). Since I felt a bit sorry for deceiving him (he really passed the test!), and considering that cheating a Slynt-clan-member could have serious repercussions (but as Azuth is my witness, the first point was much more important to me!), I asked if there was any service I could provide (Yes diary, that was not a very proper proposition, I know.). Luckily he ignored this (qualified again!) stating that he “Did not trust the posh, as ‘a dragon will collect your gold, no matter its scales.’ But it’s not every day that you get charmed by a Song Dragon”. This left me blushing and an awkward silence fell for a moment.

 “So, this booklet, is it something important for you?” “Well, it might.” Then suddenly feeling a trust between the two of us I added, “Could be my way out of an arranged marriage to a posh gnome upper class spouse. Would mean leaving Nook as well.” Then he says, “Fine, if you ever leave, you take me with you. That’s part of the discount!”.

With that he had me blushing even more, sweet diary. I was ‘rescued’ by Dame Tockwhistle, who was apparently tired of waiting. Hearing her steps, I hid the booklet into my dress and hissed “I accept that arrangement, master Finn, now I’ve got to hurry!”. I was just in time to prevent my governess from seeing the booklet or take a good look at the shopkeeper, hurrying past her to another stall. As she joined me, walking arm in arm, she probed provocatively “My young lady, your interests in men seem to broaden these days?” But I was prepared, and replied wittingly with a little gnomish obscenity: “Well, better a pair of hairy feet in your bed than an empty one!” Which seemed to put her off for that moment.

And so I managed to secure a true wizard’s notebook, my dear diary! If this booklet is what I think it is, then leaving Nook might not just be a dream anymore...

Finn’s Tale: The Booklet and the Bargain

 Finn’s Tale: The Booklet and the Bargain

Read Inez's version here...

The prison’s airing yard stank of sweat and damp stone. Finn sat on a low ledge by the wall, rolling a splinter of wood between his fingers, eyes drifting over the yard. Then he saw them—two figures passing by. A young woman, sharp-eyed, walking with a stiff-backed older woman. The younger one moved like she owned the ground she stepped on, the older one like she was there to make sure no one forgot their place.

Finn smirked.

He shifted slightly, and a soft rustling came from his coat pocket. Roslynn, his ever-loyal cellmate, poked her twitching nose out. Her beady black eyes gleamed up at him. “Would’ve liked her,” Finn murmured. “A lot of people didn’t, but you? You would’ve seen the charm.”

Roslynn wriggled her whiskers.

Finn let his head fall back against the cold stone wall. His fingers absentmindedly brushed over the rat’s fur as he let himself sink into the memory. “It started with an old half-elf,” Finn muttered, voice low. “Quiet type. Lived alone. Then one day, he just… didn’t anymore.” No real family, just some distant relations who wanted his house gone as quickly as possible. Finn had overheard the deal being struck—cheap sale, no interest in what was left inside. It was practically an invitation.

He’d slipped in one night, took his time picking through the place. The best pieces—some furniture, a few old baubles—he passed along to the Slynt family. The kind of goods that could move quick and clean. That left him with the odds and ends. Antiques, dusty books, old scraps of parchment filled with scribbles. No immediate buyers for that kind of junk, so he packed it up and set himself a little corner in the farmers’ market, hoping to turn them into coin.

And that’s when she found him.

She had changed since the last time he’d seen her. The girl he remembered was scrawny, tear-streaked, and furious, standing outside the Free Library after a mixed group of school girls had made her life hell. He’d told her the hard truth, back then: Hide, fight back, or pay someone bigger to fight for you.

Now here she was, years later, standing at his stall, confident and composed.

And, to Finn’s mild surprise, beautiful.

Naturally, he kept his cool.

She moved through his wares with a careful, almost knowing touch. Then she stopped. Her fingers brushed over a small black booklet. She picked it up slowly, as if something about it whispered to her.

‘Where did you get this?’ she asked, voice quiet but urgent. ‘Do you know what these symbols mean?’ Finn had no idea, but he wasn’t about to say that. He shrugged, leaning lazily against the stall.

‘I don’t work for free, lady.’

She studied him. Then, out of nowhere, she sighed—a delicate, forlorn little sound.

‘I’m afraid I don’t have that kind of money, dear sir.’

Finn felt something twist in his chest. He swallowed, resisting the urge to scratch the back of his neck.

Was this… flirting? It felt like flirting. Or maybe just a posh-girl trick. Either way, he wasn’t about to look like a fool in front of her. He crossed his arms, keeping his expression unreadable. ‘Price is fair,’ he said. ‘Rare book, that one.’ She held his gaze. Her lips parted slightly. Finn felt… something. Something he wasn’t prepared for.

And then—then, just for a flicker of a moment, she looked almost pleased with herself.

Finn’s stomach did something strange.

He had no idea what game they were playing, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to be the one to back down first. They haggled. He postured. He acted like he knew exactly what was happening, when in reality, he was just trying to keep his wits about him because she was entirely too pretty and entirely too self-assured.

By the end of it, she still managed to get the damn book for half of what he’d originally asked.

As he handed it over, she gave him a polite little nod. ‘Inez Systemix,’ she said, formal as anything.

Finn raised a brow. ‘I know who you are, gnome lady. Like you said, we’ve met before. Last time your eyes were filled with tears, too. But you seem to smarten up rapidly now that you’ve got your little book.’

Something flickered across her face—something unreadable.

Finn, of course, assumed he had just delivered a particularly smooth line.

‘So, this booklet—important to you, is it?’

She hesitated. Then, softer, more thoughtful, she said, ‘Could be my way out of an arranged marriage to a posh gnome upper-class spouse. Would mean leaving Nook as well.’ Finn had no idea why he said what he said next. Maybe it was bravado. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was just the fact that she was beautiful, and he didn’t want to look like some useless market peddler in front of her.

‘Fine,’ he said, grinning. ‘If you ever leave, you take me with you. That’s part of the discount.’

She went red.

Finn had no idea why that pleased him, but it did.

Then her chaperone’s footsteps thundered toward them, and she panicked. She shoved the book into her dress, hissed, ‘I accept that arrangement, master Finn, now I’ve got to hurry!’ and bolted.

Her keeper barely had time to turn before Inez had vanished into the crowd.

Finn had stood there for a moment, blinking.

Then, slowly, he’d grinned.

Finn exhaled, shaking himself back to the present.

Roslynn twitched her whiskers, curling tighter into his coat.

You ever wonder,” he muttered, voice just for her, “if there’s people out there who change the course of your life without even knowing it?”

The rat, naturally, didn’t answer.

Finn smirked to himself, brushing a finger lightly over her fur.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Me neither.”