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.”