Session #7, as told by Inez

Session #7, as told by Inez

Dear diary,

Yesterday (was it yesterday?) was the worst day of our journey yet. As I went down twice this time, augmenting my achievements in that speciality, my prowess in the use of conjury progressed too. But all of that at a high cost, let me explain.

Last entry ended with us crashing into a chamber. As I stood up after the pratfall from the slide turned stairs, it was encouraging to notice that though I had been stuffed between the two halfling men, none of them had this time tried to take advantage of the situation. By the light of Jonathan’s shield and the green gloom of the room itself, the place presented itself as a cul-du-sac. No apparent way out: the way we came in was now too steep to travel, and only some high up and barred windows; this was not looking well. 

Finn and Jonathan started examining the room and concentrated on the lunettes, using the enchanted shield trying to peek through. Not that confident any more in the skills of the rogue to spot danger, (And, in all honesty, dear diary, also getting a bit addicted to casting spells.) I took some distance and  kneeled down to concentrate. Picking up the spellbook, it felt almost as if it hailed me with a catlike shudder; then the pages seemed to flip by themselves to the correct spot. Reciting and gesturing the power build up in me. (Like, well, like magic, dear diary!). Again my heart rate increased only to be matched, or so I must have been imagining, by the moonstone stored safely and secretly nearby in my dress. Steering the flow of the spell throughout the chamber, the right corner returned a vibe, indicating that there a passage could be hidden.

Now I knew where to push, so I conjured up an unseen servant (You may have a point diary, not only my magic skills but also my magician's arrogance are increasing, thanks for pointing this out!) and commanded the creature towards the right corner, making it push against the wall. To no avail, alas. Not even the abundant growing moss was impressed by my attempt. At my request Jonathan tried to assist, but also to no avail. Finn ignored my appeal, off course, standing back and monitoring our fruitless endeavors. And to annoy me further, he started chewing on a piece of cheese, commenting that the iron scent of the room made it taste like ‘dwarves deep cheddar’. But after some friendly words from my side, the two halflings joined the search on that side of the room. On instigation of Finn, Jonathan started ticking and knocking on the stones, while the rogue listened intensely, every now and then poking the masonry himself.Then he drew a knife and drove it into the seam between two rocks. The blade got in quite deep, but the wall did not start bleeding or moving. 

Out of ideas myself, I set my magical creature to thrust the knife as well, with no real effects. Not only I lost it in my frustrations. Finn made some strange steps backwards, then charged in at the wall, kicking it violently. My father would have said: “He attacked like a wind-up dire wolf charging a mirror, lots of noise, all teeth, but in the end just headbutting itself senseless.” Finn however said something completely different, as his foot obviously lost the duel with the wall. Dear diary, luckily I’m trained rather well, by lots of gnomish suitors,  in hiding my smile when men do stupid things to impress me.

All in all, I was getting frustrated with the situation and my companions. They were walking in and out of the magical sphere I had created, breaking my concentration. And not achieving anything in the process either. That was until Jonathan pulled the hilt of the knife! Just as I was distracted by Finn bumping into me, the priest set the wall in motion like it triggered a gnomish coil spring. And like I always was taken by surprise by the jack-in-the-boxes at home, the rotating stones achieved the same: Hitting me flat out! Dear diary, this time my collapsing was far from elegant, and the cracking of what was probably my nose bone was the last I heard.

During the time that I was down, Jonathan deployed both mundane skills, setting my broken nose (Dear diary, sometimes it’s nice to be unconscious!), and magical ones, restoring my health. Inhabiting an unsubstantial state, I not only felt the presence of the priest, mumbling his rituals, and of the rogue, cursing and biting his amulet, but also these of the spell book, yelping like a raven fledgling, and the moonstone, somehow calming me. Then Jonathan’s voice started becoming real again, almost physical. His healing chants bursting into my skull, awakening me rudely. As I opened my eyes, I stared right into his sweated face: “Inez, you’re back! How do you feel?”

Dear diary, though by now I should have grown a routine of regaining consciousness, as this seems to be my major or even only, adventurer skill. This time however, I was so scared as I brought my fingertips to my face, trying to assess the damage to my face. Never I felt luckier and more impressed by the healing powers of my companion! Though I still felt a pulsating pain behind my eyes, there seemed to be no lasting traces or marks. As I stood up arduously, helped by Jonathan, I thanked him in the most sincere manner (Probably not entirely according to my lessons in Etiquette). Still a bit dizzy, I took some steps like a Owl Bear Cub fallen out of its nest, only to bump into Finn. The rogue and I did not manage to come to a common understanding who was to blame for what. In Nook I would have dragged him into court, here I only could use him as a target for all the disgruntlements of the day so far. Which were plenty. Turning his back, walking out on me, I got even more furious. So, I walked over to Jonathan, paused a bit and waited till I was sure that Finn was peeking at us, then kissed the priest on the cheek. Dear diary, I must admit, that was a bit more than he (and poor Jonathan) deserved. As Dame Tockwhistle would say: “You’re our local Witch’s Lantern; you lure admirers, wrap them in your roots, then digest them slowly.” 

The air was cleared by Jonathan. Even literally, as the opening of the passage had allowed a little breeze into the room. Cheerfully he led us through, into a new corridor. And as blind as him we followed, happy to leave the room and our quarrels behind. Only to walk into even more troubles! 

The new chamber had a door to the left, which we, entering like steaming engines without a safety valve, completely missed. The room and our journey ended abruptly in the open, where the construction must have fallen apart many years ago. Underneath was a stream of green acid flowing, where Jonathan now was hanging above, grabbing for a grip. As the priest tumbled over the edge, Finn managed to grab him, just holding him by the trousers, and sounds of tearing fabric could be heard.Yelling not to let go I tried to secure Finn's position, solely to watch in horror as Finn’s attempts to help Jonathan failed all; both lost their grasp and Jonathan tumbled down! The splashing sound was horrible! Reaching the boundary to look, green fumes greeted us, burning in our eyes, we found out that Jonathan had stunningly managed to get out the biting stream, onto a small swelling of the side. 

Dropping my backpack I started searching for a rope frenetically. Not finding any, I looked up to find Finn already in place with a line. Cursing and blushing, I took the rear position, wrapping the thread around my hands. Together we let it drop, calling out to the mortified priest to take and hold this lifeline. Infuriating, he shouts back that he won’t touch ‘this spider's thread’. After we retrieve  the rope as fast as we can, I come up with the idea to color it, hopefully removing any arachnoid association, and spending my cosmetics on it. The second try leads to the same result, Jonathan won’t touch the line like it’s more acid than the green bubbling torrent. “Lower me down.” ; I say to Finn, “I’ll catch him and somehow we’ll work our way up together.” The rogue looks wearily at me, but I’m in no mood to discuss or be talked out of it. Tying the rope around me, I step over the rim, rappelling down while Finn acts as counterbalance. And for a little moment it has the earmarks of success. Until failure strikes again. Jonathan’s grip failed, and as he dropped, so did I: The princess of downfalls following her court into the acid. 

Strangely, as I dove into the acid pool, my consciousness had left for other places already. The desperate look on Finn, the fountain of green that surrounds Jonathan and  me as we hit the surface are the last impressions before fading out again. Anew entering a state similar to that when casting spells, the moonstone was engulfing this realm with light as a fluid like energy, in slow waves. The spellbook was hugging and warming me, calling up memories of my birth pet hamster. The strange characters on its cover lighting up in slow pulses, mimicking the rhythm of the moonstone.  Drifting off, it felt like falling asleep in my bed at home, many years ago. Expecting my mother to tug me in, I looked up and there was: Light. Hard pulsating light. Pulses came faster and faster, brighter and brighter. The moonstone was physically hitting me with punches of light, one hit followed by another. Tearing the sphere apart, until the moment it all collapsed in an explosion of light...

And I was sitting up, on the ledge where we just had fallen from, Jonathan lying next to me, Finn sitting across. Strangely there’s no pain, only a small burn and bruise at the place where the moonstone was hidden in my dress. And speaking of dress, that is gone, only some rags and stitches remain of the clothes I was wearing! Dissolved by the acid, all the same, my skin looks untouched, even revived. Thereupon I realize that not an awful lot of my body is covered and Finn is planted next to me. Covering up with my hands I inquired: “What happened, how did we get here?” Even as I see that he’s relieved that both Jonathan and I are showing signs of life again, he makes sure his response deepens the crimson of my embarrassment: “Managed to pull you both out. You losing most of your ballast did help lift you up here, both in weight and motivation.” Rubbing my temples there’s Finn’s voice, not from the outside but from within: “Don’t you ever do that again, Red. Thought I’d lost you.”  I stare at him, flabbergasted: “What did you just say? And how did you get into my head?” He creates the impression that he’s as startled as I am. On occasion my teacher dr. Vexora would talk about this way of communicating: “Like gossip without the walking over.” And now the most unlikely of folk had just magically spoken-in-my-head. “Does this mean that you hear what I think?” I shouted at Finn. “Luckily I don’t, cause looking at your eyes it would not be much good.” He replied, this time typically through his voice and as typically combined with a joke at my expense. 

Calming down I regretted my harsh words, the day's events would also have left an impression on him. One more time this rogue has gotten me out of trouble and I had not shown a lot of appreciation, did I diary? So, a serious expression of gratitude was in place. However, my training in etiquette once more failed, as how to thank someone properly while not dressed, had never been an item in my teachings by High keeper Ironmantle. Still I tried and thankfully Finn accepted them gracefully, stating then that he would attend to Jonathan, and that my backpack was lying in the other chamber. Moving there, I put on my rain cloak, together with a pair of sandals that I had used at home to sneak stealthily through the house. Dear diary, now I look like a follower of Baervan Wildwanderer, but still, better than running around like a hairless Tabaxi. 

Getting back to the halflings, I noticed both of them sitting up. So Jonathan was also restored and fortunately, dressed. (Shut up, diary!) Apparently he had some spares with him or got stuff from Finn, or halflings textile is acid resistant? It’s not that they dress to impress, dear diary. 

But the three of us had somehow made it through, with no real progress to report. With no energy or initiative left, we decided to somehow camp in front of the door we had entirely missed by falling down. Enjoying the view and the hissing of the acid pit below, but most of all, each other and the realization how this could have ended differently. Or is this just the dizziness in my head I feel, going out two times like this? 

Well, dear diary, here it ends for me today. Personally, my theory is that somehow the moonstone was triggered, at first by the magic cast by Jonathan and me. After Finn managed to pull us out of the stream and somehow up, onto the edge,  the moonstone started resonating with the remains of the magic energies that our spells had left there. And when it exploded, it recast the last spell, boosted to such a level, that all effects of our baths were washed away. Luckily for us that had been Jonathan healing me (and not an unseen servant pushing stuff around!). 

Diary, I still feel awkward around Finn. First off I was quite harsh and mean to him (Yes, diary, point taken). In response he saves me while risking his life! But in the process he's seen and carried me around naked! To Jonathan he said that he looked awful, covered in blisters and worse. But he looked, almost for certain, also to me! That means he’s guilty ab initio (as my father would say). In his defence, he did save me and Jonathan and he was not responsible for my state of undress. And it could be argued that in order to save us, he needed eyesight on the situation. However, he kept peeking afterwards and kept pestering his innocent victim (me)! Which counts as a malum in se. Yes, dear diary, one could state that the corpus delicti in this case looks better than ever. Very funny and thanks for the compliment. 

Alright, I will stop rambling about this, but only for now. Ad persistit, we were saved by the moonstone; it saved us once, it can do it again… though I’d prefer without the nakedness!. Write to you soon diary! 

Session #7, as told by Finn

 “Ballast and Motivation”

 

Clever gets out. But it is patience that makes a man dangerous.

 

Something was off. Not the air this time — though it still stank of unwashed bodies and mold — but something in what just had happened. Think.

 

Silas had come into my cell after lockdown. After lockdown. No keys jangling. No booted guard escort. No alarm raised. Just the quiet, casual turning of a lock that wasn’t supposed to open. And when he left? He didn’t slam the door. Didn’t even lock it. Like it didn’t matter. Someone had given him a key. And not just a key — a permission.

 

This afternoon the guards hadn’t come running. Not even a glance in the direction of Finn’s bruised ribs and Rosslyn’s broken leg. He’d been trying to tell himself maybe Calder had paid off someone with debts and a weak spine.

 

But no. It was worse than that. Because during the beating — no footsteps, no shouting, no swinging doors. And guards were always keen to keep the prisoners quiet, passive, to keep feuds down.

 

Then the steps came. Not bootfalls. Lighter. Arvin Quill. You could always tell him by the rhythm — three steps, pause, then a fourth like he was changing his mind about where to put his weight. Always clacking that godsdamned baton against the bars to seek a reaction of some sort.

 

The sound stopped outside my door.

 

The door hinge groaned. Quill stepped in like he owned the place. Thin face, long nose, mouth and moustache like a catfish. He gave the room a once-over, lips already curling. “Well, well if it isn’t our little clever shit,” Arvin Quill drawled. 

Baton already in hand. “Still breathing, are we,” he said. Not a question. He sounded disappointed.

 

He didn’t wait for an answer. Swung the stick, caught Finn hard in the ribs. He grunted but didn’t drop. “Just a little love tap,” Quill said. Another blow followed, lower, into the meat of Finn’s thigh. “You think anyone’s gonna help you? You think Greaves gives a shit what happens in your cell after hours? This place belongs to men who pay their debts, Finn.”

 

He leaned in. Close enough that Finn could smell the pickled onions on his breath. Smug. He wasn’t hiding it anymore. “Next time,” he said, “I’ll bring Silas some tools.”

 

He stepped back. Knocked the stick once against the floor threateningly, then turned and slammed the cell door shut behind him. The lock clicked. Steps faded. Now the door was closed.

 

Finn sat there on the floor, pain blooming fresh under his ribs. Didn’t move. Not yet.

The worst part wasn’t the bruises. Wasn’t the knowing Silas would be back.

It was the certainty now. Calder had friends on the inside. That Warden Greaves had either looked the other way — or never looked at all. That Arvin Quill, the petty sadist with the cheap boots and flaking moustache, had picked his side.

 

The guards weren’t guards. Not here. And they’d make sure that Finn’s due would come in the worst way possible.

 

Finn glanced at Rosslyn. She stirred, barely, her whiskers fluttering as if trapped in some nightmare.

 

“You know, Ross…this isn’t the first time I’ve had to take a bit of pain to save a life. You’ll be surprised how much you can take if the stakes are high enough.”

 

Her black eyes glinted once before she settled again. Finn took a slow breath, let the pain in his ribs sharpen the memory.

 

* The three smallfolk tumbled down the stairs-turned-chute like dice in a cup. Finn got a knock to the head on the way down and though he was the last to fall, somehow ended up at the bottom of the heap with Jonathan and Inez sprawled across him on the flagstone floor. Stars danced across his vision as he rolled over trying to catch his breath. His lilac hand itched again — not like a rash, but like it was holding onto something it didn’t yet know how to use, some itch of potential that had nowhere to go.

He got up and dusted himself off, and tried to ignore the metallic tang in the air that crept into the back of his throat and made him want to spit. Finn shook his head to clear it and subconsciously thumbed his medallion again. Habits dies harder than a gnomish bookkeeper's daughter. He had discovered that fact himself.

Jonathan lit the room, light spilling from his shield. Inez’ face betrayed a flicker of envy before she covered it.

“You see Rosslyn: She still had to work for her magic, muttering spells over that precious book. Next to this halfling, pigeons seemed smart — yet here was this cleric casting light like it was no more trouble than breathing. It was enough to make a person’s jaw clench, if they were of the competitive sort. Not naming names.” Old Finn winked.

They had landed in a small, oddly shaped room, moss-covered walls, no doors, just a narrow window high on the wall to Finn’s right. Pointing out the window, the two halfling men walked to have a look.

With envy as a motivator, Inez kneeled on the flagstones and put her precious magic book in front of her. She started mumbling to herself, her hands tracing geometric patterns in the air. Her eyes did that thing where they rolled back into her head, and Finn turned away. He just couldn’t watch that. At the window Jon and Finn craned for a look. The was barely bigger than a ship’s porthole — even a Slynt couldn’t squeeze through. Jonathan tried holding up his shield to throw light through it, but the darkness beyond seemed to push back against the glow, swallowing it whole. All they could see was an old wooden floor, and not much else.

Inez had gotten up and walked over the small wall across from where they had fallen into the room. “What do you see?”, Finn asked. But the wizard ignored him completely. Jonathan waddled over the Inez like an adoring puppy. 

“Sure. Just ignore the guy that has opened every door for you. See where that gets you.” Finn muttered. He cut himself a thick slice of his spicy halfling jack. Cheese usually set him right, but not this time — the metallic taste in the air seemed to turn his favorite cheese into a Dwarven deep cheddar. Now that was an acquired taste that Finn never had been interested in acquiring.

His hand still felt strange, as if it was responding to the strangeness of this dungeon. He should never have left Nook with these two. He could have joined the Bonepicker crew of the Slynt clan back in Nook, he would have been out of Nook most of the year. Would have had good jerky — just wouldn’t have been free of the Slynts.

Finn could see Inez was doing some magic to ruffle the moss on the walls. He snorted at that, very impressive.

This place was odd and by the taste in the air probably haunted too. Surveying the space around them, there was something about the wall Inez was inspecting. You’d expect a passage in that spot. Who’d build a corridor leading to a dead end — unless it was a trap for nosy adventuring halflings, or a bad joke.

Inez didn’t seem to get anywhere. She gave Finn an annoyed stare; like “Why are you just standing over there, when I’m doing all the work?”

“Sure, first ignore me, then get upset when I’m having a nibble. Let me show you how it’s done.”

Finn made a show of investigating the wall. Brushing away moss, tracing stonework, looking for seams, triggers, any hint of a gap. There were subtle changes in the sound when he tapped the stones, so he got Jonathan to do some tapping on the sidewall while putting his ear against various stones. A faint draft tickled his ear as he shifted from one stone to the next. Tracing the draft it outlined roughly a door shape. He took out a knife, the thin blade sank a hand’s width into the seam and stopped — stuck. Inez asked him to step aside, so she could try something. Finn put up his hands, said: “You’re the boss.”

She murmured something under her breath. Finn could hear, but it couldn’t have been good. Under Inez’ attentions the knife sank another inch into the wall — and nothing more. “That’s it?” Finn asked. “If no one else has any ideas, I will try a thing.”

Finn gauged the distance to the wall, eyed the stone next to the knife. Time to show the others his mettle. He whipped back his leather duster, and round house kicked the wall with everything he had. Something snapped. It wasn’t the wall; a sharp pain stabbed his foot. Using all the curses he had ever heard at the cock fighting pits of his youth, he hobbled to the opposite wall. Jonathan made as if to fuss over Finn; not wanting to show weakness, he waived him off.

Sensing his mood, the other two made their own attempts at finding a way through the wall. They were as successful as a mole digging in a bucket. Jonathan was doing Chislev knows what in the corner of the wall. Annoyed (at the other’s incompetence, not his own) Finn limped over again. His knife was still stuck. Using a piece of chalk, he traced the area he thought held an opening.  “Can’t you magic this open?”

Jonathan stepped in to give it another go. Grabbing the dagger with two hands, he wrenched it sideways. This should not have worked; the dagger should have snapped — instead the wall swung open like a spring trap. Finn could sidestep and tried to warn Inez of the danger. He tapped her arm, but to no avail. Her focus as elsewhere and looking up the stones smacked her square in the face. With a stomach-turning crunch, she was hurled back like a ragdoll.

“No, no, no!’ Finn rushed over and turned the unconscious Inez over. Her face was just a mess: a skin flap hanging from her forehead, her nose so badly broken it was repositioned underneath her left eye. Upper lip split, with blood pouring from her face. 

To be fair, Jonathan kept his cool a lot better. Like a craftsman he looked at the task at hand and what he needed to do. He gripped Inez’ face in his hands and warm golden light spilling out over her. Underneath his fingers cuts knit themselves back together in seconds. With his thumbs he set her nose with a loud crack. And as simple as that, Inez face was whole again. Perfect.

As she came to, her eyes were still unfocussed. Her hands moved to her face, looked up to Jonathan with gratitude. He helped her up. Then she looked at Finn. A frown moved across her features. Typical! The cleric nearly kills her pulling a wall down on her. Brings her back. Finn gets blamed. What was that all about?! Whenever it came to this girl, Finn seemed to have two left feet, a mouth full of cotton and bad luck like he was cursed by a nighthag.

He turned to walk off; Inez quickly grabbed Jonathan and kissed him on the cheek. Making sure he saw it. Jonathan got that puppy love look back in his eyes.

Jonathan pulled Inez along to walk towards the newly opened passage, into the corridor beyond. Finn just followed the others with a limp.

“Rosslyn, you know — bad luck likes company.” Old Finn confided to her. “Though is it bad luck if it happens twice in what? 5 minutes?”

Like the last time; Jonathan stepped past the threshold and seemed to fall away. Finn dived down and reached for Jonathan’s flailing leg. Only Jonathan’s trouser fabric made itself available to grab, which held — for about two seconds. Then Jonathan fell out of sight, followed by a loud splash. As Finn looked over the edge a heavy acidic smell wafted up, burning Finn’s eyes and making him gag. The unfortunate cleric found himself in a pool of some acid. With a high-pitched yelp, he clambered onto a little outcrop but couldn’t climb up. 

Inez’ quick mind formulated a plan. “Quick we need to throw a rope down to Jonathan.” She started rummaging through her pack, but didn’t seem to find what she was looking for. Finn grabbed his pack, took out his neatly packed rope — silk, expensive — and looped it down. Inez shot him a look which switched between being thankful and being annoyed at — something about him.

“Now Rosslyn, if there is something I’ve learned. Travelling with idiots puts you into situations, no sane person could ever conceive. Listen.”

Jonathan took one look at my expensive silk rope and decided, hear this, it was a spider rope and refused to touch it. Inez then decides to dye it black and try again. And our holy nutjob thinks we’re trying to deceive him to do, Chislev knows what, and still won’t touch it.

This prompted Inez to climb down and try to pull Jonathan up. And that was when the fates decided to strike. A piece of the wall crumbled, and Inez lost her grasp and crashed down into the pool of acid as well. Fumes rising from her body and clothes — no movement. 

Finn looked about and found he was standing next to a door, neither of them had noticed stepping into the passage. He tied the rope to a brass ring on the door, lowered himself, and found Jonathan unconscious. Stuck in his position on the wall as if rigor mortis had already set in. Fine, Inez was the more immediate concern. Finn reached out to pull Inez’ unmoving body closer, but the fabric unraveled due to the acid.

There was— that moment of doubt — they’re gone. He should leave. Jonathan’s empty eyes seem to look at him disappointed. Unexpectantly that traitorous thought seems to squeeze his heart with a pain. A pain he hadn’t felt that often in his life. Maybe when his father died, maybe when Grint had threatened to end Kip’s life. Why now for these idiots?

He reaches out, grabs Inez’ ankle — the fumes burn his eyes, the acid eats his fingers raw, but he manages to pull Inez out, and haul her up, muscles straining.

By the time he gets the two of them onto the ledge again, they’re limp — skin red, raw, open and oozing. Clothing in tatters, sloshing away as Finn tries to flush the acid using any water he can find in their packs.

“And that’s when it happened.” Old Finn spread his arms out to Rosslyn like a stage magician unveiling a trick.

Through unravelling cloth, Inez’ precious little moonstone pokes out and erupts — not just glowing, but detonating in a bright, blinding flare of moonlight. It’s cold and warm all at once, spilling over all three of them like a tidal wave of silver fire. Finn flinches, eyes shut tight, but there’s no heat, no pain — only this deep, bone-deep change.

When it clears, Finn sits for a moment, blinking against the fading afterimage. There is a static in his brain, the same static that was in his hand, which now burns with a clean, razor presence. Then it hits him — a sharp pressure behind his eyes, like someone’s driven a spike into his skull. Finn winces, goes down to his knees, pressing palms to his eyes. And as fast as the pain came, it leaves again. “That can’t be good.” Finn says through gritted teeth.

In front of him Jonathan’s chest rises again, a golden halo flickering around his hands like the touch of some ancient prayer. Inez’s fingers twitch with threads of light, shifting and curling into floating script only she seems to read. Both look fully restored. Relief washes over Finn, something he never expected to feel for these two.

Inez is the first to awaken. A sarcastic voice in the back of his mind notes, she is the most practiced at coming back from the dead. Sitting up she takes stock of herself, looks at Finn and turns a deep shade of crimson and tries to cover herself up with her hands. Apparently, modesty was more important than being alive. “What happened, how did we get here?” She manages

“Ross, I could have taken the high road, but something of her earlier treatment of me still rankled.” Old Finn pulled his nose up at his rat.

“Managed to pull you both out. You losing most of your ballast did help lift you up here, both in weight and motivation.”

Her face went through ten different emotions in as many seconds, drawing in every detail of her face, Finn’s brain forgot it was supposed to belong to a cynical bastard.

“Don’t you ever do that again, Red. Thought I’d lost you.”

It should have been a private thought, but the thought meets another spike of that static that seemed to vibrate through Finn’s nervous system. Inez’ eyes go wide, she looks at Finn aghast. 

“What did you just say?”

The words come back into his mind with a clarity that spoken words could never have. Now it was Finn’s turn to look like a fish out of water, how could this be happening to him? Inez was firing questions at him in quick succession. This time spoken. 

“And how did you get into my head? Does this mean that you hear what I think?”

Close to panic now, Finn stepped back, holding his hands up as a ward, he just stammered. “I don’t know, I don’t know. There’s pain…” 

“Am I a monster?”

The thought entered his head. He hoped it’d stayed there. He looked down at Jonathan, to break eye contact with Inez. The cleric still happened come back to consciousness. This gave him an excuse to do something, to not think about it. Finn brought out his cheese, to try and revive Jonathan like he had done in Aalborr’s cave. Jonathan stirred immediately at the smell, like the good halfling he is. As he sat up, Finn pulled him into a hug before he could stop himself. Else the others might’ve seen him shaking.

* “That’s the thing about mortal danger; it motivates to keep going even when it hurts.” Finn rubbed his chin. “Not sure if any of this is making sense to you.” Rosslyn seemed to be sleeping again.

Moving his arm hurt his ribs, dragging him back to the present. “No pit now, just stone walls and bad company.” Then reached under his bunk, pried up the loose tile, and started checking his stash.

The game had changed and if you don’t like the company you’re keeping, clever gets out.