Session #8, as told by Inez

 Session #8 as told by Inez 

Dear diary, this was an exhausting and confusing day, and I end it here sitting next to a skeleton, probably once belonging to a human. Wearing what I wear now, I prefer sitting next to it, as it does not have eyes to watch or a tongue to tease. Let me tell you how this came to be..

Last night I slept terribly or rather not at all. If having your nose cracked and nearly drowning in a pool of acid was not enough, then try adding a halfling man and a spellbook literally messing with your head. All of that did not help me to get to sleep. 

The halfling man did not like our new connection either and both of us tried to stop sending and receiving  messages telepathically, not wanting to leak or learn secrets of each other. Meanwhile my head filled up with magic knowledge, as the spellbook that I had bought from Finn in Nook, forced its content upon me. Where at first the scribblings were hardly readable, let alone understandable, the symbols and letters now lit up and rearranged themselves on the pages. At moments where my mind had filled and I just could not cope and closed my eyes, the book seemed to whisper in my ears or even bite in my fingers! Dear diary, I’m so happy that you are behaving like a normal book!

In the small room where we were now camping, it was impossible to get out of one's way, Finn and I positioned ourselves at the far corners. Poor Jonathan felt things were not right, but could not get his fingers on it. He tried to make conversation, where Finn and I did not want to talk at all. In the hope to normalize the mood, we discussed the scar that had formed on Jonathan ‘s wrist, the only reminder of his fall in the acid. To him, the leaf-like discoloration was a mark of Chislev’s blessing. And Finn, a prophet of the nature god who had saved him, her fateful druid. And me as a bonus while she was at it. Now I was worrying more and more how I was ever to make a safe return to wherever, Jonathan was convinced that Chislev was guiding us in the right direction!

As we decided it was morning, or at least time to stop pretending that we were sleeping, we got up, picked up our things and placed them in our backpacks. In my case everything had to go on my back, my lack of clothing meant there was no hiding of items in handy places. The cloak that I was so lucky to find amongst my travelers equipment, did have a lot, but no pouches. And underneath I was wearing really not much, not much at all. So I laced the mantle as tightly as possible and prayed to Azuth to protect me, his faithful daughter, to spare me from further indignities. 

Moments later, we found ourselves standing before the big door we so manifestly had missed when we entered this room. Examining it closely, a green radiance was clearly visible in the seams and joints of it, not by any means the inviting glow of a Gnomish garden party at the Nook Residence of the Shadowbrook family. So I concentrated and recalled with the help of my spellbook the words, searching for traces of magic manipulations and constructs. Strangely, the door itself was clean, but in the rooms behind and above us, I could see a deep red gloom of strong magic. Just as I wanted to tell this, Finn had already done so, as my knowledge and fear of this magic had been transferred into his mind instantly. The rogue clearly was troubled by my conjuring, caused by the energies of the spell made their way into his brain. 

By now Jonathan became aware of the connection between Finn and me. Looking at the both of us, he grabbed our shoulders, and orated : “Maybe this is Chislev’s way of teaching you to listen, to the world and above all to each other!” Rolling my eyes at him I told him: “I thought Chislev is the goddess of nature and change, not matchmaking!”; and stepped back a bit, leaving the halflings with the door and a task. 

Biting his amulet Finn regained himself a bit and started searching the doorway for traps and other pitfalls. None found he then began working on the lock. Like my arcane actions had found a way into his consciousness, so were his musings about lockpicking meandering into mine. At some point he started gesturing that Jonathan and I should help push the door, but it was to no avail. So I sat down, considering casting a helper, when the two halflings a sudden managed to open it. With the resonance of the clacks and clinks from the old mechanism triggering after probably years, entered a wave of rogue pride in my brain; likewise a cloud of green steam entered the room!

Behind the door laid a stair leading downwards into a room where green clouds were hiding any indications of floor and walls. Pointing my hand to direct arcane energies I could sense a glowing rectangle far in front of us, and I warned my companions. Nonetheless, there was no other route to go then forward. Jonathan dropped a small stone, and it took just a small moment to hear it reaching ground. This good sign gave us enough courage to continue. Cautiously we made it to the end of the stairs. As our rearguard Jonathan stepped from the last step upon the large tile Finn and I were standing on, a loud click could be heard and the stone seemed to sink a little. The three of us looked at one another then we all tried to jump back onto the stairs. To no avail, as another click was heard followed by a blinding flash of light. And we found us in another room, landing awkwardly as if we were transferred in mid flight.

The room looked familiar, after a brief inspection we deduced that it was the one next to the chamber with the moving hidden door that had made such an impression on me and my nose. Luckily not lasting, dear diary! It was somewhat brighter than the others, illuminated by both green lichen and bright green murals. Each mural covered a part of a wall and the five pictures together seemed to tell a story. Or even issue a warning!. According to Jonathan, creatures celebrating Chislev suggested that we naturally were on the right track. Finn was not too sure about both these opinions, but could not make more sense out of the images either. Me, I copied them onto parchment and then studied them, with even less success than my companions. Don’t mock me, dear diary!

Halfway along the inner wall, a lever was sticking from the floor. Walking up to it, while Jonathan and Finn were trying to get a peek out of the windows in the outer wall,  it became clear that this was a gnomish device. Its overall shape was that of a snake with a top hat, its casting decorated flourishly with brass owls and bats. Not to mention a number of ratchets and rotary knobs visible and the total lack of runes. It reminded me of home and I almost felt proud when I touched it, dusting it off to reveal its bright colors. Having learned from our previous adventures (Don’t laugh, dear diary.) I informed and requested permission of the two halfling men to operate it. 

Finn was looking worrisome, but that had become his normal expression, and asked if I knew what I was doing. “Oh, forgive us Gnomes for inventing things that actually work. Allow me to show you how real engineering performs.” That way, assuring him and Jonathan that this was gnomish technology so there was nothing to worry about, I styled my hair improvisationally, tightened the laces on my cloak (One can never be too careful, dear diary) and pushed the lever into the opposite position. 

With a loud click, much louder than all the clicks before that day, activating a device that now propelled a piece of the outer wall outwards, creating both a passage down in the floor and one through the wall itself. When Jonathan inspected the chasm in the floor, a squeaky noise indicated that this construction was far from stable, and he jumped back to a tile near the inner wall and me. “Can you do that again, now while pressing the big button on top?” He requested joyfully, having regained his lust for adventure. ‘By all means, watch this piece of art.’ I answered, moving the lever back to its previous position while pushing down the top button, shaped like a shining sun. Several clicks could be heard, then another piece of wall started to move, widening the hole in the floor and revealing another passage to the outside. 

Concurrently, the gnomish machinery had widened the chasm in such a way, that we now had just a single tile edge left to stand on. Consequently some halfling complaints about gnomish inventions and machineries could be heard. Yet this fell silent fast, as from out of the hole high pitched screams could be heard! “A squeak best cure is a louder squeak”; my mother would have said.

One way or another I was calm and confident, waving away Finn’s gesticulations and hissing to close down the hole and put the wall back in place. For the first time in my life I was allowed to pilot a true gnomish machine! At home, my parents or someone from the staff would have taken the toy away. Perhaps both my parents and Finn had a point, which was well underlined when a creature was flying in from out of the divide, landing in front of me! (Dear Diary, I could hear the voice of Doctor Vexora in my head: “My favorite student is once more thinking and dreaming instead of paying attention? A dreamfox will guide you, a real one will bite you!”).

Never had I seen one in real life before, and they were not supposed to fly, still I recognized the varmint immediately as a goblin. It looked exactly like how grown up gnomes would dress up at Misthallow: Green skin, warts and terrible teeth under red furious eyes, an outfit that made my companions look fashionable (I know, I know, not very nice of me, dear diary) holding a strange looking staff with a moon symbol on top. That I really got to admire up close, when it hit me hard on the shoulder!

Pain was all I could think of and I staggered backwards, leaning against the wall. Blindly I throwed one of my knives at my attacker, missing it completely! Luckily, Finn rushed in to support me. His first strike was a curious miss, but then his streetfighting experience showed, backstabbing my assailant to death in a furious attack. Followed up by a lightning fast move towards a second goblin that had set its target upon Jonathan. Almost effortlessly the creature's throat was cut through, sending it back into the hole it came from! Almost making me afraid of the rogue halfing, dear diary!

The sight of their fallen comrade silenced the ones down below for a while. Giving us some time to recover and run through our options. The hit I took was hurting badly, nevertheless I had to endure it as Jonathan’s magic failed this time. Don’t know if that had anything to do with my knife that he was presenting in his hand. Evidently I had hit him, instead of the goblin, luckily not that hard. Reddening I excused myself, finally finding a use for my dwarven etiquette lessons (My parents never knew that High keeper Ironmantle also covered battlefield courtesy in his lessons, dear diary.). My halfling companion just got confused by all my bowing and palaver, just tapping my nose to let me know that he was fine. Which by some means made my blush even deeper. Luckily our state of affairs allowed me to break off our  conversation.

Despite the pain, I promised myself I would not go down this time! The goblin that attacked me was still lying on our floor level, and I sensed sorcery radiating from items upon the body and from that too familiar staff. As I pointed this out, Finn immediately probed the corpus delicti, stripping it from its armour while doing so. It turned out to be a female goblin! 

For a few seconds that realization had me musing; this one looked all of a sudden so near or even friendly. What if I had been born a goblin, dear diary? Then I thought of what my father would say: “The only article dwarfs and gnomes agree on: ‘In war, the only crime is losing’." 

At the same time Finn was presenting the goods he found on the body. Her armour was not useful for a wizard like me and did not fit Jonathan, even after some adjustments. But an additional defense to unwelcome peeks was welcome,  therefore I started stripping the underwear from the dead goblin. And though not very stylish, the basic set of loincloth and chest binding was more or less rightly sized and free of pests (or so I hoped). (Well yes, quite critical coming from a thief, thank you, dear diary.) Then putting it all on under time stress, as from the hole in the floor once more the sounds of approaching goblins could be heard! And without revealing too much to halfling glances, and goblin arrows for that matter. 

For all that my two companions seemed to be more interested in the treasures of the goblin. And I could sense it when Finn’s rogue instinct took over when he slipped her coins away into his own pocket. And through our mindlink I made him aware that I knew, approving and mocking him that way. Perhaps I could get used to this, dear diary?

Turning round to have a look at the treasures myself, I was just in time to stop Finn from throwing three pouches with pebbles away. “Check the mural on the far side, I think we can buy a treasure with these stones!’ I whispered in his ear. Enough of an argument to hand them over to me. And more spoils were coming my way, because the men were only interested in the goblin weaponry. The booklet with moon symbols drawn upon it as well as two rather beautiful in their malice, moon-shaped amulets, were mine to keep. And as I for sure wanted these to keep, all went into my backpack. Sometimes it takes a lot of pain to get some gains, dear diary!

Once more I had been distracted too long, from the distance screams and high pitched voices could be heard. The goblins were making a comeback, out for revenge. “We should leave via the other opening”; I shouted to my companions. Thinking fast I took the lever in both hands and moved it back to its starting position. At least that’s what I tried, and also what I in the end achieved, but the trajectory and positions the lever and my hands went through was, how shall I put it, complicated. 

As Finn and Jonathan watched in horror, the walls and floor followed more or less the dance that the lever and I performed, and both men had to jump for their life to not fall in the amplifying cavity. Just after the movement of walls and floor came to an end with a last click, leaving a pool like room with just one row of tiles on each side, and I was considering if I should plead guilty or not guilty, another goblin was launched into the room. And from the noises below it was clear more were on their way.

Finn and the goblin were locked in combat on the side where an opening to a lower part of the maze was still visible. With our way out blocked for now and no means to help Finn as Jonathan and I were on the edge opposed to the melee, I grabbed the spellbook. Touching it, magic energy streamed through my fingers and it seemed to purr like a cat. Words came to my brain swimmingly, without me truly reading them. 

Like a steam machine the pressure built up, at one point some of it leaking away to Finn, what was happening? Regaining control, I felt a bulb of vigor captured in my hands. Converting it to a ball of acid floating in my hands, aiming it, then propelling it with a refined gesture into the hole. (I admit once more, dear diary, that my magic skills and levels or arrogance could become a problem.) 

A feeling of complacency came over me, casting spells like I was a true wizard. Breathing in deeply, then looking around, I found Finn had made short work of the goblin, and Jonathan was safe on the far side. As there were still command-like shrieks coming from below, I launched more acid portions in the direction of the sounds, until nothing came from below anymore. 

A calm came over the room. Jonathan and I could jump over the chasm with the help of Finn, who was already on the correct side. Correct as: on the side where gnomish machinery and intelligence had created a safe passage downwards. Only a small, not that difficult climb and we would be safe. So, after the two halflings had climbed down, I took the staff of the goblin and started my descent. And here, dear diary, my hubris was punished. Somehow I slipped, lost my grip, and plummeted down, bouncing over boulders and rocks. 

Probably Garl Glittergold was looking at me and decided to bless me with a lesson full of poetic justice. Holding tight to the gnome moonstick, my cloak got stuck, and ended bungling from an old beam, sticking out of an old wall. Myself, I ended up in front of two halfling men, just wearing the goblin underwear (Which I was even more grateful for, dear diary!). With a sore behind I had to endure the corked up laughter of Finn and Jonathan. The latter ‘gracefully’ offered to heal my bum, the first informed if it was my plan to escape by seducing the Goblin King. 

So that’s why, dear diary, I’m sitting here a bit apart from my companions, next to a more harmless, quiet type. Too tired to try to read the spellbook, or even the goblin book. Still a bit proud of myself, and of our teamwork (which is a first). And also feeling a bit modest, having learned my lesson (Stop laughing, dear diary, on whose side are you anyway?). And building the courage to stand up and face my halfling friends wearing, well, something so small that still succeeds in being so unstylish. Perhaps a little bit later then. 

Session #8, as told by Finn

Click spells trouble

The dull ache in Finn’s ribs had steadied into a slow, simmering hum. He heard Arvin Quill’s boots fade down the corridor — same rhythm, three steps, pause, continue — still clacking his baton against the bars. The bastard was heading to Silas Cray’s cell, probably to gloat, compare notes, and make sure the two of them were aligned on just how much a halfling could take before cracking. That meant one thing: they might soon discover that Silas’ master key was missing. And if they did, they would come back to check Finn’s cell.

Rosslyn twitched in her nest, whiskers flicking. “Time to see how far clever can get,” he muttered, voice rasping. The master key was warm in his hand. Shiny, simple, and lethal in the right fingers. A tool to undo the locks, the chains, the cage Calder had built around him. Finn had extras, too — a stolen hinge pin, two lengths of wire, a spoon ground to a point. Time to go all-in on getting out.

The cell door yielded with a soft click. He eased it open, letting the stale air of the corridor brush past. Arvin’s baton was still clacking in the distance, moving away, muffled by the bend in the hall. Good. Too far to hear a quiet lock turn, too busy with Silas to notice one disappearing prisoner.

The corridor was empty. Stone walls hummed with the silence of late night. His boots made little sound on the uneven floor. He kept Rosslyn tucked against his chest, careful not to jostle her, careful not to breathe too loudly.

At the end of the corridor stood Arvin’s booth. The cell block itself was locked by a gate. 

Time to check how much of a master key they had entrusted Silas with. It slid in, and the lock opened like a drunkard’s mouth at the promise of free ale. A thin smile tugged at his lips. He slipped through and locked it behind him. That would at least slow Arvin down if it came to it.

The stairwell waited ahead; he paused. Two flights down, stone steps worn smooth by years of boots, each one ready to betray him with a whisper of sound. Finn descended slowly, steady, counting every breath.

At the bottom, the main hall opened up. The smell hit first: stale beer and whatever supper the guards had been fed. Smelled a whole lot better than the slop prisoners got. His stomach growled loud as an owlbear. One breath, two breaths, but no one came looking.

The guard’s hall was on the left. He heard laughter, the clatter of cards, and someone slurping soup loudly enough to drown out his gut. Risking a glance, he saw two guards bent over their game, eyes dull with boredom. The slurper had his back to the door. Finn slipped past like a shadow through fog.

 

* After their ordeal — first tumbling into a chamber, then nearly losing one of their number to a treacherous hidden door, followed by a stagnant pool of acid that claimed not one but two lives before Inez’ precious moonstone pulled off its miracle — the three of them lay scattered in opposite corners of the room, each coping with the aftermath in their own way.

Jonathan having had a bite to eat, was leaning against a wall — meditating and praying to Chislev. He was dressed in some spare clothes, only his leather armor had survived being doused with acid. His wrist now sported a leaf-shaped scar, similar to the symbol of Chislev he carried around his neck. 

“What was annoying, Rosslyn. Was that Jonno got it in his head, that the goddess must’ve worked through me, dragged his soggy arse out of the acid. Like I was her chosen bloody saint. A saint, Ross. Can you picture it? Me, Saint Finn of the Alleys. Patron saint of cheese, cheap wine and alleys. Truth is, it was all Red’s rock. But try telling him that. Lad gazed at me like I fart divine blessings. Really didn’t need his big, wide eyes —all trust and awe — on me at that moment.”  

Inez hadn’t eaten but she still had plenty to chew on. The strange tether between her mind and Finn’s had spooked them both, yet for sure she’d tucked it away sharp as a ledger note, neatly kept for later. Fin was sure she’d pick the matter apart piece by piece until she had every last answer out of him, until he wished the acid had finished him instead. For the moment, covered in a spare cloak, Inez scurried off to the far wall, precious book in her lap like it was the only company she wanted. 

“From a distance she looked calm enough — serene, even, like she’d carved out a little pocket of peace away from us halflings. But the mind-link told a different story. Fuzzy impressions bled through, half-formed words, as sense of whispering that wasn’t meant for me.

“She wasn’t just reading that damn book — she was talking to it. A man doesn’t need that kind of intimacy with a woman, Rosslyn. Let her go crazy in her own bloody head!”

They were locked in an accursed dungeon and two party members were losing their minds — what mind they had to begin with (looking at the cleric).

But Finn shouldn’t speak, he probably wasn’t far behind the others on the scales of sanity. He tried to look composed — a halfling calmly eating, keeping watch. But his right hand subconsciously kept drifting his left lilac-stained hand. The horror they had battled at the campsite with the fingered tentacles kept popping up into his mind. What if that thing had started out as someone like him. What if he was halfway down the same road? Cheery thought.

Eventually, Inez got up, declared it was morning and that they should continue. Finn refrained from mentioning that they had only sat there for about an hour. He just chalked it up to trauma — not her impending insanity.

They turned their eyes to the door they’d ignored earlier, before diving into the acid. Big seams and joints glowed with faint green light, not the friendly kind of green either. Jonathan thought it was divine light.

“Me, Ross? I thought it was trouble’s calling card.”

Finn asked Inez to sniff for magic and see what was afoot. Big mistake. As Inez pulled out her book, spell focus, waved her hands and mumbled her magic words — a jolt of feedback ripped down the mind link. It made his teeth rattle, and he quickly needed to assert control of his bladder before he’d piss himself. Even his iron medallion didn’t offer much comfort.

Lovely intimacy, that. Still, Finn caught flashes of her sensing magic at the top of the slide, and magic in the room beyond the small porthole at the other end of the chamber. Despite its ominous green glow, the door itself appeared to be clean. 

So, he did what he did best: he checked the door. No traps. No poison needles, no crushing plates, no hissing serpents. Just an old lock; a long other side tingle mechanism. Used in heavy doors, simple enough. Pride welled up in Finn, and apparently in Inez too — Red smiled like she’d done it herself. Apparently, his ego leaked now too.

Well, pride before the fall. The heavy door didn’t move an inch. Scowling, Finn asked the strongman-of-the-party for help. Jonathan’s pushing against the door amounted to nothing. Which was frustrating and oddly satisfying at the same time.

Inez started turning pages in her book — Finn’s teeth didn’t need that experience a second time, so he pushed with all his might and forced the door open with a hiss and a sigh of green fog. Lovely. “How about that? Strongest man!”, he thought. A snort from Inez behind meant he was broadcasting his thoughts again. “Damn.”

Beyond the door lay stairs dropping away into imperceptibility. A warm, moist, sickly atmosphere wafted up at them — green fog beckoning them in. Inez waved her hand in the distance, said a glowing rectangle was out there. Jonathan and Finn had learned to trust her sight.

Having learned from the two previous disastrous entries into new rooms. Finn led the party down the steps. Inez safely in the middle, with Jonathan bringing up the rear. A tossed pebble landed just fine.

“So of course we took it as a good omen.” Finn winked at Rosslyn.

Finn steps onto a massive floor tile, no issue. Inez steps onto the tile, nothing. Jonathan joins them — click! The universal sound of bad luck.

“That cleric must be the center point of the whole damn plane of misfortune.”

They all tried to scramble back, this set off another click.

“Light flared, bright enough to sear your eyes out of your skull. Next thing I know, we’re sprawled across another floor in another chamber. My head ringing, Red’s nose miraculously intact for once. Same stonework, same green glow. Just… different.”

The walls were covered in murals. Jonathan got misty-eyed, babbling about Chislev’s blessing. Inez copied them down; certain they’d mean something important. Finn just thought they looked like alleyway scribbles — the kind of thing you only notice when you’re deep into your smokes or mushrooms. Red started casting something again, Finn braced himself. This time, his teeth and bladder were fine — small wins. Even with her Ju-Ju up, the pictures didn’t make sense to Inez. Jonathan came up with a divine explanation that only managed to annoy Finn and Inez with its stupidity. So, Finn had a look — his moment to shine. Not that he and the cleric where in a contest for Inez approval. Absolutely not.

The walls told a story, if you were generous enough to call stick figures and moons a story. Finn paced along them, squinting like the shapes might make more sense if he stared hard enough.

The first panel looked like a riddle scratched out by a drunk. One moon, three stones. Then two moons. Then three stones again. Counting game, maybe? Or just someone who really liked circles.

Next panel was easier: a skull dropping into wavy lines. Acid, water, soup — take your pick. Considering the smell in this place, Finn would wager acid. Clear warning: “Step wrong, and you’ll end up floating face-down.”

The third one? Some stick-figure under a glowing moon, arms flailing like it just won a tavern brawl. Looked angry, though.

The fourth panel had the same little monster, but now it was holding up a staff tipped with a crescent moon like it was king of the world. That one he didn’t like. Angry beast with a magic stick usually means trouble, and trouble had a habit of dropping on their heads.

And the last mural… three stones slotted into some kind of wall, and in front of it a treasure chest glowing bright. Classic bait. The kind of promise that drags idiots down into holes just like this one.

Jonno kept to his own interpretations, a tried to look through the windows. He couldn’t see anything but claimed to hear water. Great. Probably more acid.

Inez decided to pause her musings and focus on the rest of the room. It was becoming a habit that the three of them were ignoring obvious features of their surroundings. The wooden floor had a metal panel with a (very present) lever sticking out. Great. They had seen that before. Every underground cellar in these parts apparently doubles as a carrousel. The thing was made from brass, a few ratchets and rotary knobs visible. And strangely also animal figures – something a madman might have invented. 

Red puffed up immediately, claimed it was gnomish engineering at its finest.You ever notice how the more dangerous something looks — the prouder gnomes are of it? She even started to dust it off and shine the brass, like it was some long-lost family heirloom. Anyway, she asked permission before yanking it, which was a first. Jonathan beamed like a schoolboy about to embark on a trip. I just muttered “this is going to hurt” and braced for impact.

Sure enough: click, grind, screech — and the whole midsection of the bloody outer wall moved out. This revealed a shaft to gods-knows-where in the floor. The whole chamber shuddered like an old drunk trying to stand, and Jonathan had the sense to leap back.

Then he grinned, and — saints save us — he asked her to do it again but now also push the button on the top of the lever.

“Ross. I swear, traveling with these two is like juggling knives in a high wind: eventually something’s going to stick, and it’ll probably be in me.”

The gnome girl apparently got tickled playing with gnomish technology. She pulled back the lever, retracting the wall, pressed the button and cranked it back down again. This time the corner section of the chamber moved out — creating a chasm in the floor and sidewall. Jonathan moved to peer outside, but the floorboards greeted him with loud creaking sounds. The halfling stopped in his tracks. Looking back at Finn and Inez, he stated he was too heavy for the floor.

I will say this on that matter Rosslyn: “There is no such thing as an overweight halfling — every halfling is just right.”

In the darkness outside the wall, small dancing lights rose in the distance. Strange voices started and shouts quickly closed the distance. Jonathan grabbed his axe and moved back to join the others. Finn reached for the lever, but Inez stopped him with a gesture and a frown. Fine! But he wasn’t going to stand like a sacrificial lamb in the center of the room with a large target painted on his gut. Grabbing his knives he positioned himself next to the opening, hidden from view by the wall.

The shouts rose to a crescendo and a (even by halfling standards) short figure wielding two scimitars jumped up out the chasm in the floor, quickly followed by another wielding a moon-tipped staff.

The two grimy creatures wasted no time as the scimitar wielding one tore into Jonathan. In return the halfling cleric started to glow a little, which didn’t impress anyone in the room. The other attacker gave Inez a mighty whack with her staff just as Finn rushed to her aid. The pain reverberated in his mind, and he missed a wild swing with his cleaver. His vision went red for a moment; with his offhand dagger he caught the figure in the side and quickly corrected his initial miss by stabbing down hard with his cleaver. The attacker dropped to the floor like a bag of flour. Spinning around his axis Finn closed the distance with Jonathan’s assailant, stabbing it in the neck. This one tumbled down into the chasm, nearly taking Finn with it. A heavy thud in the dark below was followed by screams and the sounds of feet running away.

Finn stood there panting for a moment, hands on his knees. Inez retrieved her knife from Jonathan. In the commotion she had managed to stab, not the attacking figures, but their halfling healer. Who need enemies with friends like this.

Inez magically scanned the crumpled body on the floor and indicated there were items of magic hidden in its pockets, then joined Jonathan for some healing. The wizard and the cleric had taken some bad hits.

Finn decided to busy himself with the magic items without their prying eyes on him. Rolling over the body, the creature had a yellow-greenish, wrinkled skin. Warts, large fleshy ears, sharp, pointy teeth and small, beady eyes – a real beauty. He was no expert, but this looked like what people had said goblins looked like. It appeared to be a lady goblin as well and judging by the items she carried likely a leader or religious figure of sorts.

She had the moon-tipped staff that they had seen in the murals. A shortbow with two arrows — not much use. Two moon shaped amulets, one grinning with a mouth full of sharp teeth, the other with a nightcap on — might be worth something. To keep up with the moon theme, she had a booklet in her possession with moon symbols drawn — Inez would like that for sure. In a pocket, Finn found three copper pieces, five silver pieces and a single gold coin that quickly found a way into his pockets. Inez came from money and Jonathan was a man of God, what need of coin did they have? In the back of his mind, he felt Inez’ knowing indifference. “Crap.”

Lastly, the goblin had a pouch with three grey stones. Finn was about to chuck them away, when Inez stopped him and reminded him of the murals and the treasure.

The goblin was wearing something that resembled a dress and a chainshirt. Inez claimed the dress and under garments. From prude to wearing a goblins shitty underwear — the rich solicitor’s daughter was on a journey of self-discovery.

Finn moved to Jonathan. If even his own party was landing hits on him, he needed all the help he could get. They removed some stitches from the chainshirt to create a bit of space to pull it over his head. The piece of armor was little more than a crop top on the chubby priest, but divine intervention was clearly not enough to steer him clear of trouble.

They divvied up the rest of the loot — short bow, arrows and a dropped scimitar to Jonathan, a scimitar to Finn and like a tax collector with a grudge, Inez claimed the rest.

In the distance screams and high-pitched voices picked up again. Inez took charge and worked the lever once again. “We should leave via the other opening.” The midsection of the wall shudderingly moved out to give the party its exit. Finn leaped the widened opening in the floor and helped Inez across as well. But they were too late. A screaming goblin warrior was launched into the room landing right in front of Finn — spittle spraying into his face. Finn tried to shove his attacker off the platform, but the crazed goblin managed to block his push and grab onto him. Inez book in hand started to gesture and shout arcane incantations. Whatever she did, the mind-tether drove a spike into his mind. His vision blurred and Inez was all. He heard her incantations, was aware of her movements, but those were merely tools to focus her mind. She reached out to a place — somewhere beyond this plane — and from there she pulled forth a globe of acid and hurled at the goblins below in the dark.

The creature hanging from Finn’s arm, hurled spittle and abuse and clawed at his eyes. With precariously little space to stand on the platform, it tried to drag him down into the chasm. In a panic, Finn reached out with his mind towards the place Inez had just touched with hers. It filled his hand with heat and untapped power, the goblin hanging from his arm started to convulse and went limb — falling away into the darkness below. Finn’s hand held a blade of shimmering purple light, flashing once and blinking back out of existence. With it disappeared the mind-link, the pressure behind his ears suddenly gone, replaced with a feeling of emptiness. Or loneliness.

Next to him a scowling Inez started bombing the goblins below with acid globe after acid globe like a Furie seeking retribution. The mob decided enough was enough and fled back into the darkness. Looking at her in awe, Finn decided it was better stay on Inez’ good side. Maybe less teasing was in order.

They brought Jonathan over to their side and quickly climbed out of the room, down to the grounds below.

“And nothing else happened there.” Old Finn winked at Rosslyn

 

Old Finn kept to the walls, every footfall measured, every stone beneath his boots accounted for. The yard stretched wide, moonlight pooling in patches. Torches flickered along the walls where guards leaned on the parapets, bored, half-asleep. Finn hugged the shadows by the far wall, Rosslyn tucked into his sleeve. She was quiet, claws pricking through fabric as she steadied herself against his arm, as if she knew this was no small leap.

 

He crouched. Every muscle tense, every sense sharpened. Clever gets you out, he thought, but patience makes you dangerous. Tonight, he would need both. A guard shifted above, called out to another, laughing. Finn froze, pressed flat against the stone, heart hammering. When the voices drifted on, he slid step by step toward the far corner. He counted torches, timed the intervals between the guards’ glances, studied the slack in the ropes on the gate. One misstep and the whole yard would wake. But luck and patience had their rhythm, and Finn matched it, silent as breath.

Then came the shout from the keep. His chest went cold. Arvin. That bastard had realized Finn was gone. Boots thundered against stone, echoing off the walls. “Where the hell is he?!” The roar carried across the yard.

The game was on.