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.

 

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. Somehow he was holding on, fingers and nails grasping into the crag.

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.