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

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

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

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

The rat twitched her whiskers.

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

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

It always started with Old Grint.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then the cage door swung open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just a year.

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

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

But he wasn’t entirely alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roslynn twitched her whiskers.

Finn smirked, shaking his head.

“Wish I could say the same.”

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

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

Read Inez's version here...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, Gertrude. His goose.

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

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

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

The girls just laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Loud, shrill, vengeful.

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

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

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

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

And then the girl screamed.

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

And Inez?

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

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

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

Inez’s Tale: The Booklet and the Bargain

 Inez’s Tale: The Booklet and the Bargain

Read Finn's version here...

Dear diary,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finn’s Tale: The Booklet and the Bargain

 Finn’s Tale: The Booklet and the Bargain

Read Inez's version here...

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

Finn smirked.

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

Roslynn wriggled her whiskers.

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

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

And that’s when she found him.

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

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

And, to Finn’s mild surprise, beautiful.

Naturally, he kept his cool.

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

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

‘I don’t work for free, lady.’

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

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

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

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

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

Finn’s stomach did something strange.

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

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

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

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

Something flickered across her face—something unreadable.

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

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

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

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

She went red.

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

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

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

Finn had stood there for a moment, blinking.

Then, slowly, he’d grinned.

Finn exhaled, shaking himself back to the present.

Roslynn twitched her whiskers, curling tighter into his coat.

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

The rat, naturally, didn’t answer.

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

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Me neither.”

Second session: Finn's comments

Session 2: Leaving Nook

The old halfling shuffled around his little cell, his bare feet quiet against the cold stone. Stopping by the tiny window, he tilted his head up, squinting at the full moon hanging fat and bright behind the iron bars. “Mockin’ me again, are ya?” he muttered with a wry smirk. “All free and floatin’ up there while I’m stuck down here. Typical.”

With a soft sigh, he wandered back to his creaky bunk and flopped down, staring at the ceiling for a moment before a familiar scurrying sound drew his attention. A little rat climbed onto his chest, its beady eyes twinkling in the dim light. “No treat tonight, Roslynn,” he said with a chuckle, scratching the creature’s head. “But I’ll tell ya what. I’ll give you a story. Did I ever tell you about the first time I left Nook?”

The rat twitched her nose, settling in as Finn began, his voice colored with nostalgia and just a touch of regret.

“I should’ve known better than to hook up with those two fools. But the itch to leave Nook was too strong, and once I’d said my goodbyes to Willa and Kip, there was no turnin’ back. So there I was, standin’ in the middle of the night outside the cockfight arena, waitin’ on Jonathan and Inez. They’d made plans, you see. Grand plans. But me? I was feelin’ like a real ripe fool when nobody showed up. Must’ve been standin’ there an hour before I finally decided to pack it in and head home.

“But just as I was about to leave, I spotted somethin’—or someone—slumped in an alley nearby. Inez. Fancy travelin’ clothes covered in dirt, tear tracks still fresh on her face. She looked small, curled up like that, clutchin’ her bag like it was all she had left in the world. ‘What in the blazes…’ I muttered, walkin’ over. I shook her shoulder, called her name, but she didn’t wake up. At first, I thought she was sleepin’. Then I thought—poisoned? Cursed? Dead?” He gave a little shiver. “My stomach was doin’ flips, Roslynn. So, what’d I do? Poured water all over her face, naturally.”

He chuckled at the memory. “She woke up splutterin’ and flailin’ like a fish outta water. I just smirked at her. ‘Finally. Thought I’d have to drag you outta here like a sack of spuds.’ She glared at me, all sputterin’ protests, but I told her plain as day: ‘What were you thinkin’? Sleepin’ out here in the muck, all painted up like a fancy doll? You’re lucky I found you before someone else did.’ I hauled her to her feet, mutterin’, ‘C’mon, let’s find Jonathan before this night gets any worse.’ But, oh, Roslynn, it did get worse.”

He rubbed his face, sighing. “We went to the Wickham cottage—Jonathan’s place. Dark as a tomb, of course. So I knocked. His da answered, mad as all hell for bein’ woken up, and wouldn’t even let us see Jonathan. Inez wanted me to break in. Break in! Into a house full of people. That’s askin’ for a knock on the noggin’, I told her. But before I could talk sense into her, Jonathan’s granddad shows up. Old man in his robes, spoutin’ off about moon rituals and glowin’ rocks. Inez was eatin’ it up like a halfling who missed second breakfast. Me? I just wanted to get Jonathan and get outta there. When the old coot started openin’ his robes to show Inez his ‘glowin’ stones,’ I grabbed her and hightailed it.”

He paused, shaking his head. “We tried knockin’ again, and this time the whole family spilled out—kids everywhere, Roslynn. More than Old Grint’s orphanage! Jonathan finally showed up, arguin’ with his da about leavin’. His da said he could leave, but didn’t even wanna give him his travel pack. Pure spite, that was, showing a halfling the door without his lunch! Meanwhile, Inez decided to impress the Wickham kids by conjurin’ a glowin’ piglet in her hands. Not sure what that was supposed to accomplish, but the kids loved it.”

Finn chuckled again, the sound low and gravelly. “And just when I thought we could finally leave, we heard someone callin’ for Inez. Her parents had sent people lookin’ for her! We had to scram, but Jonathan didn’t have his rations. So we raided the Wickham veggie patch. I grabbed some carrots—good, solid food. But those two posh fools? They went for courgettes! Each managed to grab one before we had to run.”

He grinned. “Then we heard someone callin’ for Inez. Turns out her parents had sent people lookin’ for her. We had to scram fast, but Jonathan didn’t have his rations, so we raided the Wickham veggie patch. Now, I grabbed carrots—good, solid food—but those two posh fools went for courgettes. Courgettes, Roslynn! And they only managed to grab one each before we had to run.”

Finn sighed and leaned back against the cold wall. “We got outta Nook, and I had to lend Inez my hat and coat so she wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb. But once we were clear, Jonathan started whinin’ about bein’ hungry. Typical halfling. Inez pulled out these fancy rations wrapped in green-and-white cloth with a bird logo. The smell of those muffins, Roslynn, I’ll never forget it. Thought I could resist, but my own rations suddenly seemed like garbage next to that heavenly scent.”

He paused, a wistful smile on his face. “The road wasn’t any easier. Inez was wearin’ heeled boots, for cryin’ out loud, and Jonathan was useless. We made camp that night, and those two wanted me to make courgette cookies for dinner. Courgette cookies! Of course, they were half-burnt, half-raw, but at least my stew turned out decent. Inez pulled out wine and a tent fit for a princess. Book girl might be posh, but she’s got taste.”

“The next morning, we set off again. By midday, we found the moonstone field Jonathan’s mad granddad had gone on about. The glowin’ stone was there, just as he said. But then we spotted somethin’—an owlbear chick. Now, Roslynn, let me tell ya somethin’. You don’t pick up fluffy critters in the wild. Their mama’s always nearby, and she’ll take your hand clean off if you’re not careful. Did Inez listen? Of course not. She picked up that chick like it was a kitten.”

Finn sighed dramatically. “And wouldn’t ya know it? Mama showed up. She rushed Inez, nearly took her face off. Jonathan—bless his bumblin’ soul—tried talkin’ to the owlbear. I’ll let you guess how that went. I took matters into my own hands and shanked the beast. Owlbear jerky’s some of the best, after all. But then the other two insisted on takin’ the chick with us. I told them chick-on-a-stick made a fine dinner idea. Inez didn’t take kindly to that.”

The old halfling scratched the rat’s head, his tone turning darker. “We pressed on, chasin’ this nonsense about moonstones. Found another field, then another—this one lined with black stone pillars. Ominous as all hell. Still no moonstones. And then—Jonathan, bless his idiot soul—fell down a hill and rolled straight into a massive spiderweb. Giant spiders, Roslynn. Big enough to eat a halfling in one bite.

“Inez—genius that she is—lit a torch to help. But she set the whole forest on fire! Flames every which way, spiders crawlin’ out to eat us, Jonathan stuck in the webs like a fly. I tried cuttin’ him loose, but the webs were tougher than steel. So I grabbed Inez’s torch and burned him free. Then we ran. Ran like the Nine Hells were nippin’ at our heels.”

He leaned back, letting out a long breath. “We didn’t stop until we found another field, exhausted and singed. Made camp there and slept like the dead. And that, Roslynn,” he said, scratching her under the chin, “was just the beginnin’. But I’ll save the rest for another night. Can’t give away all my tales at once, can I?”

Finn smirked, closing his eyes as the rat scurried up to perch on his shoulder. “Plenty more where that came from, love. Just you wait.”

Second session: Inez's diary

Session 2: Leaving Nook

(Also see: Second session: Finn's comments )

 My dear diary, a long day was awaiting me!

The day started abruptly, when I was woken by a splash of water in my face! Despite lying in the litter, somehow folded between some barrels, I had been deeply asleep. Of course it was Finn who was responsible for this rude morning greeting! And despite him rattling on annoyingly about me being so stupid to snooze at a dangerous place like that and what an ignorant spoiled brat I was, I was so glad to see him, I just smiled. “Where's Jonathan?” I asked him, trying to set his mind on a different track. “Wasn't he supposed to join us?”

So we headed out to Jonathan’s place, Fin leading me through the Halfling quarter of Nook, a part of town which I had not visited before.  Even in the early twilight I was amazed how this slice of the city differed from the Nook I knew. Fin led us to a shambly shack, with a well nourished vegetable garden up front (For a moment, dear diary, I thought Finn had arranged for rides, spoiled brat was too close to the bone..). “Here he lives,” whispered Fin, “and from the sounds I hear, he’s not awake yet.”

Standing in front of the house, we consulted in a whispering tone, finally deciding on knocking on the shutter where we presumed Jonathan would be lying inside. At first, there was no response, but after a third or fourth attempt, we could hear stumbling inside, the curious rhythm of someone walking with a stick. The shutter was opened for a bit, and the face of an old halfling appeared, asking us what was our business. This turned out to be Jonathan’s father, who was not very delighted with us visiting his son at this time of day. Our efforts to convince him failed miserably, both at the window and when he opened up the door to address us. Neither my skills in etiquette (well practiced the past period in my days spent grounded at home) nor in seduction (Please don’t go there, dear diary) were sufficient to persuade the aged farmer. As my father would have said: “They speak of stubborn dwarfs and blunt ogres, but it’s easier to reason with a dragon than with a halfling!”

Finn argued that knocking on the door another time was not wise, rolling his eyes when I suggested the staff entrance. Don't think I managed to convince him that I just had meant going around the house to check for other options, but still, that's what we decided to do. The backside of the building offered no options to enter it or contact Jonathan. However a strange even older halfling approached us, asking what we were doing in this part of town at this time of day. Once more I attempted to impress using the best of Gnomish etiquette I had acquired (Resulting in Finn stepping away grinnicking. Well I would show him!) And with result! After informing him that we were looking for a priest he started elaborating that it was indeed a perfect time for gathering moonstones, that he had done so himself many times many years ago. As I listened politely to this mixture of galimatias and directions, he offered me his map of the road to moonstone fields and to Magki (Something I probably could prove my worth with to my companions), which I accepted kindly. His next offer, to show off his moonstones, uttered with a lewd smile, I refused disgustedly. As my mother would have said: “They speak of salacious dwarfs and lewd humans, but it’s the halflings that a gnome should worry about!”

At the corner of the road I found Finn sitting nibbling a piece of cheese, a mocking grin on his face: “So I see you have acquainted yourself with Jonathan's grandfather.  How did that work out for you?” “Well, you say you're a thief, why don’t you crack open that shutter?” I countered, “How hard could that possibly be?” Finn was obviously not very enthusiastic about this task, reluctantly standing up and moving again to the house. From his jacket he produced a shady looking tool and placed it between shutter and wall. For one moment I thought that this could work out, when a loud squeaking noise indicated that he had failed in opening the panel and succeeded in waking up everyone inside. Not only the cadenced steps of the father, but the voices and steps of several children sounded through the night. With a bang the door opened, and a group of halfling children ran out towards me. “Are we gonna play? Will you play with us and the pigs?”. The kids started pulling at my tunic, and Finn being Finn decided that discretion is the better part of valour, leaving me to deal with this alone. More and more kids ran out of the house, and I needed a ruse fast! Somehow I managed to find the idea and the rest to kneel down and cast cantrip, conjuring a glowing moving pig kept in the palms of my hand. The children looked in awe and gathered around me. “Finn, get in there and get Jonathan out!” I screamed to noone, but out of nowhere the halfling rogue appeared and entered the house, shaking his head. 

Invisible to me, inside Jonathan and his father were having a terrible argument over Jonathan leaving. Not that the old man had trouble with his eldest son taking off, but he had serious objections with Jonathan taking his backpack with him. Their quarrel was audible outside and possibly for the whole of Nook, and things did not improve when Finn entered the fray. My spell however was dowsing and with my last seconds of control I sent the projected pigs running into the house, pursued by the youngsters. After saying thanks to Azuth (this must count as the first effectual spell I ever conjured!) and a few moments to regain some energy, I followed them in. Inside I found the place not only filled by Finn, Jonathan, his father and the kids, but a small gathering of halflings! There had been more people sleeping together in one room, than there would be in our staff quarters during a Great Gathering of Gnomes!   

At the table in the far corner, Jonathan nor Finn did manage to convince the father to allow for taking the backpack. Neither did Finn succeed in snitching the backpack away. I walked over, trying not to step on bunks, pottery or halfling children. However my gnomish etiquette nor charm had any effect on the father (These Wickham fellows were of a different breed of halfling than these Slynts!), leaving the three of us looking at each other in despair. Then Jonathan slammed his fist on the table, and walked away from us and his father. Though his steps were firm and calm, his expression was not, eyes burning like a red dragon! Never seen him like that before, and that was probably also the case for his family members, as all of them stepped aside as he paraded out the cottage. 

Finn and I followed him outside. As Jonathan calmed down a bit, we discussed if the backpack was essential for our trip. “All my food is in the pack, the really important stuff I carry in my robe. “ said the still trembling Jonathan, “But there’s one more essential thing I ‘ve got to do.” With that he walked over to his mother standing  by the well. The resemblance with my own departures was all too evident, and I started shedding a little tear. Walking back to us past the vegetable garden, Jonathan said his blessing, then he abruptly kneeled down and started pulling on some greens, hissing “We need food before we can run!” When I tried to follow his example, I managed to pull out a courgette from the ground.  Only to be rewarded by another rebuke of Finns: “When the two of you are done with harvesting crops, we can prepare a nice meal for the goons that are coming over!” “So stop playing with these courgettes now!!” Indeed a carriage could be seen in the distance and cries could be heard, clearly stating my name.My father had sent out a search party! “We need to go, and we need to go now!” I hissed at both the halflings.

The snoring of ponies and “clomp clomp’ of horseshoes was nearing and I tried to make it clear we had to move! At that moment Finn started unbuttoning his jacket (What is it with these halfling men, dear diary?). He took it off and draped it over my shoulders:“Wear this, and this too!”, placing his hat on my head, “from a distance you now look like a halfling!” (Once more he did well, valid point, diary!). The two halflings then discussed a route to take us out of Nook. Though Finn was pointing in a different direction, I felt the back alley Jonathan suggested was the safer choice. And rightly so, as we managed to leave the city without encountering the search party or other unpleasantness.

At a certain, hopefully safe, distance from the last city dwellings, ironically halfling burrows. Nothing like the shed of Jonathan’s family, these were the residences of the well to do halflings, some of them customers of fathers practice. We paused for a while after passing these last settlements. Acknowledging appreciation and gratitude (Showing off my gnome etiquette once more!)  I gave back the jacket and hat to Finn. We were now standing at a fork in the road, and had to decide which branch to take. We matched the map I had received of the grandfather (Indeed making  an impression on the two companions, dear diary!) with the knowledge and sense of direction of the two halflings. We decided to choose the northern more trodden path.

Contemplating our own thoughts (Mine and those of Jonathan probably aligned, thinking about the parting with our families, Finn’s thoughts a mystery to me, probably for the best), we walked on silently for quite some time. The sun rose above the hills as we walked the road, occasionally meeting forthcoming travelers and carts. Then all deep deliberations were interrupted by a loud, deep rumble from Jonathan’s belly. “I need to have a meal and have it right now! By now we've skipped at least four courses of a normal halfling day, not including additional tidbits”, the owner of the belly declared, sitting down and refusing to walk on. Appropriately I had packed some rations before leaving my parents house, about ten lunch packages of the Trans Gnomish Pony express (As my father would suffer travel sickness he never ate them en route, but having paid for them always brought them home.). So I offered both my travel companions a green white package, with the company's parrot logo on top. Finn refused, preferring his own stack of cheese, Jonathan seized it from my hand, unwrapping it swiftly, unpacking the contents even faster, and had eaten the muffins before I had time to untie my own bow tied package! Smelling and seeing the muffins, Finn was now obviously regretting his choice. (Never decline the gifts of this spoiled brat, halfling!)

After satisfying, well at least partly and temporarily, Jonathan's yearnings, Finn pressed us on to continue walking to, in his words,  ‘gain a snug gap from that rubbish pile called Nook’. Though my feet were by now killing me and I had to listen to Jonathan prayers, pleading with his god for returning to the natural daily dining schedule of halflings, we managed to march on for some time, reaching an open field bordered by trees. There Jonathan lied down, letting out that this was the end of the road for today (And, dear diary, I was very pleased with myself, not being the first one to give in! I sat down next to Jonathan, while Finn lamented about us being the saddest and slowest company he ever traveled with, “like watching a praying sloth racing a turtle on high heels l!” Ridiculing my high heeled boots, like these were not designed by the “The Acorn Atelier" for the wayfaring modern gnome lady, dear diary!!).  As I sat down on a tree stump, somehow managing to pull out my feet from my boots without giving Finn a hint of the pain involved. “Well, what are we having for dinner then? Would you be so kind as to show off the cooking skills you were bragging about and prepare me some courgette cookies, please, Finn? Would be so nice to eat something I plucked myself! It appeared that I had said something wrong again, but both Finn and Jonatan started working. Pans appeared out of Finn’s backpack, Jonathan compiled some dry branches and started making a fire, as I sat waiting for my diner. And miraculously, minutes later a dinner was served: a strange looking goo that Finn called stew and a charred slice, presented by our cook as ‘the cookie’. As a well cultivated gnome I took a bite, only to experience the worst tasting of my life! Dear diary, I was saved by my mothers good heart, she had donated me a bag with ‘déjeuner sur l'herbe essentials’ when we met for the last time at the staff door. Inside was a wooden canister containing a small flask of “Moonberry Mead”, a wine just made to wash away bad taste. (Diary, diary, both halflings were now watching me in marvel, and I picked up sentences like ‘princess of Nook’ from their careless whispers.). Though the stew was not something our cook at home  would have approved of, it tasted quite well and I complimented both cook and assistant! (Hopefully regaining some affinity with my halfing friends, diary?)

Voting led to the majority decision to not travel further that day (Two to one, I think you can come up with the names, dear diary). We decided to set up tents just inside the wood, a bit out of sight. Out of my backpack I pulled out the good old ‘Tinker's Trail Gear’ tent, not seen since my scouting days had ended, when I reached an age that entailed that sleeping outside was no longer considered proper for a lady gnome. Setting it up smoothly, then securing the tent with its dragon headed pens in a twinkle, I finally impressed the halfling boys, my sweet diary! While sitting in front of the little hut , I watched Finn setting up his tent, an old stained one in drab colors, not like my ‘moonlit black’ example, decorated with Elven silver reflection patterning.  

Poor Jonathan though had to cope with moss and twigs to produce himself a sleeping place, as his tent was left at home in the backpack! As he was dribbling around, I heard him announce that his God Chislev had messaged him that rain would be coming soon. “So nice of a god of nature to warn his priests for cloudbursts and storms!”, Finn replied. “Unfortunately, my tent can barely contain one halfling, let alone two.” I saw where this was going, diary, and decided to call the bluff: “You can sleep in my tent Jonathan, we will be taking turns standing guard anyway, so during my watch my tent is available.” Resulting in Jonathan’s gratitude and Finn’s disbelief. (Sharing a tent with a halfling man, spending the night with two of them in the wilderness, if any gnomes would know, I will spend the rest of my days in a Townswomen's Guild!) 

So that’s where this first day ends, my dear diary. Tomorrow we’ll continue our journey!

-- Day 2 --

My dear diary,

Like the day before yesterday I ended up the day with two red eyes, though this time not caused by crying my heart out. Let me enlighten you,

The day started out fine. Sitting guard during the night took each of us a portion of sleep, but I’m used to a night broken up in little and light catnaps. Poor Jonathan had had a bad night, blaming this on the idol hanging inside my tent (I know you don’t like her either, my dear diary). So after breakfast (A Trans Gnomish Pony express lunch package each) I had to tell them the story of Granny Thistle. How this old gnome hag was my father's most ominous customer. And how after a heavy fall out between the two, she gave me this idol in the hallway of the office. How I promised to take care of it until she would come to pick it up again. And how it would pop up in my sleep, guiding nightmarish creatures into my dreams. Finn suggested burying it right here and there, but I would not have it; a promise is a promise is a commitment (Yes I know, diary, I sounded like my father!). 

After some coffee (Don’t know if  I will ever get used to the standard for cuisine of our expedition?) we continued our journey to Magki. To me the landscapes and roads looked all the same, and the day and journey felt miserably long. Somehow the halflings did not seem to mind missing out on meals any more, walking on solemnly. I was hoping they would stop for a ‘third, fourth or tenth lunch snack’ or any other halfing snack moment, as my feet were hurting. Then at some, to me not looking any different than any of the grasslands we had passed,  point Jonathan started hopping and cheering: “This is where the moonstones are, this is how grandfather described it time after time to us children!” Finn and I looked at eachother, having met and talked to the old man did not give us much confidence in this. “No no no, follow me, there’s the field, there’ll be stones there!” We followed the priest into the field and surprisingly, found a large dark glass stone surrounded by three smaller shinier ones!

As we approached the stones carefully, we heard chirping sounds that seemed to come from one of the shiny rocks. As Finn was heading for the large big diamond-like stone, Jonathan and I examined the surroundings of the first little shiny rock, only to find a little baby bird. Seeing its cute snout and hearing its mesmeric cries, I just had to pick it up!  Yet as I was caring for the little critter, sounds of breaking branches alarmed us. Before I knew what happened, a creature flew in from the woods and hit me in the face! As I dropped down in pain, a small owl bear landed near us. (Dear diary, up till then I thought these creatures as imaginary, at best mythical, but here it was!). Jonathan stepped between me and the owl bear, protecting me (No no, diary, let’s not go there!) and attempting to calm it with the help of a charm of Chislev. And once more his magic skills startled me, as the creature changed into a friendly posture. (Diary, this did really happen, I watched it with my own eyes, well rather one eye, the other one blinded by the attack.). For less than a second a quietness lay over the field, priest and creature captured in ensorcelled exchange.

The magical moment ended abruptly and brusk! With a roar Finn jumped on top of the owl bear, striking it with a fortuitous strike of his knife. This killed the beast instantly and  splashing this beauty with blood! A spray of blood landed straight in my second eye, leaving me blind and sobbing on the ground. After a while I came to my senses and started cleaning my eyes from the fragments of feathers (eye number one) and blood (eye number two). Getting back up I found Finn and Jonathan in a staring contest, the bloodied body of the creature between them. As this felt like a fundamental impingement, I stepped in, seducing both rogue and priest with tear filled eyes. then pulling Jonathan with me: “Come, help me, we have to find the other babies!”. Together we found three of them, and I managed to give them a place in one of the many hidden pouches of my backpack. Jonathan then showed me how to feed them, collecting maggots under stones. (Dear diary, finding maggots will never be my favorite task, but it’s a lot better than removing the gross spiders that bullies at school would place in my hair!). While we were taking care of the babies, Finn had attached the body of the mother creature to his backpack. In hindsight it was much smaller than it appeared to me during the ‘fight’, and certainly had not the size as in the fairy tales! 

Taking care of the babies had made Jonathan lose his temper and I gathered the two of them: “Listen, we have the instructions your grandfather gave memorized. There’s a field of moonstones here, now we have to find the other two! Finn, you take the lead.” With that we climbed the track further on, leading us to another field, filled with stones as if they were an army on parade. “Good, but where’s field number three?” Looking around we found the forest edge leading to another footpath, this time leading down, quite sharp. Advancing Jonathan took a tumble and disappeared in the shrubbery.  Finn and I pursued, shouting his name. “Over here!" “ Careful, I’m stuck in a spider's web. There must be really big spiders living here!” Hearing this, Finn took off in the direction of Jonathan's voice. I tried to follow as best as I could, cursing the priest and his obsessions with spiders. Although there were really noises coming from our surroundings that sounded far from reassuring.

Nearing the web I could hear Jonathan and Finn frantically arguing over how to cut the prisoner loose. “What would really help is some light!” , I thought. Igniting a torch I tried to light up the scene. Now I could see that the two halflings were not making a lot of progress. Turning toward the source of the creepy sounds advancing on us, the light seems to reveal big hairy legs, pushing aside branches with ease. I hurried myself towards the two halflings, away from what was coming!

Meanwhile the flames of the torch licked at leaves and twigs. With every turn and step I set another piece of wood on fire! Jonathan, still stuck in the web, became frenzied at the sight and smell of the advancing fire, cutting himself loose, propelling Finn and himself down the descending path. Panicking just a little, I chased them, tumbling and rolling down the steep pass. Finally landing next to where the halflings were now standing. My torch was picked up, extinguished and handed back to me by Finn: “Here you are, my princess, please do not use your elven wand again when in the woods”. My riposte that by making a firewall between us and the giant spiders, I had saved the day did not impress the halflings much. Jonathan’s remark that all in all we did find the third field, did however, and we faced another field filled with stones positioned as a company of guardsmen.

As by now the sun was setting and we wanted to be fully prepared for the full moon to gather moonstones, an agreement was reached to first set up camp and rest a bit. 

So dear diary, here I’m sitting in front of my tent looking over the fourth field. Well looking is not entirely correct, as both my eyes are painful and swollen. “You look like a bulb eyed goldfish, princess”  Finn told me, as he handed over a cup of water. “Try to clean your eyes with this, perhaps that will help you.” (Oh diary, this halfing has such a talent to concurrently charm and anoy me!). A while later, as I just fed the three chicks, I noticed that the three of them look so similar to us: One is an elegant albino, the other two are clumsy, cross eyed nestlings. But I decided to keep that thought to myself.

So dear diary, two red eyes, but still no tears today. Let’s hope our moonstone gathering won't bring any...

Intermezzo: fluff happening between sessions #1 and #2

What happened before?

• First session of our 2025 DnD Campaign
  
• First session of our 2025 DnD Campaign - another view
  

----------  Jonathan's complaint to the City Council of Nook  --------------

I, Jonathan Wickham, humble citizen of this fair city, write to you with the utmost urgency and indignation regarding a most egregious incident that occurred on the evening of the 4th of Frostfall at the Drunken Badger Inn. The event in question was a gathering orchestrated by one Aalborr, a self-proclaimed "Master of Merriment," whose festivities have left a dark stain upon the harmony of our community.

As a frequenter of the Drunken Badger, I initially saw no harm in attending this party. Aalborr's reputation, while eccentric, did not suggest the chaos that would unfold. The revelry began innocently enough, with tankards of ale and cheerful tunes from a trio of bards. However, it was not long before Aalborr revealed a puzzle, which unexpectedly turned into a competitive race, forcing attendees to scramble amidst the chaos to solve it before others.

The chaos began when me and my two companions fell through a hidden hatch in the floor, landing in an unlit dungeon beneath the inn. The injury and confusion caused by this unexpected descent were compounded by the complete lack of safety measures. 

In the dungeon, we discovered mushrooms of a highly suspicious nature, likely containing substances of dubious legality. The pungent odor alone was nauseating, and the risk of accidental exposure was high. Having been exposed to said chemical component left me unable to render any action. That such dangerous flora exists unchecked beneath an establishment frequented by honest citizens is appalling and demands immediate action.

As we attempted to navigate the darkness, enormous and unnaturally swift spiders were summoned to frighten intruders. These creatures terrorized us, scattering our group and forcing us into perilous situations. The presence of such threats, clearly designed with malice, speaks to a complete disregard for the safety of the inn's patrons. Had it not been for my swift actions they would have surely overrun us.

To add insult to injury, we were served tea, a gesture that could have provided solace if not for its dreadful quality. The bitter taste and the mysterious, murky contents of the tea only deepened our sense of mistreatment. It was an affront to the dignity of those who had endured so much.

I implore you to investigate this matter with the urgency it demands. Aalborr must be held accountable for his reckless endangerment of the citizens of Nook. Furthermore, I request that measures be implemented to prevent such dangerous gatherings in the future. Our city’s inns should be sanctuaries of mirth and camaraderie, not battlegrounds for magical mischief.

Your swift action in this matter will not only restore the faith of your constituents but also serve as a reminder that Nook's laws and protections extend to all corners of our beloved city.

With hope and respect,

Jonathan Wickham

----------  Finn gives his account of a short meeting in a cul-de-sac in Nook, the first time after the events in the Drunken Badger Inn --------------

“Alright, so I’ve been askin’ around about Aalborr and his bloody birdman, but turns out no one knows much. Big shocker there, eh? All I got were shrugs and a lot of people wantin’ to tell me what they thought of our little ‘adventure.’” He says this with exaggerated air quotes, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Apparently, I’m the talk of the Muck now. Half of ’em can’t shut up about how I ‘saved the day’ with the jelly door—and yeah, alright, maybe I did, but it’s not like I had a better option than takin’ a piss on it! Everyone’s got somethin’ to say about that—‘innovative,’ ‘disgustin’,’ ‘brilliant.’ You’d think they’ve never seen problem-solvin’ in action.”

He shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. “And for some reason, I’m gettin’ grief over what you two were up to! ‘Finn’s got eyes like a hawk,’ they say. Or worse: ‘Oi, Finn, keep your hands to yourself next time!’ Like I’m the one who… Nevermind.” He mutters the last bit under his breath, looking away from Inez.

“And the bloody scones! One moment of enjoyin’ some raisin bread, and now I’m the ‘snack master’ or whatever nonsense they’re callin’ me. What’s wrong with appreciatin’ decent food when you’re stuck in a deathtrap? But no, apparently that’s what people remember. Not the clever plans. Not the knives I pulled from that jelly to arm us all. Just… pissin’ doors and scones.”

Finn crosses his arms and leans back, trying to look indifferent but clearly annoyed. “So yeah. That’s where we’re at. Everyone in Nook thinks I’m some raven-fearin’, pastry-eatin’ idiot with a bladder full of solutions. And no one knows a damn thing about Aalborr. What about you lot? Heard anythin’ useful?”

---------- Sometime later, another entry in Inez' diary --------------

Dear diary,

Yesterday I managed to leave the house on my own and meet my fellow adventurers again!

One of my fathers clients, of course a member of one of the highest families, was involved in dubious affairs and my father had to guarantee discretion in handling this. Therefore I was tasked to serve as a carrier of sealed envelopes to and fro. (Apparently my reputation and chances of being a proper marriage candidate, went so far down by recent events, that I could do without a proper chaperone..).

This gave me the opportunity to look out for Finn and Jonathan in the streets. The thief spotted me first, logically, me standing out with my looks amongst the town folks. He agreed to arrange a meeting with the three of us and knew a discreet place for such an occasion. 

So I found myself in the company of my two halfing friends (Do I dare to call them that, my sweet diary?), in a dubious dark shed owned by one of the many relatives of Finn, a cockfight arena filled with screaming halflings and other folks. 

Both Jonathan and I were  not at ease at such a place, and it did not help that Finn was chattering endlessly about how he saved the day and was not being recognized for it let alone rewarded and been slapped while being innocent. Innocent, like I had not caught him red handed! (But still, diary, he’s a lot cuter than those pesky so called dignified Gnome boys).

Apparently Finn had ‘investigated’ the bailiwick of Aalborr, what probably meant getting drunk with some of his friends in the staff of the Drunken Badger. But still, he had taken much more effort than me.  All in all, it appears Aalborr was very discreet about his actions and people were not keen on speaking about him and his affairs (Unlike a certain gnome lady, point taken, diary).

Hopefully I'll be able to meet my friends (yes, I dare!) soon again, diary!

---------- A pledge is made, as recalled by Finn  --------------

Finn leans against the edge of the rickety fence outside the Slynt camp, casually tossing his stolen coin between his fingers as Inez lays out her plan. He listens in silence for a moment, his eyes narrowing when she mentions the Geomancer's Doorway. When she's finished, he whistles softly and grins at her.

"You're serious about this, huh? Pack your bags and march into Magki like we belong there?" He chuckles and shakes his head. "I mean, don't get me wrong - it's not that I'm eager to stick around and hear more 'piss-ants' from the Badger gang. And my aunt has been nagging me for weeks about stealing a 'family heirloom' that I couldn't even find."

He tosses the coin one last time, catches it in his palm, and clenches his fist. "And this Geomancer's Doorway... I've heard whispers. My cousin's nephew - Yago, you don't know him - came back talking about 'visions of the earth' and 'hidden truths'. Sounded like a bunch of bad beer babble. But if it's real?" His grin fades and for a split second there's genuine curiosity in his eyes.

He shrugs and turns to Inez. "Fine, I'm in. But let's get one thing straight: you're the brains behind this operation. And Jonathan can play the moral compass. I'm only here for the fun, the food... and maybe a few of those 'hidden truths'. Deal?"

He extends a hand and grins. "Just promise me one thing: you remind me why this is a good idea when we're stuck eating stale bread and tough meat. And maybe, just maybe, we'll find a stew in Magki that doesn't taste like it was cooked in ditch water."*

--------- Which lead to even more diary writings --------------

Dearest, dearest diary, excuse me for not writing for days, but these were hectic days indeed. Let me try to tell you all.

Arriving home after our meeting I used the staff entrance again, in line with my role as discreet messenger for my father. Stepping in quietly I could hear some of our cleaning and kitchen staff chatting amongst themselves. “Hey, how do you know that your house was plundered by a goblin thief? The lock is picked and your stuff is gone. And how do you find out that an Ogre burglar has robbed your house? No, no, let me tell you: Not only is your stuff missing, but also the door!” “And finally, how would you notice that a halfling thief was the culprit? Well, your stuff and doors would be gone, and on top of that the place is stinking of piss!” A roar of laughter followed, only to collapse when the maids realized I was standing in the doorway. “Hazel”, I said in the most calm way I could muster, “Since you demonstrate such a knowledge of the body waste of the different races, could you be so kind as to clean out the reception room. Yesterday my father entertained a group of dwarven customers. "Thank you!” Without  further glancing I walked away, leaving a silent room that bursted out once again after I had rounded the corner to the stairs.

Climbing up I found my father waiting on top of the stairway. After a long sigh he sermoned me: “So my messenger returns, took your time to find your way in the city of Nook, delivering my messages. Or did you have additional affairs to attend to, meeting those halfing suitors of yours? Helm may strike me, all those years of working and providing.  Your mother and I came to this town and managed to gain some well doing and prestige. So she did not bear me a son, but still. And you, you could have been married into a proper family! But no, you had to be special, not a suitable spouse for a gnome gentleman,  showing off that you’re smart. And what did it gain you? Bullied at school, despised and feared by all marriage candidates. With your features and the stature of our solicitors practice, the best houses would have been willing to accept you...Oh, at some point I was even negotiating with heads of families like the Stardusts and Moonstones (Well diary, I could claim there was some sort of flattery hidden there). But by now,  I could only say 'thank you, good sir' very very politely when I was invited to the table by old Shadowbrook!”. 

My dearest diary, by now I was sobbing! My father who I respected despite his weaknesses and decline was flaying me. And on top of that, the thought of Silas Shadowbrook as my groom! The meanest bully of my school years, looking more like a bleached goblin that a gnome! When I tried to interrupt his plaint he placed his finger on my mouth to hush me and continued: “Hush, no complaints, no objections, no nothing! This is the best and probably last change for you to become a decent gnomish lady! The Shadowbrooks may be a bit abstruse, but they’re an old respected family, and well off. And let me add to this: From this moment till the moment the carriage arrives, you will be confined to your room!” With that he escorted me to my room and locked the door behind me.

Oh diary, I felt broken and betrayed. And knew I had not much time to escape this scheme. Luckily I had obtained a copy of several keys of the house, including that of my room, in the years working in the practice. And I was a little prepared, my old school backpack was filled with my knives, the booklet (of course), the idol given by the hag (why?) and you my dear diary (needless to say)! That night I slipped away, moving quietly through the house to the solicitor's office. There I took forty gold coins, one for a month's work, a reasonable even low salary. From there I headed to the staff entrance. As I reached the door I looked sideways into the kitchen, only to find my mother sitting there at the kitchen table!

“Please have a chair, dear daughter!” As I sat trembling, she continued: “I know the two of us don't see eye to eye a lot of times, while you and your father find each other easily, or at least that used to be the case. He is not a bad gnome, he married me when there was no change for me to ever find a husband again. He and I had to break with our clans and moved to the city of Nook. It was the worst of times, it was the best of times.” “It hurts to see you running away like we did, but I understand, I even think he will. And I understand we don’t have time now, just please promise me to return one day!” We both stood up, hugged and for the second time that day my eyes were filled with tears. “Now go!” she said, opening the door to the streets.

Hiding myself deeply in my dark cloak I negotiated the dark alleys of Nook to find shelter between some barrels. This is how Finn must cope everyday I thought. How I’m ever going to abide this kind of life! Though there’s no way back, the three of us  shook hands on it! There’s no way back you little gnomish girl! Unless you want to become Mrs. Shadowbrook, married to the scourge of your childhood. Well, better two halfling suitors than one gnome looking like a goblin! And with that deep insight, my dear diary, I fell asleep.