The Adventures of Finn: Chapter 1

It took him the better part of three hours to crawl, agonizingly slowly, out of his grave. When he finally did, he lay huffing and puffing on the dirt that once covered him, spots in his vision, and enjoying each glorious breath of sweet, sweet air. Mary Anne was not going to be happy. He was sure that whoever who had tried to kill him wouldn’t be either.

Sighing heavily, Finn pushed up off the hateful ground and brushed himself off, pausing only for an instant to scowl at a hole in his overcoat. He swore he’d kill his incompetent assassins for this. Burying him alive he could forgive, but not the pear sized hole in his coat. Bad enough his white button down was stained with earthy tones, but they had to go and tear his favorite wine-colored coat! It’d been especially tailored to fit his tall, thin frame, too. Scowling, he started off out of the graveyard, glaring at every passerby he encountered.

The walk out was short, as it happened to be a rather secluded cemetery, ideal for burying someone alive in. It wasn’t a few minutes before he strode out onto the cobbled street on the far side of town. Looking around and trying to get his bearings, he spotted a small man at the end of the street selling chickens, a long, sturdy staff held upright in his stubby fingers. He held it with a curious air of superiority. So he was a man with pride. Good. His smile was bright and happy, though the day was cloudy and dark and his customers were few and far between. His hair straggled out from behind his hood, dark and curling at the sides around his jaw.

Finn couldn’t help but smile when he saw the man’s oblivious, cheerful demeanor, however grim his life may be at the moment. Almost as if an invisible force was guiding him, he slowly walked over to the dwarfish man.

“Might I have a moment of your time, good sir?” He asked hesitantly, feeling a little awkward staring down at the man.

“Of course! What can I do for the gentleman?” He replied, every bit as content as he seemed from afar.

“Could you point me the way of Chamomile Street?”

“I’ll show thee meself!” The dwarf exclaimed excitedly. He looked back into a small shop where a decidedly taller, perhaps a touch less hairy, individual worked busily cleaning a long counter. Despite the height difference, it was immediately clear that the two were related. “Aye, Raul, watch the chickens! I’m goin’ to show this here gentleman the way to Chamomile Street!” He shouted, and only gave Raul a moment to grunt before turning back to Finn. “Sir, follow me, sir. I’m Lyle.” He held out his hand and Finn took it, feeling oddly comfortable in the stranger’s presence. His shake was firm and definite, only furthering Finn’s impression of his strong, dependable character.

They wandered down the street with no apparent destination as the sky lightened and the thick clouds oppressing them started to shift. Lyle talked nonstop as they walked, pointing out the best and cheapest shops to buy beer and the best herbs for headaches and hangovers. His topics of conversation ranged from the best armor to wear in battle, to how to make the sweetest bread, or even which trees were populated with the prettiest flowers in the spring. It was seemingly random and it spun Finn’s head in circles as he listened to the deep voice of the little man ramble on.

He seemed to know everyone they passed: calling out to shopkeepers and streetwalkers alike and earning bright grins and jolly chuckles all around. Finn took it all in without saying much; the smells of cooking meat and fresh bread in the opening kitchens and bakeries, the bustle of early commuters and the clang of dishes and murmured conversations in the lingering shadows.

Before he knew it, they stood at the end of a long, narrow street lined with tall, ominous buildings and an oddly deserted cobblestone road. Chamomile Street. As with every time he came by here, he shivered slightly, even though the breeze was warm and hinting at summer, and his coat – despite the abhorrent hole – was thick and comforting. Finn turned to his stout companion with some degree of regret. “Thank you kindly, Lyle, I don’t think I would’ve made it back without you.” He admitted a little sheepishly. Lyle smiled in reply and opened his hand to reveal a piece of pumpkin cake wrapped in a soft, olive green cloth.

“Sir, it has been an absolute pleasure to walk with you. Especially on this here grisly, garish morning. The highlight of my day, this has been! Come visit again, my home is open to thee and thine.” With that, he stooped low in a bow and came up again to drop the cake in Finn’s hands.

“Same to you, my friend. House number 124 if ever you need me.” He said, tucking the cake in his coat pocket. They parted with little eagerness, but with much warmth, and Finn strode down the street with every bit the notion that his faith in humanity had been restored, despite the fact that he had been buried in the ground by some hooligans earlier that morning.