boneslaw

“I thought you cared about my beetles.”

“Anyways, the dog gets hit by a cart,” She circled back again, no stranger to the process. “You run to take care of it. You make a big show of it, taking ideas from the crowd. Meanwhile, I’m cleaning house. When I give the signal, the dog makes a miraculous recovery. Hooray! Everyone goes home, patting themselves on the back.”

Elazer considered this sequence as he chewed on the toothpick spearing his cherry, “What if there’s a cleric?”

“Excellent question. That’s where your first cantrip comes in…” 

Out of habit, his gaze shifted to the door. Whenever a soul blew in, it was protocol to take stock. He’d break them down to their lucrative parts: jewelry, silks, nice shoes, weapons. The sorcerer was better suited for the initial assessment. People didn’t take kindly to a tiefling tallying their inventory, but Nethys would make the final call. A shake of the head meant ‘don’t bother’ but a wink meant ‘game on.’ It was that spark of interest she was searching in his face. 

This time, it was neither. All night he’d been working on an alcoholic flush but in an instant it bottomed out. Nethys had never seen him look so awake and orientated. 

“What?” Her barstool creaked as she wheeled a 180. “What what what!”

Elazer dipped behind her wild mane. “I know him.”

Judging from that swagger, she should’ve too.

Gilded wings left zero wiggle room in the entry way. At the ripe age of Level 15, his armor was forged around their mass. It’d leave gaping holes should he ever de-materialize them, but the thought never occurred to him. Off-setting what’d otherwise be an excruciating gold-on-gold eyesore was the blue and white colors of a paladin’s tabard. Who’s, she couldn’t say. She always found the self righteous way paladins flounce around insufferable, oaths and morals and all that. At least warlocks are honest about their sugar daddies. 

“Blondie?” She conferred with an empty seat.

Elazer had migrated to the floor. She couldn’t spot him under the counter but heard the ruffling of his fanny pack. “Yeah,” he snorted a material component. “Don’t tell him I’m here.”

‘No worries about that,’ she would’ve said had she not found herself on the receiving end of a perception check. Across the bar, blondie zeroed in and started a clanking approach yonder.

“She-devil!” He greeted.

“Manbun!” Nethys replied in kind. 

Up close, it was obvious why Elazer ducked. Glittery speckles upon the stranger’s cheek implied relation. Except, where Elazer’s were subtle flakes of sparkle, this guy incorporated industrial gloss into his skin care routine. Any resemblance beyond that, Elazer would need to be put through a rock tumbler to polish- but it was there.

“My name is Malachi Neirpeia,” The stranger offered his hand. “Grandson of Paindet the Aureate Judge, consul of Palatial District, and imperator of the Skywatch.”

“Wow.” said Nethys, less impressed by his glowing accolades and more so by how long he could hold his breath. “That’s a lot of words.”

Snark didn’t land on him. It rolled right off, like rain on his immaculate armor or shame on his personality. His chest never deflated, and that energy radiated through the lilting way he spoke. He carried himself like the wings on his back were freshly shorn off a beast and he was still on that dragon slaying high. “And you, devil?”

Sleight of Hand

17 + 4 Success

“Nethys.” The tiefling shook the hand that sported his family’s sigil on a gold band. Past tense. “Queen of The Drunken Boar.”

“Well met,” His gaze moved behind her. “And you?”

Alarmed Elazer was spotted, she pivoted only to come face-to-face with a spitting image of herself. The illusion harnessed an impeccable attention to detail except one.

“Agatha,” She lodged an elbow into his ribs before he could say ‘Methys.’ “My twin.”

“But she’s blue.”

“Strangled by the umbilical cord in utero.” Nethys mimed a noose, yanked it, and bleh’ed. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Ditto,” commiserated Agatha.

Malachi respected fantasy HIPAA, “Nethys and Agatha, I come to you today in my darkest hour. I am on the hunt for my brother, Elezar Neirpeia-”

The two gave room for the rest of the red carpet introduction, but it stopped there.

“Did he. Did he not inherit the adjectives?” 

“No.” Said Malachi. 

Elazer slumped. Already getting the picture, Nethys wrapped an arm around his shoulder, slinging her hypoxic twin into her side. 

From a young age, Nethys developed an authoritarian control over body language. Every tiefling did. When the entirety of Faerûn perceived every move made as unscrupulous, it made it twice as hard to unscruple. Nethys’n’t did not have the pleasure of learning such restraint. His tail flicked anxiously until it found itself pinned in the cut out of her heel. The tiefling’s grin shifted from ‘Can you believe this douche?’ to ‘Stop being suspicious.’

“Unfortunately, we haven’t heard of him.” 

Deception

6+5 Disadvantage (Not trying too hard, or at all) Failure

Eyes the color of seaglass bored into her soul. “Are you sure?” 

“Positive. But,” She surreptitiously opened her palm. “You can jog my memory.”

Malachi’s gaze darted between the two. Unconvinced, his hand rested on his hip. The embroidered coin purse underneath advertised the calligraphic N of his family name. Had the paladin been an ordinary mark, the two would have clocked it, swiped it, and divvied the spoils before he was served his first stein. As he argued with the bartender about his non solutum status, they would’ve fleeced him of that brilliant gold pendant, too.

Nethys was already kicking herself for engaging. This would’ve been a master suite night otherwise.

“He is my baby brother,” He went on. “Yea tall, blonde as a champagne peony. Twenty-four years of age, and a sorcerer by trade.” He tousled the strings of their reward, teasing the offer as if he could smell their attention fleeting. “For his inaugural mission, he convinced our sweet, naive parents to deploy him to shores ravaged by the Eternal Winter. Though I had reservations, he was mobilized to the frontlines of Peltarch, tasked with the remediation and relief to the Nars people.”

Nethys couldn’t hold back her snort, “That doesn’t sound like the Elazer we’ve met.” 

“Elezar,” Malachi corrected. “And no,” He nearly knocked her off the stool when he peeled for a dramatic turnaway, wings flared to funnel the spotlight. “It doesn’t! It was a decision at the time I considered ambitious. I was so, so proud but I should have known better! He was not ready for the raw, ruthless ways of our world.”

Nethys’ vocal chords were feminine enough but Elazer knocked it up an octave to be safe. “I dunno. Sounds like he’s dead, dude.” 

“I know he’s not.” Malachi banished the thought. “And if you aid me in finding him, your civic duty will be rewarded for years to come. I give you my word that I will not stop until I happen upon him or his corpse! Devils,” He braced his hand against his chest. “I would be blessed by your assistance but your lack of cooperation will not impede me.”

This blowhard was under the dangerous assumption Nethys cared about any of that. “How much?” 

“Depends on the value of the information.” Majestically, he shuffled closer when he was blocking another patron’s path to the chamber pot. “What do you know?”

“I can tell you where he’s at.”

“And I can trust you?”

“Of course,” She baited.

“Prove it.” His armor rattled until he was a direct mirror of her self-assured posture, his hands on his hips. “What condition was he in?”

“Grungy. Lost, or maybe just ditzy.”

Deception

15+5 Success

Malachi’s eyes narrowed. “What was he wearing?”

Feeling the diagnostic weight of the question, Nethys passed the baton. “Thin mail.” Agatha spoke softly, “Blue colors.”

“Hadn’t ironed in weeks,” She waved a hand in front of her noise like that wasn’t her only complaint. 

“His coin purse looked just like that, without the N.”

Persuasion

15+7 Success

Malachi spilled silver between them. “Where is he?”

“Bar hopping last we saw him.”

“Didn’t have his poison. He took his horse and scooted.” ‘Agatha’ tossed his head westward. Coincidentally, where they just came from. Maybe he’d get a bite. “That-a-way.”

Unable to resist turning his whole body the gestured direction, Malachi glared at the wall like mowing through the termite-gnawn plywood was the only thing between him and the reunion he craved. 

Before he set off into the sunset-

“Did he say anything?” Until now, the paladin was projecting his voice. Announcing every thought as if the Drunken Boar was a stage, and this was his scene. This question marked a jarring, sensitive shift that told Nethys she should’ve shifted the con to therapy. “Why he left?” He prompted. “Why he gave away his speaking stone to a profane bullywug?”

“Nope.” She was all teeth. One part convincing, two parts gritting from the grip Elazer had on her arm with claws he didn’t know he had. “Kept a tight lip on his personal life. Seemed like a sore spot.”

Malachi’s bravado chipped.

Before either could decipher it, he recovered. The ache in his face was gone like a trick of the light. “You ladies have been an enormous help! I knew all the awful things said about Hellspawn weren’t always true.”

“Thanks.” She replied, dry.

“You are so welcome. I will be off, but should you encounter him again, let him know I am on the way.” He bowed. Such a grandiose gesture would’ve torn the hamstring on anyone with a lower dexterity score. With that, he excused himself, surprising no one when his departure was broadcasted with gallant neighing.

For the last fifteen minutes, anxiety held Elazer’s spine pin straight. Malachi’s exit popped it, relieving his back of all excess tension. He melted into a slouch Nethys would never assume.

“Fucking sick,” He corralled the coins until Nethys blocked the attempt. 

Their split always favored her as the brains of the operation, but saving his ass wasn’t even their usual 60/40 effort. “We should talk.” 

“About what?”

“THAT. All of that!” She swatted his shoulder. “And stop using my approximate face! It’s weird!”

His expression soured. It was the look of a man that’d happily forfeit his share to sidestep the subject. While she would and shall accept the payment, avoidance wasn’t an option.

“Not here.” He caved.

-

Three separate distraction attempts later, they were back at their room. 

Elazer collapsed face-first on the mattress, strawberry blonde hair untethered and free, forming a halo around his body like he was adrift in the water. Between it and the scales on his face he looked like a mermaid if the mermaid was also a dirty, filthy liar.

She raised the signet ring like the damning evidence it was. “You’re nobility.”

Elazer made a noise that didn’t refute it. 

“You’re royalty.” Nethys pressed.

His face screwed up like he bit a lime, “A royal fuck-up, maybe.”

Her head was swimming. After two years on the road with this clown, she thought she knew all his tricks only for him to get his shit together and change faces on a dime. Where was that energy when they made a rotten escape through a mephit swamp? Where was that giddy-up in Mintar when he was almost executed? Where was that privilege anytime they toured the inside of a cell?

She dragged her face, “Ugh! That's how you knew the salad fork went on the left."

“Bruh, that’s just where it goes.”

“No- you shut up. We’ve been a team forever now and it’s like I’m just meeting you.” She crossed her arms, scrutinizing every inch of him. She couldn’t reconcile anything imperial in his vagabond vestiture, but God she felt so stupid. “How much of you is an act? The hobo outfit, the bimbo attitude?”

He lifted his head, eyes squinted. “Bimbo wha?”

“Nevermind- the point is you lied, by omission!”

He wrenched himself to the edge of the bed, wounded. “Neth, I’m not faking anything.”

“I wish I could believe you, Elezar.”

He winced, “Alright, I'm not faking anything but the specific placement of my vowels but I’ve been realer with you than anyone else. You heard him, he thinks I'm an incompetent loser. The whole fam does.”

“Because you’re not out in the field, giving mani pedis to orphans?”

“Yes, no- I mean, no.” He agreed too quickly. She had a habit of speaking his mind, even when it was composed of thoughts he shouldn’t have had. “Mally is all duty. Integrity. Gusto. That’s all a part of being good. There’s a right way to do it and if you do it wrong, you might as well not even done it at all,” He moaned into his pillow. “He multi-classes and still has more level 3 spell slots than me. He eats, lives, breathes protagonist energy. He showers to Bonnie Tyler.”

“All you’re telling me is you didn’t inherit the same neuroses.”

“It’s not neuroses. I’m just not a hero like them.”

Nethys shrugged, her thousand bangles jangling. “Because you’re not.” 

He scowled from under the mess of his hair. “Good talk, man.”

Nethys wanted to rattle his crunchy little shoulders. “And you don’t want to be! Never once have I got the impression you want to be a stuffy, brown-noser who wants to die, remembered as a schmoe schoolkids are supposed to feel reverent about but are really drawing a mustache on in textbooks.”

He said nothing.

Ugh. Pep talks weren’t her strong suit. If Nethys was motivating anyone, it was usually a fool to part with his money. That was all fake. This- this wasn’t. Both stuck their neck out for each other time and time again, but never in matters so personal. Stopping a guillotine drop was easier than reassuring a gooey man ego. Why couldn’t she stab someone instead? Pick a lock? 

Maybe it'd be easier to leave him be. She eyed the exit, toying with the idea he could deal with this emotional nonsense on his own. He’d kept it buried for so long. Logic said it would seep back down into the cracks of the Earth given enough time.

However, a majority of her plans fell flat without a second body. It’s not that she was being a good friend, but she wasn’t being a good businesswoman either if she wasn’t getting her money’s worth from this trip.

“I don’t care about that,” She tried again. “You don’t care about that. Your brother cares about that, and terminally makes it his whole personality. He’ll make it into a few ballads, sure, but nothing rhymes with Malachi so they’ll sound stupid.”

Elazer looked up at her pitifully. Not the sadness that comes from running out of his favorite hot chip, but actual misery. “I know that already.”

“Then why does it bother you? Isn't it enough that you are happy?”

“I’m not even the main character in my own disappearance.”

“And you don’t have to be. That’s not your story anymore.” She prodded his back until he relinquished space for her to plop down beside him. “We work well together. We’re making our own legacy. Neither of us are making our parents happy and that’s a good thing.”

Elazer’s head snapped up sharply. She alluded to running away from home in the past, but never went into any detail beyond that. 

(That wasn’t going to change tonight.)

 “-So unless you think straying from the family business makes you a waste of space,” She continued. “You’re calling us both losers."

He gingerly sat up, “No, I’m not saying-”

“Let me rephrase,” She punched each word into her palm so hard the mattress bounced. “Am. I. A. Loser?”

He gave her a look like she asked to step on one of his beetles, “No…”

“Was our masquerade gig loser behavior? Or what about your raccoon pinecone hat- would a loser wear that?”

Elazer wanted to clamp a palm down on either side of the taxidermy beaver’s ears, the heresy. “No.”

“Now can you imagine your brother doing any of those cool things? And I mean actually cool things- like collecting sparkly rocks or spinning that halfling around until he threw up. Would Malachi the Exasperating do that?”

Fondness of the memories made him crack, “No.”

“Then stop being a sad sack so we can keep that streak going.” She knocked her knee against his. “The night is young, and we left people in the ‘Boar with way too much money in their pockets. I have my half of the lodging covered, but you owe me big time, buddy.”

Nethys extended her hand. Finally coming around, he grabbed it and let her yank him to his feet.