In the past few days I started to grow a little frustrated by being pushed into things. Not that I've particularly enjoyed it before, but you know what I mean. Well, maybe I was more irritated by it than I've thought. I wiped blood off my spear and poked the guard's lifeless body with the toe of my boot. An unnecessary gesture. We've made quite a thorough job of the three guards. When I said we, I meant yours truly, the dwarf who wanted to become a monk (don't ask), and the red-head we've just met.
The red-head slipped past me, kneeled over the guard and expertly cut a rather worn pouch off his belt. She weighed it on her palm, and her "Pfft," was louder than the jingle of coins inside. If it was left to the guards, she'd be making rather ugly screams by now, I reckoned. Or was dead instead of them. That's poetic justice for you.
"My lady—" I started. No, I am not a complete moron, but it was either that, or 'my child' in my line of work. And I am against taking a paternal tone with the girls I might end up bedding.
"Neeshka," a baleful look accompanied that revelation, "the name's Neeshka. It might mean one thing or another on the Lower Planes, but I have no desire to spent time and find out."
"Oh, pardon my ignorance." She nodded, relieving the other two corpses from their earthly possessions.
"Neeshka." Her name didn't suit her at all. It told nothing of the dare in her eyes or the energetic tap of her tail. That one had fiendish blood in her, alright. If you wonder how I knew, well, the hair on the back of my neck prickled, and I have a drop or two of celestial blood. How's that for a simple explanation? If you are the sort that requires something more tangible, well, the girl also had red eyes, neat little horns and a tail.
"I am not used to be robbed by the very people I save," I said firmly.
"New things every day, huh," she giving me a side-way glance. I must admit I wouldn't have been all that impressed either. At least with my equipment.
Yeah, my foster father is an elf, and I am not. However, if your imagination helpfully sketched you an image of a noble elven king raising a mysterious celestial foundling in the depth of his sacred heartwoods, you need to keep it in check. My father, Daeghun Farlong, ranged for a backwater human village of the West Harbor, and the most royal decisions he made were which furs to sell to which peddler. Pardon me, that would be to send me to sell… you get the drift. So, trust me, when the time came to send me off on this perilous quest, he did not lead me to a secret cave full of riches and presented me with a mithril chain-mail and a Moonblade.
Oh, no. My, shall we say, heirloom armor was old (and not in a flattering 'ancient vibe' way), and despite the smith's best efforts showed that I was taller and wider in the shoulder than my father. I carried a bow more out of sentimental reasons than because it was deadly in my deft hands. The duskwood spear though… well that I knew how to handle, and it was the only truly valuable I had.
As for my personal qualities, well, that was more promising. Neeshka had me at a disadvantage – she obviously had met other aasimars before, while she was the very first tiefling I ran across. She didn't gape, just appraised my eyes, too light, too yellow for a pure-blood primer. Yes, my eyes do glow in the dark. Well, a little. Be kind, that's all I have to show for my fabled celestial heritage. You won't miss it though, because on the whole I am rather dark or skin and hair. The effect is striking, particularly where the women are concerned, or so Amie led me to believe when she was in the mood to retell the village girls' gossip to me. Before I verified it a time or two… but never with Amie if you are curious. Amie was different. She was a friend.
I suddenly missed Amie. Her giggles and her childish enchantments, her blond braids, her… presence. When someone you played with since childhood is mercilessly killed by a mysterious mage right out of the Nine Hells or beyond, it does something to you. It leaves a gap. A gap that only revenge could fill. If I ever doubted my calling before Amie's demise, now I was certain. Poetic justice was what I craved…
I don't know why looking at Neeshka made me miss Amie. I just don't. But while I was brooding on it, the red-head finished her inspection.
"Look," she said, "why don't we split it in halves –"
A quick look at the dwarf. Then an even quicker sigh.
"All right. In thirds. And I come with you. Please? I can't very well walk into the Fort Locke on my own now with that invisibility potion proving a dud, and I have to eat, and you… well, you can use some help." She gave a sideway glance to the dwarf. "Yeah. Help."
My monk-aspiring companion, Khelgar, winced: "Lan, don't go taking the demon girl along. She's trouble. We've already killed guards over her. And by the way she's been sneaking about, she is a thief to boot."
"True. But you are not a pot of honey either. If you've said yes, I would have left her to her own devices. But since you've said no, I must let her join us. It's poetic justice, friend." Khelgar grunted. I was starting to get an impression that he did not enjoy the beauty of the abstract concepts. The gap between him and the monkhood was somewhat larger than the Great Rift. Well, very deep and very wide, in case I messed up my geography.
To Neeshka I said: "You can come with me. My name is Lan Farlong, and the dwarf styles himself Khelgar. He wants to be a monk, and it's not my fault."
Neeshka rolled her eyes and mumbled something about hoping I wasn't some damned priest. Well, on that account the girl unfittingly named Neeshka was out of luck. But she looked happy enough as the three of us made our way uphill towards the gates of the small outpost called Fort Locke. Maybe she was really hungry. More likely it was my charm and poise.
I liked Neeshka well so far, but Khelgar had a point, that would be unwise of me to ignore. I resigned to share the loot as soon as we got to some hellhole of an inn. Why, with the guards' coppers we might even be able to afford to stay there.