Misfortune Comes in Quartets

(Crack, rampant amputation, kinda-spoilers for War of the Spider Queen and Avatar Series)


Mask was the first. He lost his leg. It being the first, no one took any notice besides that inherent to the event itself. That was still a good bit of notice. Mask got a prosthesis - two, actually, one extra for when he'd rather be missing an arm - and all was well.

Vhaeraun was the second. He lost his hand. He had the good luck not to have a chunk of his divine essence devoured by Kezef, so he grew himself another hand - muttering dire imprecations about his misbegotten sprog all the while - and all was well. Erevan Ilesere and Brandobaris began to crack jokes about it at that point, but their sight was narrow, the jokes confined to the pair already affected.

"Sometimes, I've found," said Brandobaris during a pranksters' gathering, "twins raised independent of each other will grow up with astounding coincidences in their life events. You think that has applications here?"

"Sure, Vhaeraun's a twin," said Tymora, sipping her drink and pretending not to notice Avachel drinking from the other end. "But he's not a twin to Mask. There's that theory gone."

Brandobaris pointed with Tymora's paper cocktail umbrella. "Erevan, you were there. Is there any possibility somebody switched the babies?"


After their merry band was revealed as the masterminds of the Pudding Rift Incident, Beshaba was even less happy with them than per usual - and apparently took even more extreme measures than per usual. Within what, in godly terms, might as well be called a tenday, Brandobaris stepped in a trap while on an excursion in Bane's realm. He got out of the trap easily, but left his foot behind as collateral.

"I thought Tymora gave you luck," said Erevan over drinks.

"She did," said Brandobaris, gazing ruefully at the stump. "I've still got the rest of the leg."

So Brandobaris was the third. He grew it back eventually, and all was well, but afterward squirmy fragments of worry began to burrow into Erevan's brain. He blamed Ilsensine.


Erevan sometimes wondered if Eilistraee wasn't using their spars to try and practice fighting her brother. He did have the same sort of weapons, short sword and long, and back in the day they'd had a similar way of leaping about and evading.

He didn't realize his lack of evasion until Avachel yelped from the sidelines. Eilistraee stopped short, gaping in horror. He wondered if it was supposed to be some kind of distraction gambit before he saw his arm lying in the grass between them, noticing idly that he didn't see his shoulder connected to it.

She screamed and grabbed his shoulder. He stared at the blood squirting between her fingers. "Er. Eilistraee?"

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry-"

"Eilistraee?"

"I can't imagine how-"

"I can. Those evil twins get you every time, and that's a life lesson. Now Eilistraee?"

"I didn't think it was vorpal…They're coming right now, they should be able to put it back -"

"Eilistraee!"

"What - what is it?"

"Promise me," said Erevan, "you're not going to go and swear off swords too." Then he passed out.