The Return of Molly

Part 3 ~ An Example

Molly wasn't certain about a lot of things. He wasn't sure where he should look or who he should trust so he made his best attempt to not trust anyone. Language was tough at first, he knew what people said but there were times when he couldn't reciprocate what he thought so he would improvise with a grin, a flick of his tail, and an articulate hand gesture which were deciphered easily enough.

He wasn't sure about who he was either, but he found it best to trust his instincts. He had tried to lay low in the first town he came upon, but he found that difficult seeing he was a bright purple tiefling covered in dirt. He figured out quickly a strange yet familiar philosophy; If you were quiet and strange, people tried to pry, but if you were loud and weird, people either applauded or looked the other way.

He found himself in a tavern a few days after digging himself out of his own grave. He was still covered in dirt and grime but his eyes were a bit brighter and held a familiar liveliness to them. He sat himself in a corner with a drink and placed his letter on the table, pondering his next move.

He had received directions to Zadash from a gruff wagon driver a few days ago, but according to the old man, it would take a while to get there on foot. He had no clue how he could make it without proper supplies and there was a small voice in the back of his head that nagged at him.

The voice warned him of many terrible things. Perhaps these 'friends' had died avenging him. Perhaps no one was out there, perhaps he was alone. Perhaps he had been dead for years. Perhaps he never recognized them when he found them, perhaps they didn't believe him when he told them he was alive again, he wouldn't be able to prove that he was, indeed, Mollymauk. There were too many 'perhaps' and not enough 'certainty'.

He tapped his fingers on the table and looked at the letter for a few more moments as it sat open on the table. The moon tarot card danced in his fingers as he flipped it over and over again in a nervous tick. There was only a very small coin he had been buried with was enough to suffice but it probably wouldn't buy him a horse. He was going to bet that some of his friends took the rest of his coin... he only supposed that because he felt like that was something he would do.

There was a hearty yell to his right that drew his attention and he looked over to see a group of four people laughing as they offered a toast. There was a strong male halfling with a mess of red hair, a gentle-looking dwarf who was drinking timidly, and two humans who looked like brothers with their arms around each other as they broke out into some drinking song. They all wore large grins on their faces as the alcohol clouded their eyes and loosened their tongues. Molly leaned back in his chair as he watched the group celebrate and wondered if his friends were anything like that. The thought drew his eyes back to the letter that he picked up and read again.

Jester

Caleb

Nott

Fjord

Yasha

Beau

Over and over again, he played those names through his head, trying to pry memories from his blank mind.

Yasha

Fjord

Caleb

Jester

Beau

Nott

Nothing. There was never a face or a voice to correspond to the name. It was just the names and the meager descriptions offered in the letter

The more he thought about it, the worse he felt, and the more he wanted to drink. He finished his cup and slammed it on the table along with a piece of silver before jumping to his feet and striding out of the tavern into the night air. If he stayed any longer, he'd wake up wasted in the street with nothing but his underwear and his mind (which wasn't too helpful at the moment). He glanced in an alley and saw someone suffering that very fate as a very drunk human slept off the alcohol in nothing but his trousers, his money and clothes likely "donated" to some other folk.