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.

Molly gave a chuckle and tossed a silver coin over, hitting the drunken man in the face with it. The man awoke in a groggy state and narrowed his eyes as he picked up the coin.

"For your next drink," Molly chuckled as he continued on.

The man's face curled into a large grin (that was missing a few teeth) and he raised his hand in thanks to the tiefling, incoherent words spilling out of his mouth. Molly only raised a hand as a gesture of goodbye and made his way out of the town.

Sleep wasn't something he looked forward to. Every time he woke up, he feared he'd find himself back underground, struggling to breathe as he clawed his way to the surface. He didn't want to sleep at an inn yet, there were too many strangers and he was still unaware of his own abilities. He could apparently fight, but he had no idea how to test that or where to even start. At the moment, he felt safest under the moon's gaze with the earth under his feet.

He wandered for a few more hours into the dark of the night before he let out a huge yawn and told himself he likely needed to find somewhere to sleep. The area around the road didn't offer much cover but with a thorough search, Molly found himself a large tree to climb.

While sleeping in an inn was an uncomfortable idea, sleeping on the ground was even less welcoming, with the familiar smell of dirt so close to his face it was impossible to not remember those few days ago when he had nearly drowned trying to escape from a grave.

He climbed up the twisted tree and perched himself in it, leaning back on a sturdy branch as he sat down and looked up at the starry sky above. He couldn't help but feel like he used to know someone that like climbing trees but the harder he dug for that memory, the further it flew out of his grasp. Finally, exhausted and slightly disappointed at his own empty head, Molly fell asleep to the sound of crickets chirping and the nightlife rustling around him.

His back was on the ground, his chest facing the sky as he looked up at a monstrosity of a man. A man shadowed in his mind with no face or discernible features except for the angular and pointless tattoos that adorned him.

Molly knew he hated this man. He felt it in the deepest part of his being. This huge man had done something to earn his anger. Nothing would make Molly happier then plunging his simitars into that bastard's chest. He tried to sit up but he felt too weak and so very tired. The man above him raised his sword and plunged it into Molly's chest.

Molly gasped and looked at the wound in his chest in a mix of horror and fascination. Blood exploded from the wound, his blood, so much blood that he didn't even know it was possible for someone to bleed that much. His heart was pounding, trying to feed his fading adrenaline but that blood was pumping right out of him, staining his clothes and covering his body. He was shaking in part-fear and part-denial. He couldn't die. He had things he had to do, he had people he needed to save!

Jester and Fjord and Yasha! Names of people he felt like he knew so very well. People, he couldn't risk getting hurt... God, he couldn't die yet, he couldn't let them go yet! 

Was someone screaming his name? He couldn't tell, he only had eyes for the monster above him who was jamming a sword into his chest. Anger swelled in Molly, it danced in his eyes and flooded through his body. It was so bloody unfair that he was killed now. That he was killed by this sick fuck who didn't have the right to so much as breathe the same air his friends breathed. But here her way, bleeding out with this fuck's sword in his chest.

As his vision faded, he gathered what spirit he could. What energy he had left from his fading body and spat. It was a mix of spit and the blood that was flowing into his mouth from his pieced lungs and it spewed upward into that bastard's face.

The monster wiped some of the blood away and grinned down at Molly, now the tiefling easily saw his features and he was even more disgusted. He loathed everything about this bastard.

"Respect," the monster of a man applauded Molly.

There was the sick sound of flesh tearing as the sword in Molly's chest twisted, and then there was no more. The world went dark. The pain went away. The voices and chaos faded. He wasn't Molly anymore... he just... was.

Molly nearly flew out of the tree when he was startled awake. He caught himself before he could fall and breathed heavily from his position. Shaking from the dream or memory, whatever it had been. He closed his eyes and tried to rationalize it but he found the dream weaving out of his grasps and by the time the sun had risen, the details of that dream had been burned away leaving Molly shaken and unsure. He put one of his hands to his chest where he had been stabbed and looked down to see a large scar there marking that dream as much more than just a dream.

Was that how he had died? It seemed so.

Who was that? What happened to him?

More questions then before filled Molly's head and he held it as the headache returned. What he wouldn't give for some answers... for some memories.

He was on his way once again, walking down a well-traveled road for hours on end. A few carts and wagons passed him heading both ways but none offered him a ride and none of the drivers looked like the type to offer a tired tiefling a ride to town out of the goodness of their hearts. So, Molly walked the path alone, his cloak billowing behind him as he made his way towards whatever town was next along the path.

Luckily, the next town was relatively close and a bit larger. The name of it didn't matter to Molly, it had baths, it had food, and it had alcohol... Therefore, it had all of the necessities.

The very first thing Molly did was buy himself a few hours in a bathhouse. Why? He had no idea, but it seemed like the right thing to do and holy crap was he right. Everything melted away in that steamy room. His worries disappeared, along with the centimeter of dirt that covered every portion of his skin. His clothes were cleaned, his skin was scrubbed, he didn't smell like he had taken a nasty fall in homemade fertilizer. He felt great... He also felt pretty broke but he didn't give a damn.

He wandered into the streets, feeling a bit energetic as he looked at the town. The sun had set and the night was young, the taverns were full, and the life of the city was thrumming with promise. 

As Molly strode around he saw many things that brought a smile to his face. A drunk couple made their way out of a bar, singing into the air some song about a "bonny girl" and her "cap of blue". A few children were still about in the young night air and were tossing a ball to one another with a large dog romping around them, trying to playfully snatch the sphere out of the air. A few people (who had taken to the merry-making in the early afternoon) were already passed out in alleys or on barstools or just outside of a tavern door. Songs and laughter filled the air which filled Molly with a familiar feeling of warmth and happiness.

Then, he saw something that quickly killed his spirits. As he passed an alley, he glimpsed a commotion and stopped nonchalantly, watching the sight before him. There were three large folks with their backs to Molly, facing two boys who looked about in their mid-teenage years. One of the boys was sporting a broken nose that was spewing blood but he kept up a fighting position bravely against the large man who faced him.

"We didn't mean to do it!" the other boy pleaded desperately, cowering behind his friend. "I-if we'd known that horse was yours we never would've tried to take it - "

"Save it, kid," one of the three spat, a woman with a permanent sneer on her face. Her arms were crossed and she held a very unwelcoming appearance about her. The comrade to her side was another human with a strong jawline and a tattoo on his neck of a constricting serpent. He held no pity for the boys before him who were being pummeled by their larger friend who seemed to be as strong as he was round.

Molly allowed himself to shrug off the situation and went to move again. The two kids had tried to steal a horse, from what it sounded like, and this was their punishment for being caught. They'd learn to be sneaky eventually and it would bite those three in the ass once day.

"Please! Please, we won't do it again! I promise!" the same boy from before cried.

"No you won't, cause I'm going to make one of you an example," the man before them growled, cracking his knuckles.

'An example it is'

Molly froze. His body began shaking as those words struck him to his core. Something... something about that phrase left him reminders, blurry reminders but memories none the less. His hand reached up and caressed the scar on his chest...

Well, now it was just selfishly personal.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Sendaun was crying as Max took another punch to the face. He could hear the bones break as the huge man's fist connected with the boy's cheek. Max was sent falling to the ground, sputtering as the blood from his nose poured into his mouth.

"Max!" Sendaun cried, running over to try and help him to his feet. Max shakily accepted his help and stumbled to his feet before pushing Sendaun back and putting his fists back up in a defensive position.

"Come at me, fat fucker," Max taunted, his face covered with blood from his gushing nose. He charged fearlessly and tried to clock the huge man in his nose. The man merely leaned back to avoid the blow. The huge man in front of him smirked cruelly and raised another fist, coming down on to the boy again and sending the boy to the floor again.

"STOP! PLEASE STOP!" Sendaun screamed desperately running over to the other boy and trying to help the boy again.

"No one steals from me," the huge man growled, striding forward and flicking the blood off of his knuckles - Max's blood.

"Sen.. Sen you've got to run," Max rasped, pushing himself up on his hands and rasping.

Sendaun looked up and shuddered, there was nowhere to go. There was a dead-end to their backs and the only escape was through the three individuals who glared at him like a piece of meat.

"We're sorry, we won't... we won't try and take anything from you. We're sorry," Sendaun pleaded again, his voice faltering.

"I'm sure you are," the man sneered.

"Hey, now. Seems like there's a whole lot of blood being spilled over some horse," a new voice chuckled making everyone look to the center of the alley where a strange purple tiefling stood. He was a strange fellow, the likes of which Sendaun and Max had never seen in the town. He had all sorts of decorations adorning his curled horns and bright crimson eyes that were sparkling dangerously in the street lamp's light. He donned a rich multi-colored cloak that was pulled back to expose the two scimitars on his belt. His purple tail flicked in a confident gesture as the man's smirk startled the group.

"Who the hell are you?" the woman demanded with a sneer.

"Oh, Mollymauk, at your service," the tiefling smiled, with an elaborate bow. 

"Well, Mollymauk, I'd recommend you keep your nose out of other people's business," the tattooed human ordered.

"Oh, I would. Really, I would, but see, I'm in charge of watching over those two ruffians and I need them for work tomorrow so I'm afraid you can't beat them up too badly," the tiefling sighed, walking fearlessly through the group and up to the boys as he completely bullshitted his way through this.

Sendaun was flabbergasted and Max was peering at the tiefling puzzled, likely due to the concussions he now had.

"Come on, up you get," the tiefling ordered, hauling Max to his feet and brushing him off. "Don't you look a mess. Come on," he chuckled, gesturing for the boys to follow. 

Sendaun threw nervous glances at the three humans and then happily pulled Max after the purple tiefling. The guy was great as bullshitting and he sure as hell wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Hey!" the large man snapped, reaching out and grabbing Sendaun by the collar of his shirt before jerking him backward, making the boy let out a small squeak of terror.

Suddenly, there was a blade at the large man's throat and everyone froze.

"Now please, good sir, let's be a little civilized at least," the tiefling commented as his scimitar pressed against the large man's throat. The other two humans were reaching for their weapons but seemed uncertain as to the nature of their foe.

"These boys tried to steal my horse, I've got a right to compensation," the large man growled.

"Was the horse taken?" the tiefling asked, with an arched eyebrow. Sendaun tried to wriggle out of the fat man's grasp but his grip was firm and relentless.

"They would've taken him, had we not stopped 'em and then chase 'em to this here alley. Boy's have got to learn a few lessons," the large man growled.

"Yeah, true, but.. um, I find that punching people usually just makes them want to punch you back," the tiefling retorted. "Now let the kid go."

There was a moment of tension until the large man looked down at the blade near his throat and reluctantly released Sendaun's collar. The boy scrambled over to where the bloodied Max stood in wonder and confoundment. As soon as Sendaun was free, the tiefling backed off and sheathed his blade.

"See, no harm, no foul," the tiefling smiled. He turned and put a hand on either of the boy's backs, leading them away from the group.

"Boys like that only learn by examples," the large man gruffed in anger.

The tiefling stopped dead in his tracks and Sendaun looked up to try and read his face. The stranger's eyes were full of anger and his posture, though seemingly relaxed, was tensing with every passing moment.

"Funny word that is, 'example,'" the tiefling murmured, whirling around and smiling at the trio before him. Sendaun was reluctant to stop and didn't want to be around if this tiefling decided to mess with a group like those three.

"What?" the large man growled.

"Well, an example is meant to show the usual. It's meant to be a lesson or a warning," the tiefling continues, his hands creeping slowly down his sides and resting on the hilts of his scimitars.

"What are you getting at?" the woman demanded, a hand on the hilt of her sword.

"If your examples mean hurting someone, often they have the opposite effect," the tiefling chuckled. "Kick the wrong man to the ground and you'll have an army at your doorstep fro vengeance. Strike down a good man and you'll have five of his not-so-good friends slit your throats as you sleep. Beat up the wrong kid, and you'll find yourself on the receiving end of those fists one day. It's best to watch the toes you trod on because they may be attached to the ass you'll have to kiss up to one day."

The three humans were fuming in rage but couldn't read their opponents. Heck, Sendaun couldn't read the tiefling. He seemed to be bullshitting his way across the board but he was too confident and too emotionally raw to be completely bluffing.

"You looking for a fight?" the tattoos man demanded.

"I'm not looking for anything," the tiefling answered with a shrug. "Except maybe a good drink and a nice bed for the night."

"Then be on your way and leave us the two brats, we both know you've never seen them before in your life," the woman sneered, calling his bluff.

"Ah, you've got me. I indeed don't remember anything about these two, but that's not saying much, I'm a very forgetful person," the tiefling sighed with a smile.

The tattooed man suddenly had drawn a sword from his sheath and pointed it towards the tiefling threateningly. Sendaun took a fearful step back and Max did the same. Both boys knew they needed to run but neither of them wanted to tear their eyes away from the enthralling situation.

"On your way," the tattooed man ordered. "If you know what's good for you, you'll walk away, and forget this happened."

"Ah, see, there's a problem with that," the tiefling sighed, cracking his neck with a few stretch movements before he drew both his simitars and held them at the ready. "I really, really don't want to forget anyone else."