Outside in the gutter near Elfsong Tavern, a Tiefling woman spoons an empty barrel. She stirs as the city begins to wake. When she tries to stand for the first time, she fails, falling nearly face first back in the muck. Her long arm reaches for a pike propped up nearby. The claws of her hand just reach it. It supports her weight as she stands.

  “Fuck me.” She groans, covering her eyes with one hand and gripping the pike with the other. Texas Zarymnyl – Tex to her friends – assessed the evening’s damages. A bruised rib. A black eye. And the stench of her own piss.

  Checking her purse, Tex grumbled at the sight of a single silver and a handful of copper. She would have to choose between breakfast and a bath. Tex smirked. Maybe not. The mistress of the bathhouse usually found her charming.

  Not today. She waved Tex around back to a large pot and boiling water while holding her nose. Tex plucked a few mint leaves from a nearby garden sill and threw them in the pot with her. Fire and heat didn’t bother her. It sank into the bruises and cleaned off the layer of dirt and self-pity she was wearing with too much pride.

  Once she was clean, Tex changed and boiled new water. Her clothes were next in the pot. More mint leaves. Stir with the pike. The colour of her tartan was faded, but at least it smelled better as she dressed.

  Her stomach growled. If she wanted a good meal Tex was going to have to work. Heading back to the Elfsong Tavern, she stopped at the notice board.

  Horse thief. Cut purse. Lost cat. Nothing worth the coin or her efforts.

  Some half-elf fellow in a fancy cloak walked up next to her. She pretended to look at the lost cat ad and watched him. He looked like he had money to burn.

  “Looking to hire?” She asked.

  He looked at her, then the board. “Yes. Are you the Tiefling bounty hunter barbarian who hangs out around here?”

  “Yes.”

  He regarded her suspiciously, “The one usually drunk who occasionally blows things up by accident?”

  “Still me.”

  He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small piece of parchment. “Used to work with Tatanya?”

  Tex growled – rage filled her. She tried to calm down, but streaks of purple wild magic zigzagged over her body – settling on her head. Where a green fez appeared.

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  “Please don’t mention her name.”

  Tex extended a clawed hand. “You can call me Texas. How can I help?”

  He shook her hand. “I’m Barrin Dary. My father was murdered, and the city guard can’t be bothered to investigate. They say he lost control of a spell. It’s a lie. Those weren’t his sigils in the room. So, I’m putting together a team and looking for his killer.”

  “How much?”

  Barrin handed Tex a small bag of coins. “Fifty gold up front. Five thousand if you catch his killer and recover something that was stolen.”

  Tex tucked the coins into her sporran. “Who else is on this team?”

  “You and some wood Elf. Heard that she’s good at figuring out why people died.”

  “I’ve heard of her.” Tex looked around. “Strange kind of wood Elf. Not from around here.”

  They worked out the details. Tex would head to Barrin’s house to meet with the wood Elf and start their search. Barrin was afraid that he might be next and was heading to a trusted safe house. Committing to sobriety for the sake of her pay cheque, Tex stopped at Harbreeze Bakery for some fresh goods, then to Citadel Streets and Barrin’s house.

  Near the front door, she spotted the wood Elf. Snobby looking thing. Beneath a green cloak, she wore exquisitely crafted leather armor—too fine for anyone outside the castle to afford in Baldur’s Gate. Her hair was long and wild – green curls somehow darker than her cape. A sprig of mistletoe at the clasp. A single, sharp, curved blade on her back next to a long bow.

  “Yo!” Tex called, trying to get her attention.

  The wood Elf turned and looked at the Tiefling.

  Yaya assessed Tex quickly. Bloodshot eyes, tremor in the right hand, slightly off balance, red splotches on red skin. Certainly, someone deep in the bottom of a bottle. Her horns were scuffed, like her boots, and her shirt had a red stain on it. Blood? She stepped closer. No – tomato sauce. Somehow worse.

  “Absolutely not,” She said. “You’ll get us both killed.”

  Tex flinched despite herself. Her fingers tightened around her pike which she tapped on the ground.

  “You must be that priggish wood Elf I’ve heard so little about. Did you have a name?”

  The wood Elf put a hand on her hip. “It’s long, and hard to pronounce if you’re not used to the sensitive linguistics of my people.”

  Tex scoffed and shook her head. Elves always rubbed her the wrong way.

  “You can call me Yaya.”

  Tex stepped closer to Yaya by the door. She extended her hand. “You can call me Tex.”

  Yaya shook the hand offered but stopped when something tickled her nose. The smell of mint was coming off Tex. Then something else. Something sharp and sweet.

  “Do you have lemon cakes on you?”

  Tex smirked and pulled out a small cake wrapped in paper from her sporran. “Fresh from Harbreeze this morning. They’re my favourite.”

  Yaya looked a little surprised. “Mine too.”

  Tex unwrapped the cake slowly and put it in her hand. “Would you like some?”

  As Yaya went to pick up the cake Tex tossed it into her own mouth in a perfect arc – swallowing the thing whole in front of the bewildered and now seething Elf. “Guess not.”

  Yaya spun on her heel towards the door.

  “You’re an actual monster.”

  Tex laughed. “I know. The horns gave it away, right?”

  Yaya continued to the door and before it opened whispered to herself.

  “I was going to say yes.”