D&D One-Shots

Turn of An Unfriendly Card

Including art by yours truly.

This didn't really go anywhere in the campaign (aside from the ensuing fetchquest that lasted four episodes), but it occupied a lot of headspace, so of course I wrote about it.

xXx

Mumford knocked on Pelair's door as he opened it. "Hey, sport, whatcha-- oh."

The floor was covered in papers. The bedsheets and pillows were on the floor. The nightstand was knocked over. There was at least one new hole in the wall. A spear was embedded in the wall just below the ceiling. And in the middle of it all was Pelair, sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed.

"Pelair, what happened?" Mumford asked, trying to process the mess that his son had most likely made.

Pelair didn't respond.

"Pelair?" He came closer, stepping over what looked like old newspapers on the floor. "You okay, buddy?"

As he reached out to touch Pelair's shoulder, Pelair's eyes opened, and Pelair inhaled sharply as his stiff muscles relaxed. He turned to face Mumford and immediately shrank back.

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't think you'd come so soon. I was going to clean up before someone saw anything," he sputtered as he got to his feet and started fumbling with papers.

"What's wrong?" Mumford asked. "This is kind of... a lot."

"I just-- it's just something I'm--" He dropped his hands into his lap, still holding a stack of papers. "I can't remember what Branch looked like."

Mumford hesitated thoughtfully. "That's just something that happens with time--"

"No, no, you don't get it. When Cloveer or whatever his face is decided you would forget his name even though we didn't know who he was, he-- he decided to make me forget what Branch looked like. Apparently he didn't have enough fun killing my dad and figured--"

"What do you mean he killed your dad? I thought we found the guy who did that?"

"No, we didn't. I mean, we found the guy who actually did it, but this guy is the one who actually said, 'Hey, you see that guy over there with his kid? Why don't you just take him out?' He said he's been manipulating everything from the very beginning, and either he's really good at changing memories, or he really is the reason that my dad--" He wiped his nose and resumed scooping up newspaper clippings.

"So... what's this for?" Mumford craned his neck, and he managed to make out part of an obituary page before Pelair picked it up.

"I was hoping one of the newspapers had a picture of him. He wasn't much of a picture guy, and what I had got burned up the night he... you know." He set the stack of newspapers on his bed and put the nightstand upright. "Maybe someone got a picture when they wrote an article about him doing something heroic... or something."

Mumford glanced up at the spear near the ceiling. "I'm guessing that didn't go well...?"

"No, it didn't." He picked up the newspapers, looked around, and set them on the nightstand. He picked up the blankets off the floor and started making the bed.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Mumford asked.

Pelair fumbled with the sheets, trying to find a corner. "It never came up," he answered hesitantly.

"You can just mention stuff like this to us. It doesn't have to come up."

He managed to track down the edge of a sheet and tossed it on the bed, tucking in some of the corners. "Yeah."