“Come on in,” he shouted. “I’m never doing anything important in here, just picking my nose and scratching my bum.”

“Sounds important to me,” Brug grinned, shoving open the door. “A whole lot better than your pansy spell crap.”

“My pansy spell crap can make you a pansy mudskipper,” Tarlak threatened.

“Mudskipper?” Brug asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Just came to me. What is it you need?”

“Wondering if you finished the scrolls I asked you for.”

Tarlak grabbed two capped cylindrical containers and tossed them to Brug. “I take it those are for the ox?” he asked.

“Actually, no. I’ve been talking to the elf, and she says she’s not too bad with that staff of hers. Figure if she plans on whacking things with it, it’d be nice if things noticed.”

“Explains the first scroll. And the illusion?”

Brug chuckled, tucking both tubes underneath his arm.

“She’s got nothing but a stick. Maybe it’s just me, but I’m thinking there’s more to things than just function. You gotta look good at what you do.”

Tarlak chuckled.

“Fine. I’ll give you free reign. Just don’t spend too much of my money.”

Brug winked. “Of course.”

The door shut with a resounding thud. Tarlak sighed, his fingers rubbing his temples.

“Paranoid antisocial assassin with a secret identity, a bipolar blacksmith, and half-orc brothers hanging out with a girlie elf, and I’ve got to use them to keep chaos off the streets. Lathaar old buddy, I sure hope you’re having a better time than I am.”

At that time, Lathaar was deep in a haunted forest, battling against an ancient demon composed of pure darkness. If asked, the paladin would have shaken his head and refused to switch places. There are worse things in life than demons.

H ey, Qurrah?” Harruq asked that night.

“Are these late-night conversations going to become common?” his brother muttered into his pillow.