The Last Job - Dungeons and Dragons Inspired Fiction
May 21, 2025
Fairfax grew up in the lower river district of Laofaran, fighting for scraps at his family’s table. There were too many mouths to feed, and he got kicked out at sixteen, forced to make his own way. Less-than-honest work was easy to come by, and his small stature made him good at jobs that required nimbleness. Over time, he earned a bit of a reputation among the crews in the slum.
As Fairfax grew, so did the dangers of his work. One thing tempered the danger though: a crew he could trust. Farkle’s hair was gray, but that just made him seem less suspicious when he was stealing your coin purse right out of your hand. Brielen was a bit nutty, but she could find a way inside any building. Barzin knew where and when the city guards patrolled, and who could be bought. Fairfax had put the crew together, but Gael was the real leader. She kept the work flowing and smoothed things over with rival crews.
What was Fairfax good for? He was respectable when it came to thieving, but more importantly he was a versatile—fast, flexible, sharp, observant. He learned what he was capable of, what they were all capable of, and made sure they never bit off more than they could chew. Had a knack for sniffing out the bad jobs and the good sense to avoid them. For a while, things went smoothly.
When I turned twenty, the family moved out of the city chasing riches and fortune at a new settlement—something about an old mine being worked again. No family around meant fewer mouths to feed, fewer liabilities, fewer people to rat him out. Jobs riskier, payouts got better.
But as time passed, the usual jobs felt stale. Steal some goods from a merchant. Forge a certificate from a duke. Bribe a guard to look the other way. No family to worry about, he thought about going straight. Wondered what it would be like to live without constant fear hanging over him. He’d saved up some coin, started taking fewer jobs, started to step away. But the crew got greedy and fucked up. Took a job without him. They tried to nick something from some cultist wackos new to town. Fairfax had to call in every favor he had just to find out what had happened.
Parkus, the leader of a rival crew, was there when it went down. Said the wackos had brought him in to discuss a new job—but things went wrong fast. He said they wanted a witness. He said they needed to make an example. He said they brought him in to watch. He said they summoned a demon.
They said Farkle was too old and frail. He was pulled limb from limb, but his wounds cauterized to make for a slow and painful death. They thought Brielen’s mind wasn’t broken enough—so they broke it completely. They chained up the demon right in front of her and let it lunge and claw at her for 3 days. She died of fright and exhaustion. Barzin was the luckiest. The wackos messed up their ritual and they lost control of the demon. It ripped out Barzin’s heart before they got it under control again.
Parkus didn’t know what happened to Gael.
Fairfax blamed himself for not being there. Their families blamed him too. Gael’s da, Gritzen, was heartbroken and drowned his sorrows at the Bird and Badger.
But Fairfax kept going and did what he did best. Worked alone, most of the time. Steal from the duke’s mansion in broad daylight. Burn down the guardhouse. Slit a patron’s throat when they wouldn’t pay. No crew to worry about—no one left to protect. Sometimes, he fantasized about not making it back. Other crews thought he was cursed—bad luck to have on jobs. He had to find new crews with new people, people with little experience. Jobs went bad more often than not, but somehow he always made it out.
Then came the rumor—overheard at the Bird and Badger while prying Gritzen away from his drink one night. Gael might still be alive. Whispers said she was taken outside the city by the wackos. He started hunting for information. Gritzen got sober and started helping. We found some wackos hiding in the city and got a lead. It took a while to “convince” them to talk. The crew used to have a strict no-torture policy, but the others weren’t around to object. Gritzen extracted the information. Fairfax put the sick bastards in the ground.
Gritzen and I tracked the wackos east. They were a slippery bunch but they still made mistakes just like everyone else. We kept off the roads, crossed borders, hunting for food, and hunting for revenge. I was born and raised in the city, but Gritzen had lived off the land back in the day—and he showed me how. Luck was on our side for a while.
But the wackos caught on. They started hunting the pair in turn and sent a group after them. Fairfax and Gritzen holed up in an old farmhouse and set their traps. Two wackos were dead as soon as they stepped through the dusty entryway. The rest panicked and scattered like ants. Fairfax picked them off one by one, and Gritzen caught the stragglers trying to escape. But the last wacko—some kind of spellcaster—hit Gritzen with a spell before Fairfax put a dagger through his throat. The spell was nasty—slow, painful. Not something they could cure. Gritzen started wasting away. Then he started to turn. Fairfax made a promise to find Gael, then put Gritzen out of his misery.
One more to avenge.
Fairfax strung up the wackos’ bodies, but not just at the farmhouse. He dragged the bodies for miles, hanging them from trees along the roads and paths. The wackos took the hint and stopped looking for him. But Fairfax was still looking for them.
He continued his quest alone, pushing himself to his limits—and beyond. He drew strength from the land, and channeled it into his strikes. Every time he watched the life fade from his enemies’ eyes, he felt a sense of calm. A sense of justice. Or maybe something else. But he kept going, hoping to find Gael. One dark day the wackos slipped up and led Fairfax back to the crumbling keep they used as a hideout. They weren’t expecting a visitor that night—let alone one so intent on revenge, and one so well equipped for it as Fairfax.
Found Gael.
Worse off than her da before Fairfax put him down.
But this was different.
It was Gael.
Sweet Gael. Must be saved.
What could be done? Made a promise.
Is there a cure? Lock her up.
Must be a cure. No one will find her here.
How long has it been? Keep hunting. Find a cure.
Can’t lose her too.