Today’s snippet, titled “Angel at the Well”, is a piece I wrote about an NPC in my Pathfinder Campaign (sort of the “King Maker” adventure path). The intention behind this was to illustrate events occurring in the world, but away from the PCs. They’re supposed to be writing their own pieces about actual in-game events. We shall see if any materialize.
      Be forewarned, there are mature themes and naughty language below.
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      Minnie rolled her eyes.
      “Do not roll your eyes at me, young lady,” Svetlana said, shaking a wooden spoon at her. “You think I ask so much? You think I am so heartless? Hah! You do not yet know cruelty or hard-work, if you think this now.”
      “Yeah, yeah.”
      Svetlana’s eyes narrowed. “You do not just ‘yeah, yeah’ me this way. It is disrespectful and I will not have it. Now, take this porridge to Ava in the bunkhouse. She will be thirsty, for that concoction of Bokken’s gives her sandtongue. Stop at the well and draw a fresh bucket. And do it with a smile, miss.”
      “Yes, ma’am.” Minnie managed to arrange her lips in a fair approximation of a smile, though her jaw was clenched and her teeth grit. Svetlana and Oleg were not really so bad, as far as captors went, but they did insist that she and Trevy earn their keep. Mostly, Trevy got to man the walls and use his keen eyes to warn of any one approaching. Minnie knew she was a better shot, and more observant too, but he was only 12-going-on-13 and he could not keep up with the real men’s physical labors.
      Saul and Ham were snoozing in the shade under one of the watchtowers.
      “Typical,” she muttered, sorely tempted to wake them with a cold draught of water to the face. Best not, Minnie decided, carrying the scalding hot cast-iron kettle toward the bunkhouse. They may say they’re reformed and all that, but I bet they’d still take me and Svetlana out behind the barn and rape us silly if Oleg and Kesten and his men weren’t here.
      Ava was sitting up on her bed with a book in her hands. She looked terribly confused and Minnie wanted to laugh outright at her. Squinting from the doorway, she could see that the tome was one of those big, technical things Gavriil had ordered from Restov. Minnie had snuck a peek at one of the others and found it utterly incomprehensible. And she could read! Ava hardly seemed the literate type – it must be even more difficult for her to understand.
      “Ready to break your fast, Ava?” Minnie asked, her tone sweet as that fangberry syrup.
      Dropping the book onto her lap with a thud, Ava gave a start. She winced and rubbed her thighs, pushing the book aside. “Yeah, I reckon I could really go for some porridge this morning. ‘Lana makes it real good, even when there ain’t no butter.” She paused, looking hopeful. “Is there butter today?”
      Minnie nodded as she arranged the protective towel upon Ava’s lap and set the kettle on top of that. She plopped down at the end of the bed, sprawling out on her flank with her head supported in her hand.
      “Yup. Came in with the herald last night.”
      A childlike grin fell across Ava’s freckled face and she dug into the porridge like it was the finest lamb-plum stew at the greatest eatery in all Rostland. Minnie watched her as she constantly pushed her long coppery hair over her shoulders. She tried tucking it behind her ears too, but it just kept falling forward to land in her food.
      “You want me to braid that for you?”
      “Oh yes, please, if you would? I usually do it myself, but I can’t quite get it tight enough from this stupid bed and it just keeps falling loose!”
      Minnie rose and then swung herself around to settle in behind Ava’s back. They were much of an age, really, and it turns out, had a good deal in common. Not the least of which was their love of hunting with bow and arrow.
      As she worked, her deft fingers first combing out the bedraggled semi-braid and then replaiting those thick locks, Minnie could not help but be a bit jealous. Ava had such splendid, vivid coloring; orangey-red hair the color of polished copper, hazel-brown eyes with flecks of green and gold, and a warm sun-kissed complexion with a smattering of adorable freckles. Minnie, on the other hand, had spent quite a lot of time, since coming to the Trading Post anyway, looking in Svetlana’s mirror. Her hair was shorn nearly as short as a boy’s and it stuck out at weird angles. She had never been able to keep it very long; it tangled in her quiver or around branches as she hunted and she always got fed up before it reached her shoulders.
      Worse than the cut was the color. It was ruddy, but a weird dull brown-red. And her eyes were a pale grey. Washed out looking and boring. Her complexion was uglier too, she thought, for she had no lack of blemishes and overall, her skin just looked sort of pinkish, scoured by the elements and burnt by the sun.
      “There, all done.”
      “Thank you, Minnie.” Ava said. “Now, tell me all about the herald and whatnot. It sounded like quite a commotion and I just couldn’t get motivated to dress and stuff last night. That potion they gave me tends to wear off in the evening and I get a mite grumpy.”
      A mite? Hah! Try hideously. Like a bear in heat with naught a drop of honey for miles.
      “Well, there was a big old smithy fellow and-”
      “Minnie! Minnie, you come out here this instant! Minnie!”
      Svetlana’s strident tones interrupted her and she heaved a sigh, flopping back against the wall. “What does she want now? I already did all her chores.”
      Chuckling, Ava patted her leg. “Best go on out and see what she wants. I’ll be ’round later to grill you about all those handsome fellers what showed up. Oh! Don’t you go all quiet and blushy on me, Minnie Lamb, else I’ll have Trevy tickle it out of you!”
      She would, too. Ava didn’t play fair. Minnie supposed it was because she didn’t grow up with siblings or any friends her age. “Fine, I’ll tell you all about it later.”
      Minnie stomped out of the bunkhouse to find Svetlana in the courtyard, her arms crossed at her chest. She flailed her arms out to the side, exasperated. “What is it now, Svetlana?”
      “Did you take Ava her porridge?”
      “Aye, and she scrummed it down like she hadn’t eaten in a week. Must be the butter.”
      “And did you take Ava some water?”
      “Sure did,” Minnie lied. “And I swept the kitchens and already scrubbed the pots and pans and started the stock for soup at noontime and-”
      She trailed off, color flushing her cheeks. Svetlana nudged an empty, bone-dry bucket forward with the tip of her boot. She captured Minnie’s gaze and held it for a long, silent minute. It was the most brutal admonishment she’d gotten the whole time she had been here and she could not help but drag her eyes away, embarrassed to have been caught in such a stupid lie.
      “I’ll take it now,” she said.
      “Da, you will. And then you may take a pail up the ladder to Oleg. He is working on the south watchtower today, trying to repair the roof. Perhaps you would prefer to help him than me?”
      Minnie shook her head. “Oh no, no thanks.”
      “I thought not.” With a toss of her head, Svetlana returned to her duties in the kitchens. She was engaged in making an extra-large batch of pemmican to sell at the Trading Post. Her was as tough as shoe leather, but somehow truly delicious, and it would be a popular supplement to those horrible iron rations people bought to take out into the wilderness.
      “Get the water, Minnie. Scrub the pots, Minnie. Darn my socks, Minnie. Do this, do that. Blah blah blah.” She snatched up the bucket and headed for the well. “Don’t forget to smile, Minnie. You are so lucky, Minnie. They could have made you flee to the city, Minnie. Blah blah blah.”
      Lost in thought, Minnie was not paying attention to anything around her as she hauled the water up from the cool depths of the well. She grabbed for the attached bucket, ready to dump its contents into her own pail, when something white hot and steaming brushed past her cheek. Acrid steam exploded up out of the bucket, bathing her face and getting in her eyes. She squealed and dropped the bucket.
      “Oh damn it! Damn it! Why’d ya do that for, girl?”
      “You clumsy oaf!” She railed, trying to wipe her face with her sleeve. Everything was blurry and it hurt to keep her eyes open. A welt was already rising on her cheek and in a blinded fit of pain and anger, Minnie threw an elbow into the chest of her assailant. He was unprepared for it and hit the dirt with a yelp. “You could have killed me, you great ass!”
      “You just cost me three gold stags in lost wages. It’d probably cost me less to replace you.”
      Minnie snorted. “Well, you got that right at least.”
      Her anger dissipated as he let out a laugh. “Bet my master could replace me a dozen times over for the same price.”
      She pushed her forearm across her face and opened her eyes once again. A pair of deep, velvety brown ones met hers and their gazes locked. Vaguely, she saw a stray lock of blond hair drift across his forehead, the hawk-like shape of his nose, the cupid’s bow shape his lips formed. All other thoughts were pushed out of her mind as this young man’s cheeks colored to match hers.
      He smiled. He was not nearly as good-looking at that priest, Erin, or their virile leader, Gavriil, but somehow, as he rose from the ground, dusted off his rear, and offered her his hand, Minnie failed to remember any of their names or countances.
      “I’m Richard,” he said. His eyes touched the red mark on her face. “Did I do that? Shit, I’m awful sorry.”
      Minnie shrugged, trying to maintain an air of lackadaisical casualness. “Its nothing. It’ll heal. I’m Minnie Lamb.”
      “Well met, Minnie Lamb.”
      “Yeah. Very well.”
      They lingered, saying nothing; their fingers still touched, still performing that loose handshake.
      “Minnie! I asked you to take water to Ava and Oleg, did I not? Stop dawdling with the smithy’s apprentice, miss, and get a move on!”
      Svetlana’s voice sounded less angry than before, despite her orders. Hastily, Minnie withdrew her hand and tried to pull up the bucket. There was little resistance as she hauled up the rope and she knew exactly what that meant long before the charred, bottomless bucket appeared above the rim of the well.
      “Looks like you owe Oleg and Svetlana a new water bucket,” she said. “Your stupid slag charred out the bottom.”
      “Small price to pay,” Richard said. “To meet an angel.”

Note: Image is “Wishing Well” by deboer from SXC.hu