Today’s snippet, titled “Gossip Girls”, 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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      “He’ll not marry you, you know,” Edvic said, his tone catty, as he plied a stiff brush to the long, dark hair of a young woman. “They never do.”
      “He might!” Little Klara insisted. Her constant fidgeting – and talking – giving Lyuba fits as she attempted to paint color on her pouty lips. “Sometimes they do. Remember- ow!”
      Lyuba squeezed the girl’s chin hard, positioning her face with a little too much force. “Yeah, we all remember Marfa.”
      “You mean the Lady Pilsivof, I take it?”
      Klara nodded. She tried to reply to Edvic, but Lyuba’s grip was iron-clad this time.
      “Da, the Lady Pilsivof used to serve ales and appetizers at the Frothing Otter, just like us,” Lyuba said, casting a glance at me. “But she was never one of us. Her papa was only a chimney sweep, but her mama was a daughter of a Baron.”
      Edvic scoffed. “A bastard daughter.”
      “Her blood was bluer than yours, my little cazo.”
      “Now, now,” the dark-haired one said. “Let us not speak such ugly words here. We are all friends and in the same boat, are we not?”
      “I am most certainly not,” Lyuba said, holding a pink-stained cloth to Klara’s mouth. The younger girl blotted her lips obediently. “I may sling booze and bread to these over-paid heathens, but my virtue ain’t for sale, and no matter how pretty a fellow may look – my life belongs to the church.”
      “Or it will, if you can ever afford to buy your way in.”
      Lyuba’s cheeks colored. It was common enough for she and Edvic to go round and round on the topic; he thought it ridiculous that a girl as lovely as she would not only willingly lock herself away from the pleasures of the world, but that she would pay for the priviledge. Lyuba believed that she was marked for service to the Lady of Graves, and saved every groat she earned to pay for admission into the Grey College – a small, elite temple dedicated to Pharasma.
      “Oh hush, you two. You squabble like pigeons in the square.” Praskoviya swept into the attic, beautiful pale curls bouncing around her shoulders. She immediately took control of the room, without uttering a word; she took a single look at Klara’s cosmetics and shook her head, earning a glare from Lyuba, who would have to start again, then motioned something to Edvic, who nodded, and at last took a seat near the window. She blocked the breeze and the small space began to feel close, but no one dared protest.
      “I did not go to his bed because I hope to marry him,” Rilla said, wincing a bit as Edvic began twisting her thick hair into elaborate braids. “I went because- Because he was so very handsome and because he chose me. He could have picked Petriya or Onala, but he did not.”
      Rilla had never gone to bed with a client before. Lyuba did not approve – but she did not approve of much of anything fun. Klara was too young yet, but her parents believed Ms. Wetfern’s establishment would be their daughter’s best hope of landing a husband with heavy pockets. Praskoviya had had her heart broken when she was younger and seemed to have little intention of ever marrying again, but that did not stop her from taking all the handsomest young men to her bed; be they human, dwarf, elf, gnome or hin. In fact, Rilla was fair certain the only type of fellow she refused to bed was a half-orc and to be frank, there were not many who dared poke their tusks into The Frothing Otter.
      “His handsome golden friend did not seem interested in any of you,” Edvic said, settling a silvered dahlia into Rilla’s crown of braids. “More luck for me.”
      “I cannot believe there was a randy little halfman here and I missed him,” Praskoviya said, pouting. “Someone ought to have come and retrieved me.”
      Rilla rolled her eyes. Despite her lament, everyone knew that if anyone actually had stopped by The Salted Calf to retrieve Praskoviya from her date with the crotchety old (and exceedingly wealthy) Lord Gruschev, she would have probably murdered them on the spot.
      “There were women with them too,” Klara said, twirling on her new, heeled slippers. “I did not get a good look at all of them, but the little one had crimson streaks in her hair. I think I should have them – since that’s my name.”
      Rilla smiled at her. Little Klara Crimson did not have the glowing complexion and warm coloring to pull off those gorgeous red accents. She was pallid and mousy with plain brown eyes but a youthful exuberance that was charming.
      “One day you shall,” Edvic said. “Now, why don’t you go down and see if Auntie Ashe needs anything, mm?”
      Klara heaved a sigh, disappointed to be left out of anything, then skipped across the attic and down the stairs without complaint.
      “Why did you send her away? She’s not naive to the extracurricular activities we often participate in.”
      “Because, Kovi, she hasn’t developed her discretion just yet and everything we say is likely to end up back in Auntie Ashe’s ears – or worse, one of the stableboys, who gossip with more malicious glee than every old bird in the dole line on holidays.”
      They all chuckled; it was true. Feo and Sanny were big-eared and loose-tongued.
      Edvic continued, preening before the mirror as he did so. “Rilla’s beau is one of the members of the Charter the Lord Mayor and the Council sent south to the Greenbelt. In fact, whoever he is, he was so important or impressive that Lord Mayor did not even ask him to compete for a spot. He got to sup with the Lords and sip siroko instead of fighting.”
      “His name is Gavriil,” Rilla said, pausing to remember if he had given a surname. Her cheeks flushed, instead of his name the only images that sprang to her mind were those which involved his hands upon her body and his lips on her own. “I don’t recall his family name.”
      “There are rumors, you know, about these charters. Gruschev’s man told me that one of them lost three members already but that they have sent replacements to join them – all Aldori-trained men from Jhedr’s house. Which really drew some rage from Master Pissken and his Taldan allies.”
      “I bet.” Praskoviya nodded absently, fanning herself.
      “There’s trouble enough in the Council,” Lubya said. “Ever since that uppity bitch took her husband’s slot-”
      “I wouldn’t call her an uppity bitch!” Rilla frowned at her friend. “She’s one of the most powerful people in Restov now, not just some customer who fails to leave gratuity on the bill.”
      “Still, she’s not worthy of a seat on the Council of Lords. Anyway, she’s caused all sorts of turmoil.”
      “I am rather glad there is a Lady on the Council though, Edvic. Its been years.”
      He tossed his hair, smirking at himself in the looking glass. “Rilla, you are a lamb. Every time there are Ladies amongst the Lords, things get worse for the city at large. For instance – this food shortage started just after she ascended to a seat.”
      Lyuba snorted. “Surely you don’t blame this influx of beastmen or locusts or whatever has disturbed all the northern farms on a single woman? Nastasia Gurn may be many things, but single-handedly plotting to starve all the muckity-mucks of Restov? Hah!”
      “I did not say she did it single-handedly, only that it is no coincidence that just after she took a seat – our food supplies dwindle and there isn’t a rasher of bacon to be found.”
      They all fell silent for a time and Rilla could hear them all digesting Edvic’s theory. Suddenly, the door burst open and Klara skidded to a stop, her cheeks pink and her chest heaving.
      “You best knock in the future,” Lubya growled. “What is it child, that has you barging in like a thief in the night?”
      “I just heard- Just heard-” she bent double, wheezing. Rilla moved to her side and rubbed her back, concerned. “Just heard that those people from the Charter are headed North instead of South. They’re going to find out what’s happening on all the farms!”
      Rilla frowned, though she knew the expression did nothing to improve her looks, and clutched her fingers around her locket. “Gods be with them.”
      “Gods be with them,” her friends echoed.
      Closing her eyes, Rilla sent out a personal prayer. Mother Moon, bring Gavriil and his comrades back safe and whole. Especially Gavriil. He was so kind and so.. A blush crossed her cheeks. Virile. Watch over him in particular, Lady Luck, and send him around to me once more.

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