Today’s snippet, titled “Pikeford”, 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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Elena saw the smoke before she died.
“Summer is here at last,” Luzataya said, throwing her arms open wide and twirling in a circle. “Blessed warmth, I thought we’d never see you again after this winter!”
Vanya chuckled.
They continued moving through the berry patch, plucking sweet, ripe gems from the thorny vines. Occasionally, Luzataya would glance over at him to confirm that he was not watching, and then pop a few into her mouth. Even if he did not notice – and he usually did for his eyes rarely strayed far from her – the soft sigh of pleasure she made every time gave her away.
He was intimately familiar with every cry and gasp and moan she made in moments of joy. A smirk crossed his lips and he had to force his face into a neutral expression. So he had not bedded her – not yet – he had still heard and savored every sound she made when her big lout of a husband plowed her at night. The walls of their house were thin – very thin.
“This one will be the boy Iakob has wanted for so long,” Luzataya was saying. He glanced up and saw her cradling her free arm around her belly. The swelling was only just visible – though Luzataya and the midwife believed she was half-way through the pregnancy. “Then perhaps, he will smile again. These days, not even Elena’s antics can lighten his mood.”
I couldn’t care less if he never smiled again. If only the big idiot would just drop dead, I could have you all to myself and be the forgemaster. Then I would be the one ordering apprentices around and doing the real work. Vanya frowned. Not that there is much call for real work in Pikeford. But maybe – if Iakob was gone – Luzataya would come with me to Restov. A smith can make a good living there and never make a single peg or horseshoe. Maybe…
“…Vanya? Vanushka, are you feeling all right?”
He felt the cool palm of her hand on his forehead and could not help but smile. She was only two years older than he, but she often acted as a mother hen, watching over him. “I’m fine, Luzataya, just-”
Vanya stopped. She was not listening to a word he said, her eyes staring over his shoulder with an intensity he had rarely seen from her. “Lu-” He started, then halted again; she was pale and shaking. Whirling, Vanya felt his heart skip. Down the side of the mountain, where normally Pikeford sat, a peaceful, wall-ringed village nestled amongst the crags and trees, was a blaze of orange.
From here, they could hear neither the crackling of flames nor the screams of their family and neighbors. Vanya was grateful for that small mercy.
“We should go up-” Vanya began, turning to grab for Luzataya’s hand. “Luzataya?”
But already she was running. Down the hillside – the foolish cow! – and directly into the path of whatever or whoever had sacked their homes. Her hair, long and pale as morning sun, had come loose from its piled braids and her favorite picking basket rolled along the path in her wake.
“Luzataya!” He cried as loud as he dared, “Luzataya, come back!”
She did not seem to hear him, barrelling through the trees.
Though his gut was screaming at him, ordering him to flee deep into the hills and hide, Vanya could not obey; he chased after her. At his top speed, Vanya caught up to her before she reached the stream and tackled her to the ground. They rolled into the shallows and he clamped his hand over her mouth.
“Shush woman,” he said, his voice rough. She was sobbing and gasping and struggling. “Luzasha, you must stop. It is too late for them and it will help no one if we are captured too.”
Her eyes, red with rage and tears, glared up at him accusingly. Surely you hear them too, they seemed to say, they aren’t dead yet, but they are dying and we can help!
“Drun! Ohku’v’sum’! Ku drok ‘uo!”
Luzataya screamed and thrashed. Somehow, her fist caught him in the temple and Vanya was forced to release her, stunned for a moment. An arm around her belly, Luzataya scrabbled to her feet. Her dress was soaked through, clinging to her body and making it difficult to move, let lone run.
“Come on, Luzasha!”
“I cannot, Vanushka! I must g- gooooOW!” She doubled over, falling shoulder first into a tree. “By all the Gods, no! Not now.”
Vanya could hear the thud of boots – so many! – as he leapt to her side. “What’s wrong? Luzataya?”
“The baby-”
“Drun! DRUN! D’u rusuk! Gomm dr’ puo, dug’ dr’ ‘usu umo’!”
Vanya wished to all the Gods that he spoke the tongue of these big, grey-furred bastards, though he guessed they were not going to listen to him no matter what he said. He glanced behind him, trying to bolster his with his shoulder. They were gaining. Six of them at least. Swords were drawn and he could imagine his blood on their steel already.
Fear gripped him by the heart and by the balls. A bone-deep shame came across him and he knew he would carry it for the rest of his life. Despite that, he let go of Luzataya and plunged ahead, scrambling up the bank and making for the tree line.
Up on the ridge, I’ll be safe! I’ll be safe! I’ll be-
Vanya was confused. Somehow, suddenly, he was laying on his back, watching the tips of the trees sway against a sky, black with smoke. He tried to move, but found that his legs did not respond and he could not wriggle his fingers either. Queer, he thought. Those sparks. They’re sort of pretty.
Somewhere, in the distance, as the darkness closed in around him, he heard Luzataya scream.
Remorse flooded him and he felt his pulse quicken in his throat. One-two-threefourfive…
Vanya knew no more.
Note: Image is “Lanckorona 5” by artunet from SXC.hu, poorly edited by ME!