Today’s snippet, titled “Rizlin’s Road Diary, Part Three”, 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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Lamashan 13th, 4709
Dear Diary,
We are within a hour or two of the Stag Lord’s fort.
I am trembling, even now, to know that this anticipated day has finally arrived. Tomorrow night, or the following… Rising Phoenix will undertake the greatest challenge it has ever faced and I shall stand beside them (well… safely behind them, in truth) as they do so.
I am, I admit, terrified.
But not because I fear my own death. Instead, it is because I fear his death. I know, what follows this line will seem like the ramblings of a love-struck maiden, but it is not. He is worth more to this world than even he realizes – and he is not without a touch of arrogance to partner his confidence. I do not know what he will be, as the gift of Sight was never mine and though there are spells I could learn, augury is not my forté.
What I do know is that I could not bear it if he were to fall.
Is it love? Shall I beg him to run away with me, to feel the immediate dangers for a future full of unknown ones?
I do not know.
But…
Tonight could be our last night.
We could die. Life could end. And me, without ever.
I confide here only, but tonight, I shall go to Gavriil in the God’s most earnest state and I shall ask him – beg him – to make me tremble in the deepest corners of my body. Of my soul.
And to the nine Hells with my uncle if he says a word against it. Were it my male cousin – not I – he could not have cared less. I see no reason I should be different.
Tonight.
~Rizlin
Lamashan 14th, 4709
Dear Diary,
My thighs ache. My breasts are sore. My very soul has been etched and the mark is indelible.
I can claim the title woman now, though I hardly believe that a male’s cock penetrating a female’s sacred cavern is what separates a maiden from a woman-grown. Certainly I have known plenty of women who were no more mature than the average gossipy thirteen-year-old maid.
Tonight, in the wee hours, the assault will begin. Tonight, the Stag Lord will fall, or my friends will fall. There cannot be any middle ground. There cannot be compromise. Not for him.
But perhaps, like Xandi, there are others… who can yet be redeemed.
Time will tell. For now, I can only gird myself and my friends for battle.
…and pray.
Pray so much.
~Rizlin
Lamashan 15th, 4709
Dear Diary,
Yesterday, I felt the glory of renewal, of rebirth, of joy and orgasm and wonder at the world. I felt anticipation and terror and worry and love and fear and anxiety.
Today, I feel loss and sorrow and yes, victory, but the sweet is tinged with bitter. Rachel Azarova, quiet & contrary sorceress, and Ryven Wanderwood, funny, strange barbarian. Both fell today, to the big, burly bastard we came to know as “Ox” (Auchs?).
Yes, the Stag Lord fell. Yes, we made new allies (Akiros Ismort, Teige, and Norrick – who I refuse to call Fat Norry, though everyone else does. Also, Buck and Dash, two of the Stag Lord’s newest captives who Akiros freed to fight at our side.)
But death… it is so final. It is so painful.
I did not know either well, if I am truthful with myself. But those I value most treasured them in various ways. Gavriil, Lexi, Zehavah, Erin. All are heartbroken.
Still – life goes on for the living.
Gavriil sees great potential here, this pathetic tower on the Tuskwater. I will work tirelessly to help him achieve all the secret desires of his heart – even if they seem slightly… mutinous and dangerously traitorous.
Speak of the devil, whom I do so adore despite my best attempts to remain emotionally distant, he has asked me to meet him on the roof of the tower this evening when the sun goes down.
Tears or kisses, I cannot anticipate which he will want to share with me, but-
Oh Hells, of course I can. He will want kisses and caresses and then more. For my part, I cannot wait to give it to him. Again and again.
Celebrate life…
~Rizlin
Lamashan 24th, 4709
Dear Diary,
There are things which, once seen, cannot be unseen.
It began as a lovely, clear and cool day and ended with blood, as so many do. As we explored the final acres of the region designated by their charter, we came upon a sight most gruesome. One of Abadar’s most beautiful, perfect creatures – a Unicorn – had been senselessly, brutally cut down. Murdered.
Worse, we found at last, the quarry we had been unknowingly hunting (or being hunted by, for so long): Fenton Fablut. He was accompanied by five large, armored owlbears and, from what we could surmise, being ordered about by a strange, diaphanous female creature.
Though we lost no more of our fellows, it was a near thing, and Fenton, the tricksy bastard, escaped despite Dash’s best efforts to stop him. Dash was really very impressive, I must say. I have come to appreciate both he and Buck these past few days – they will be good, stout additions to the company.
Tonight, we rest, and tomorrow, we flee as fast as our mounts can safely carry us – onward toward Levetown, toward Restov, toward civilization and possibly the end of my contract with Gavriil.
Sometimes I wonder if I have been duped, a foolish girl with a hero worship… does he care about me, the way I care for him? Does he have plans for our future beyond making love across the Stolen Lands? I cannot say. I hope so. I hope that I have fulfilled my role as his spiritual guide, that I have helped him feel Abadar’s hand upon his path and that he will fear not in the future.
So much is changing in this world, in our little group, day-by-day… I wonder what the days ahead will hold for us?
I have said it before, since I began this journal, and I shall say it again.
Time will tell.
~Rizlin
Lamashan 25th, 4709
Dear Diary,
This morning I cast a spell upon Erin to help protect him from the cold. Honestly, for a man born and raised in Brevoy, he chitters and chatters like a Qadirani in a light Winter rain.
How will he survive the winter if a gently frosted morning sends him into fits of shivers?
~Rizlin
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Note: Image is “Writing Notes” by Gold Duck from SXC.hu