Today’s snippet, titled “So Spake The Beast…”, 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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      In the depths of Tuskwater Tower, an empty bottle rolled around on the cobbled ground, clinking noisily. The beast growled and ripped open another crate, its iron nails squealing in protest, to retrieve another bottle. Soon, though she could not be sure how much time passed for the concept had long ago lost meaning, there came the distinctive crash of glass shattering against the wall.
      “Jex!” came the familiar roar. “Jex!”
      She counted the heartbeats until the snake’s footsteps approached. Only forty this time. He is practically grovelling.
      “Yes, master?”
      “Take it away.”
      There was a long pause; Jex’s confusion was tangible. “Take… what away?”
      Another growl accompanied a wooden crash and a yelp from Jex. “The wine, you useless fuck. Take it away.”
      Hesitation was as deadly as asp venom here – even she knew it – and Jex jumped to. She could hear him struggling to lift a crate which probably weighed half as much as he did. Good. I hope your intestines bust out your arsehole, you fucking serpant!
      Her vehemence was mental only; all the fire had left her physical body days and weeks ago. She could hardly lift her head and the iron collar chaffed her throat so badly it bled whenever she moved. Cuffs at her wrists and ankles had dampened circulation for so long that she didn’t even remember when last she felt her fingers or toes. The stench of stale sweat, blood – dry and fresh, vomit, piss and shit had at first been this miasma of foulness but now, served to remind her that she was still alive.
      And as long as she was alive, by Erastil and Sarenrae and all the bloody Gods, she was going to fight.
      “Fucking chicken shit bastards!” The beast swept his arm across the table and sent a shower of trinkets and weapons and coins dancing across the floor. The cacophony was intense and she pressed her ear to her shoulder, trying to block out even a percentage of the din.
      “What’s wrong, master?” Jex said, grunting to lift a second crate.
      “This. Those yellow-livered sons of whores sent a fucking note!” She could hear him slam the parchment down onto the tabletop and smooth it out. “My Lord, we are aggrieved – a-fucking-grieved – to report that Mad Rhaenig and his seven are slain. So far as we have gathered, their deaths come courtesy – COURTESY, he writes! – the same band who terrorized our men in early summer.”
      They’re back… she thought, a smile flittering across cracked, dry lips. They’re back!
      “They’re back,” Jex said. “They didn’t get enough of our steel last time?”
      The beast spat in her direction; she could feel the spatter against her calf. Hastily, she tried to pull away, to shift back against the cool, mossy wall even though she feared the movement would only bring his angry attention down upon her.
      “Idiot,” the beast said, “They cut down a dozen or more of us and hardly took a single wound. The fuckers didn’t flee; I never thought they did.”
      Jex coughed.
      “The boys said so and I let them think it, but I never did. I am no fool, Jex.”
      “Then what did you think happened?”
      There was a long, quiet moment and she strained her ears, wondering what was happening that she could not see.
      “I had hoped Fåblüt and his friends had gotten ahold of the pigfuckers.”
      Jex chortled. “Maybe he still will. Just because we ain’t heard of him lately don’t mean he ain’t around, just waiting for revenge.”
      “Yeah, well, I won’t pin any hopes on that queer little bastard. And I’m not taking any more chances neither. So get all the fucking wine and ale and mead in this tower and dump it in the Tuskwater. Every single one of those pissants outside better be wide-eyed and alert. No more fuck-ups. And the first one drunk or sleeping on watch gets what that bitch’s lover got – only worse.”
      “Yes, master.”
      The hope that had surged in her chest at the news that Ava’s friends were back in the Stolen Lands died a quiet, toothless death. The beast was not going to just lay there, drunk and drooling, while they snuck in by night and slit his throat. He was going fight with every man he had, with every weapon at his disposal.
      Even if they did come to the tower, and even if they did somehow defeat the Stag Lord, it was too late… too late to save her or her lover. Too late… Too late…
Minnie Lamb felt hot tears slipping down her cheeks and wondered how it was possible to still feel despair after all this time. She wanted so badly to tell everyone that she was sorry; to apologize to Ava and Svetlana, to beg her mama’s forgiveness, to hug Trevvy and to throw herself on Oleg’s mercy and plead with him to let her come home. But even if they showed up and even if they won… it was too late for her.
      Too late to save a dumb little girl who couldn’t see how good she had it… too late to save poor Minnie Lamb… poor, stupid, impulsive Minnie Lamb… Too late.
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Note: Image is “noah 5” by chicadee from SXC.hu