Today’s snippet, titled “Inside The Mind Of: Ulrikka”, 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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      Stiggard slapped Lakota on the shoulder, guffawing.
      “Och! Ye say nay, lass, but I ‘erd a yay in there somewhere, dinnae? Dinnae?”
      Lakota Sizko gave him a polite laugh and extracted herself from his overly friendly embrace.
      “No. Thank you, no. I must away. Good night, Sir and Madam Ironjaw. And to you, Lady Anson.”
      With that, Lakota gathered her arm-basket of medicinal-smelling herbs and departed, bobbing a curtsey at the Lady Lucille on her way out. She was one of a handful of dwarves living in the capital city, Ryvendale, and Ulrikka was absolutely certain that the woman disliked both she and her husband, Stiggard, intensely.
      Well, to the ‘Wound wit ‘er anyway, she thought, reaching for a stack of bills to be posted. We bin doin’ naught but good ‘ere in the ‘Dale since months now. She ain’t but wot, helped that young miss get born a pair of hin children after the mum cracked her noggin’ in a fall, and peddled her malodorous brews without prop’r license? Bah!
      “Well, there’s one more officially licensed merchant in the city,” the Lady Lucille said, firmly planting her heavy seal upon the parchment Lakota had just signed. “Ah, the sound of a few more coppers in the kettle is lovely, don’t you think?”
      “Aye,” Ulrikka smiled at the Treasurer of Phoenixa, a pretty blonde woman with impeccable taste in clothing, food, wine, and gems – but strange taste in men for she had wedded the puzzling but endearing Warden of Phoenixa, Erin Anson. “‘Tis a good feelin’, ma’am.”
      “You know,” Lucille whispered conspiratorially, leaning close as she cast a gaze across the office to where Stiggard was polishing his blade. “I imagine I would be a wreck if Erin’s eyes roamed as frequently as Stiggard’s do – and yet, no matter how salaciously he flirts, you are a font of calm and assurance. How do you do it?”
      Ulrikka crinkled her nose and tucked a stray lock of rich, dark hair behind her ear. “Tell you true, ma’am, it weren’t always so easy. I feared he would stray, quite often, in the early years, before we were married. But my Stiggy, for all his roamin’ eyes and sugared words, ain’t never touched another woman and ain’t never going to, neither.”
      The Lady Anson chuckled. “I see your hand gripping the handle of your weapon, just so, madam. I imagine your Stiggard holds no illusions on that count – you’d give him a good cuffing if he dared, wouldn’t you?”
      “A cuffin’? Bugger that!” She stopped, cheeks coloring. “Oh, pardon my language, my Lady. But sincerely – that fatheaded git knows right well an’ true that I’d do a sight more than box ‘is ears if he so much as considered an affair. Me mum taught me well and on our very wedding night, I showed him exactly what he had to look forward to, if ever he strayed.”
      “Showed him?”
      Ulrikka lifted her spike-headed morningstar from her belt and gingerly set the ball into her palm. A wicked smile crossed her lips. “Took a fresh sausage, stuffed to burst with garlic and herbs, and lay it on the table just so. Then boom! I bashed it to smithereens in a single blow. Didn’t sleep for days and walked with a limp for a week – just the image of a woman’s wrath was enough to keep him in step.”
      Lucille laughed, a high, sweet sound that drew the attention of other clerks in the office, as well as Stiggard by the window and Erin, who was just outside, leaning in to talk to his deputy.
“Oh, my friend, I shall have to remember that, in case the day comes when my Erin’s beautiful eyes glance toward another.”
      “Wager ‘e’ll shit a brick, ma’am. Right and prop’r one, too.” Ulrikka cleared her throat and wondered briefly if her casual vulgarity was the reason Lakota seemed so annoyed by her. Prob’ly is, she’s such an uppity wench anyway. Bah. Its ‘er loss anyway, innit? I’m a bloody riot and a loyal friend t’boot. Ain’t even Lady Lucille ever made me feel a bit bad for how I talk, an’ she’s a real city lady at that… Still…
      With a rueful smile, she shrugged at her mistress. “Beggin’ your pardon again, ma’am. Just can’t seem to shake the dung-tongue. Grew up with a might too many brothers, I guess.”
      Lucille just shook her head. “Stop apologizing, Ulrikka, else maybe I’ll box your ears. I rather like your blunt tongue – I shall never have to worry that, like some of the other people who sit in council, you’re lying to me. Right?”
      “Och, no, ma’am. I ne’er would. No indeed.”
      “Good. Ooh, but you should have seen my Uncle’s face the first time I said the word ‘fuck’ in his presence! He nearly – how did you put it? Shat a brick?”
      Ulrikka snorted. “Just so. What, had ‘e ne’er heard such a dirty word from ‘is little niece? Most of you human folk seem t’be awful bloody amused when children curse like that.”
      “Little? Not hardly, my dear, it was just before I married Lord Anson. I was nearly twenty!”
      “Truly told?”
      “Nevermore so!”
      Laughing, Ulrikka gathered the documents back into her arms. “Och, ma’am, you were a late bloomer. I was makin’ me siblings blush before I was out of swaddlin’ clothes and me dad was ne’er prouder’n when I told the captain that I weren’t about to take his crap for ev’n another day, so he could shove ‘is own ‘ead right up his bunghole and to give his lieutenent a big wet kiss while ‘e was up there.”
      “Ulrikka!” Lucille gasped, then let loose a sound that was half-shriek, half-peal of laughter.
      “What?” She grinned. “Ev’ryone else was thinkin’ it. Only I was brave enough to say it.”

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Note: Image is “Brain 001” by (Obscenity) from SXC.hu