Today’s snippet, titled “Perspective”, is a piece I wrote about my PC in Mark’s evil Pathfinder Campaign.
      Be forewarned, there are mature themes and naughty language below.
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      “I’ve missed ya.”
      Nyx blinked.
      A familiar face stood – no, floated – next to her. That rugged face, those intense eyes, the smirk that she hated herself for finding sort of… attractive. He was not himself anymore, that was obvious. Etherial and misty, yet savagely real, Quick Bill’s wraith cocked a wicked smile at her; she froze, unable to speak or react.
      An instant later, incorporeal claws rent the air. She flinched; not exactly dodging, but an instinctual movement that was some how just enough. He missed.
      Nyx tried to catch her breath. She was not sure that anyone else had seen him – or that, other than Sarey, they would even care – but Nyx felt as if the touch of the wraith had sliced her to the bone. Tears welled in her eyes and she stomped her foot, forcing them down into her gut as she swallowed hard.
      “No time for that,” she muttered. “He was just some idiot anyway.”
      With a broad gesture, she pushed her hair over her shoulders, straightening her cape in the same motion. A quick glance at her comrades proved to her that they were too busy with the battle at hand to care about her odd emotional response.
      Like, thank the Old Ones. Nyx carefully composed her disdainful expression and swept into the room behind the others, hovering a foot above the stone floor. Now, let’s see what these poor dead buggers left behind to swell our coffers.
      The room – a tomb in truth – held little of interest for Nyx, though Kyra certainly profited from the equipment those dead folk had left behind. While the others searched and bickered and tried to psychically detect the presence of undead monstrosities (and it occurred to Nyx that it was queer that she questioned Marcus’ ability to do just that, while fully cognizant of her own powers which included fashioning the very essence of life with nothing more than her own raw will), Nyx slipped a hunk of chalk from her belt pouch.
      She doodled mindlessly on the wall, sketching abstract swirls. Nyx closed her eyes, her frayed nerves soothed by the gentle scrape of chalk on stone.
      “C’mon Nyxie,” Hefe rumbled, touching her on the shoulder with a surprisingly gentle hand. “Marcus wants to check out that shield thing.”
      “Seriously.” Nyx rolled her eyes, turning toward her comrade. The others were already filing out of the little room, paying no mind to the sorceress and her sketches. They were quite accustomed to her eccentricities by now, anyway. “It is probably just, like, another illusion. Or a magic mirror like the one Adelind got sucked into.”
      “Prob’ly,” he agreed. Hefe lumbered out of the room as well, stretching his arms and limbering up for whatever battle waited around the next corner.
      With a sigh, Nyx turned to pick up her haversack. Half-way down, she froze, her eyes alighting upon the pale scratches she had left upon the wall.
      Hastily, she grabbed a handful of her cloak and rubbed at the chalk, destroying the image she had wrought. Satisfied that the evidence was gone – just in case they returned to this room – Nyx turned on her heel chasing after her allies.
      Unbeknownst to Nyx, a heartbeat after she departed, an apparition rose from the floor and paused to look at the remains of a drawing on the wall.
      “Pfft,” Quick Bill waved his incorporeal hand in the air dismissively. “I was at least three times better looking than that.”

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Signed, Josie
Note: Image is “~MASK~” by (AMA90) from; edited by me

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