Today’s snippet, titled “A Debt Owed”, is a piece I wrote about my PC in Mark’s new (Good) Pathfinder Campaign.
Be forewarned, there are mature themes and naughty language below.
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Lucien squinted suddenly, in the middle of Seraphina’s recitation of Irabeth’s secret letter to Anevia. Rhiallis caught the motion and her heart began to beat faster. Before he could even open his mouth to warn them, she froze, sensing danger on its way.
“Ambush!” he hissed, and an arrow appeared in his hands. “Someone’s here!”
Blades were ripped from sheaths and everyone turned, trying to anticipate the attack.
Thud-thud. Thwack. Thump.
A scream died upon her lips, horror ripping away her voice. A pair of arrows quivered, buried in his eye sockets as precisely placed as a surgeon’s scalpel. A third caught him in the throat. Idril did not make a sound as he dropped to his knees, and then down on his back.
Seraphina’s voice rang out and the forces of the universe conspired to open a pit at her bidding. More nimbly than seemed possible, the assassin leapt to safety and a sound that could only be a curse in esoteric tongue the hin spoke burst from her little mouth.
The bastard’s face was concealed behind a cowl, but Rhiallis was certain she detected a mocking tone to his voice as he spoke, “Looks like I am a better archer than you.”
Rhiallis rushed to Idril’s side, hoping that a blessing from Iomedae channeled through her hands would heal his wounds. A single look at those twinned shafts sprouting so gruesomely from his handsome eyes told her that hope was futile.
Idril Linwëlin was dead.
A million thoughts raced across her mind from one heartbeat to the next. Voices echoed around her; battle cries and shrieks of pain. There were no more arrows, the archer had gotten what he desired and vanished. Instead, a trio of rat-faced demons with long fangs and hideous, gore-caked talons beset them.
The battle was chaos, as always, and Rhiallis felt as if her attention was split in two – half on the fighting and on giving aid to her allies, and the rest glued to the hideous mess six arrows had made of Idril’s head.
One glance too many at her lover’s corpse cost her dearly; one of the rat-faced demons sank its foul teeth into her cheek. Agony blazed along every nerve and she could feel a wicked filth seeping into her flesh. Powerless to fight it off, Rhiallis swung her golden blade once more and connected solidly.
“Rhiallis!”
Whirling, she saw only blood. A bit of lore from her time at the temple surged forward in her mind and she pressed her palm toward the sun, presenting the holy symbol of Iomedae.
“By the blade of Iomedae and for the glory of Good!” she cried. A blaze of white light, at once burning with holy energy and cool with healing grace, burst forth from her. She was a conduit for all that was right and good in this world – around her, wounds began to close, bleeding ceased, and she felt the torn flesh of her face begin to mend. The glut of power was almost orgasmic, yet her joy was dulled by the nagging awareness of Idril’s death. She had come too late to this power and there was nothing left she could do for him.
As Mickey lifted his hammer from the broken body of one of the demons, Ema felt the disfiguring curse of their bite as well and Rhiallis laid hands upon her own flesh, trying in vain to overcome the sickness with positive energy. It did not work.
“Do you hear that?” Seraphina said, dusting off her robes as she turned. “There! That – do you hear it?”
Rhiallis strained her ears, detecting a distant howl and then subtly, more near – a bizarre hissing buzz. It did not sound alive – not like those disgusting giant insects – but it did seem… ominous. Dangerous. She frowned.
“What is it?” Lucien tilted his head, listening.
Seraphina’s voice was small and awed, her eyes wide. “It sounds like… a portal.”
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Note: Image is “King Jagiello Statue Central” by (Mulligand) from SXC.hu; edited by me
