Today’s snippet, titled “De la Croix”, 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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      There were no arrows bristling from his eyes, his throat, his chest. Not like Idril.
      There were no claw marks, nothing rending his heart from his chest. Not like…
      And it isn’t like I slept with him too… She frowned, sheathing Radiance.
      Glaives, real steel and incorporeal, had done their brutal work upon Lucien. His body was whole, but only just; the thick, raging blades had torn flesh and tendon, splitting him to the bone in half-a-dozen places. The beautiful bow he was so talented with lay discarded just inches from his blood-spattered palm.
      “He’ll be-” Mira started, then frowned, looking down. It would be disingenuous to say “all right” given that Lucien was, in no uncertain terms, dead.
      “Look, we’ll bury him nearby and Rhiallis can say some words over the grave like she do. Then – we gotta go.”
      Mickey’s words seemed a bit callous, but other than loosening their tongues to argue over whether to bury him here or to take him back to Defender’s Heart, no one spoke for quite sometime.
      Dirty as it felt, they stripped his body of useful gear before wrapping him in his cloak and laying him to rest. Someone pushed the bow and a quiver into her hands and she clutched them to her body. His potion belt found a home around one waist, his rations divided amongst the group, his coins shared out. Teredelluve’s silver scale was pressed into Kumiko’s palm; she had no direct ties to the beautiful, heroic beast who had given her life to save the city but she seemed to comprehend the value of the scale.
      “Like Iomedae, She who rose up in the wake of Aroden’s death, we will rise from the tragic loss of our companion, Lucien, and climb to even greater heights of Glory. We shall remember him in our prayers, in our deeds, and as we push back the forces of darkness, I know he will be fighting beside us in spirit.
      “So today, we lay him to rest – not in the consecrated ground of his ancestors as perhaps he would have wished, but in a place where his bones may act as ward against the darkness that so permeates this place now. Lucien – thank you for your service to this city and her people, to Iomedae’s constant struggle against the forces of the Abyss. We honor you, my friend.”
      Rhiallis finished her speech and closed her eyes.
      “That was nice, Rhiallis,” Seraphina whispered, patting her hand as she turned away.
      “Thank you,” Mira said, following her friend.
      The mood was somber as they began to gather their belongings – and Lucien’s – and they prepared to move on. Rhiallis stowed the bow and the quiver over her shoulder. She regretted the necessity, she regretted leaving him here – a friend in a strange, evil, land. But she saw no other choices, no options open to them. There was too much evil in this place to stop fighting, even temporarily.
      “Onward to the next battle,” Ema said, falling into step. “With our friend, Lucien- Um. Lucien…”
      “Lucien Sarkoris?”
      “No, no. He was from Sarkoris, I think. I heard him telling Idril that one night.” Mickey said.
      “So then, what was his family name?”
      Rhiallis glanced around at each of the blank faces. No one knew. Not a single one of them knew his last name. We tromp around this ruined city together, living and dying for the cause, but we don’t really know each other… not truly, fully.
      “Corweir,” she said softly.
      “No, no, that’s not it. Del something, I think,” Mira shook her head. “Delrauch?”
“No, I mean… That is my surname,” Rhiallis repeated. “I’m Rhiallis-Ondrash Corweir.”
      Mira’s frown dissipated and she smiled. “Appletree.”
      “Shambo.”
      “Snowblood.”
      “Redd.”
      “Millbridge.”
      “Modallia.”
      Rhiallis smiled. It was a start.

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Note: Image is “King Jagiello Statue Central” by (Mulligand) from SXC.hu; edited by me