Today’s snippet, titled “Prayers for the Living & The Dead”, 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 would be enduring scars after this was all done.
      Rhiallis closed her eyes, humming low in her throat. Beneath her hands, one tortured soldier’s body lay freshly cleaned and redressed. With a discarded gorget carefully fastened around his neck, you could not see see the purple bruises left behind by heavy hempen rope. In fact, she thought, he almost looks like he is sleeping.
      The blond man was older. His closely razored beard was threaded with grey and the lines of his face were etched by wind and sun. There was no disguising the agony he had suffered before death claimed him; with cat-gut and a fine needle, she had done her best to close the rents a demon’s claw had left on his cheek and throat, but dead flesh did not heal and the angry red wounds were still livid.
      Skin the color of rich loamy soil and piercing hazel eyes, she imagined that the younger soldier had been quite handsome in life. Perhaps he was constantly in-and-out of romantic entanglements, for surely a face like that as popular with lads and ladies alike. But as she and Celeste washed the dried blood and grime from him, preparing him for burial, Rhiallis dreamed up a whole fairytale. He had a lover back home, someone whom he was not supposed to love, but for whom his whole world turned. Star-crossed, but romantically fated to be together. Some trial had nearly kept them apart, and yet in the end, true love triumphed. They were married beneath the falling dogwood blossoms and thought life could hardly get any better.
      Rhiallis could imagine all sorts of circumstances that would draw a young man to war, leaving his beloved behind, but perhaps they came to battle together.
      “I wonder,” she murmured. Did one of you walk away to seek vengeance on demons? Or do you even know that this poor boy fell? Do you still wait for him to come home?
      “Wonder what, Rhiallis?”
      She glanced at Graves, puzzled. A blush settled upon her cheeks. “Did I say that outloud? I’m sorry. I was just… thinking.”
      Graves gave her a knowing smile and turned her attention back to her work.
      Jensen was busy using a cantrip to scrub filth from what had once been an altar for working rituals. His raven chirped occasionally and though she never quite caught any words, she was rather convinced that he was mocking their efforts.
      It does seem a little… futile. She could admit that to herself, though she would never say it aloud.
      Every surface was spattered with something – blood, ichor, vomit, feces, urine, unholy water, and things she could not even begin to name – and the rank odor of evil permeated the very air. Still, they had a duty to restore this sacred temple to Iomedae’s grace.
      “The graves are dug,” Mytra said, re-entering the room. Her fingers were dusty and as she wiped her wrist across her forehead, she left a trail of dirt behind. “A.B. is going to use one of those benches and some left-over straps to make a travois.”
      “Great,” Graves said, standing. She tossed her hair out of her eyes and surveyed the room. “I think we’re nearly done in here. Mira – how’s your room coming?”
      She poked her head around the corner and gave a shrug. “Not bad – but I need someone taller to come scrub the high spots. All these prayers – yuck!”
      “I’m done here. I’ll go help Mira until we’re ready to do the burials.”
      Rhiallis joined her halfling friend in the main room. They had liberated a couple of horse brushes from the stables and with a sloppy, leaky bucket of suds, scoured foul writing from the walls. Most everything below the four foot mark was clean, but above it, the runes remained. Some had been painted in blood, but others appeared to be some sort of paint or ink. Those were the worst.
      Her hands were red and wrinkled by the time the room was cleansed, but as she dropped onto a pew and wiped her forehead, Rhiallis felt pleasantly exhausted.
      But it is the right thing to do, she told herself. Tossing the brush into the bucket, she twisted around to straddle the bench and lay back on it. She brought her feet up so that her knees pointed toward the beautiful, faded mural on the ceiling.
      “At least Radiance didn’t tell us to clean that too,” Mira said, sprawling in a similar fashion on the other end of the bench so that their heads nearly touched. “It’s awfully pretty though.”
      “Someone was talented,” Rhiallis agreed, “And to be fair, we had already decided that it was only right and proper to purify this temple in Iomedae’s name before Radiance’s urgings became clear.”
      It galled her only the teensist bit, that Radiance had truly come to life in the capable hands of Lieutenant Graves. Graves put the blade to excellent use and Rhiallis knew she had made the proper decision in giving up the golden sword. Still, the fact that it had somehow tacitly communicated with its new wielder and expressed the need to resanctify this place implied that it was far more powerful than it seemed.
      Sincerely, she was happy Radiance was firmly clutched by a worthy hand.
      Secretly, a small part of her heart wished that that hand belonged to her.
      “Rhiallis, Mira.”
      Kumiko strode into the main room and stopped in her customarily dramatic fashion. Her feet were shoulder-width apart, her shoulders back, one hand upon the hilt of her fantastic, feather-light blade, and the other on her hip. Even if she had not announced herself, every one would have stopped whatever they were doing to look at her. She commanded attention by simply existing.
      “Aty- Aty-” Her tongue struggled with the sound of his name and she frowned. “The priests are ready. For ritual. We go now.”
      Rhiallis and Mira rolled to their feet and stood. The hin was half her height, but she managed to cut her stride so that they walked at the same pace. The change was unconscious but born of their enduring friendship. As they joined the others around the graves, Rhiallis closed her eyes once more and said a silent prayer for the dead soldiers.
      May your journey be peaceful, may your afterlife be full of joy. May your sacrifice be not in vain. And may your loved ones understand the price you chose to pay. And Iomedae, please forgive my selfish wish that it is never – again – me laying there, my work undone, my friends left behind to fight in my stead. And if it is in your will, Glorious Lady, please do not take my friends yet either. We have much to do, many miles to travel, and… and damn it, I just can’t lose anyone else that I love… I just can’t.
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Note: Image is “King Jagiello Statue Central” by (Mulligand) from SXC.hu; edited by me