Today’s snippet, titled “We Ride, Pt. One”, 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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      Queen Gallifrey asked her to kneel.
      Trembling, Rhiallis did so, just as her comrades had. She bowed her head and held her breath. To her left, Mira was all smiles – who would have guessed the sunny hin would one day grow into a Knight! – and on her right Kumiko wore an indecipherable expression that spoke of duty and resignation, pride and something sad – perhaps longing.
      “I hereby dub thee,” the Queen’s voice rang out across the crowded courtyard, “Arise, Sir Rhiallis-Ondrash Corweir, Knight of the Fifth Crusade!”
      She hesitated for a split second, wetting her lips with a nervous pink tongue. Standing, Rhiallis gave a deep bow to the Queen and then the crowd. Despite the scent of rotten fruit which lingered in her nose and the general air of discontent in the crowd, she could not contain her smile.
      You shall be a lieutenant, Rhiallis, Graves had said to her, Celeste as well. But I know you’ve served a bit with a militia, isn’t that right? We’ll lead this army, damn straight we will. Crush the enemies and take Drezen.
      Rhiallis smiled at the memory, watching as Athynacious was dubbed a Knight, then Mytra.
      The badge of rank Graves had given her was nearly identical to the one she once wore. She had been a lieutenant in the past, as well. A lump grew in her throat and she felt hot tears stinging her eyes. It took all of her resolve to press those memories out of her mind. She wiped a tear away, lowering her head to be inconspicuous with the motion, and glanced toward Captain – or is it Commander? I never thought I’d call anyone else commander – Graves.
      “I’ll need a drink after this,” she muttered. Kumiko chuckled and gave a single, curt nod. Beyond Mira, Graves cast a grin at her. If the smile was plastered indelibly on Rhiallis’ face, it was positively exploding from Graves’. She stood tall and proud, her shoulders back and her chest out; she looked every inch the part of a perfect, righteous, holy warrior. She was a paladin a way Rhiallis never would be. It was that very aspect that had prompted Rhiallis to leave Radiance in Graves’ possession. She was the very definition of a paladin; Rhiallis could never live up to that standard.
      An hour or two later, with her second tankard of thick, dark ale in hand, Rhiallis had to edit her impressions of Graves – slightly. The woman put away grog as well (and as quickly) as any wild, barbarous lumberjack she had ever come across. And mostly, handled herself – though not without any consequences. Her words became a bit slurred, but she remained a lady.
      Frankly, Rhiallis thought, observing Graves’ drunken boasting to a priest of Shelyn, it is a relief to see that despite appearances, she is flawed as I. That degree of perfection is impossible to emulate and must be unfathomable to try and live. My high opinion of her is not diminished.
      “Perhaps it is even increased,” she said into the tankard of ale.
      “What’s that, Rhiallis?”
      She glanced at her friend and smiled warmly. “Not a thing, Mira. Or shall I say, Sir Mira?”
      The halfling giggled. “Lady Mira, maybe. Knight or no, I’m still a girl.”
      “Its a martial title, not a noble one-”
      “The Queen disagrees,” Mytra said, her thick elvish accent so distinct. “Minor nobility, she said. Gentry.”
      Rhiallis, nodding, conceeding the point. “All right, yes, but to be a Knight is honorary and specific to the war, the Crusades. Wouldn’t you say?”
      The two exchanged a look, then shrugged in union. Rhiallis wanted to laugh – their positive, sunny outlook was so similar despite their differences.
      “Well,” she raised her glass, “Sir or Lady, we have been well and truly honored. Perhaps we won’t receive any further doses of rotting vegetables to the face. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
      They chuckled and toasted. Rhiallis knew Mira had been sincerely upset about – and worried by – her reaction to the citizens of Kenabres who condemned their group as devils who had destroyed the Wardstone rather than heroes who had saved them from mauve flames and half-fiend-slavery.
      Later, alone in her bedroll with the frothy, fuzzy feeling of strong ale still warming her blood, Rhiallis let guard down. Her mind wandered to a time she steadfastly refused to recall, most days.
      Slowly, her lids closed and she drifted into that queer space between waking and dreaming. Vibrantly alive and yet somehow, flat, a world of memories opened up around her and she stepped forward. Instantly, the familiar scent of violets and cedar filled her nose and a dagger plunged into her heart.
      At the foot of a great redwood, the feathery leaves whispering on the breeze, Rhiallis looked to the ground. Freshly mounded dirt ringed by pale violets. She could feel the cold, spring ground on her knees and the rich, loamy soil in her hands. Relane, a voice that matched her own cried out. Sobbing, the past-Rhiallis pressed her dirty fingers to her face and called out for a lost love.
      “Viggo,” she whispered aloud – she knew it was, because she felt her lips move.
      The scene shifted; from that chilled spring morning when she buried his old cloak – all she had of him – beneath the tree, to a sultry late summer evening. His arms held her close, they fit together as perfectly as seal and matrix, and past-Rhiallis’ sigh echoed from Rhiallis’ lips in the dark common room.
      “I love you,” he whispered, and nuzzled past-Rhiallis’ throat. “You know that, don’t you?
      “I do,” past-Rhiallis said. “And today has been a perfect day. The wine, the food, the company. All perfect.”
      In her memory, Rhiallis watched Viggo sit up, disengaging himself from past-Rhiallis’ arms. He smoothed down the front of his doublet and tried to compose himself; his handsome, rugged face so serious, so concerned. Past-Rhiallis righted herself as well, reaching for his nervous hands.
      “What is it, Viggo? What troubles you?”
      A smile then. Rhiallis felt her face echo the expression, though her heart ached in her chest. “There have been sightings. Outriders spotted a brigade of them heading northwest, probably from Kenabres, or one of the smaller villages around the city.”
      “What kind? How many? When do we ride?”
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Note: Image is “King Jagiello Statue Central” by (Mulligand) from SXC.hu; edited by me