Today’s snippet, titled “Foolish”, is a piece I wrote about my PC in Mark’s Pathfinder Campaign.
      Be forewarned, there may be mature themes and naughty language below.
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      “I’ve been expecting you.”
      Rhiallis had never felt more the fool. She had not even raised her hand to let Iomedae’s blessed energy suss out any lurking evil in the vicinity. Like a half-wit, she had dropped to knees, prostrating herself before the image of her patron. Her heart had leapt to her throat and she had been unable to make any coherent words come together.
      “Until the Sword of Valor is returned, I shall not be able to extend my being beyond this chamber. Still, I have a gift for you. One of you, come here, to me.”
      Shivering to the tips of her toes, she had exchanged glances with both Graves and Celeste. Though she had wanted Celeste to step forward, her modest friend had been reluctant to so do. Commander Graves had risen to her feet and approached instead, her path not blocked by any of the others in their party.
      If there were suspicions, none were voiced.
      Iomedae smiled warmly as Graves moved near; she outstretched her arms and embraced her like a long-lost friend. Holy lips pressed briefly against Graves’ mouth. And then they lingered. Heartbeats passed and the kiss became uncomfortably long. Suddenly, it was clear to everyone. Iomedae’s hands bore talons and they were digging into Graves’ flesh, holding her tight as she struggled to get away.
      “I have been expecting you.”
      The words stuck in her head with each swing of a blade, each arrow or spell slung by an ally. It was not Iomedae. Of course it wasn’t. What in all the Hells would the Lady be doing in the middle of Drezen? Were She truly there, She would have swept out the evil in the space of a single heartbeat; She would have cleansed the entire city, rendering Rhiallis’ party redundant.
      The battle was furious, the fight bloody. Not-Iomedae had shown her true colors and they had banded together to destroy the succubus – though first Aimsley had braved the melee to teleport Graves to safety and Sardones had summoned a great rhinocerus to join the fray. Graves channeled a mighty smiting blow and with the true grace of Iomedae surging through Radiance, she had dealt the succubus a deathblow.
      Now, with the mad Crusader ranting about how this bitch was not Korandah – for the real Korandah was intensely powerful and this bitch was just a pathetic minion – and Graves sprawled on a pew, exhausted, Rhiallis had a moment to pause and reflect.
      And breathe.
      The cathedral had been gleaming when they first entered, but as the demon died, her illusions dropped and now the room stood in shambles. Like the rest of the city – though perhaps worse, for it had once been a sacred place – it now was covered in graffiti. Images profane and frequently pornographic besmirched the walls, ceiling, floors. The statue, twelve feet of glowing white marble, had been given obscene, lurid gentalia and was spattered here and there with what could only be the filthy seed of the succubus’ minions.
      They had decided to barricade the doors, for there was only one exit, and spend the night here cleaning and sleeping in shifts. Rhiallis was amongst the first to acknowledge that this once-holy place should be restored to its previous state. Yet as her friends began to spread out around the room, choosing places to rest their gear or begin cleaning, she found herself at a loss. A queer chill prickled at the base of her spine. She could not place the unease and as she unloaded her pack onto a pew between Graves and Mira, Rhiallis told herself she was just being overly cautious after the debacle with Not-Iomedae.
      “This art isn’t so bad,” Sardones drawled. “Almost anatomically correct, even!”
      Aimsley chuckled and pointed to another bit of so-called artwork. “I do not believe this is anatomically possible for that breed of fiend. Tsk. You would imagine that they would know their own body phenotypes well enough.”
      Rhiallis shook her head ruefully. Though laughter was a rare and valuable commodity these dark days, it did little to soothe her restlessness. Something was not right and while the two newest members of their party surely understood the gravity of the situation at large, their levity seemed out of place.
      She began to use water from her skin to begin scrubbing away the foul residue on the statue’s base and paused. Without Mytra to create water at will, perhaps it was not very smart to waste what remained of her own ration. Chewing the inside of her cheek, Rhiallis turned from her task. She had intended to speak to Graves and Mira about it. She had intended many things.
      But as they say, the road to the Abyss is paved with good intentions.
      As she watched Graves’ eye lids twitch, Rhiallis decided not to wake her friend. After the life-stealing kiss she had endured, she needed the rest. Mira was busy with her gear and likely not in the mood for nervous talk. Niro sat on a bench, one foot pulled up in a pose of exaggerated casualness as he worked the gore from his blade. It was over five feet of enchanted steel, a true hand-and-a-half sword. He did not appear to be ready for conversation either.
      Rhiallis let her gaze drift around the room slowly. Celeste, slaking her thirst and cleaning the blood from her face. Korael retrieving her arrows from the corpses. Aimsley, her pale brow furrowed as she flipped through her spellbook, searching for something. Sardones in the corner, working with something small in his hands – she was not sure exactly what, but he was intent on it.
      No one was in the mood to talk, she decided, and it was for the best, as she had no idea what she wanted to say. She just wanted… something.
      Something.
      Rhiallis sighed and turned to her own gear, poking through it idly. It was going to be a long night. But then again, they were all long nights now. She tucked her helm into the top of her rucksack and reached up, collecting her many braids and long, loose wavy locks into a ponytail of sorts and securing them back with a leather thong.
      “I’ve been expecting you.”
      She closed her eyes, trying to push that voice out of her mind. At first, she had enjoyed the extra hours granted to her by the strange power that allowed her to go without food or sleep. But now, how wonderful it would be to slip into an exhausted trance and dream about riding through wildflower-strewn fields with Viggo at her side.
      “Tonight is going to be another sleepless night,” she murmured to herself, rolling up her sleeves to join the others in barricading the door. “Best get to it.”
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Note: Image is “King Jagiello Statue Central” by (Mulligand) from SXC.hu; edited by me