Today’s snippet, titled “Another Day In Paradise”, 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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      The story would write itself, she thought, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Practically half-way there already. Mental note: hire Isadora, or find another talented bard to record this… this is history, happening.
      Rhiallis pressed her fist into her hip and sighed. The lot wasn’t really her absolute ideal. But, since it seemed that she and the others were going to be spending the foreseeable future working here, Rhiallis intended to make the most of it.
      The Inheritor’s Heart, Hospice & Lyceum would be built from what remained of a very large academy building a block east of the square. Rhiallis pictured it in her mind and smiled. She had already contacted a glass-smith to commission a fantastic stained glass window for the frontage. It would depict the glowing golden sword of Iomedae piercing a scarlet heart upon a field of rich blues and greens, deep as the ocean. There was already a broad balcony upon the second floor that would give the living quarters a breath of luxury and allow students, faculty, and staff to enjoy the fresh air. The lower level opened in the rear with a dock that had once allowed servants to haul in supplies by the cartload. Soon, it would instead grant access to the long-term patient’s ward where the most serious cases would be housed.
      “That one feels a bit light, Mokenstef, be certain to weigh all of them. That’s a good lad.”
      Horgus ruffled his apprentice’s hair and even cracked a bit of a smile. Celeste seemed less amused by the implication that her coin purse was not precise to the ounce. The Kenebresian merchant had been named official Treasurer of Drezen and the honor suited him. He had been seen laughing or making small talk with folk more often in the four days since the Liberation of Drezen, than in the weeks since the Fall of Kenebres.
      I shall have to choose a small lot near to Sadie’s, for a cottage – after the Heart and the Keevy-Corweir House are complete. Just a little place with a room for a guest and a garden and a small shrine where I can pray. She named it a guest room in her head, but in the deepest corner of her heart, it was a child’s room. The white-washed room would be brightened with colorful curtains and wall hangings, maybe one of those plush wool carpets from Omira, and shelves lined with books and toys. Rhiallis shook the thought free and returned her attention to the others in line.
      Mira had located a perfect building to restore. The Appletree Inn would be a lively place in no time at all, with Korael running a stable nearby. Celeste’s coin had just been turned over to reserve a plot where she would erect a Paladin Academy. Rhiallis was not sure if she had already chosen a name for her Order, or if she would perhaps begin a new chapter of an existing one. Either way, it was sure to be a success. And well needed, here in Drezen, where paladins would never be in great enough supply so long as the ‘Wound remained open.
      Niro was founding a fighting school as well, secular naturally. Rhiallis had the impression that his would be more of a day school, a casual instruction rather than an academy. He would be training people in practical fighting tactics rather than providing a secondary education. The service could be crucial to the people of Drezen – every able-bodied man, woman, and child should be able to defend themselves.
      Gleefully describing her plans to Mira, Sadie was making huge, animated gestures and bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. Rhiallis could not help but be happy for her. Seraphina and Sadie had not exactly grown up in the lap of luxury, but Sadie was determined that she would enjoy every comfort possible here in Drezen. Her coin purse was greatly deflated after handing the purchase price over to Horgus, but the villa she had chosen took up two square city blocks and was amongst the finest remaining in the city.
      “And then I’ll furnish out those cottages in the rear corner, so that all my lackeys have homes too. It will be amazing, Mira!”
      Mira said something affirmative to her and the two hin moved a bit further away. Rhiallis could no longer hear their conversation. She sighed a little – waiting in a queue to part with such a huge sum of coin was not precisely how she wanted to spend her morning.
      “Almost our turn,” Aimsley said, leaning close to her shoulder. “Do you think anyone else has already claimed the plots we chose?”
      Rhiallis turned to face her friend and gave a little shrug. “I hope not. But they were fairly choice spots. The Keevy-Corweir House especially – it will be close to the Heart, and to your library, near to the market square, and within defensive reach of the walls too.”
      “The orphans of Drezen deserve nothing less.”
      She nodded.
      Aimsley had been orphaned by the denizens of the Abyss as a child. In a twisted way, so had Rhiallis, for if the demonic attack had not occurred when it did, she would not have been so reviled and exiled. She may have made herself an orphan, by fleeing home, but she had had no choice. The loneliness and feeling of not quite belonging had been a topic the two bonded over; quiet conversations whispered during a shared watch, or over a meal of iron rations and tepid water.
      The orphanage – the Keevy-Corweir House – was a joint project, and one that Rhiallis was certain would be important to the city. Already, from villages and hidden enclaves nearby, people were filtering back to the city and with the families and mercenaries came the inevitable displaced children. Soon, they would have a safe place to sleep, with hot meals, warm bed, and loving staff to care for them. Rhiallis hoped to find someone like Ema – a truly gentle, generous soul – to lead the staff. She wanted the children of Drezen to have a place to be loved and taught and nurtured, not just to exist in or to be a tax break at the end of the year.
      There would be many employees to interview and hire; decisions to make about furnishings and curriculum and organization. Her mind whirled at the overwhelming reality of it all. She hoped her first hire would prove to be a wise choice – one who could shoulder much of the burden while Rhiallis accompanied her comrades on forays out of the city to hunt down the enemies of Drezen. That tiefling bitch, for one, she thought.
      “Did the rider take your letter back to Kenabres?” Aimsley asked, as if reading her mind. “Do you expect she’ll send a reply or just come herself?”
      “If I know her at all, she’ll be a-horse within the hour she receives it. Likely, with a whole entourage of trustworthies tailing her.”
      “Sounds like the perfect type, for you.”
      Rhiallis nodded. “She is. Have you hired any one yet?”
      “Not yet,” Aimsley said, stepping forward as the queue moved. “But its early.”
      Had Rhiallis not studied under the critical gaze of the paladin-professor known to all the students as Lady Penance, she honestly believed she would not be half the paladin she had become. Lenore Payne was a tall, dark-eyed woman with skin the color of bistre. Few had ever called her beautiful, for her nose was hawk-like and her brows naturally arched into points that gave her a permanently severe expression. The combination paired with the sharply angled planes of her cheekbones and jaw to create the illusion of an ill-tempered shrew. Yet her laugh was infectious and few could resist the sound of her voice – honey over thunder – as she spoke at length about valor and the pride of the Order.
      She had earned her nickname – no other instructor issued half as many punishments and most of those were requests to humble oneself before the altar of Iomedae to show penitence. Rhiallis had found obedience difficult and she spent much of her first year on her knees – the bruises earned had lasted well into her second year.
      Lenore had been wounded grievously in an attack by abyssal hordes nearly a decade before Rhiallis’ arrival in Kenebres, and though many paladins relegated to teaching and training the next generation were quite relieved to be out of immediate danger – that had never been true of Lenore. She itched for glory and it was just that longing that Rhiallis hoped to appeal to in asking her to come to Drezen. Life as a deputy to one the city’s liberators was not quite the same as running through the ‘Wound hunting demons, but Drezen was the front line as Kenebres never had been and Lady Penance would not lack for excitement here.
      “Next!” Horgus cried.
      Aimsley stepped up and marked her claim on the map. Horgus and his apprentice accepted her neatly organized coins and handed over a deed. In the space of ten minutes, the deal was done and it was Rhiallis’ turn.
      “Here.” She pointed to the building she has chosen to become the Inheritor’s Heart. “This one, and then this one as well.”
      “All that? Excellent, excellent. Make your mark then.”
      Rhiallis sketched her signature over both properties, pausing so that Aimsley could add her own name to the future site of their orphanage. Then the coin was weighed and measured and accepted.
      “The Inheritor’s Heart, you say? Hospice and Lyceum?” Horgus clucked his tongue. “Bit of a mouthful. Why don’t you just mark it – Drezen Hospital or something simple?”
      She smiled. “It came to me in a dream, Horgus. I think it it perfect for what I want to build there. Maybe one day we’ll surpass the University of Lepidstadt and be the most prestigious and accomplished healing school in all Golarion.”
      “Perhaps,” he conceded, holding out the pair of deeds, tightly rolled and sealed with blobs of pure white wax. “Good luck, Rhiallis. Next!”
      Her heart was remarkably light as she tucked the parchments into her haversack. There was a new day in Drezen. Soon, word would return from Queen Gallifrey in Nerosyan about their next goals, but for the moment – they had nothing more pressing than the mundane task of rebuilding a once glorious city on the cusp of ‘Wound.
      Yeah, she thought with a wry smile, as her gaze roamed over the rubble-strewn streets. Just another day in paradise.
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Note: Image is “King Jagiello Statue Central” by (Mulligand) from SXC.hu; edited by me