Today’s snippet, titled “The Forge, pt.1”, is a piece I wrote about my PC in Mark’s Pathfinder Campaign.
      Yes, another multi-part chapter. This one was pre-broken up into 3 bits, so I’ve done the same here, just for ease of reading.
      Be forewarned, there may be mature themes and naughty language below.
– – – – – – – – – – –
      “A thousand? Truly told?”
      Athynacious grimaced. “Aye. And if it doesn’t work today, it’ll cost another thousand tomorrow. And the day after and so on until we succeed or grow old and die.”
      “Grow broke and die, more like,” Sadie said, her brows furrowing.
      Celeste pushed a hand through her dark hair. “I wish you had thought to mention this before we started making such expensive plans for properties in the city.”
      Aimsley made a sheepish sweep of her hands. “I should have realized before, but it slipped my mind, too.”
      Rhiallis drew a pouch of gold from her waist. “We had better make it count then, right? Here – this will cover today. We can worry about tomorrow – if we need to – when the time comes.”
      Aravashnial sniffed haughtily. He was not entirely thrilled about being drawn away from his oh-so-terribly important new position as Magister of Drezen, yet he knew that he was amongst the most powerful mages in the city. He was also amongst the most learned and thus his insight during this delicate process would be invaluable.
      “Redemption of this forge will not be easy. If what Joran has told us is even remotely true – and I believe it very well may be for his resolve has crumbled in a rather spectacular way with the defeat of his brother – more evil was brewed in the belly of this iron beast than even Staunton was capable of.”
      “All we can do is try.” Athynacious was not deterred by the difficulty of their task and Rhiallis had to admire him for that. “The Forge could do so much good – if we can work the spells correctly. Imagine – taking weapons like the vicious dagger they retrieved from that vampire and twisting them into objects of holy might?”
      “Yeah, yeah,” Sadie said, rubbing her hands together. “Enough with the yak-yak. Let’s get on with it.”
      Athynacious began by asking everyone to close their eyes and take several deep breaths. “Clear your minds. Relax and open your hearts to the spirits. Iomedae is with us and She will guide our prayers. Have faith, no matter the horrors that may strike out – for we are stronger than they and we will be victorious. This forge will be redeemed.”
      The spell failed.
      The six of them did not linger in the sweltering chamber long. Athynacious and Aimsley would consult with Aravashnial to decide what had gone wrong and what to tweak for the next day. Celeste had business with some of the local craftsmen and disappeared shortly afterward.
      Sadie and Rhiallis walked for awhile that evening; reminiscing about the halcyion days of their shared youth. They talked of the time Sera had locked Sadie in the barn so that the wee one could not follow the others into the furthest corners of the orchard where they would no doubt gossip and giggle and talk about things teenaged girls did out of the hearing of their parents. In retribution, Sadie had wriggled through a rabbit hole, stalked the three of them to their hidden copse, and hurtled an entire basket of half-rotted tomatoes at them.
      It was nice, getting to know the hin once more, though if she were honest – Rhiallis had always felt an outsider there. Seraphina and Mira and Sadie were all hin, and were actually young. When she met them, Rhiallis had been over fifty and had been on her own for some forty years. Still, she had never had teenaged friends and they embraced her with no reservations. After the heartbreak of Viggo, it had been nice to regress a bit – to forget about the responsibilities calling her into adulthood and just be youthful and silly and free.
      “Guess I’ll see ya in the morning, Rhi,” Sadie said, waving. “I’m off.”
      Rhiallis made her way to her tent amongst the Knights of Kenebres and as she curled up in her furs, longed for a real bed and a warm body to share it with. She fell asleep with a name on her lips, but when the dawn came, she could not remember whose it had been.
– – – – – – – – – – –

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