Today’s snippet, titled “Rutzerai”, is a piece I wrote about my PC in Mark’s new (Good) Pathfinder Campaign.
      Be forewarned, there may be mature themes and naughty language below.
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      Rutzerai.
      Rhiallis recognized the witchfire they had killed mere hours before amongst the twenty-four in the painting. She was fairly certain she could pick out two others as familiar faces: the other witchfires the Valorous Order had encountered in the Worldwound thus far.
      “Are there really twenty-one more of these horrible things out here?”
      Glancing down at her friend, Mira, Rhiallis gave a small nod. “Seems likely that some have been vanquished since this painting was produced. But…”
      “Twenty-two.”
      Both she and Mira glanced over their shoulders. Celeste had appeared at the bottom of the stairs, lugging yet another mutilated corpse from the front yard.
      “What?”
      She tossed the hag’s broken body onto the pile in the corner and wiped her hands on an old cloak. “Twenty-two. The twenty-one remaining of that lot, plus the one in the center.”
      “Oh.” Mira frowned, turning back to the portrait.
      Rhiallis followed suit. The painting was exquisitely well done – eeriely life-like – and depicted twenty-four beautiful young women, wreathed in sickly green flames posed on plush chairs. They were arrayed twelve to the right, twelve to the left, and sat with perfect posture – feet and knees together, hands clasped lightly atop them, chins lifted ever-so-slightly.
      The focus of the painting, however, was the regal woman in the center. She too, a witchfire, but she was somehow more than the others. Her flames glittered a thousand shades of verdant green only seen in jungles; pale as jade close to her body deepening to a rich emerald at the dancing tips. They were so wonderfully rendered they seemed to be twisting and writhing on the canvas. She wore a crown, unlike the others, and seemed like a queen amongst her ladies-in-waiting. It fairly dripped with gems, diamonds and emeralds, and Rhiallis had to admit, grudgingly, that she coveted it for she loved emeralds.
      She tilted her head, her frown growing. Slowly, she leaned as far as she could to the right. After a moment, she leaned the other way, crowding Mira who gave her a dirty look as she ducked out of the way.
      “What are you doing, Rhi?”
      “The eyes.”
      Mira looked up again. For a moment, she did not seem to see it. Then she took a step to the right, followed by several to the left.
      “…that’s crazy.”
      Rhiallis just nodded.
      “C’mon you two,” Celeste said with a grunt. “There’s more work to do before Aimsley gets back. She’ll probably be awhile though. Damn… those poor kids.”
      “Right,” Mira hopped to, loping after Celeste as she headed up the steps. “They’ll get their toes back, probably. Right? Right?”
      Rhiallis lingered, unable to tear her eyes from the painting. There was something about her – the Queen – that left her feeling utterly unsettled. There was such intangible malevolence in that incredibly beautiful face. But that was not the most disturbing thing.
      It was those impossibly blue, glowing eyes.
      …and the way they followed her wherever she moved.
      Shuddering, she rubbed her biceps as if struck by a sudden chill, and retreated from the basement. They would remove the canvas from its frame, roll it up, and take it with them – it might be worth something to someone – but Rhiallis could not shake the ominous feeling she got whenever she looked at it.
      I hope to all the Gods, good and evil, that we are never so unfortunate as to meet her, she thought, then paused. But I don’t suppose our luck is that good, after all, and it seems like all the worst things that can happen here in the ‘Wound, will happen.

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