Today’s snippet, titled “It’s Not A Toy”, 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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      Six arms, perfectly articulated. Really, its a marvel. A twisted, evil, monstrous one – but such an impressive accomplishment. I imagine, if sanctified, it could be enchanted to some purposeful… purpose.
      Rhiallis sat, still abed, clad in the exquisite silk kimono she had purchased after seeing Kumiko wearing one. On her lap was the clockwork marilith they had discovered in the basement of Topaz Solutions. It had six blades, each sharp enough to prick her flesh if she was not careful, and had been activated – somehow – to use one to stab a small vial when they breeched the basement.
      “Its very clever,” she murmured, turning it over in her hands. “Wickedly so.”
      Mira had laid claim to the thing, but she had kindly granted Rhiallis time to study it. She could practically hear her little friends wondering between them, what the paladin thought she could discover about the toy that the wizard and the rogue would not be able to find. Rhiallis did not expect to learn its secrets or anything, she had simply been entranced by it.
      Utterly inappropriate gift for a child, she told herself, but it is something any child would adore – each of the arms move, the neck, too. And the tail! I almost wish I had a child to gift it to.
      But there were no children in Rhiallis’ immediate future – or, likely – her distant future. Or at all, she thought glumly. The night spent with Idril had, as expected, not been productive. Though of course, she did not regret an instant of it. They had had great fun.
      Gingerly, she wrapped the tiny marilith device in a scrap of thick leather so that her little blades could not inadvertently wound someone, then placed it upon Mira’s bed roll. She and Seraphina had gone down to the makeshift kitchens to break their fast
      Dressed and freshly washed, Rhiallis gathered her gear, donned her armor, and made her way downstairs with a minimum of fuss. Despite the quick brush she had given her hair, she still felt a bit disheveled. It was not polished with silk or styled in ringlets and was in fact, tied back severely. The ponytail wound around itself and then had been pinned under. Reaching up to smooth a stray strand behind her ear, Rhiallis wondered how she had gotten so used to being perfectly coiffed during her short time at the Temple, when she had spent most of the rest of her life with dirt on her cheeks and leaves in her hair.
      “…and we think, given the training background, that’d make a great addition to your team.”
      Rhiallis came up behind Lucien, standing between he and Kumiko, with Mickey, Seraphina, Mira and Ema nearby. She waved inconspicuously to Anevia; the girl was cleaned and armored and bristled with weapons. Despite the heavy plaster cast upon her leg, she looked ready for battle. Rhiallis felt her brow furrow. Surely they’re not going to send Anevia with us? She’s not ready for this, not yet any way.
      “So, where is this paragon?” Lucien asked dryly.
      “Hey,” came a languid male voice. “That’d be me. I’m Corin the Red.”
      A desert wind sucked the moisture of her mouth; her pulse quickened in her throat.
      From behind Irabeth, a formidable woman herself, stepped a remarkably unremarkable young man. He was slightly shorter than she, about six feet tall, with a strong, lanky build. There was nothing particularly startling about his plain, brown hair and eyes.
      Viggo… her heart broke into a million pieces.
      “Why do they call you the Red? You ain’t no ginger,” Mickey chortled.
      Corin gave a wan smile and didn’t elaborate. “So look, I trained in hunting demons. I can help you guys. You’re going to the Tower of Estraude, right? I’m ready. Irabeth can vouch for me.”
      Everyone spoke at once, inviting him to accompany them. Some were impressed by his confident manner, or maybe his fine cold iron hand-axe, or perhaps Irabeth’s recommendation. All except Rhiallis.
      She did not trust herself to speak. Not yet. He reminded her too poignantly of a shade from the past and if she dared open her mouth, she feared that a decade’s worth of tears would come pouring out – an unstoppable, humiliating torrent.
      Instead, she just smiled and nodded.
      As they made their way through the ruined cobblestone streets of Kenabres, moving steadily toward the Tower where their enemy found respite, Rhiallis was keenly aware of his presence and she mentally slapped herself back to attention.
      It isn’t him you’re feeling right now, you silly cow. It is the memory.
      She cast a glance back over her shoulder and smiled. He nodded in return, a pleasant – if highly focused and determined – expression on his face.
      Oh for the love of all the Gods, good and evil, Rhiallis, don’t you dare sleep with him. We can’t afford to lose anyone else.
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Note: Image is “King Jagiello Statue Central” by (Mulligand) from SXC.hu; edited by me