Today’s snippet, titled “That Bitch!”, is a piece I wrote about my PC in Mark’s Pathfinder Campaign.
      Be forewarned, there may be mature themes and naughty language below.
– – – – – – – – – – –
      “Sweet! I found a secret door over here!”
      Mira’s voice rang out and the excitement in it made Rhiallis smile. It was almost like the old Mira had returned after a period of darkness.
      “Can I look for traps, this time?” Isadora asked, stepping over to the halfling. “I know you usually do the honors, but-”
      “Sure.”
      She found none, and none detonated as they worked the door’s latch and moved inside.
      The walls in the room were glowing orange – so hot the air itself seemed to be alive, writhing to escape the heat. A cage enclosed an elevator lift, with chains and pullies allowed the device to be pulled across the ceiling to a set of double doors at the far side. Squatting in the center of the chamber was a forge – black and red and radiating a chaotic evil aura so thick it practically burned.
      “What. The. Hell. Are. Those?” Niro’s question was a harsh whisper, but just loud enough that the four, spear-wielding salamanders shifted their gazes to him in unison. “Aww, shit.”
      “Bodiis tiid, wuappede med masek. Faal Rah do Lu bolaav mii nelom, ko daar un tiid do praag,” Aimsley’s incantation changed the weave of time itself; each of the party seemed to be moving at an advanced rate though the world continued on normally.
      Hastily, Rhiallis protected herself from the flames with a spell. The blessing coalesced around her just in time, for a heartbeat later, a blast of fire knocked her to her knees and without the spell – she knew she would have been incinerated.
      “Eat this!” Mira slid beneath one of the large beasts, slamming her daggers into the soft, unprotected flesh. It screeched in rage and agony.
      Melee was engaged before the forge, the searing heat almost unbearable for the mortal invaders – though the native beasts were enlivened by it. Rhiallis attempted to twist out of the way as one heavy spear thrust toward her, only to find herself impaled upon a second she had not seen coming. As the salamander ripped it free, she screamed; pain shooting from the gaping hole in her flank to every inch of her body.
      “Iomedae!” she cried, beseeching the goddess for a boon. Healing energy swirled up around her, embracing her allies as well. Their burns and wounds mending in advance of a fresh onslaught.
      “Hah!” Korael pumped her fist victoriously as five of her arrows quivered from the gelatinous eyeball of one beast. It slumped to the ground, dead.
      An instant later, from the opposite side of the hall came a pea-sized ball of flame. It exploded upon them, singing their hair and scorching their faces. Enraged, Celeste lay about her with her blade, the blood of the creatures flinging from the tip of Kumiko’s blade.
      “Kaden di achuak. Marfedolom ini trekis. Waphir sheen. Si mi wer bensvelkitilti.”
      A feminine voice rang out, chanting the words to a spell Rhiallis had never heard before. Green, acidic clouds billowed across the room; they ate at exposed flesh, biting into the lungs when inhaled, pricking at the eyes. Rhiallis reeled as the corrosive gases enveloped her.
      “No!” Aimsley stepped forward, flailing her arms in a whirlwind motion. “Goosti di suaco, blow! Natorki hesi thrae, tiichi hesi, hesi toma, blow blow blow!”
      No sooner did her spell buffet the noxious air out of the way than Niro’s armor began to glow softly and a heartbeat after that, a pit opened in the floor beneath them. Rhiallis managed to throw herself clear of the ledge, but Mira, Celeste, Niro and an unfortunate demon were less lucky.
      A smirking laugh from the far side of the room drew Rhiallis’ attention from her friends’ plight. A beautiful woman had emerged from the double doors; her flowing garments were of the highest quality and her hair, gone white with age, was a river of silver. Though her face gave evidence of many years behind her, the wicked gleam in her eye was youthful and spry.
      “Iomedae, show me your foe!” Rhiallis thrust her palm toward the tiefling; not yet willing to presume guilt on every member of the race.
      The backlash was intense and she grit her teeth, raising Radiance to the skies. “By the Inheritor’s blade I will fuck you up!”
      She careened across the stone floor, her focus unwavering. Rhiallis brought the sword up, poised to strike, and as she approached, began to swing.
      CLANG!
      “No!”
      Futile, she battered the impervious wall of force with Radiance. Within her protective bubble, the tiefling bitch laughed.
      “I’ll take care of that! Dispel!”
      Despite her confidence, Aimsley’s spell fizzled, unable to affect the wall.
      The battle waged on, but Rhiallis’ attention remained firmly on the wicked bitch ensconced within a bubble of magic.
      “Rhiallis, grab my hand!” Aimsley cried, dashing toward her. No sooner did she take the elven woman’s hand than they hopped through space and time – from this plane to another and back.
      “Yes,” she growled, finally within arm’s reach of the tiefling.
      Thwarted again, as she struck nothing but air and incorporeal clones, Rhiallis grew ever more incensed.
      “Oh,” she cooed, curling a talon at Aimsley. “Your friend looks so upset. I think she’s uncomfortable in all that heavy armor. Maybe you should help her out of it.”
      Aimsley’s eyes glazed over.
      “Damn it.” Rhiallis cursed, trying to shrug her friend’s hands off as she began to unbuckle the straps of her plate mail. “Aimsley, stop. Aimsley! Stop it!”
      Chuckling, she met Rhiallis’ eye and spoke one last spell.
      “Kaden di achuak. Marfedolom ini trekis. Waphir sheen. Si mi wer bensvelkitilti.”
      The corrosive green cloud filled up within the bubble; Rhiallis and Aimsley alone suffering its effects.
      “Iomedae, defend us,” Rhiallis touched Aimsley’s forehead. The blessing took hold, but did not dissuade the elf from her attempts to strip her friend. “Iomedae, defend us!”
      A second attempt failed, then a third.
      Choking on the acrid, foul air, Rhiallis began to fear that this would be her end. Trapped in an enchanted shell, smothered by noxious gas as her friend tried to undress her.
      Pop.
      With the most innocuous sound, the shell collapsed and the cloud dispersed into the room. When Aimsley managed to blow the clouds away once more, Rhiallis turned in a desperate circle, weak and hardly able to catch her breath.
      The tiefling was gone.
      “That… bitch.”
– – – – – – – – – – –

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