Today’s snippet, titled “Something Stronger”, is a piece I wrote about an NPC in my Pathfinder Campaign (sort of the “King Maker” adventure path). The intention behind this was to illustrate events occurring in the world, but away from the PCs. They’re supposed to be writing their own pieces about actual in-game events. We shall see if any materialize.
      Be forewarned, there are mature themes and naughty language below.
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      A hunk of fresh goat cheese lay slathered in mustard and plum jam, sandwiched between a pair of thick slices of grilled rye. The bread was so dense and rich, crispy on the outside yet warm and soft in the middle.
      Know what’d go good on this? Ham. A big ol’ ham steak. And an egg. Over-easy. Yeah, with the yolk running down the sides so I gotta lick my fingers clean when I’m done.
      Hamm took a bite so large his jaws began to ache before he could swallow. “Wurf it,” he said aloud, the syllables garbled by masticated bread.
      Today was Hamm’s day off and he intended to take full advantage of it. First, he had slept in until noontime. Then, a hearty shit followed by a long, hot bath; and he was not even going to feel ashamed of using those pretty floral oils Svetlana left for guests to use. Currently, he was demolishing the finest sandwich he had ever eaten in his entire life.
      Next, he thought, swilling half-a-tankard of good, dark ale at a go, I’ll take a walk down to that crazy old man’s hut and get some of his Fangberry Wine. Maybe, if I get back before dark I’ll see if Ava wants to share a few cups with me. He smiled, wiping his chin. And if so, I’m gonna kiss that girl.
      “Hey Hamm!” Trevvy waved from his perch. “Where ya going today?”
      The kid was always in good spirits. Even when his sister and Dick had disappeared a few weeks ago. He cried for an hour or two, then steeled his wobbly little cheeks and handled the pain like a man. Hamm had to admire that. Even though, occasionally, he found that cheerful chipmunky optimism slightly annoying, it was better than the surly grumpiness he encountered in Saul. That git was not adjusting to an honest life as well as might be expected. Hamm was pretty sure he snuck things out of the larder without permission and the way he leered at the ladies when Oleg and Kesten weren’t around made Hamm’s belly gurgle nervously.
      “Off to Bokken’s, I guess. Whatcha got on your plate, kiddo?”
      Trevvy shrugged. “Just watching the road. Waiting to see who is coming next… you know?”
      “Yep,” he said. And he did know. The past few weeks had been pretty busy at the Fort. Ever since the Blacksmith’s apprentice and Minnie Lamb had fled, just about two months ago now, things had changed hourly. “See you later, kiddo.”
      Oleg was handling all the folk coming and going with relative grace, just so long as they came and went and didn’t linger too much. The Fort, which people had already taken to calling, Levetown, a play on Oleg’s surname Leveton, was pretty successful. The Leveton’s had begun paying Hamm and Saul and even little Trevvy a regular wage for their services and with the small garrison around, the Stag Lord’s men had not bothered them a snit in weeks.
      Hamm passed through the gates, greeting a pair of trappers from the west mountains as he left. They were laden with all sorts of supplies – but, oddly enough, no furs that Hamm could see. He shrugged; it wasn’t his place to ask questions, he was just a laborer.
      To his surprise (and pleasure) Ava was out in the annex. The same band of adventurers – the Chartered Explorers – what had set him and Saul free after Kressle was killed had sent a whole slew of livestock down to Svetlana and Oleg. At first, Svetlana had been less than pleased. Hamm chuckled to himself, remembering the explosion of profanity that burst forth from the pretty young matron when the wagons arrived.
      But, once Hamm and Oleg finished the annex – a five-foot walled pen to house the coop, pen, and corral – and there were fresh eggs, milk for cheese, pork belly to smoke… she had changed her tune. Especially since Ava was there to help her. Svetlana really knew almost nothing about animal husbandry and so forth, but Ava grew up on a farm and she was a wealth of information.
      She’ll make a good wife, Hamm thought, pausing by the fence to watch the lithe, copper-haired woman hobbling around the chicken yard. I wonder if Oleg will give me leave to build a little cabin nearby. I can save up and buy a few animals from them, make a real start of it. Close enough to have the Fort’s protection, but a-ways a bit, for priv’cy and whatnot. Wonder if he would?
      “Ava, that damned purple hen is not laying!” Svetlana’s voice echoed from within the coop. A heartbeat later, her blond head poked out. “Is there nothing we can do for her?”
      “Dunno. I guess maybe she’s eggbound.”
      Hamm winced at the word. Svetlana must have had the same thought for she said, “That sounds awful. Would it not be better to put her out of the misery?”
      “Well, I remember my Grandma would bring a hen in and give her a steam bath, sometimes that worked to get the egg out. Once they managed to crack the egg while it was still inside, but that can kill her if pieces get stuck.” Ava frowned. “I hate to put Violet to the pot, she’s such a sweet layer.”
      Hamm ducked down as Svetlana turned his direction. He bit his bottom lip and cringed – would it be worse for them to have noticed him watching, or to catch him now that he hid? He wasn’t really doing anything wrong, but his reaction would probably make them think he was.
      “Svetlana? Are you-” Ava’s voice sounded concerned and Hamm peeked up over the fence quickly. She stepped toward Svetlana and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right? What’s wrong? I don’t reckon you could be crying over Violet this way – sweet as she is, she’s only a bird.”
      “No, no,” Svetlana wiped her eyes delicately. “I mean, I like Violet, she is a good hen. But – I am more worried for myself.”
      Hamm and Ava cocked their heads in unison.
      “Ava, I am going to have a baby.”
      The girl clapped her hands and squealed. Hamm smiled and ducked back down, chomping on his sandwich again.
      “When?”
      There was a pause. “I think, mid-winter.”
      “Are you not happy, Svetlana? Does Oleg not want to have children?”
      “It is nothing like that, my friend, Oleg does not know yet – but he will be thrilled. He and I have prayed for children for years. It is just that – I have never delivered a baby before, not even acting as midwife, and I am terrified. Alone, here in the wilderness? Without any woman or priestess-”
      “Well, maybe I can stay until the baby comes.”
      Hamm frowned, still eavesdropping. Where would you be going, Ava? You can’t leave…
      “I would love that, Ava, but now that your leg is healed, surely you will go with your friends when they return.”
      “If they return,” Ava’s voice was flat. Hamm knew that she had begun to fear something bad had happened to Gavriil and Lexi and all the others. They had been gone for an entire season, three moon cycles and aside from the brothers who had arrived with all the livestock ages ago, there had been no word since.
      “They will.” Svetlana said, patting Ava’s arm.
      Hamm was not so certain. He crept along the fence line, past the small flock of ducks, the sleeping lambs, the cows, and the pig sty, and kept as low as he could until he was out of sight. If they do come back, I bet Ava would go with them again. She talks so much about that Gavriil fellow, too, she’ll never want to marry me as long as they are out there.
      “Bet she’d love me just fine if those other blokes never came back,” Hamm told himself, enjoying the warm summer’s sun on his face despite his troubled thoughts. “Bet she would.”
      Bokken was sitting on his porch, bathing in the heat like a housecat. He was also naked as a jaybird and Hamm felt the amazing sandwich he had relished so much turn to lead in his belly and then threaten to rise on a flood of bile at the sight of Bokken’s wrinkled old body. His member was more mushroom than cucumber; a weird little thing that wiggled with each wheezing breath.
      “Hammy-boy, me friend,” the old man squeaked, rising to his feet with surprising alacrity for one so ancient and decrepit. “What can I do ya for, do ya for, do ya for?”
      “You’re a weird bird,” Hamm said, averting his eyes. “I come on business today, Bokken.”
      “Ha ha! A cuckoo, some would say, some would, they would. What business, Hammy-boy? What business?”
      “Fangberry wine,” he said aloud, then lowered his voice, leaning closer. “And something a little stronger…”
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Note: Image is “Easter Nest” by rknds from SXC.hu