Thursday, March 5, 2015

[Pathfinder] Vignette Assignment

I'm a fan of painting miniatures. Whether they're for mass armies in games like Warhammer or individuals for table-top games (or, on occasion, purely aesthetic purposes, like Gundams), I love putting models together and painting them.

Simultaneously, I'm a writer at heart. I have dozens upon dozens of stories tumbling around my brain, and sometimes, I just have to get them out on paper (or on the interwebs, as the case may be).

I'm an avid Pathfinder Society player (as is my boyfriend-face-man-thing, yes, that's the technical term), and I have quite the collection of characters. I've got an immense backlog of miniatures to paint, and while many of them are complete, there's still a big batch to go.

Because these are characters with rich backgrounds, I thought it might be fun to assign myself vignette assignments. Every mini I paint needs to come accompanied with a 500 word essay about them. Not all the characters are mine, but I've helped develop them in some way. Usually through banter both at the table and randomly around the house. We do that. Because we're weird.

Before I share any of the minis I've been working on, though, one particular character is just speaking to me so much that I had to share my first vignette despite her miniature not being completed. I ordered her miniature from the fine folks over at Hero Forge (who are totally awesome and you should check them out if you need a weird, custom miniature for a unique character). Her mini arrived recently and I haven't yet taken pictures or primed her, but you can see the original file for it here.

Emilia Ricard is my half-elf Investigator/Bard (Archivist). She is a specialist in knowing things and disabling traps and... not much else. She basically has no business being on the battlefield, but is the most excellent support you could ask for when you're risking your life and fighting the forces of evil.

If she looks familiar, and you watch The CW's Arrow, it's because she should; she's completely based off of that particular version of Felicity Smoak and I can't wait to paint the miniature to look just like her.

All that said, you might not know a thing about that particular character, or Golarion, or the DC Universe. Hopefully, after you read what I've pumped out below, you'll know my Emelia (and her travelling companion Frankie) a bit better.

The thing was that, the more she thought about it, the more she knew that he'd wear her down eventually.
            Emelia thumbed through the pages of her book, trying to refresh her memory on Varisia, its people, and its history. Her next assignment was in the far off land, and while she knew she could have asked him, it mattered to her that she knew this stuff on her own. She didn't need him. Or perhaps she didn't want to need him. A subtle, but important, difference.
            She had never intended to become a Pathfinder. Being a field agent hadn't been in the cards for her, but she couldn't keep watching heroes die. Why did they always die? And why did she always have to fall for them before they did? She turned another page a little harder and bit her lip. She couldn't do that again. She wouldn't. She'd keep them all at a distance, and just do her job. She wouldn't let herself think she was cursed.
            This train of thought was working her up and the words on the page became incomprehensible. Steam misted her glasses. 'I don't have time for this,' she thought, taking them off and leaning back in the rickety chair she had claimed in Master Shane's study. The Master of Scrolls was eccentric, but an excellent and empathetic teacher. She was always welcome here when she needed to think or read up on some obscure fact.
            She sniffled and raised a sleeve to dab at her eyes. Now was not the time to be dwelling on the past. She'd just as soon forget it all, but her heart couldn't bear to let go to those she'd once loved so much. The body count was up to three, and all were unfulfilled loves. They'd all been a team once, and for her, they'd each been something more. But the Boneyard took them all, one by one, and left her behind. When she realized she couldn't let their memories be in vain, the Silver Crusade accepted her as an agent. If any faction could understand fighting simply for the sake of good, it was the one lead by Lady Zadrian.
            "Hey yo, Emelia. You in here?" Frankie popped his head in the door all too suddenly and Emelia snapped the book shut as she was startled from her thoughts, hand scrambling for her discarded glasses on the table.
            "WHAT, what- What is it, Frankie?" she calmed herself, pushing down all the melancholy introspections and straightening her posture in her seat. He eyed her curiously for a moment, then grinned boyishly and entered with a sheaf of papers.
            "Your, uh, your mission brief is here. I guess we're sailin' to Varisia? You know, I'm Varisian an-"
            "You read my briefing?" she snatched the file out of his hands and started flipping through it, the seal clearly broken.
            "Well, yeah, we're kind of, ya know, a team, so I figured-"
            "You're not going on this mission, Frankie," she interrupted briskly, silently adding, 'I made sure of it.'
            His brow knitted in confusion and he removed his hat, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. "That's weird. I'll go talk to Olysta, I'm sure she-"
            "NO, no. No it's fine. I can handle this. It's just a routine trip to Magnamar. Things have calmed down there, they probably have a bunch of relics to catalog and archive. That's what I do, you know. Archive things," She really needed to learn when to stop talking.
            "Yeah, sure... Well, uh... have a safe trip then," his face screwed into a frown and he hovered awkwardly for a moment, as though he were going to say something more, before abruptly turning and exiting the room. Emelia breathed a sigh of relief.
            She needed the alone time. Frankie had been glued to her side since she left the Emerald Spire, and his incessant flirtation flustered her. She didn't know why. He wasn't particularly handsome or charming, he enjoyed flaunting his intelligence, and he practically drowned his person in patchouli. With his constant attention, he kept her off guard and she couldn't take the time to figure it out.

            Now she had the time. This trip would be great, cataloging artifacts would be a piece of cake. After all, what could go wrong at Heidmarch manor?

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