what does Bavs know?:
knowledge nature: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (17) + 10 = 27 knowledge arcana: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (15) + 8 = 23 I shall consult the spirits.. Bavmorda cuts her hand again and smears it on the wall the cave. She sprinkles dust from the floor and stirs it three times with a birch twig. As she does, she reads the swirls from bloodied mud.
Bavmorda rushes forward, cradling the ruined form of her companion. Gwalhur!!!! You have fought bravely, twice now. I am sorry, my friend. With quiet keening and flailing of the earth, she piles stones over the ruined wolf. Then, she cuts her palm and places witch-runes about the cairn in five places that its spirit may rest easy in this accursed place.
Spirits of the earth! Heed my call! Aid us!! Bavmorda thrusts her hands into the loose dirt of the cavern floor. The grass bracelets about her wrists uncoil and wriggle into the earth. Then, the area far beyond the group erupts in thrashing roots and fungal vines! entangle, centered to hit only the blindheim, and no one else.
When it's my turn
Once more, Bavmorda scales the wall
It is a dumb beast ahead. Brutish, and corrupt...they are unnatural and cursed by the spirits. But, their gaze is dread, indeed. Look them not in the eye, they can blind with but a stare! Then, Bavmorda calls to Gwalhur. GO! attack the beast!The wolf snarls and rushes forward, charging past friends and pushing the monster back. Bavmorda mutters as she tries to climb the cliff. Now, I shall attempt to get closer to the beast..
And.. totally gong to swap out evil eye for scar and healing hexes... the ability to slap heals on you from away away would be quite handy.
Bavmorda speaks words the green words of the Spirits. She plunges her hands into the muck about the pond as mist fish swim about the hexcrafter' head. She finishes her casting and pulls out her hands. As the mud falls away, they reveal webbing between her fingers tipped by tiny claws. She hops into the water and swims with unerring accuracy towards the opening. When she leaves, foul water dribbles from her body as she takes stock of her surrounding. [ooc]Monkey Fish which grants a swim speed of 10. That's 5 rounds of swimming]
Bavmorda sighs, she really does not like it when her mouth is full of the Southern Tongue. The mouth of the City Dwellers is slippery and twisting. It coils around her throat, and fills her with lies. But, she has the ken for tongues, and though it pains her ears to fill them with the oiled slithers of the city dwellers, she speaks the words. You are sure it is dead? in Taldane, Bavs speaks it The metal men are cursed things. They are far from the Spirits. Bavmorda turns to Izzak and the others who do not speak Taldane. in HlalitShe says it's dead already, and will not return to life. She says to put it in the water... Then, she turns back to the girl. in TaldaneWhy should he put it in the water?
Samnell wrote:
Those are cursed creatures, untouched by the Spirits. Those who explore and study the metal men are unmanned and lost. It is known.
attack: 1d20 + 2 - 4 ⇒ (5) + 2 - 4 = 3
The wolf gives Bavmorda a reproachful look and rushes over to the girl and crouches down for the girl to climb on. Fear not, child, Gwalhur will not bite
Bavmorda begins speaking softly to herself, almost as though she's mumbling. It's a language that sounds of wind and wave, the rush of deer, the cry of a hawk, the rumble of earth. Its words are formed with the flow of fire, and the rhythm of trees and river. She speaks, and tiny motes of green light spill from her lips with each utterance! The wyrd-speaker casts a mighty work, and the glittering motes settle on her face, setting her eyes and skin to sparkle in the light! It is an awesome display, and a fearful one, as well. Then, in that same language, she speaks to Gwalhur. He snarls and shakes his head, but she gestures, and the wolf sighs. He lopes off after Chotka and Tarek.
As the group makes the trek to Torch, Bavmorda sends her raven out to the skies to scout. She sends Gwalhur, her wolf, out to scout the path ahead. As they approach Torch, she has them keep close to her so they don't attract attention. The closer they get, Bavmorda moves to the back of the group, keeping herself out of eyesight.
Chotka, Last of the Blackeyes wrote:
I speak of fate, not endings. Our destiny, good, or ill, is in the City of the Purple Flame. She pats her wolf and idly feeds a scrap of meat to her raven. I will swear the words and speak the oaths.
The Spirits are silent on many things, and loudly, they speak of others. In the City of Purple Flame, there is a woman.. Jhestine. She speaks in wryd-tongues, but listens to the voice of She Who Whispers in Bronze. The Spirits speak her name and are silent. Foe or friend, they do not say. Bavmorda sighs and puts away her bones and colored rocks. The Spirits speak when the Spirits will, and will say no more nor less than they wish. Torch is our doom, that is certain.
Bavmorda runs her hands through the wolf's fur at her feet while her raven preens itself on her shoulders. If Ulfar's words unsettle her, she gives no sign. Rather, she contemplates the coals, seeking meaning in his wise words. Ulfar has ever been a tutor and guide for the young wyrd-caster, and through him, she had learned the patience of stone and the wisdom of trees. From a small sack at her side, she pulls forth bits of colored stone, pieces of wood carved with witch-markings, and small bones. She tosses them all upon a small mat, seeking knowledge from the ancients. Bavmorda uses Google:
What does she know of... Torch, the sky-people, metal men, controlling metal stuff, and interpret Ulfar's omens. I have +2 to identify alien monsters’ abilities; treated as though i have Technologist feat for all knowledge (geography) checks and knowledge checks to identify aliens knowledge (arcana): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21 knowledge (geography): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (14) + 9 = 23 knowledge (history): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12 knowledge (nature): 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (1) + 10 = 11 knowledge (planes): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (6) + 9 = 15 She pokes and prods amongst her castings, reading them this way and that. Bavmorda is young for a wyrd-woman, barely older that eight and ten summers. Yet, her rough-spun dress and leather trappings somehow make her seem younger in contrast to her snow-white hair. |