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Bo'Asha, surging with frigid power, cackles!
Bo'Asha crouches with an animal-like ferocity not in keeping with her aged frame. "Now, here we go!" before releasing a volley of frozen death
Ducking away from the swiping claws, Bo'Asha begins her hasty spell for Icy Skin:
"Vosk! To me!"
Damn ye, let's not screw this up again! murmured Bo'Asha as she began the chant for her spell of Ice Shards.
Curses!
Curse you, gods! Must Ye give this poor wretch such damnable frenetic power and yet give her the energy to plow on? I hope yer real that I may spit in your eyes once I meet you in Hell! Bo'Asha scurries out of her tent on hands and knees, sees the geists, and makes for the far side of the tree. Come on now, cooperate for ol' Bo, won't cha!
Without moving from her prone position, stomach-down on her bedroll, Bo'Asha began the incantations of old, drawing cold up from the frosted earth beneath her.
Bo'Asha audibly gasps and shudders, perhaps seeming to the gathered compatriots as if she started from a bad dream, but worse, a night terror. Aches run through her body, like pin pricks of a waking limb or even one slowly fading to frostbite.
"His lordship may need nothing from you, friend dwarf, but I'll require you shut your noise-hole while amma gets some shut-eye. Eh? Aye-yi-yi, what has become of us, dry bones? Less than two days ago and you were making a fine stew full up with turnips, yams, snap peas, and wood hare. Now, Gods be damned, we've wandered leagues from home in the company of an up-jumper, a tree-hugger, and now a loud, crazy tub o' lard. Heh, perhaps here is where yer meant to perish: among the rejects of the kingdoms.
Bo'Asha sets up her tent and is off to sleep instantly.
"Oh just wonderful! More fodder for the canons, more fools in the court!" grumbled Bo as the dwarf blurted out the old scar-face's note.
Indepted, eh? So this fat fool is one who does not mind falling into debt. And serious debt, to be sent on a mission where his life could be forfeit. Good to know, maybe he will find himself in old amma's pocket before this journey is yet over, heh. Bo'Asha remained seated on her recently acquired pony. "Well, your lordship," she directed to Skoldir, "will we make camp with this...comfortable-looking fellow? You'll have no objections from me." No objections to bringing one more body to stand between me and oblivion.
Hmph, snorts the old witch, who stands, fishes out some coins to leave upon the table, and makes her way out to the yard. "Well alright, now that our knives are all sharpened and our armor gleaming perhaps one of you fine gentlemen with better lay of the land than grandma care to lead us towards our quarry?" asks Bo'asha as she hoists herself onto the back of a dappled pony beside Stormreaver. Once she is settled, the great snowy owl Vosk lands upon her bent shoulder, silent save the drafts of his wingbeats, and stares out ominously.
"Damn, still alive."
As she descended to the landing, CLOMP-thud, CLOMP-thud, the witch's eyes moved around the significantly emptier common room, her lungs breathing deep the smell of broth. She took up her table from the previous day, the one commandeered for her by Frodnar, and sat about the task of breaking her fast. "Where'd those damn men off to?" she wondered to herself...
As the human and elf rise to leave Bo'Asha's table, the hag sulks with a grimace that could peel paint. Well done, mama. You really put your foot in the shot this time. Nothing to be done but get busy. she finished the rest of her beer and with a grunt and the aid of her walking staff, rose to her feet. She moved with purpose to Frodnar's table and leaned close. "I don't know you or how you know me. I don't know your angle or your games. But you've got me by the ol' teats now, don't cha? Very well. You want a corpse, Baba'll bring you a corpse." Without waiting for a response from Frodnar she sauntered to the innkeeper, demanded a room where quiet and a soft place to rest her old bones. Once offered, she is off to sleep, making sure to let Vosk into her room and out of the cold and snow.
Dump that 6 into Charisma.
"So much prattling from you men. Fah! I grow tired of this tongue waggling. An evil man needs dealing with and if this old lady needs to sidle up and shove a dagger between his ribs so that the countryside might have some peace a quiet at last, then that's all I need to know." The woman gathered her shawl about her as if making preparations to leave, the wet slush and mud from her initial trudge into the inn still slicking the floor. "I've got precious few moments left in this accursed lifetime, and fewer still I care to spend sitting here talking about doing something instead of doing it." She drains her beer as well, and stares deep back at Frödnar, bitter resignation in the stare. "So point me where the bad deed needs done so I can get on with dying in peace."
"So a combination of Greed and Cowardice and, the worst of all sins, Bureaucracy, hmm? I guess I misjudged you; thought by your monstrous appearance you were more the kind to slice off men's heads and ask their corpses' permission. But whatever your excuse, I'm sure you sit comfortably on those big mitts of yours."
Now this one's got fire and sand, you betcha. You might've found your entertainment for the evening, old gramma. Look how he rankles the dandy's pet dog! "There's few men who call me a witch to my own face, boy. Fewer men still who live to do it again," says the hag, though there is a smile in her voice. "To me its strangest that a man with wit sharp enough to slit his own face open would have trouble with such a buffoon as you describe. So either you are playing us falsely, or you're not as clever as you seem, or you're afraid of this Thegn. So what is it: lies, stupidity, or cowardice?"
Hmm, fair enough. I love the Disciple of Tiw advantage, and I love the Gift of Battle and Warrior's gift spells. I just imagine it'd be fun in a tabletop game to play a swiss army style fighter who can cast one of those spells (or Smite) and then Attack in the same turn, gaining the benefit from the Edge. That's why I was building his story as a "fallen soldier on his way to redemption, his skills being shaped actively by Tiw himself." I'd love to play a disciple of the Nameless One. Getting shapechange at novice has to be a lot of fun.
Cool. I like the old witch but I fear that a pbp is more favorable to a proactive character, one who does rash things and charges onward, something a cold calculating old lady would not do. Maybe I need to play her as more crazy than I have so far, haha.
"My, someone fancies himself a charmer, eh? Hmm? Very well, great beast, let out with it. Is this elf some kind of nefarious bandit? Should I be shaking in my stockings, eh?"Bo'Asha draws her shawl closer about her, feigning a hollow courage that is certainly not hollow. As the elf approaches and makes his introduction, his prattling in the tree-hugging speak of the firmly zealous draws a barely contained eye-roll. Gods, please let this one be an obstacle or at least of no consequence so I might snuff him out. This kind of bleeding heart crap from the overly religious is like to cause me an aneurysm. Pointedly, Bo'Asha does not introduce herself when he gives his name. Names are a powerful thing, old girl. Best let this one's dangle in the air a bit. All the same she allowed Frödnar to drag his table over, and she doesn't protest the elf's approach. When he ends his speech, she declares "So the brigand elf rescued the horses from the brigands who attacked him. Hmmm, seems I am in a den of thieves, What will become of me?" this last dripping with sarcasm.
"If you're givin' out ponies, ol Baba'd be happy to take one off'a yer hands," croaked out Bo'Asha in the silky lilt of the Taiga Elf native tongue, "all creatures great and small love Grandma." She turned from Kendric and the strange scarred man to toss her voice in the taiga elf's direction and gave him a long measured stare.
Bo'asha reflexively curls her lip slightly then thinks better of her initial "bark at that tramp to keep his eyes in a firmly-not-Bo'Asha's-direction" plan and raises her mug in return. If only to sip a bit.
The elf seems a stranger to more than me, then. Queerer and queerer. Bo'Asha spies around the room and takes in for truly the first time, how many people are in the inn. Years as a recluse have left her wary of crowds and though she had never visited this inn before it seems strange that such a large party would be here, even with the rain. When that oaf returns I should pump him for information. Damnable curiosity, getting the better of you again, you old bag. Hah! Surely the bloody fits brought you here for some damned reason beyond the comprehension of my old thinkbox. Curse you, Tiw! And the Norns! And the whole lot of you! I hope you're enjoying batting about this poor old woman. Surely there are answers to your sodding riddles here or else you wouldn't keep pulling these old bones here. Feh!
Satisfy old amma's curiosity and tell me who the dandy lad and his frigid elkin friend are? They seem an important lot...?
And this man indicating the scarred Saxan, he has a frightful countenance. Should this old maid clutch her coin purse a bit tighter around that bloke?
"Enough of your prattling. The storm chased us in here, not a one breached your threshold for your less than charming supplications to a wife you hardly deserve," snapped Bo'Asha as the innkeep set down the cup of water and the hunk of bread. Reaching inside her sleeves to find her coin purse, she flips a few silver upon the table. "Do be a good boy and bring amma a fine stein o' yer bitterest and some oniony soup. And what does a body have to do to get some fine pipeweed around here?" Bo'Asha turns her attention about from Kendric. Well now, the queer elf has attracted more than my attention. Some dandy lord by the look of his garb. He's got a nervous look about him, like he's asking a fair maiden to dance when he know's she'll say 'no.'
Sorry for my delay. Was sick as a dog all weekend.
The old crone huddles in the doorway, the light from the interior of the room bathing her in sudden brightness. Her grip tightens on her rowan walking staff as she brings her left hand up to shield her eyes. It has been a long day and she was barely awake for it. Gods be damned! How did I walk this far without realizing it? This must be that B&B of Kendric's, that egg-shaped pillow-biter. And here you are, Ol' Baba, with nothing to show for it but your skirts soaked through and a throbbing ache in your knees. BAH! The old woman shuffles to the rocking chair just inside the door and tries her hardest to seem more like she is sitting down and less like she is collapsing. The chair is worn, it probably sits out on the porch usually when the weather is nice. Now using her stick gently, she settles into an easy rock, surveying the room, and expectantly sniffing the air for signs of tea brewing. A frost elf? This far south? Curious...
Are we paying attention to Encumbrance penalties? Or a modified version of it? I only ask because sometimes it makes sense (Bo'Asha, with her d4A and d4St, won't be carrying a broadsword or platemail) but also sometimes seems to get in the way (Should a walking staff, whose weight is mostly on the ground, really count for 8 of her 20 available unencumbered pounds?) I'm game for whatever, just wanna know.
Ol' Bo'Asha is ready. Bring it on, arsefaces!
Done and done, profile and character sheet updated and posted on this characters page
I'm ready to roll. (dice pun)
Tiw has blessed this curmudgeonly biddy with increased stamina which has kept her hale and hardy long into her twilight years. This, combined with her strange visions and eccentricities have resulted in her delusional belief that she is immortal, cursed to live forever as a decrepit old woman. Altered stat line:
HAha love it.
I might rearrange some of my stuff to get the Beast Master Edge. Or at the very least I will go for it soon after game commences. She'll likely have a raven or owl familiar.
Okay, you rubes! Now it's time to get weird in here!
Here we go! |