Morven Rochbrattle's page

Morven listens to the tale of olde, mulling the words and their implications;

Knowledge: History: 1d4 ⇒ 4
Knowledge Wild Die: 1d6 ⇒ 2
Investigation: 1d6 ⇒ 1

Her ken o' ancient lore and the hearth wisdom of her youth triggers half forgotten words which she shares with her companions;

"Back in the auld days, ony wielder o' magicks - fair or foul wis named a wytch... Might be their nae as bad as history tells..."

The lanky trollkin shrugs her broad shoulders;

"Iffen she's a deid wytch come knockin' again... then we pit her back in the grave... but she may be mair a revenant... done wrong by these "men o' power"..."

Morven nods in agreement at Andrej's suggestion;

"Set a wee trap fer the beldams? Nae bad thinking man..."

The trollkin gestures toward the marks on her war-club with a grin;

"Nae notches o' witch... Jes' yet..."

Morven eyes the trinkets with a degree of scepticism;

Notice: 1d6 ⇒ 2
Notice Wild Die: 1d6 ⇒ 4

"Think ye need protecting lass? Fa fay? Enemies or wytches?"

Morven chuckles at Zadlu's suggestion, the tall trollkin's crest flashes lilac as she does;

"Now yer talkin' Zadlu... Wee smack on his heid and the butler'll be seein' stars and nae us as we brack inta that tomb..."

Morven snorts a laugh at Andrej's comment;

"Och aye it is Kosstite. Leastwaiys fen the bampots are deep in their cups! Loads o' drunkards see plenty weirder..."

The tall trollkin eyes the raggedy man in the distance;

"Looks like an auld jakie... Mind how yease go"

Morven taps the handle of her warclub as she discerns what she can from the scrawny lurkers actions and stance;

Notice: 1d6 ⇒ 5
Wild Die: 1d6 ⇒ 6
Wild Die Raise: 1d6 ⇒ 3

Still here too Supreme B

Like Mark I've been busy with family hols and the resultant avalanche at work...

Still not 100% up on the system, but it'll come. Will try and be more frequent in my posting as I love the character and the setting...

Heads up gang - I'm heading off this Saturday to Houston for Thanksgiving with my bro and sis-in-law. We're on a busy schedule so unlikely I'll get much time/interweb access so will likely be off the grid until beginning of Dec.

Supremeo - please DMPC Morven as necessary

Morven eyes Gum cautiously;

Notice: 1d6 ⇒ 5
Wild Die: 1d6 ⇒ 6
Wild Die Bonus: 1d6 ⇒ 1

Recognizing the familiar signs of a drunkard the trollkin also leaves the enviable task of communicating with the old sop to Satinius.

Morven accepts the coin with a slightly sceptical look;

"Ye're nae holding oot any mair coin are ye Maysur? Nae offence like... Am jes' used tae folk tryin' tae bamboozle the likes o' me..."

Morven nods in agreement at the decision;

"Aye. Tae the North ein we're gan..."

The trollkin shoulders her warclub and sets off with purpose alongside the others.

Morven accepts the holy symbol with a look of reverence, which (once Father Dumas is no longer looking) she bites to check the quality of the silver.

The trollkin eyes the brute of an Ogrun with a slight grin;

"Och aye... gonnie be a richt gud rammy when we find them heidroom reivers!"

Notice: 1d6 ⇒ 1
Wild Die: 1d6 ⇒ 4

Morven eats her considerable fill, shifting at least as much grub as Gorrum.

Between mouthfuls she nods, mutters some comments in her strange Kriel tongue;

"Aye. I'll help ye. Deid or still kickin' yea'll hae yer villain. So help ma Boab..."

Works for me Supreme B

At Zadlu's comment Morven chuckles deeply;

"Almaist as strang? Sure yer Mammy wisnae O' the Kriel Zadlu?"

The trollkin chuckles some more and helps scavenge from the Gobbers afore carving another notch in her war-club.

Upon seeing the Ogrun she whistles under her breath;

"Feck eh's a muckle ein! Ogrun? Oh aye - strang like yer mither Zadlu, but heids like neeps ken?"

Know I'm jumping the gun Supreme B but tomorrow could be brutal at work so thought I'd get my R3 action in now...

As the nimble grimble dodges her brawling swings Morven snaps, aiming a brutal backswing at the Gobber;

"HUD THAT ye wee gob$hite!"

Fighting w/Kriel Shillelagh: 1d6 ⇒ 3 + Wild Die 1d6 ⇒ 5

Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 6 + Ace: 1d6 ⇒ 6 + Ace?: 1d6 ⇒ 6 + STR: 1d6 ⇒ 1

Angered by the defiant wee bugger, Morven aims another slam at the Gobber with her war-club;

"Ye heard the mannie! Nae passengers!"

Fighting w/Kriel Shillelagh: 1d6 ⇒ 2 + Wild Die 1d6 ⇒ 4
Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 5 + STR: 1d6 ⇒ 3

As the swamp gobber lands on her wagon heralds the death of the driver, Morven growls and wades in swinging her war club with venom;

"Wee gob-$hites! Get ready fer a hiding!"

Kriel Shillelagh: 1d6 ⇒ 5 + Wild Die 1d6 ⇒ 2
Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 3 + STR 1d6 ⇒ 1

Not convinced above is right???

keep forgetting my "Wild Die"

Morven casts a steely eye from the wagon, attempting to discern what she can from the horde of Gobbers;

Notice: 1d6 ⇒ 1 & 1d6 ⇒ 4

Aye Supremo, you doing the Notice rolls in such situs works for me

Whilst her memory fails her, the trollkins keen ears do not;

"Mi lugs can hear em lads! Dirty wee Gobbers an nae mistake!"

Morven's thoughts mull Corvis...

Knowledge: Geography: 1d4 ⇒ 2
Knowledge: History: 1d4 ⇒ 1

... but the tidbits and tattletails from the mouths of barflies and bottlewashers do little to flavor any rumours she's heard.

The trollkin's musings are shortlived as a black fletched arrow buries itself into her wagon, snapping the fellcaller into action...

Will see fit Zadlu does afore actin' - as he can act anytime with the Joker right?

In camp Morven sits at a slight distance from the others; although used to the company of men inside the walls of a tavern, out her in the wilds she is less sure and more surly.

The big-boned trollkin smiles to herself at Zadlu's mention of a "silly girly voice"

Wait til yer lugs hear ma voice Khardmin...

On the road, sitting in the 3rd wagon, Morven turns the bound handle of her notched Kriel Shillelagh over and over in strong masculine hands, before she too allows the horizon to take her thoughts and attention.

Cheers Supreme B

Will adjust Morven accordingly.

We lost our other players? Was hoping for a few more bodies :(

Dotting

The big female trollkin steps toward the guardmaster, a thick shillelagh (rung) bearing a number of carved notches propped over her broad shoulder.

With the ease of one unfazed by the company of violent men, she stands wearing a battered leather jack, trollkin plaid and a hard smile.

"Needing tae move on fae here... Heard yease are hiring on folk? Hiv been crackin heids at taverns in toon... things hiv heided south after Ah gave a noble's son a fair hiding..."

She indifferently shrugs her shoulders before continuing;

"Sooo... Ah'll be needin tae heid North then. Am michty handy with ma club an ma voice... iffen ye'll hae mae."

Former bouncer, perhaps wanted, looking for an "out"... our glamazon ;)

Hoots Mon! Lookit like a richt bunch o' quality bams ;)