A Familiar Queue

Laniss looked out over the line, winding it's way across the flat barren plain toward the tower.It was remarkable how much could change in a day, and yet remain the same for millennia . The endless dead were waiting impatiently, slowly marching toward their meeting with the lady of death and fate while various shadowy entities walked up and down the crowd, striking dark deals with those desperate or fearful enough to risk an eternity of damnation.

A shadowy figure nearby quickly captured Laniss's attention. He appeared at first to be an elf, but at every glance he was slightly different; a living construct, a dwarf in a crafter's apron, an elderly human woman. And yet you would swear up and down that nothing at all had changed. At once extremely familiar and entirely unknown, all Laniss was sure of was that this was no simple soul waiting for judgment.

"You appear to be making something of a habit of this. I'm not sure that is wise" the stranger spoke with a voice like the motion of the continents.

"It is true that a number of miscalculations were made."

"More than you know Headmaster. You have begun to see the true path, but you will need more help. You must set aside the distractions and prepare."

Laniss frowned as he attempted to decipher the stranger's words. "Headmaster? I think you may have me confused with someone else."

"My apologies, I sometimes forget when we are." The young theori started off into the distance, clearly distracted "Think on my words. Finish what you started, because It has what you seek. Stop dying." With that, he turned and quickly vanished into crowd.

*   *   *

"...So with that, I feel it is time for me to tender my resignation from The Great Downward Engineering Company, and to officially petition for the land around the western rise be deeded to me for the purposes of construction of an arcane college in exchange for access to increased magical and scholarly resources as well as guaranteed tax revenue not less than....."

The trick that became not a trick

I knew tricking people was a good idea, I seen how everyone does it so well since I started thinkin bout it.  Mortimer has a really good trick where he pretens to have one a those 'honourable' fights with someone but then uses a spell to come back when dey think they killed him and is all like "Bam!  You thought you killed me but really I win!". Lots of other people have good tricks too.

Other day I did a good trick on some Orcus people.  I made maself look like one o them and then kept telling them what they were doing made Orcus angry while we were fighting.  They got all confused, I think they worried Orcus would get angry at them.  And instead o attacking me they attacked other people, so all worked out really good.  I decided then that I gonna try to trick Orcus people like that more.

I had all these good ideas about how to do it.  I could stop hiding my demon arm, and use my demon powers more (though that went stupid before cause Laniss is an idiot and gave me some cured ring - but should work better next time) and lots of stuff.  Pretending to be a priest a Orcus would be really cool, I would tell all the other Orcus people wrong stuff about Orcus and they'd stop being such idiots all the time and maybe Orcus would stop giving them powers.

Then I realised something.  Mortimer seems to be mayor now that Shades is dead (though I think he's still flying around haunting us, but I don't think ghosts are allowed to be mayors) or at least is half mayor along with Frey or summing.  It took me a while to realise why he got to be mayor but I figure its cause he killed Zehn, who had killed Shades and you get the position of people you kill. Gwetting to be mayor is a kind of promise that you can get through killing someone. Not sure who Shades killed to become mayor in the first place, but they probably deserved it.

But that made me realise.  I don't need to trick people to think I'm a priest o Orcus - I destroyed the high priest Nadger, so I REALLY AM A PRIEST - THE HIGH PRIEST IN FACT! His power went inta me and everything.

So now I'll tell all the Orcus people wrong stuff about Orcus, and they'll have ta listen, cause i'm the motherfucking high priest!

Birds of a Feathyr

For a moment that was both brief and excruciatingly drawn out, Shades’ entire existence was nothing but terror, fire and blinding pain.

The Tengu promptly found himself in the extensive line of the dead leading into Pharasma’s Tower. The great Tower itself loomed impossibly high above. Some travellers in the afterlife see a certain magnificence and even awe about the Tower, but not Shades. To him it waited with a passive menace, like a smug dragon waiting to receive its helpless princess tribute.

Slowly the line shuffled forward, ever closer to the Tower. Shades was both relieved to see none of his fellow Engineers join the line, but also a touch disappointed. The company would have been appreciated, especially when he swore he could see the offending Orcusites some distance behind.

The realization that his mortal body would be irrecoverable from a pool of blazing lava didn’t come for some time later. Shades had never been the type for existential dread, having lived mostly in the moment for much of his life. With all the words of all the languages he had picked up in his life, he could not find one that described the depth of the following panic. The Wall of the Faithless was suddenly a very real possibility on the horizon. Literally- it was far off but it was still right fucking there.

For innumerable hours Shades woefully ruminated on his Prime Material life. His friends, his family that had once been, the people he had taken under his wing. And that itchy feather that had taken longer than a week to properly grow out of the small of his back. He had fought so hard to keep what very little random chance had given him, and to share what he could with those less fortunate than him. And here he was, standing in a queue hiding from the eyes of slain foes, soon destined to be another gibbering voice in a choir of gibbering voices for as long as existence existed.

“You!” A raspy sounding human voice broke Shades’ tumbling existential spell. Shades tried to cram a lid on his frothing existential terrors, and stared at the voice’s source. He was an old human, and very chipper for someone strolling about the Plane of the Dead. Curiously, he was not in the line at all.

“You there,” the old gent waved, “I don’t want to sound, well, rude at all, but I think I just spoke with some colleagues of yours. One of them was a bird you see. A bird man. Woman, actually I think. It’s hard to really tell. ...Oh dear, I am so sorry.”
“Just fuckin’ great,” Shades rolled his eyes. Apparently in Pharasma’s domain, where all souls from all the planes came together in a great queue into a gargantuan tower made of bone, being a humanoid shaped bird was still weird for people.
“Are you the head of the Great Downward Engineering Company?” the old man bleated, clearly a little upset with himself and his faux pas.
“Fuckin’ frog’s ass on a stick keep your yappin’ down!” Shades squawked and dragged the man into line with him, keeping both their heads low, “Who the nine Hells is askin’?”
“Bofred,” the geriatric stuck out a gnarled hand, “Bofred Aerim.”
“Well I never, it’s another Aerim. Who’s it this time, Illden’s long lost human grandpappy?”
“Uh, yes, actually. You have met my dear Illy Illden? She doesn’t have the frog spots still, does she?” 

Shades vomited a giggle or two. That wasn’t entirely information he needed to know about Illden, but the humour was hugely welcome. For some time Bofred and Shades engage in small talk. Bofred shares some of the more hilarious pranks he pulled on his Orcusite captors. Shades avidly recounts his adventures with the Great Downward, the trials, the terrors, and the pride he felt in taking a shitty crumbling old castle he had inherited seemingly by accident, and shaping it into tiny dysfunctional town of misfits, refugees and expats. The process is cathartic at first, but by the end the young Tengu is woefully upset. A Tengu doesn’t have the proper glands to cry, but when he blurts out his soon-to-be fate amongst the Wall of the Faithless he has made a fine attempt to do so.

“Oh, oh I see. Well. That can’t do. No, that can’t do at all,” Bofred frowned.
“The opinion is appreciated but that ain’t goin’ to change a fuckin’ thing,” Shades croaked.
“Well, that’s just the thing, Pezzack. I’m quite certain I can. The circumstances are admittedly dreadful, but...” Bofred brought his voice down to the faintest whisper, “I’m kind of a god now, you see.”

Shades lept to his feet and skittered in surprise, certainly not expecting that piece of information at all. Bofred’s eyes glazed a little, as if peering far into a misty horizon. His brow ticked, and one of his withered hands were clenched. His form drooped with a heavy weight that should not have existed on this immaterial plane.

“As the priests and their vows of poverty were the backbone of old Mitra’s worship, and the paladins were Muir’s...the goodly kings and queens of old where the strength and pride of Thyr. Thyr the God of Kings! For the greatest good for the greatest number He shall rule!”

“When Severin Aerim... when Severin... when Tsar fell to Orcus’ forces, well the whole spine fell out of the skeleton, didn’t it?! No one wanted anything to do with Thyr. Not if one could fall so hard and hurt so many. Lies, of course, lies, they have to be! Even so, they didn’t stop Thyr from fading so. I spent my life trying to clear Severin Aerim’s name. I spent my life trying to clear Thyr’s name. I could have saved a lot of people. I could have saved Thyr!”

By this point Shades was feeling no small measure of fear. Bofred was clearly desperately mad or madly desperate. And still quite possibly a god.

“I...I’m sorry to hear that,” the normally talkative Tengu gulped.
“Oh. Oh dear. Yes,” Bofred sighed, his trembling subsiding a little, “Sorry, Sir Highroost, I seem to have frighten-”
“It’s Shades, okay. Sir Highroost is so damn gaudy I could hurl.”
“I’m sorry Sir Shades. I’m not used to being a god, you see. Not that I’m going to last very long as a god, not having a church and all. Or a royal line to oversee the people of the Valley. Or any sort of myths or stories to wow the people. I’ll just be sitting on Thyr’s cold dusty throne. In the quiet, all alone, until Thyr fades or I do. Did I mention how lonely it is going to be?!”

“I’d happily trade you my place on that crazed wall for a spot o’ loneliness and quiet, it seems awful lively there.”
“Ah, yes. Yes. That’s right, that pesky Wall. How about this Pezza-"
“Shades.”
“How about this Shades? I’ll give you back to the Prime Material. I haven’t divinely intervened before, so it might take a little practice, but there’s no point being a god if you can’t do that is there now?! Haha!” 
“Alrigh’, you have my ears, grandpappy Aerim. But I’m guessin’ this ain’t really a free deal now, is it?”

“Yes. I can’t just go spending divine energy willy-nilly on every poor mortal with a sob story now can I? I want you to clear Severin Aerim’s name, or to do your best. I also want you to take my divine favour. This line of the dead here is fresh out of goodly kings and queens, but as the non-evil Mayor of that lovely new Dejune town you told me about -a Mayor with the right to a Lordship even!- who says he’s a good friend of my dear granddaughter... well you are the best and only candidate for a chosen I have. And I can’t have you spilling blood with swords or that frightening tinderbox cannon you said you had, Thyr would absolutely die. And then so would I. But it’s okay, I can make you a new body that’s better at different things. A Tengu body of course, I wouldn’t want this to be weird for you. Just.. don’t kill people when you don’t have to, and take care of your people, you hear? Oh and give Orcus a right kick up the arse, I would really enjoy that. I haven’t quite got a doctrine yet, but I can certainly keep you posted on the details.”

Shades glimpsed a look over at the distant yet definitely closer Wall of the Faithless, and looked back at Bofred. It’s not like he had any other choice.

“If a god’s gonna drop from the sky to pick a dead bird back up, well damn I ain’t gonna look his gift horse in the mouth. …You have yourself a deal, Bofred.”
“Marvelous! Say hello to my Illy Illden will you? But don’t tell her I told you about the frog spots, that would be ghastly.”

Shades didn’t have the time to word his agreement to do so. He was somewhere in a forest, possibly near Dejune from the looks of it, and had found himself in the peculiar position of not quite having a body yet.

Mortimer - On Arms and Armour

Mortimer leaves the forge after a week of hard labour, Tabitha trailing behind him. He is covered in soot and smoke and smells like an Orc but he clearly looks pleased. He is cradling his scythe in his arms, almost like a proud father.

It looks almost the same as usual, but is missing the Telephos paraphernalia. Instead, the blade has a simple design on it and some words etched into the metal. You figure it's in Orcish

He trots to Talisas workspace, not bothering to bathe or change.

"Talisaaaa"
Mortimer puts on his best puppy dog face, which in this case looks like a puppy dog trying to decide if it wants to vomit or fart. Lets humour him and call it cute.
"Talisssssaaaaaaa!"

Talisas frown could strip paint off wood
"What? What do you wa-"

Mortimer interrupts her by abruptly whipping his scythe around, presenting Talisa with the handle
"Make this maaaagic, Talisssaaaaaa~"

Talisa is clearly busy, and views this olfactory assault with displeasure.
"I have work to do, I don't have time to-"

Mort cuts her off
"Maaaaagic! I have money, I know that helpssssss"

Talisa probably decides that just nodding and agreeing is the fastest way to get rid of the smell
"Fine, put it over there. I'll do it whe-"

"You need to whisper its name to it allll the time when you make it, Talisssaaaaa"
He clearly enjoys saying her name

Talisa waves a hand dismissively
"What? Yes, sure, whatev-"

"It is called 'Mothers Kissssss'. It needs to be born knowing its name, Talisssaaaaaa"

Talisa gives Mortimer her full attention for the first time
"What sort of idiotic na-"

Mort cuts her off again. His jovial tone has disappeared.
"It will be called 'Mothers Kiss' because it makes the bad things go away. Do this for me"

If Talisa responds, Mortimers back doesn't hear it


--------------------------------------------------------------------------


On the morning of the start of their journey to Tsar, Mortimer comes down stairs dressed for the first time in his newly modified plate.

Gone are the gentle curves and smooth edges. Instead, it has lots of flat surfaces and squared off edges, the whole suit having a sort of blocky, harsh look. It is a strange mix of crude and brutish, but still somehow savagely noble

On his front is the engraving of Shades' emblem, that of a profile of a crow, but stylised in a way that seems more Orcish. Its eye, over-large and right in the middle of Mortimers chest, looks to be inlayed with a holy symbol. Its a blue circle in which is a golden pentagon with 5 golden triangles spaced off each of the flat sides. It seems to represent the Sun.

On his shoulders and elbows, you can see sockets. The suit seems to be unfinished, and you figure he'll fit armour spikes at some later point.

As he walks away, you see runes and symbols carved into his backplate. They don't seem to invoke any actual power, more just an eclectic mix of symbols of a religious and planar nature representing strength and protection. You think Tabitha probably provided the symbols, but didn't have much say when it came to their arrangement.

Across the small of his back you see, in Orcish, the words "Mothers Embrace"

The overall effect, while not conventional, is pretty obvious to anyone who knows anything about religion, armour smithing or history

Here stands a Hellknight

Mortimers serious face.

Late in the afternoon, a slightly harried looking Tabitha roams the castle, collecting Frey and the remaining members of the Great Downwards Engineering Company. As a group, she leads you to the dining hall.

You find Mortimer waiting inside, standing at the head of the table. He is leaning forward, his fists pressed against the timber, head bowed. Pieces of adamantite plate lie scattered across the floor and his scythe is embedded in the wall at a strange angle. His powerful frame is covered in little nicks and scratches and he smells strongly of smoke. It almost looks like he's been caught in an explosion of some sort. Considering he said he was only going to town a few hours back, you have no idea where trouble found him.

As you enter, he straightens and looks at you. Gone is his usual easy laugh and playful nature. Instead, his lips are pressed tight and his eyes betray both grief and a focused rage.

"Sit. Now is the time for listening. Questions come after."

Tabitha makes her way around the table and leans in the corner of the room opposite the door. She glares at you until you settle down.

Mortimer’s eyes unfocus for a moment or two. You can see him trying to gather his composure.

"I have played my cards close to my chest recently. I have been secretive and closed mouthed. This wasn't because of distrust. Nor was I attempting to deceive you. A soldiers first rule of war is 'Surprise is King'. A fist in the kidneys is better than a fist in the face after all. To that end, I have been gathering my strength and gaining allies as quietly as I could. I had intended to let Orcus underestimate us, and make him bleed for his mistake. I fear I have instead possibly underestimated him"

Mortimer stops to gather his thoughts, rubbing absent-mindedly at a gash on his forearm.

"Today, two things of import happened.

Firstly, I travelled to the Heavens and reaffirmed vows I took secretly a long while ago. In short, I have taken an Archon known as Balthazar as my Patron. In his name, I will start an Order. This Order will have two objectives. Firstly, it is going to be dedicated to the reclaiming of this land from the bandits, the goblins, the undead, and any other dirty little creature that wishes us harm. It will also be dedicated to the destruction of Rappan Athuk. I am going to bathe this land in blood, and from that fertilised soil civilisation will grow."

"Secondly, I have troubling news. I traded the Mantle of Faith to my Patron for the return of Shades. I don't understand the process they used to try to bring him back, but it involved some sort of construction artefact. I watched as they tried to revive him. They spun him a new body. I could see him hanging there in the air. All that was left to happen was for his spirit to rejoin it."

He rubs the heel of his hand into his eye tiredly

"Instead, the artefact exploded. Shards of it flew everywhere, injuring many. The fabricated body was utterly destroyed. Noone could tell me why that happened, but from the questions they were asking I think it was the rejoining process that caused the destruction. Whether Shades' spirit is lost to us because of where he died, or whether it is because Orcus intervened as revenge for the destruction of the temple, I don't know. All that is clear is that Shades might be beyond our reach"

Mortimer slowly levers himself down into the chair. Tabitha comes up behind him and softly, almost tenderly, starts working her magics on his wounds.

"If you have questions, now is the time to ask. Except you Laniss. I might be able to deal with your questions tomorrow"

-------------------------

tldr; Mort has an Archon as a patron. Mort traded the mantle to his patron for a true rez for Shades. The rez didn't work, probably because Orcus is a dick.

Of Gods and Guns

The Iron Mountains, named after the rich iron veins they harbour, are amongst the Stoneheart Valley’s mightiest mountain ranges. They surround the flat basin of Aberdeen, and provide a very effective geological barrier from the rest of Golarion- fairly convenient for the arguably xenophobic nation. The zeniths of these mountains are forever sheathed in rime, and usually obscured from the naked eye unless the climate is exceptionally fair. The Aberdeenians’ xenophobia is almost understandable, as it is hard to imagine anything good descending from those looming peaks.

It is here, where the fog and wind, the heavy rains and violent electric storms dash themselves across these jagged earthern teeth, where the Tengu dare to build the monasteries dedicated to their unique arts.

Unlike the Aberdeenians living below the cloud cover, whose lives are spent scrabbling for and fretting over their lipservice to Abbadar, the Tengu do not dedicate their lives to any one deity of the Stoneheart pantheon. Traditional Tengu beliefs are instead steeped in a kind of animism, where any part of the world- natural, supernatural, artificed or otherwise- can be said to house a spirit of variable power.

In this light, the gods of the Valley are spirits of immense power, but still just a single spirit within a multiverse made entirely of spirits and matter. A religious Tengu may pray to the spirit of a particularly old local tree, perhaps to encourage it to grow more fruit, just as often as any god of the seasons or fertility. Some of the more enterprising and/or desperate birds may attempt to curry favour with one god by declaring their devotion to them, even enacting the same rituals as the most fervent of believers, only to later shift their allegiance when their circumstances or desires have changed. Some even turn the worship inwards, praying to the spirit that animates their mortal frame so that it may do better next time.

Now not every Tengu is so wildly superstitious. However this peculiar outlook on life, where gods and monsters and everything in between are essentially made of the same stuff, is still fairly prevalent in their culture and practices. And so we turn our eye back to the Tengu monasteries.

The most striking feature of these structures, aside from the dizzying height at which they’re built, are the several long thin metal tubes set upright into their highest roofs. These tubes are actually the metal bores used to construct Tengu firearms, placed there in hopes of attracting one of the weather spirits outside. Tengu traditionally feel a kinship for spirits of the air- birds, winds, clouds and fog- but the thunder spirits are the most coveted for firearms. A metal bore that survives a lightning strike is said to have been chosen by the thunder, and whatever damage the bore sustained is decorated with charms to keep the spirit housed there. Such a piece is considered supremely valuable to the monastery, becoming the base component for a masterwork or even magical weapon. It also goes some way in explaining the disastrous misfires these weapons are infamous for.

A real world analysis of the standard spells of the Vancian college:

A concise guide to spells by Laniss, Mage Ascendant of the Stoneheart Valley.
 

Cantrips:
Acid Splash-Limited range, minimal damage, no long term effect. Has some value as a defence of last resort, but rarely worth the effort.

Arcane Mark-Useful means of marking property (or persons) for later divination or conjuration. Has applications for disguising runic traps or for cowing weak minds.

Bleed-Cause an already dying opponent to bleed out. If I need to explain all the ways that is moronic, please put this book away and find yourself a sword, you are not ready to explore the arcane arts.

Breeze-May be useful in crossing a desert, but there are better solutions. In most other cases, it's applications are far to niche to be worth the effort.

Dancing Lights-With a creative mind, this spell can be put to great use. The spell can only be maintained for a limited duration, but it should be more than enough for most, however it is not particularly effective as a conventional light source.

Daze-Has value when dealing with the weakest of minds, but even they will not be fooled long. Can be useful in certain market places, if an appropriate partner can be found.

Detect Magic-Mandatory. If you cannot understand why, again I refer you to the nearest armourer's workshop. 

Detect Poison-Can be useful in certain social situations (and has in fact saved my life on a number of occasions). Outside of those, the time to cast it can be better spent. When in doubt, assume poison and react with appropriate prejudice.

Disrupt Undead-Useful for incautious young necromancers and those exploring tombs for useful relics, but I personally find holy energy difficult to focus, and therefor rather lacking in raw damage. Better abandoned once one grasps the higher mysteries of the arcane.

Drench-I once had an apprentice use this spell on a spellbook of mine he had inadvertently lit on fire. The fire was successfully extinguished, as was his future at the academy.

Flare-You could just as easily flash a mirror in someone's eyes. Do not waste your talent on such trivialities.

Ghost Sound-A truly powerful spell in the hands of a creative mind. Can be paired with other illusions, can be used to lure opponents into a trap, to entertain, the possibilities are endless...

Haunted Fey Aspect-I watched a classmate use this spell to defend himself from thugs he failed to manipulate. Two of them looked rattled, but the leader decided to press the attack. His death serves as a good example.

Jolt-See Acid Splash

Light-A staple. Will save you the trouble of keeping a candle burning while you study, and has applications that run from exploration to misdirection. 

Mage Hand-Supremely useful. From setting off traps to aiding in lab work, this spell will save you plenty of legwork.

Mending-When you work with delicate equipment or witless thugs, it pays to be able to repair things with a minimum of fuss.

Message-An excellent way to pass messages, weather in a king's court or a dragon's lair.

Open/Close-Useful for the wary or those who wish to make an entrance. A worthwhile spell, but there are others likely to grant greater rewards.

Penumbra-Unless you find yourself working with someone who suffers under bright light (or you are yourself so afflicted) this spell is of little value. But in those cases, it may alleviate discomfort.

Prestidigitation-An immeasurably useful spell. From keeping you wardrobe clean, to creating paperweights on the fly, to ensuring you look appropriately dramatic when confronting common folk, this spell should always be available to you. As a matter of fact, I regularly make use of it to cover up the unfortunate odors of a number of my traveling companions.

Ray of Frost-Like Acid Splash or Jolt, a minor attack spell. Rarely worth the effort.

Read Magic-Yes.

Resistance-A minor defensive aid, but a useful one. Also a cornerstone of defensive item crafting.

Root-Situationally useful, but if you know in advance you will be fighting a foe who utilizes such tactics, this spell can be helpful.

Scoop-Buy a bottle, use Mage Hand.

Spark-Useful utility. No longer worry about carrying a flint or needing a taper to light your study. If applied creatively, can also have combat applications.

Touch of Fatigue-Any spell that forces you into reach of your enemies is a spell better left alone. 

A day in the death of Mortimer

And with one last whack of Ambros' Earth-breaker, The Arch-Wizard Mortimer hits the floor

--------------------------------------------

Francis takes Mortimer by the elbow and leads him away from the Line of Judgement.

"We need to stop meeting like this, Mortimer"

"Well, I keep dying" Mortimer said sheepishly

"So I've seen" Francis flexed his shoulders, showing off his newly gained finery. "I've gained a lot of assets on this plane recently. What do you need, in order to do this a bit more successfully?"

"Uhmmmm," Mortimers brow crinkled in concentration "what can you give me?"

"How about a regiment of troops? I'm sure you can find a use for them"

"Hobgoblins? Hobgoblins are good!" Mortimers eyes lit up

"Hobgoblins are good" Francis agreed. "Tabitha seems to be settling in well. I'm sure she could make something out of them"

Mortimer grinned for a moment, before suddenly remembering something

"Oh! I have something you might be interested in"

"Yes?" Francis raised an eyebrow

"A powerful unholy sword, taken from an anti-paladin I killed"

"Yes, I saw that. You do me proud. To be honest, there isn't much of a market for one of those. If you sold it with the shield though, I might be able to find someone"

"Oh" Mortimer looked a bit crestfallen

"They're a matched set." Francis shrugged slightly. "People would be interested in relics of this pedigree. The paladins essence still clings to them, you see. If you're intent on selling them, let me give you some money for them and I'll go find a buyer"

Mortimers brow crinkles again "I'll have to talk to the party about it. I'm not sure the dwarf would be interested in letting go of that shield"

"Yes, that dwarf" Francis sighed "Well, let me know. I presume your comrades are going to bring you back?"

"Yea, I think so"

"Good. You can do this the old fashioned way this time then. I'll talk to you soon, 'Lawbringer'"

Tabitha

"By Orcus's ball-sack, that better not be Castle Calaelen!"
Minty looks back at Tabitha in confusion, but soon gets distracted by another tuft of grass.
Tabitha slowly draws in a breath, holds it for a moment, then slowly lets it out again. "A promise is a promise. Come on you mangy mongrel, lets get going"
With a loving pat, Tabitha and Minty make their way towards their new home

Sitting high on her horse, Tabitha strikes an odd figure. She's slightly shorter than an average woman and rather plain looking. Her soft brown eyes match her shoulder length brown hair, and her slightly tanned face is neither particuarly attractive or repellant. You'd normally describe her as forgettable, if it wasn't for the uneasy feeling you get around her - that it would be best to keep an eye on her the way you would with a "domesticated" wolf.

Her towershield is clearly finely crafted, but unadorned. Her set of spiked fullplate however, is covered in various lines, shapes and spirals embossed in the surface which appear chaotic at first glance, but those with an understanding of mathematics (decent engineering or arcana score) work out that they are an artistic expression of various formulae. Despite her heavily armed appearance, she doesn't appear to be carrying any weapons.

A soft spoken woman, she is generally polite and well mannered. Despite this, you know that while she bends easily, it would take a lot to break her.

Her spellcasting is clearly her cathartic release. She yells abuse and insults, and screams in rage.

Bless
"You fight the way my Grandmother shits. ALL OVER THE PLACE AND WITH NO ENTHUSIASM!"
"Make him BLEEEEEED you worthless swine!"
"Run away and I will CUT YOU!"

Cure Wounds
"Suck it up, you sugarplum"
"Unless you want worse, stop your bitching"

Heat Metal
"I hope I set your pubes on fire!"
"BUUUURRRRRRRNNNNNNNNNN!" *roared*

Mend
"Fucking idiots, breaking their fucking stuff. I'm tempted to break their fucking heads. I'm not some lowly fucking craftsman"  *mumbled under breath*

A fragment of Snookums' journal you found while snooping.

Thrag Stoneheart lived to 370 years and begat Uldor and Koth, after resettling the Stoneheart Valley;
and Koth the Hammer begat Booz and his brethren;
and Booz the Boozy begat Thamar and Izak;
and Thamar Giantsbane begat Krath and Horth, about the time of the Goat Cultists;
and Krath Wraithswrath begat Eron and his brethren;
and Eron the Relentless begat Narvi and Dain during a particularly wet winter;
and Narvi the Smith begat Balthor, Durin and Telchar;
and Balthor the Stout begat Revek, after returning from the Righteous March;
and Revek the Wizard begat Zarek and his brethren, as well as about 3,000 familiars;
and Zarek the Hulk begat Tharek, for he had a lisp;
and Tharek, called Doomcleaver by his army, begat Korg, Horg, Morg, Dorg, Lorg, Torg, Worg, Borg and Korg Junior, for he was both prodigious and unimaginative;
and Korg the Mighty lived to 357 and begat Egdod, who was heir to Korg's strength and wisdom, and Fusta, who was not;
and Fusta the Underwhelming begat Olrik, who wet the bed until he was 42;
and Olrik the Average begat Harrok and Grak, both disappointments to the Stoneheart clan during Bofred's lesser March;
and Grak begat [REDACTED], who was called Snookums by his nanny.