Tales of Alentha
Gronja the Axe Maiden
Variant Human Barbarian
I treat my adventuring companions like a wolf pack over which I’m the blooded alpha.
I think that excessive planning is the bedfellow of cowardice.
If at first the boot fails, use your axe. If the axe fails, then use both boots, but at a swift pace.
Given the chance, I will show mercy to any canine before raising a hand against them. Except hyenas. Hyenas are jerks.
If left idle for too long, I will charge a blunt course through decorum and intrigue.
A Day in the Life:
Gronja rolls out from under the wayward pine she used for shelter last night. The early morning dew from the branches douses her in a bracing shower that she uses to scrub her face and provide what she considers a bath. A little dirt helps to mask the human scent. A barbarian never knows when she might need to hunt, or sneak up on something.
Gronja heads west on the road like she has been for several days. Having heard tell of great plains being cultivated for farmland, she is curious to discover the brews of the west .
Walking the roads to new destinations has been the frequent activity for this Barbarian for a few years. Ever since that Wentan Monk visited her clan in the mountains and opened her eyes and mouth to the wondrous brews of other lands. Apparently not everyone is restricted to fermenting yaks milk and there is a religion devoted to fermentation. A greatly under estimated practice amongst her people, merely a chore in their minds, on par with milking aforementioned yaks.
Her people didn’t care how they got drunk just so long as whatever they imbibed lessened the wounds of battle and made the children fall asleep a little sooner.
Bored by the prospect of petty skirmishes with neighbouring clans, repetitive stories of the great war told around the fire every night, and the inevitable outcome of rearing her own children some day, Gronja left with the young Wentan monk.
Ever since then she’s been travelling to different towns, sampling their brews and picking up new recipes. Her barbarian heritage comes in handy when funds ran low. She frequently offers her services as a guide or escort to fellow travelers.
Today she would reach Jordan’s Crossing but before she could sample their brews she would need to raise some coin first. A city of it’s reputed size and prosperity would draw in all sorts of folk that may need her skills with an axe. Gronja isn’t much of a people person but her size and amply visible beauty scars are her selling points.
Soon after Gronja purchased her cellar accommodations under the hen house of an overtaxed mother to five children, the woman bought a prize rooster with her windfall of gold, naming him Rufus.
Introductions between the new tenants were made with pecking fervour the next morning when Gronja emerged from her lodgings. Believing that Gary the Hippogrifflet’s entire family were descending on her head, the barbarian ran for it.
Her taloned tormentor ceased his attack when she left the fenced yard. The crested cretin glared at her from atop the gate with fiery eyes. Gronja returned the stare, shooing him away with her axe. Letting the feathered fiend roost, the barbarian headed off for breakfast at the local watering hole, but the rooster continued to eyeball her until the she passed out of sight.
Returning later that evening, when the chickens were in their coop, Gronja silently eased herself into the yard and tip-toed to her cellar. After her quick departure that morning, the cellar door had been left unlocked. The barbarian quietly opened the door and went inside without incident.
Lighting a torch by the door, she was met by a pair of beady red eyes atop her shredded bed roll, and going by the smell that assailed her nose, thoroughly drenched in rooster feculence. The carnal cock launched himself at Gronja with a loud shriek. Only her quick reflexes and the brandished torch saved the barbarian from another pecking.
She was heartened by the smell of singed feathers as she slammed the door closed on the voracious vermin, but the immediate pecking upon the door ruined any hopes that she’d done it mortal injury.
Thereafter, each coming and going became a challenge of outsmarting the other. The rooster often won. Yet whenever the landlady was around, the rooster would convert into a down-feathered dandy that cooed and strutted for the woman’s delight and affection.
The mother of five was oblivious to the baneful bird’s true nature and Gronja did not want to lose her lodgings, especially now that her Blue Lightning Ale was fermenting. So instead of killing the rooster, she took measures to protect her home and coveted brew. Rufus had won for now, until she could work out how to outsmart the moulting mongrel without using her axe.
Gronja had a love affair with a Merchant Captain named Devalyn Shore. They were madly in love, when Devalyn dropped her like a sack of potatoes. The rest of the group does not mention him if they know she’s around and while they have done the odd job for him over the last couple years they have done so with out Gonja knowing exactly who the patron of said jobs were.