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Mother Murmilla
Mother Murmilla has been following the Lunar Army as a Soldier's Wife for nigh on thirty years. Sartar?, the Grazelands, Pavis... she's seen them all. And throughout that time nary a scratch has disfigured her now somewhat plump and rosy complexion. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for her husbands. The first (not counting a liaison with a roguish Char-Un who couldn't speak a word of New Pelorian) was a Lunar dragoon, who had the misfortune to have his head taken off by a Sartarite catapult shot. The second was... well, it was in Prax and it involved lots of bone needles, and Murmilla would rather not speak of it. The third, a normally sensible fellow and squad commander, drowned in the Upland Marsh on a gin-sodden duck hunt.
The fourth was the least fortunate. He's still alive, mind you, but was emasculated when an untimely visit to a travelling brothel coincided spatially and temporally with Murmilla's washing run. It wasn't that Murmilla necessarily minded her husband's dalliances, but that the barbarian hussy he had been seeing had spread the Black Dog Pox throughout half the regiment, and he should have known better. Her current husband (her fifth) is a young lad, less than half her age (and girth). Mother Murmilla acts more as a parent figure to him than a spouse, darning his stockings, buffing his leather and teaching him how to be a good soldier.
Murmilla's constant good (and rather ribald) humour are a source of great comfort the units she accompanies. Smoking her long clay pipe and never far from a bottle of gin, she sits by the campfires at night regaling the men of the Army's past exploits (glorious and slightly less so...). Her presence is a talisman to the unit, and her motherly graces and abilities are well admired. She's always ready to provide a hand. Need a button sewing or lost a buckle? Ask Mother Murmilla. Can't shine the scimitar bright enough or get rid of that Kung stain from your scarlet hauberk? Ask Murmilla. The queue for her laundry service is as eagerly attended as that for pay or gin!
(Kung is fermented llama spittle)
Mother Murmilla never complains of the hardships of campaign and helps those she knows through them as best as she can. Nothing can faze her indefatigably cheery nature. Apart from people doing things to her boys, of course. Woe betide any officer who takes discipline too far! This woman has thews of steel, and three previous washerboards have been smashed over rather too brutal squad commanders' heads in a fit of bellowing rage. And the fourth isn't too endeared to her to escape a novel (and final) use...
Although blithely unconcerned about matters of generalship, she's seen a fair few battles and can pass on words of wisdom to younger, nervous officers. Beyond her social and industrial skills, however, Murmilla is much in demand as a nurse. Scoured by holy fires, souls wrenched by demon spirits, legs hacked off, blisters... she's seen them all. Mother Murmilla can cure soldiers good and proper, though she ain't gentle. Soldiers know that a visit to Mother will result in a clean bill of health, though the cure (including her caustic beratings as to their foolishness) is often as painful as the wound itself.
The Soldier's Wife
The Soldier's Wife is a rather vague common religion that has generated over the years, in response to the rigors of the campaign. It is difficult to point to a specific exponent of the model, though people like Murmilla have gradually added to the power of the archetype. Its exact form will vary across the lands, and the forms of magic used likewise differ from area to area. In one land 'Cast-Iron Stomach' might be a charm, elsewhere a feat to augment the wife's own healing touch.
In a few cases, there appears to be a mythic antecedent for the Soldier's Wife's powers, and the magics listed below can be gained through worship, veneration etc. of otherworldly entities. For example Good Saint Bess in the West provides her own formulary for use on campaign, the language and contents of which causes many a theocrat to blush and sputter in apoplexy. In such cases the Common Religion can be treated as a Subcult, a Practice Spirit or a Saintly Order.
Typical Abilities: (Household Implement) Fighting, Berate, Brew Foul Poultice, Cook Tasty Stew, Handle Pack Animal, Industry (choose three from Laundry, Sewing etc.), Lance Boil, March, Mother Knows Best, Roll Up Sleeves Menacingly, Swear To Make a Trooper Blush, Roughly Applied Healing Hands, Throttle, Yes It Hurts But It's For Your Own Good and We All Know Whose Fault It Is.
Virtues: Brave, Cheerful, Determined, Fearless, Forceful, Indefatigable, Imperturbable, Kind, Stubborn.
Magic: Typically the daughters of the campaign will have access to a motley collection of the following magics, which can be talents, feats, spells or charms--Bawl Down Officer, Burn Away Pox, Cast-Iron Stomach, Command Attention, Invigorating Brew, Purify Bowels, Shame Malingerer, Sheen and Shine, Whitest Whites.
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