WotR Gestalt

Game Master Will Pratt

The alleyway was deserted. Crates and ragged tarps littered the ground. No one paid attention, though. With the Fourth Crusade dragging on, such scenes were not so strange in Kenabres. The people walking the streets, then, never noticed that this alley was different. Against one wall, behind a broken crate was a small child, no more than four or five at the most. Her soft sobs unheard by the people on the streets.

Or so she thought.

"What's wrong, why are you crying," asked a man in blue, purple and silver robes, a silver and amethyst symbol, that of a butterfly hanging from his neck. His unshaven face covered in the coarse hair of a two-day beard.

The young girl, startled at the voice looked up, terror blazing in her deep, ruby red eyes. She nearly tried to run, but something made her stay.

"D-dey said I was ah monstah," she replied in a wet, sob choked voice, "dey said I w-would b-be bettah dead!" Her wail signaling another round of tears.

The man sat next to the girl, taking her in his arms and letting her cry on his shoulder, her tears staining the fine fabric. Together they sat like that, for a long time.

"Are you done," he asked gently when the girl had cried herself out of tears. Her voice too hoarse to say anything, she merely nodded.

"That's good, sometimes we need to cry, but it's not good when others hurt us," he told her, "they called you a monster, but I don't see any monsters."

"You don't," she asked, her voice cracking a little.

"No, I don't," he confirmed, before smiling like a young boy about to get away with something, "except for a tickle-monster! Rawr!"

Tickling fingers made the girl squeal with laughter as the man let her get a step away before snatching her up and tickling her again. The memories of being called a monster and crying all but forgotten as tears of laughter replaced the ones of sorry.

===

"Please! Let me see him! He's my papa," a girl of seven begged the guard.

"I may not o' known Priest Talmus that well, but I know he didn't have no daughters, specially no demon-cursed daughters," the gruff man said, his brown eyes seethign with contempt as wide, ruby-red eyes looked, tears welling in their corners.

"B-but he's all I've got! He's the only one that cared about me! Please, lemme see him," she begged, on her knees, though a vanishingly small part of her was revolted at her acquiescence.

"I said beat it, hell-spawn!" A gauntleted backhand sent the girl spinning to the ground. She cried out in pain as blood from the inside of her cheek flowed freely into her mouth.

"Pwah-ese, mis'ah," she sobbed through swelling lips, "Ah'm Ale'to! Tell him Ah'm 'ere!"

"I said beat it!"

An iron-shod boot knocked the breath from Alekto's lungs as the rain began to fall.

===

The young girl sobbed as the procession gathered around the mausoleum. A blue urn with a silver butterfly on it's face was gently placed inside the marble structure. Father Talmus, Alekto's papa, the only family she'd ever known, even if he wasn't related by blood, was dead. He had been slain by a demon, and poor Alekto had been suspected of aiding in his murder for a short time until his true murderer was captured, and killed.

Look to the heavens and witness their beauty. Spread happiness and goodwill wherever you find your journey leading, and always seek the road less traveled, for there you will find those in the most need, he had said many times to her, teaching her how to be a good person, and prove everyone that had called her a monster wrong.

She watched the ceremony continue from her rooftop perch, unable to get any closer. Her sobs, even as quiet as they were, drowning out the whisper on the wind. She'd tried to do good when she and Father Talmus weren't together, but no one would let her. They all pushed her away. How was she supposed to help people if she couldn't even get close to them?

She waited, but no answer came.

===

Alekto darted down the alley, the same one she'd met Father Talmus in five years ago, but that thought was far from her mind as her feet, bound only in ragged, dirty wraps, slapped against the cobbles.

"Get her! Get the demon-girl," the children behind her cried as she rounded another corner, trying to lose the gang on her heels, and growing more and more desperate as the chase wore on. Much to her surprise though, she found herself on the ground after running into a boy nearly a foot taller, three times as wide, and at least two years older than she was. Her surprise was complete when the children chasing her stopped. They looked at each other, then, nervously, at the much larger boy now looming in their path.

"Don't you know this is Demonspit turf? Get outta here before Big Louis decides to show you what for," the boy yelled, and almost instantly, the other gang was gone.

"Th-thanks," Alekto said as she picked herself up off the ground, "I thought they were going to get me, and, uh, sorry I ran into you," she finishes sheepishly as she looks away, a blush forming on her fair skin.

"Well, I guess I'm in a forgivin' mood," the boy said with a big girn, "name's Big Louis, but you can call me Boss, if you want to be in my gang."

Alekto looked down at the ground, not quite able to believe someone, anyone, would want her.

"O-okay, Boss."

===

"Look, Louis. I want out! I've had enough of this," Alekto told the overweight slob sitting on a crate in what the gang had dubbed, ironically in her opinion, the Palace. The filthy hovel was littered with empty bottles that had contained alcohol at some point in the past, bedrolls infested with lice, and crates filled with battered and worn goods that the gang hadn't been able to fence. Around her sat the other half-dozen of the Demonspit gang. It'd been three years since she'd run into Louis Alberwood, and she'd regretted every day since then. She'd managed to persuade the gang out of trying to do a protection racket, a drug operation, and being assassins, but she hadn't managed to keep them from engaging in general thuggery. They'd managed to take a half-dozen wagons with some goods and some booze, and even that was too much in Alekto's opinion.

"Out," Louis parroted in a slow, stupid voice, "You can't get out, you owe me! If I hadn'ta saved your pale ass three years ago, you'd be dead!"

"And this is living," Alekto shot back, venom dripping form her voice, "no, we're even after I saved your bacon from getting fried by that mage you tried to rob. I want out. I'm getting out. I'm not debating it."

"Fine, you want out, you can walk into the Worldwound fer all I care," Louis said, waving his had to the door, "though I had thought you liked that one baker. What was her name? Alfsigr? It'd be a shame if something happened," he said, an evil gleam in his eyes as he rubbed his jaw.

Smug bastard, and I'm the fiend-touched? Ha, Alekto thought as she ground her teeth.

"Fine," she grated out, "you've made your point."

"Good, because we'll need your skills for what I have in mind."

===

How far had they walked?

The landscape around them was barren, nothing but blood-red dust and grey rock for miles. The sky above was an angry yellow, the sun hotter, more oppressive and dimmer all at once.

"You demon-born B++%*!"

A large meaty fist slammed into Alekto's gut, curling her over the arm of the man to whom the fist belonged. Louis gnashed his teeth as he began another round of beatings. It had been the same for the past two days, but even as furious as he was, he'd forbidden anyone from marring her face or breaking her bones, not that it made the pummeling any less painful, nor did it mask the sour taste in her mouth as bile threatened to come out. She wanted to curl up on the ground, but she couldn't. Two of Louis' cronies had her by the arms as their boss screamed again, punctuating each word with a brutal, bruising blow to her belly.

"YOU! TRAITOROUS! DEMON! BORN! B$&&~!"

She vomited, spewing bile all over the ground before her, and on Louis' arm. Disgusted, he grabbed the front of the thin, roughspun tunic she wore and ripped it off of her to wipe the bile from his arm. beneath the now useless garment was a patchwork of fresh and not so fresh bruises. The past two days had been filled with walking and beatings. Nothing lethal or too damaging. That would have ruined the merchandise for his next scheme.

Calmer now, or as calm as he got after half of the Demonspit gang had been arrested, he eyed Alekto from the waist up. All that was protecting her modesty now was the under garment she wore to keep her budding chest bound. Ironically, her underclothes were definitely the best clothes she had by a wide margin, given that she would normally have been mortified to know that anyone else had seen them.

Alekto was too battered and shaken to be embarrassed, however, but not so much that she missed the look in Louis' eyes as he traced the developing curves of her hips and waist.

"Not that it matters now," he said, panting from the exertion, "but when things calm down in Kenabres, we're going back, and you, my dear, sweet Alekto, are going to be workin' those goods you've got growin'. Maybe even be workin' 'em before we get back," he leered as his two remaining thugs laughed.

All Alekto could do was hang her head. She'd tried to do good. She'd warned the guard and had tried to slip away when they had sprung their trap, but Louis and his two favorite henchmen had caught her and they had ran for the Worldwound.

Now, they had very little water, no food, and Alekto doubted that the three idiots had even considered how stupidly dangerous it was out here. Kenabres was below the horizon now, and she doubted they'd ever see it again. To make matters worse, there was a chill in the air now. Soon, it would be night again, and she debated whether it would be better to try and keep warm by staying close to her captors, or to freeze to death.

Freezing, she thought as she looked up at Louis once more, was starting to look appealing.

===

She spotted them before anyone else, not that it mattered. When the idiots continued right into an ambush, hauling Alekto along for the ride, anger, grief, and fear overcame fatigue and with a strength born of a demon’s rage, she broke free and began running.

To bad the fiend-touched satyrs were faster than she was.

The last two of Louis’ thugs were cut down as they turned to chase their now escaped captive. Louis, for his part, realized what was going on before they did, and was running away from the demonic goat-men as fast as he could waddle.

”What about him.” one of them asked.

”leave him, we have something more interesting to play with,” another answered with a leer as he jerked his horned head towards Alekto’s fleeing form.

Too slow to outrun them, and too tired to fight, Alekto was brought down and surrounded by eight of those leering, twisted fey. They made no effort to hide their pleasure at having a new toy, even if she was on the young side. Alert could only whimper, her rage spent and her limbs barely able to hold her up, even with the satyrs to either side.

”Well, well, well,” said one of them, obviously the leader, ”look at the beauty we have here, boys!”

”A little too young fear me tastes, but I bet she’ll be right fine in two years!”

”I don’t care! I wanna hear her sing now!”

On and on they went, getting more detailed with what her fate was to be when an iron arrow burst through one of their hearts.

The other seven stood dumbfounded as their fellow slowly collapsed, dead before he even hit the ground. Another, then another took arrows to the head and chest. The survivors looks around in a panic before spotting a woman wielding a bow and taking aim. As one they snarled and let their rage consume them. They would tear this interloper apart and feast on her flesh. They’d crack her bones and sup on her marrow.

They all died before getting within twenty paces.

===

Cold. Frightened. Tired.

Alekto sat shivering on the ground, unable to stand, barely able to keep her head up. She had eaten nothing in two days, and it had been a day since she’d had anything other than her own spit to drink. She wasn’t sure what to expect now. Had the woman saved her, or did she only want poor Alekto for her own purposes. Either way, it would be over soon. She was coming, and Alekto was too tired to keep her from doing anything to her.

The woman was beautiful, fair-skinned with raven hair and large, lipid eyes. They were sad, those eyes. How strange, Alekto thought. The woman pulled a waterskin from her pack and held it out. Her clothes were blue, that same shade of blue that she remembered from long ago. It was the symbol about the woman’s neck, however, that caused her breath to catch.

”It’s alright. You’re safe now,” She said, the silver butterfly with amethyst wings glittering in the twilight. She held out the waterskin, kneeling to be on the same level as Alekto. ”You’re safe now,” she repeated, just before Alekto embraced her, holding on as if letting go would mean the person in front of her would disappear. The tears came fast, and the young girl wept softly as relief flooded through her.

===

The woman carried Alekto, too sore and tired to even walk. The young girl was dressed in an outfit that seemed like it was meant for a royal after the rags she had worn for so long. It was alright if it was too big, for her small frame anyway. They were warm against the chill winds now blowing across the Worldwound, and hadn’t been ripped dot shreds like her last outfit had been.

”Well, what do we have here,” A black and red robed man sneered as he approached the pair, ”my you two look good enough to eat!”

”Bite your tongue,” the woman commanded, ”Do you know who I am, or what I am about? I assume you don’t because only a fool would stop me,” she asked him, her tone one of barely restrained fury.

”I— I am sorry ma’am,” the man answered, unsure of himself now, ”but I haven’t a clue who you are?”

”I am on a mission given to me by Deskari’s lieutenants. I am going to sow discord and chaos, using this child as a seed.”

The man looked about, confused. More of black-robed men and women emerged from hiding, looking at and whispering to each other. As their attentions were not on them, the woman stole a glance down at Alekto and winked.

”What proof have you,” the man asked after some deliberation with his fellows.

”Proof? What proof indeed. Why else would anyone walk around here with a symbol of one of the pretenders about her neck? Even the Iomedaeans exercise discretion on this side of the river. So, either I am insane, which I am not, or I am telling the truth.”

The cultist looked at each other before shrugging as one.

”Very well, may you succeed sister,” the leader of the group tells the woman.

They were well out of sight when Alekto sees the woman hold onto the silver symbol hanging form her neck as she had been since she’d rescued the young girl.

”Desna, forgive my words, though the be empty.”

Desna, Alekto thought, her eyes drooping in the waning sunlight, is that who Papa followed?”

===

It had been four years since she’d been rescued from the Worldwound by the mysterious and beautiful woman. She’d been dismayed to learn that the guards had found her alone and had brought her to the healers after confirming she was alive. The healers and priests that had treated her know about Desna, the Starsong, but little about a mysterious woman walking the wastes. It was just as well, Alekto had thought. Shortly after recovering, she had learned that Louis had survived, and apparently wanted her. For what, she shuddered to think.

She decided that if she was going to live, she’d have to hide herself. Her features were uncommon enough that she could be found relatively easily, and the markings that covered her shoulders and went across her left eye would only help to give her away, so she disguise herself. A cloak hid her form and covered her black, red-tipped hair. A scarf hid her face. Her clothes covered every inch of her, save her face and her fingers. She worked hard, doing odd jobs and acting as an occasional escort to caravaners leaving town, in those four years and was able to buy some decent equipment for herself, as well as a book of Desnan teachings and a holy symbol of her own.

Tomorrow, though, she would be free to walk the city. Armasse was upon Kenabres, and the opportunity to enjoy a festival, and perhaps find a way to anywhere else, was too much to pass up. things had been quiet here, and some part of her felt the need to travel the world and see where the roads she had walked lead.

Sulfur and ash filled his nostrils. A lean muscular man crouched low against the side of a ravine. His red/brown cloak helped him to blend into the blighted ecology around him. These were the Wounded Lands, southern part of the Worldwound. And Rickard lived here.

His handsome features, marred by dust and the near permanent scowl he wore, were unsurprising for the rugged Kellid. Many of his people were tall and fair. Now they lived in Gundrun, the saddest little town, the only free town remaining in Sarkoris. And this was Sarkoris, the rest of the world could call it what they wanted. But this was his land, the land of his ancestors, proud warriors all. These abyssal filth, were invaders, trespassers, engaged in a war with his nearly forgotten people. He remembered. He fought.

The smell got stronger. Not the dry acidic stink of the land, he didn’t really smell that anymore, but the putrid deathly breath of a Brimorak. A fire demon. He was close now. He had tracked it since an hour ago and it had made the mistake of entering this ravine. Rickard slouched forward, staying low to the ground and keeping alert. Peeking around a bend, he saw it, the short furred thing, hooved and bovine in the face. He waited, arrow knocked to bow, waited as it creeped forward, muttering filth to itself. Finally it stopped, a splayed out rabbit, its entrails arranged into unholy symbols had caught its attention. Rickard had set that up himself this morning, smiling he leaned out and took aim with his bow. He let loose, not at the demon, but above it to the small wooden wedge holding back a huge boulder. With a rumble, the giant rock fell and crushed the demon in a satisfying splat.

Inspecting his kill, he recovered what he could from the corpse, in hopes to trade it to the shamans and witches that led his people in Gundrun. No one traded with Sarkoris, every resource was precious and scarce, that in mind, he jogged down the ravine and retrieved his arrow. Thanking Desna for his luck, you didn’t survive like him in the wounded lands without a good deal of luck, he began the journey back to his tribe. On the trip he reminisced about the shamans, hunters and his own father, who had shown him how to live in this blasted land. All of them were dead now, they died before he was even a man. 25 now, Rickard was harder and less forgiving than most cynical 60 year olds. He wasn’t afraid of demons. He hated them. For killing the people he loved. For desecrating the land of his people. He hated them and would hunt them until they were forced back into the abyss, they would lament his name and speak it in frightened whispers.

He smiled at that thought. His life was a cursed and blessed one. Cursed in his sorrow for the losses he had suffered. Blessed because he was surrounded by his quarry, cursed in the death of the land, blessed by the favor of the Elk rider, Desna. Things seemed to go well for him, which meant they went badly for the Demons. Gundrun came into sight. It was a small collection of tents, and yurts, with the occasional mud hut or stone structure. Children kicked dethorned tumbleweeds around. Smoke rose from the cooking fire in the middle of the village. Everlasting stew in the cauldron, filled with whatever they could scavenge or kill. Smelled like rabbit and liver at the moment.

The chief of his tribe, a rugged and gnarled hunter and shaman called Ashner Firebrand rose from a stump near the fire when he saw Rickard return. Motioning to a hut he followed Rickard in.

Inside, incense and animal sinew burned. A painted woman, brown hair graying, clothing worked with bits of bone and chalk scratched into symbols adorned her. Yerna, the chief’s wife and a Witch. ”Your journey is nigh Rickard.” she crooned.

”Yes” spoke Asher, ”I have the list of things you should try to acquire while you’re there. It should be easier than usual due to the celebration you mentioned.” Asher was referring to Armasse, a religious holiday that Rickard had learned of on his last visit to the Mendevian city of Kenebres. He had purposefully waited for his trip this year so he could experience it. He glanced at the list the shaman handed him. Scrolls, spell components, some tools. ”Basic.” he said. He was the one who made this journey for several reasons, one, he was the most likely to survive the journey. He had spent weeks making expeditions year round further into demon territory, committing the land to memory and hiding supplies along his route. Two, he was one of the few in his tribe that spoke the common trade language. Most here spoke Hallit, it’s what they were speaking now.

The witch blessed his journey. Smoke filled rituals and the like, Rickard indulged her in silence. He wasn’t unfriendly, he just knew that the guidance of Desna was all he needed. And while, gruff, he was actually talkative for a Kellid, many of whom couldn’t be bothered to converse beyond grunts.

Retreating to his tent, he got a good night’s sleep and set off at dawn. It would take him nearly a month to reach Kenebres, and the festival was on it’s way.

Alekto
Demon-spawn tiefling ranger 1/rogue (unchained) 1/gestalt 1 (Pathfinder Player Companion: Blood of Fiends 20, Pathfinder RPG Bestiary 264, Pathfinder Unchained 20)
CG Medium outsider (native)
Init +3; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +7
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 16, touch 13, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +3 Dex)
hp 12 (1d10+2)
Fort +4, Ref +5, Will +1
Resist cold 5, electricity 5, fire 5
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 30 ft.
Melee dagger +4 (1d4+3/19-20) or
. . gladius +4 (1d6+3/19-20) or
. . kerambit +4 (1d3+3/×3) or
. . kerambit +4 (1d3+3/×3) or
. . longsword +4 (1d8+3/19-20)
Ranged longbow +4 (1d8/×3)
Special Attacks favored enemy (evil outsiders +2), sneak attack (unchained) +1d6
Spell-Like Abilities (CL 1st; concentration +3)
. . 1/day—shatter (DC 14)
--------------------
Statistics
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Str 16, Dex 17, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 13, Cha 14
Base Atk +1; CMB +4; CMD 17
Feats Point-Blank Shot, Weapon Finesse
Traits chance encounter, hard to kill
Skills Acrobatics +6, Climb +6, Diplomacy +6, Disable Device +9, Disguise +6, Handle Animal +6, Intimidate +6, Knowledge (geography) +4, Perception +7, Perform (sing) +6, Perform (wind instruments) +6, Profession (cook) +5, Sleight of Hand +6, Stealth +6, Survival +5; Racial Modifiers +2 Disable Device, +2 Perception
Languages Abyssal, Common
SQ track +1, trapfinding +1, wild empathy +3
Other Gear studded leather, arrows (40), dagger (4), gladius[UC], kerambit[UC], kerambit[UC], longbow, longsword, bedroll, blanket[APG], cutting board, wooden (2 lb), explorer's outfit, knife, cutting (0.5 lb), ladle (0.5 lb), masterwork backpack[APG], pot, seasonings, local (0.5 lb), skewer (1 lb), skillet[UE], thieves' tools, tinder packet (0.5 lb), tripod, iron (3 lb), 62 gp, 4 sp
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Chance Encounter (1/day) Re-reroll failed Acrobatics, Bluff, Disguise, Sleight of Hand or Stealth check, keep 2nd result.
Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white vision only).
Energy Resistance, Cold (5) You have the specified Energy Resistance against Cold attacks.
Energy Resistance, Electricity (5) You have the specified Energy Resistance against Electricity attacks.
Energy Resistance, Fire (5) You have the specified Energy Resistance against Fire attacks.
Favored Enemy (Evil Outsiders +2) (Ex) +2 to rolls vs. Favored Enemy (Evil Outsiders) foes.
Hard to Kill When dying, your penalty to stabilize is only 1/2 your negative Hp.
Point-Blank Shot +1 to attack and damage rolls with ranged weapons at up to 30 feet.
Sneak Attack (Unchained) +1d6 Attacks deal extra dam if flank foe or if foe is flat-footed.
Track +1 Add the listed bonus to survival checks made to track.
Trapfinding +1 Gain a bonus to find or disable traps, including magical ones.
Wild Empathy +3 (Ex) Improve the attitude of an animal, as if using Diplomacy.

The alleyway was deserted. Crates and ragged tarps littered the ground. No one paid attention, though. With the Fourth Crusade dragging on, such scenes were not so strange in Kenabres. The people walking the streets, then, never noticed that this alley was different. Against one wall, behind a broken crate was a small child, no more than four or five at the most. Her soft sobs unheard by the people on the streets.

Or so she thought.

"What's wrong, why are you crying," asked a man in blue, purple and silver robes, a silver and amethyst symbol, that of a butterfly hanging from his neck. His unshaven face covered in the coarse hair of a two-day beard.

The young girl, startled at the voice looked up, terror blazing in her deep, ruby red eyes. She nearly tried to run, but something made her stay.

"D-dey said I was ah monstah," she replied in a wet, sob choked voice, "dey said I w-would b-be bettah dead!" Her wail signaling another round of tears.

The man sat next to the girl, taking her in his arms and letting her cry on his shoulder, her tears staining the fine fabric. Together they sat like that, for a long time.

"Are you done," he asked gently when the girl had cried herself out of tears. Her voice too hoarse to say anything, she merely nodded.

"That's good, sometimes we need to cry, but it's not good when others hurt us," he told her, "they called you a monster, but I don't see any monsters."

"You don't," she asked, her voice cracking a little.

"No, I don't," he confirmed, before smiling like a young boy about to get away with something, "except for a tickle-monster! Rawr!"

Tickling fingers made the girl squeal with laughter as the man let her get a step away before snatching her up and tickling her again. The memories of being called a monster and crying all but forgotten as tears of laughter replaced the ones of sorry.

===

"Please! Let me see him! He's my papa," a girl of seven begged the guard.

"I may not o' known Priest Talmus that well, but I know he didn't have no daughters, specially no demon-cursed daughters," the gruff man said, his brown eyes seethign with contempt as wide, ruby-red eyes looked, tears welling in their corners.

"B-but he's all I've got! He's the only one that cared about me! Please, lemme see him," she begged, on her knees, though a vanishingly small part of her was revolted at her acquiescence.

"I said beat it, hell-spawn!" A gauntleted backhand sent the girl spinning to the ground. She cried out in pain as blood from the inside of her cheek flowed freely into her mouth.

"Pwah-ese, mis'ah," she sobbed through swelling lips, "Ah'm Ale'to! Tell him Ah'm 'ere!"

"I said beat it!"

An iron-shod boot knocked the breath from Alekto's lungs as the rain began to fall.

===

The young girl sobbed as the procession gathered around the mausoleum. A blue urn with a silver butterfly on it's face was gently placed inside the marble structure. Father Talmus, Alekto's papa, the only family she'd ever known, even if he wasn't related by blood, was dead. He had been slain by a demon, and poor Alekto had been suspected of aiding in his murder for a short time until his true murderer was captured, and killed.

Look to the heavens and witness their beauty. Spread happiness and goodwill wherever you find your journey leading, and always seek the road less traveled, for there you will find those in the most need, he had said many times to her, teaching her how to be a good person, and prove everyone that had called her a monster wrong.

She watched the ceremony continue from her rooftop perch, unable to get any closer. Her sobs, even as quiet as they were, drowning out the whisper on the wind. She'd tried to do good when she and Father Talmus weren't together, but no one would let her. They all pushed her away. How was she supposed to help people if she couldn't even get close to them?

She waited, but no answer came.

===

Alekto darted down the alley, the same one she'd met Father Talmus in five years ago, but that thought was far from her mind as her feet, bound only in ragged, dirty wraps, slapped against the cobbles.

"Get her! Get the demon-girl," the children behind her cried as she rounded another corner, trying to lose the gang on her heels, and growing more and more desperate as the chase wore on. Much to her surprise though, she found herself on the ground after running into a boy nearly a foot taller, three times as wide, and at least two years older than she was. Her surprise was complete when the children chasing her stopped. They looked at each other, then, nervously, at the much larger boy now looming in their path.

"Don't you know this is Demonspit turf? Get outta here before Big Louis decides to show you what for," the boy yelled, and almost instantly, the other gang was gone.

"Th-thanks," Alekto said as she picked herself up off the ground, "I thought they were going to get me, and, uh, sorry I ran into you," she finishes sheepishly as she looks away, a blush forming on her fair skin.

"Well, I guess I'm in a forgivin' mood," the boy said with a big girn, "name's Big Louis, but you can call me Boss, if you want to be in my gang."

Alekto looked down at the ground, not quite able to believe someone, anyone, would want her.

"O-okay, Boss."

===

"Look, Louis. I want out! I've had enough of this," Alekto told the overweight slob sitting on a crate in what the gang had dubbed, ironically in her opinion, the Palace. The filthy hovel was littered with empty bottles that had contained alcohol at some point in the past, bedrolls infested with lice, and crates filled with battered and worn goods that the gang hadn't been able to fence. Around her sat the other half-dozen of the Demonspit gang. It'd been three years since she'd run into Louis Alberwood, and she'd regretted every day since then. She'd managed to persuade the gang out of trying to do a protection racket, a drug operation, and being assassins, but she hadn't managed to keep them from engaging in general thuggery. They'd managed to take a half-dozen wagons with some goods and some booze, and even that was too much in Alekto's opinion.

"Out," Louis parroted in a slow, stupid voice, "You can't get out, you owe me! If I hadn'ta saved your pale ass three years ago, you'd be dead!"

"And this is living," Alekto shot back, venom dripping form her voice, "no, we're even after I saved your bacon from getting fried by that mage you tried to rob. I want out. I'm getting out. I'm not debating it."

"Fine, you want out, you can walk into the Worldwound fer all I care," Louis said, waving his had to the door, "though I had thought you liked that one baker. What was her name? Alfsigr? It'd be a shame if something happened," he said, an evil gleam in his eyes as he rubbed his jaw.

Smug bastard, and I'm the fiend-touched? Ha, Alekto thought as she ground her teeth.

"Fine," she grated out, "you've made your point."

"Good, because we'll need your skills for what I have in mind."

===

How far had they walked?

The landscape around them was barren, nothing but blood-red dust and grey rock for miles. The sky above was an angry yellow, the sun hotter, more oppressive and dimmer all at once.

"You demon-born B*!+#!"

A large meaty fist slammed into Alekto's gut, curling her over the arm of the man to whom the fist belonged. Louis gnashed his teeth as he began another round of beatings. It had been the same for the past two days, but even as furious as he was, he'd forbidden anyone from marring her face or breaking her bones, not that it made the pummeling any less painful, nor did it mask the sour taste in her mouth as bile threatened to come out. She wanted to curl up on the ground, but she couldn't. Two of Louis' cronies had her by the arms as their boss screamed again, punctuating each word with a brutal, bruising blow to her belly.

"YOU! TRAITOROUS! DEMON! BORN! B@&~+!"

She vomited, spewing bile all over the ground before her, and on Louis' arm. Disgusted, he grabbed the front of the thin, roughspun tunic she wore and ripped it off of her to wipe the bile from his arm. beneath the now useless garment was a patchwork of fresh and not so fresh bruises. The past two days had been filled with walking and beatings. Nothing lethal or too damaging. That would have ruined the merchandise for his next scheme.

Calmer now, or as calm as he got after half of the Demonspit gang had been arrested, he eyed Alekto from the waist up. All that was protecting her modesty now was the under garment she wore to keep her budding chest bound. Ironically, her underclothes were definitely the best clothes she had by a wide margin, given that she would normally have been mortified to know that anyone else had seen them.

Alekto was too battered and shaken to be embarrassed, however, but not so much that she missed the look in Louis' eyes as he traced the developing curves of her hips and waist.

"Not that it matters now," he said, panting from the exertion, "but when things calm down in Kenabres, we're going back, and you, my dear, sweet Alekto, are going to be workin' those goods you've got growin'. Maybe even be workin' 'em before we get back," he leered as his two remaining thugs laughed.

All Alekto could do was hang her head. She'd tried to do good. She'd warned the guard and had tried to slip away when they had sprung their trap, but Louis and his two favorite henchmen had caught her and they had ran for the Worldwound.

Now, they had very little water, no food, and Alekto doubted that the three idiots had even considered how stupidly dangerous it was out here. Kenabres was below the horizon now, and she doubted they'd ever see it again. To make matters worse, there was a chill in the air now. Soon, it would be night again, and she debated whether it would be better to try and keep warm by staying close to her captors, or to freeze to death.

Freezing, she thought as she looked up at Louis once more, was starting to look appealing.

===

She spotted them before anyone else, not that it mattered. When the idiots continued right into an ambush, hauling Alekto along for the ride, anger, grief, and fear overcame fatigue and with a strength born of a demon’s rage, she broke free and began running.

To bad the fiend-touched satyrs were faster than she was.

The last two of Louis’ thugs were cut down as they turned to chase their now escaped captive. Louis, for his part, realized what was going on before they did, and was running away from the demonic goat-men as fast as he could waddle.

”What about him.” one of them asked.

”leave him, we have something more interesting to play with,” another answered with a leer as he jerked his horned head towards Alekto’s fleeing form.

Too slow to outrun them, and too tired to fight, Alekto was brought down and surrounded by eight of those leering, twisted fey. They made no effort to hide their pleasure at having a new toy, even if she was on the young side. Alert could only whimper, her rage spent and her limbs barely able to hold her up, even with the satyrs to either side.

”Well, well, well,” said one of them, obviously the leader, ”look at the beauty we have here, boys!”

”A little too young fear me tastes, but I bet she’ll be right fine in two years!”

”I don’t care! I wanna hear her sing now!”

On and on they went, getting more detailed with what her fate was to be when an iron arrow burst through one of their hearts.

The other seven stood dumbfounded as their fellow slowly collapsed, dead before he even hit the ground. Another, then another took arrows to the head and chest. The survivors looks around in a panic before spotting a woman wielding a bow and taking aim. As one they snarled and let their rage consume them. They would tear this interloper apart and feast on her flesh. They’d crack her bones and sup on her marrow.

They all died before getting within twenty paces.

===

Cold. Frightened. Tired.

Alekto sat shivering on the ground, unable to stand, barely able to keep her head up. She had eaten nothing in two days, and it had been a day since she’d had anything other than her own spit to drink. She wasn’t sure what to expect now. Had the woman saved her, or did she only want poor Alekto for her own purposes. Either way, it would be over soon. She was coming, and Alekto was too tired to keep her from doing anything to her.

The woman was beautiful, fair-skinned with raven hair and large, lipid eyes. They were sad, those eyes. How strange, Alekto thought. The woman pulled a waterskin from her pack and held it out. Her clothes were blue, that same shade of blue that she remembered from long ago. It was the symbol about the woman’s neck, however, that caused her breath to catch.

”It’s alright. You’re safe now,” She said, the silver butterfly with amethyst wings glittering in the twilight. She held out the waterskin, kneeling to be on the same level as Alekto. ”You’re safe now,” she repeated, just before Alekto embraced her, holding on as if letting go would mean the person in front of her would disappear. The tears came fast, and the young girl wept softly as relief flooded through her.

===

The woman carried Alekto, too sore and tired to even walk. The young girl was dressed in an outfit that seemed like it was meant for a royal after the rags she had worn for so long. It was alright if it was too big, for her small frame anyway. They were warm against the chill winds now blowing across the Worldwound, and hadn’t been ripped dot shreds like her last outfit had been.

”Well, what do we have here,” A black and red robed man sneered as he approached the pair, ”my you two look good enough to eat!”

”Bite your tongue,” the woman commanded, ”Do you know who I am, or what I am about? I assume you don’t because only a fool would stop me,” she asked him, her tone one of barely restrained fury.

”I— I am sorry ma’am,” the man answered, unsure of himself now, ”but I haven’t a clue who you are?”

”I am on a mission given to me by Deskari’s lieutenants. I am going to sow discord and chaos, using this child as a seed.”

The man looked about, confused. More of black-robed men and women emerged from hiding, looking at and whispering to each other. As their attentions were not on them, the woman stole a glance down at Alekto and winked.

”What proof have you,” the man asked after some deliberation with his fellows.

”Proof? What proof indeed. Why else would anyone walk around here with a symbol of one of the pretenders about her neck? Even the Iomedaeans exercise discretion on this side of the river. So, either I am insane, which I am not, or I am telling the truth.”

The cultist looked at each other before shrugging as one.

”Very well, may you succeed sister,” the leader of the group tells the woman.

They were well out of sight when Alekto sees the woman hold onto the silver symbol hanging form her neck as she had been since she’d rescued the young girl.

”Desna, forgive my words, though the be empty.”

Desna, Alekto thought, her eyes drooping in the waning sunlight, is that who Papa followed?”

===

It had been four years since she’d been rescued from the Worldwound by the mysterious and beautiful woman. She’d been dismayed to learn that the guards had found her alone and had brought her to the healers after confirming she was alive. The healers and priests that had treated her know about Desna, the Starsong, but little about a mysterious woman walking the wastes. It was just as well, Alekto had thought. Shortly after recovering, she had learned that Louis had survived, and apparently wanted her. For what, she shuddered to think.

She decided that if she was going to live, she’d have to hide herself. Her features were uncommon enough that she could be found relatively easily, and the markings that covered her shoulders and went across her left eye would only help to give her away, so she disguise herself. A cloak hid her form and covered her black, red-tipped hair. A scarf hid her face. Her clothes covered every inch of her, save her face and her fingers. She worked hard, doing odd jobs and acting as an occasional escort to caravaners leaving town, in those four years and was able to buy some decent equipment for herself, as well as a book of Desnan teachings and a holy symbol of her own.

Tomorrow, though, she would be free to walk the city. Armasse was upon Kenabres, and the opportunity to enjoy a festival, and perhaps find a way to anywhere else, was too much to pass up. things had been quiet here, and some part of her felt the need to travel the world and see where the roads she had walked lead.

Alekto
Demon-spawn tiefling ranger 1/rogue (unchained) 1/gestalt 1 (Pathfinder Player Companion: Blood of Fiends 20, Pathfinder RPG Bestiary 264, Pathfinder Unchained 20)
CG Medium outsider (native)
Init +3; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +7
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Defense
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AC 16, touch 13, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +3 Dex)
hp 12 (1d10+2)
Fort +4, Ref +5, Will +1
Resist cold 5, electricity 5, fire 5
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft.
Melee dagger +4 (1d4+3/19-20) or
. . gladius +4 (1d6+3/19-20) or
. . kerambit +4 (1d3+3/×3) or
. . kerambit +4 (1d3+3/×3) or
. . longsword +4 (1d8+3/19-20)
Ranged longbow +4 (1d8/×3)
Special Attacks favored enemy (evil outsiders +2), sneak attack (unchained) +1d6
Spell-Like Abilities (CL 1st; concentration +3)
. . 1/day—shatter (DC 14)
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Statistics
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Str 16, Dex 17, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 13, Cha 14
Base Atk +1; CMB +4; CMD 17
Feats Point-Blank Shot, Weapon Finesse
Traits chance encounter, hard to kill
Skills Acrobatics +6, Diplomacy +6, Disable Device +9, Disguise +6, Perception +7, Perform (sing) +6, Profession (cook) +5, Sleight of Hand +6, Stealth +6; Racial Modifiers +2 Disable Device, +2 Perception
Languages Abyssal, Common
SQ track +1, trapfinding +1, wild empathy +3
Other Gear studded leather, arrows (40), dagger (4), gladius[UC], kerambit[UC], kerambit[UC], longbow, longsword, bedroll, blanket[APG], cutting board, wooden (2 lb), explorer's outfit, knife, cutting (0.5 lb), ladle (0.5 lb), masterwork backpack[APG], pot, seasonings, local (0.5 lb), skewer (1 lb), skillet[UE], thieves' tools, tinder packet (0.5 lb), tripod, iron (3 lb), 62 gp, 4 sp
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Special Abilities
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Chance Encounter (1/day) Re-reroll failed Acrobatics, Bluff, Disguise, Sleight of Hand or Stealth check, keep 2nd result.
Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white vision only).
Energy Resistance, Cold (5) You have the specified Energy Resistance against Cold attacks.
Energy Resistance, Electricity (5) You have the specified Energy Resistance against Electricity attacks.
Energy Resistance, Fire (5) You have the specified Energy Resistance against Fire attacks.
Favored Enemy (Evil Outsiders +2) (Ex) +2 to rolls vs. Favored Enemy (Evil Outsiders) foes.
Hard to Kill When dying, your penalty to stabilize is only 1/2 your negative Hp.
Point-Blank Shot +1 to attack and damage rolls with ranged weapons at up to 30 feet.
Sneak Attack (Unchained) +1d6 Attacks deal extra dam if flank foe or if foe is flat-footed.
Track +1 Add the listed bonus to survival checks made to track.
Trapfinding +1 Gain a bonus to find or disable traps, including magical ones.
Wild Empathy +3 (Ex) Improve the attitude of an animal, as if using Diplomacy.

The alleyway was deserted. Crates and ragged tarps littered the ground. No one paid attention, though. With the Fourth Crusade dragging on, such scenes were not so strange in Kenabres. The people walking the streets, then, never noticed that this alley was different. Against one wall, behind a broken crate was a small child, no more than four or five at the most. Her soft sobs unheard by the people on the streets.

Or so she thought.

"What's wrong, why are you crying," asked a man in blue, purple and silver robes, a silver and amethyst symbol, that of a butterfly hanging from his neck. His unshaven face covered in the coarse hair of a two-day beard.

The young girl, startled at the voice looked up, terror blazing in her deep, ruby red eyes. She nearly tried to run, but something made her stay.

"D-dey said I was ah monstah," she replied in a wet, sob choked voice, "dey said I w-would b-be bettah dead!" Her wail signaling another round of tears.

The man sat next to the girl, taking her in his arms and letting her cry on his shoulder, her tears staining the fine fabric. Together they sat like that, for a long time.

"Are you done," he asked gently when the girl had cried herself out of tears. Her voice too hoarse to say anything, she merely nodded.

"That's good, sometimes we need to cry, but it's not good when others hurt us," he told her, "they called you a monster, but I don't see any monsters."

"You don't," she asked, her voice cracking a little.

"No, I don't," he confirmed, before smiling like a young boy about to get away with something, "except for a tickle-monster! Rawr!"

Tickling fingers made the girl squeal with laughter as the man let her get a step away before snatching her up and tickling her again. The memories of being called a monster and crying all but forgotten as tears of laughter replaced the ones of sorry.

===

"Please! Let me see him! He's my papa," a girl of seven begged the guard.

"I may not o' known Priest Talmus that well, but I know he didn't have no daughters, specially no demon-cursed daughters," the gruff man said, his brown eyes seethign with contempt as wide, ruby-red eyes looked, tears welling in their corners.

"B-but he's all I've got! He's the only one that cared about me! Please, lemme see him," she begged, on her knees, though a vanishingly small part of her was revolted at her acquiescence.

"I said beat it, hell-spawn!" A gauntleted backhand sent the girl spinning to the ground. She cried out in pain as blood from the inside of her cheek flowed freely into her mouth.

"Pwah-ese, mis'ah," she sobbed through swelling lips, "Ah'm Ale'to! Tell him Ah'm 'ere!"

"I said beat it!"

An iron-shod boot knocked the breath from Alekto's lungs as the rain began to fall.

===

The young girl sobbed as the procession gathered around the mausoleum. A blue urn with a silver butterfly on it's face was gently placed inside the marble structure. Father Talmus, Alekto's papa, the only family she'd ever known, even if he wasn't related by blood, was dead. He had been slain by a demon, and poor Alekto had been suspected of aiding in his murder for a short time until his true murderer was captured, and killed.

Look to the heavens and witness their beauty. Spread happiness and goodwill wherever you find your journey leading, and always seek the road less traveled, for there you will find those in the most need, he had said many times to her, teaching her how to be a good person, and prove everyone that had called her a monster wrong.

She watched the ceremony continue from her rooftop perch, unable to get any closer. Her sobs, even as quiet as they were, drowning out the whisper on the wind. She'd tried to do good when she and Father Talmus weren't together, but no one would let her. They all pushed her away. How was she supposed to help people if she couldn't even get close to them?

She waited, but no answer came.

===

Alekto darted down the alley, the same one she'd met Father Talmus in five years ago, but that thought was far from her mind as her feet, bound only in ragged, dirty wraps, slapped against the cobbles.

"Get her! Get the demon-girl," the children behind her cried as she rounded another corner, trying to lose the gang on her heels, and growing more and more desperate as the chase wore on. Much to her surprise though, she found herself on the ground after running into a boy nearly a foot taller, three times as wide, and at least two years older than she was. Her surprise was complete when the children chasing her stopped. They looked at each other, then, nervously, at the much larger boy now looming in their path.

"Don't you know this is Demonspit turf? Get outta here before Big Louis decides to show you what for," the boy yelled, and almost instantly, the other gang was gone.

"Th-thanks," Alekto said as she picked herself up off the ground, "I thought they were going to get me, and, uh, sorry I ran into you," she finishes sheepishly as she looks away, a blush forming on her fair skin.

"Well, I guess I'm in a forgivin' mood," the boy said with a big girn, "name's Big Louis, but you can call me Boss, if you want to be in my gang."

Alekto looked down at the ground, not quite able to believe someone, anyone, would want her.

"O-okay, Boss."

===

"Look, Louis. I want out! I've had enough of this," Alekto told the overweight slob sitting on a crate in what the gang had dubbed, ironically in her opinion, the Palace. The filthy hovel was littered with empty bottles that had contained alcohol at some point in the past, bedrolls infested with lice, and crates filled with battered and worn goods that the gang hadn't been able to fence. Around her sat the other half-dozen of the Demonspit gang. It'd been three years since she'd run into Louis Alberwood, and she'd regretted every day since then. She'd managed to persuade the gang out of trying to do a protection racket, a drug operation, and being assassins, but she hadn't managed to keep them from engaging in general thuggery. They'd managed to take a half-dozen wagons with some goods and some booze, and even that was too much in Alekto's opinion.

"Out," Louis parroted in a slow, stupid voice, "You can't get out, you owe me! If I hadn'ta saved your pale ass three years ago, you'd be dead!"

"And this is living," Alekto shot back, venom dripping form her voice, "no, we're even after I saved your bacon from getting fried by that mage you tried to rob. I want out. I'm getting out. I'm not debating it."

"Fine, you want out, you can walk into the Worldwound fer all I care," Louis said, waving his had to the door, "though I had thought you liked that one baker. What was her name? Alfsigr? It'd be a shame if something happened," he said, an evil gleam in his eyes as he rubbed his jaw.

Smug bastard, and I'm the fiend-touched? Ha, Alekto thought as she ground her teeth.

"Fine," she grated out, "you've made your point."

"Good, because we'll need your skills for what I have in mind."

===

How far had they walked?

The landscape around them was barren, nothing but blood-red dust and grey rock for miles. The sky above was an angry yellow, the sun hotter, more oppressive and dimmer all at once.

"You demon-born B%#@@!"

A large meaty fist slammed into Alekto's gut, curling her over the arm of the man to whom the fist belonged. Louis gnashed his teeth as he began another round of beatings. It had been the same for the past two days, but even as furious as he was, he'd forbidden anyone from marring her face or breaking her bones, not that it made the pummeling any less painful, nor did it mask the sour taste in her mouth as bile threatened to come out. She wanted to curl up on the ground, but she couldn't. Two of Louis' cronies had her by the arms as their boss screamed again, punctuating each word with a brutal, bruising blow to her belly.

"YOU! TRAITOROUS! DEMON! BORN! B%#*+!"

She vomited, spewing bile all over the ground before her, and on Louis' arm. Disgusted, he grabbed the front of the thin, roughspun tunic she wore and ripped it off of her to wipe the bile from his arm. beneath the now useless garment was a patchwork of fresh and not so fresh bruises. The past two days had been filled with walking and beatings. Nothing lethal or too damaging. That would have ruined the merchandise for his next scheme.

Calmer now, or as calm as he got after half of the Demonspit gang had been arrested, he eyed Alekto from the waist up. All that was protecting her modesty now was the under garment she wore to keep her budding chest bound. Ironically, her underclothes were definitely the best clothes she had by a wide margin, given that she would normally have been mortified to know that anyone else had seen them.

Alekto was too battered and shaken to be embarrassed, however, but not so much that she missed the look in Louis' eyes as he traced the developing curves of her hips and waist.

"Not that it matters now," he said, panting from the exertion, "but when things calm down in Kenabres, we're going back, and you, my dear, sweet Alekto, are going to be workin' those goods you've got growin'. Maybe even be workin' 'em before we get back," he leered as his two remaining thugs laughed.

All Alekto could do was hang her head. She'd tried to do good. She'd warned the guard and had tried to slip away when they had sprung their trap, but Louis and his two favorite henchmen had caught her and they had ran for the Worldwound.

Now, they had very little water, no food, and Alekto doubted that the three idiots had even considered how stupidly dangerous it was out here. Kenabres was below the horizon now, and she doubted they'd ever see it again. To make matters worse, there was a chill in the air now. Soon, it would be night again, and she debated whether it would be better to try and keep warm by staying close to her captors, or to freeze to death.

Freezing, she thought as she looked up at Louis once more, was starting to look appealing.

===

She spotted them before anyone else, not that it mattered. When the idiots continued right into an ambush, hauling Alekto along for the ride, anger, grief, and fear overcame fatigue and with a strength born of a demon’s rage, she broke free and began running.

To bad the fiend-touched satyrs were faster than she was.

The last two of Louis’ thugs were cut down as they turned to chase their now escaped captive. Louis, for his part, realized what was going on before they did, and was running away from the demonic goat-men as fast as he could waddle.

”What about him.” one of them asked.

”leave him, we have something more interesting to play with,” another answered with a leer as he jerked his horned head towards Alekto’s fleeing form.

Too slow to outrun them, and too tired to fight, Alekto was brought down and surrounded by eight of those leering, twisted fey. They made no effort to hide their pleasure at having a new toy, even if she was on the young side. Alert could only whimper, her rage spent and her limbs barely able to hold her up, even with the satyrs to either side.

”Well, well, well,” said one of them, obviously the leader, ”look at the beauty we have here, boys!”

”A little too young fear me tastes, but I bet she’ll be right fine in two years!”

”I don’t care! I wanna hear her sing now!”

On and on they went, getting more detailed with what her fate was to be when an iron arrow burst through one of their hearts.

The other seven stood dumbfounded as their fellow slowly collapsed, dead before he even hit the ground. Another, then another took arrows to the head and chest. The survivors looks around in a panic before spotting a woman wielding a bow and taking aim. As one they snarled and let their rage consume them. They would tear this interloper apart and feast on her flesh. They’d crack her bones and sup on her marrow.

They all died before getting within twenty paces.

===

Cold. Frightened. Tired.

Alekto sat shivering on the ground, unable to stand, barely able to keep her head up. She had eaten nothing in two days, and it had been a day since she’d had anything other than her own spit to drink. She wasn’t sure what to expect now. Had the woman saved her, or did she only want poor Alekto for her own purposes. Either way, it would be over soon. She was coming, and Alekto was too tired to keep her from doing anything to her.

The woman was beautiful, fair-skinned with raven hair and large, lipid eyes. They were sad, those eyes. How strange, Alekto thought. The woman pulled a waterskin from her pack and held it out. Her clothes were blue, that same shade of blue that she remembered from long ago. It was the symbol about the woman’s neck, however, that caused her breath to catch.

”It’s alright. You’re safe now,” She said, the silver butterfly with amethyst wings glittering in the twilight. She held out the waterskin, kneeling to be on the same level as Alekto. ”You’re safe now,” she repeated, just before Alekto embraced her, holding on as if letting go would mean the person in front of her would disappear. The tears came fast, and the young girl wept softly as relief flooded through her.

===

The woman carried Alekto, too sore and tired to even walk. The young girl was dressed in an outfit that seemed like it was meant for a royal after the rags she had worn for so long. It was alright if it was too big, for her small frame anyway. They were warm against the chill winds now blowing across the Worldwound, and hadn’t been ripped dot shreds like her last outfit had been.

”Well, what do we have here,” A black and red robed man sneered as he approached the pair, ”my you two look good enough to eat!”

”Bite your tongue,” the woman commanded, ”Do you know who I am, or what I am about? I assume you don’t because only a fool would stop me,” she asked him, her tone one of barely restrained fury.

”I— I am sorry ma’am,” the man answered, unsure of himself now, ”but I haven’t a clue who you are?”

”I am on a mission given to me by Deskari’s lieutenants. I am going to sow discord and chaos, using this child as a seed.”

The man looked about, confused. More of black-robed men and women emerged from hiding, looking at and whispering to each other. As their attentions were not on them, the woman stole a glance down at Alekto and winked.

”What proof have you,” the man asked after some deliberation with his fellows.

”Proof? What proof indeed. Why else would anyone walk around here with a symbol of one of the pretenders about her neck? Even the Iomedaeans exercise discretion on this side of the river. So, either I am insane, which I am not, or I am telling the truth.”

The cultist looked at each other before shrugging as one.

”Very well, may you succeed sister,” the leader of the group tells the woman.

They were well out of sight when Alekto sees the woman hold onto the silver symbol hanging form her neck as she had been since she’d rescued the young girl.

”Desna, forgive my words, though the be empty.”

Desna, Alekto thought, her eyes drooping in the waning sunlight, is that who Papa followed?”

===

It had been four years since she’d been rescued from the Worldwound by the mysterious and beautiful woman. She’d been dismayed to learn that the guards had found her alone and had brought her to the healers after confirming she was alive. The healers and priests that had treated her know about Desna, the Starsong, but little about a mysterious woman walking the wastes. It was just as well, Alekto had thought. Shortly after recovering, she had learned that Louis had survived, and apparently wanted her. For what, she shuddered to think.

She decided that if she was going to live, she’d have to hide herself. Her features were uncommon enough that she could be found relatively easily, and the markings that covered her shoulders and went across her left eye would only help to give her away, so she disguise herself. A cloak hid her form and covered her black, red-tipped hair. A scarf hid her face. Her clothes covered every inch of her, save her face and her fingers. She worked hard, doing odd jobs and acting as an occasional escort to caravaners leaving town, in those four years and was able to buy some decent equipment for herself, as well as a book of Desnan teachings and a holy symbol of her own.

Tomorrow, though, she would be free to walk the city. Armasse was upon Kenabres, and the opportunity to enjoy a festival, and perhaps find a way to anywhere else, was too much to pass up. things had been quiet here, and some part of her felt the need to travel the world and see where the roads she had walked lead.

The sun had barely broken over the horizon and it was unseasonably cold this morning, the frost still clinging to the ground, as the large warrior made his way to the tiny hut in the center of the village. He pulls the door open and enters, his eyes water for a second due to the smoke filled air, finally they adjust and he looks around. The small room is tightly packed with named men, warriors who earned their names in battle or by unmatched deeds. Sitting in the center of the room with a noticeably empty space surrounding her, is the Witch. The large warrior makes his way closer to the center of the room and squats in between Red-Blade and Running Thunder nodding his head in greeting to the men.

He smiles inwardly as he considers that this is the first Calling-Moot he has been to. He is only allowed to attend since he has now earned his name. Quietly, he sits and waits as he recalls the blood of heroes that flows through his veins. Both his father and grandfather were taken at Calling-Moot. He hopes that he is called today as the chosen representative of the clan to battle and destroy the demons. Every year a warrior is chosen with the hope the he will be the one to drive the demon plague from this land. He hopes the time has finally arrived.

The room grows quiet as the witch begins chanting. He leans in paying close attention to what the witch is chanting but her words are spoken too low to make out. Unexpectedly the Witch rises and produces a bone knife and an ornate stone bowel. These items are slowly passed around the room each warrior slicing his hand and letting the blood drip into the ornate bowl. The Witch raises her voice and begins to chant,

“Aroden’s coffin bound by a nail
While demons visage pierced the veil
Armies gathered to no avail,
Storasta the strong was last to fail.

True men ran turning tail,
Widows cry and weep and wail,
Will is weak and hearts are frail,
Hunters hound their broken trail.

Named Warriors rise they will prevail,
Fear and death their spirits assail,
Demons heart they will impale,
Voices lift to sing the tale.”

The large warrior becomes lost in his thoughts as he breaths in the smoke and listens to the Witch’s words. He is brought back to his earliest memories, memories seeped in darkness and pain. He has spent his whole life in the Far Strider Clan, a clan of Kellish descendants of the fallen realm of Sarkoris. They are a clan of warriors with strong traditions and honor.

The warrior remembers that as a child of eight winters he was attacked by demon while out hunting small game. He was fooling around and lost track of time wandering a little father then he should have. He found himself on a high tor which overlooked a swift running river when the attack occurred. The Demon was fast and unrelenting and the small boy was no match for its cruelness. Fortunately the ferocity of the attack knocked him into the swift running river carrying him away from the demon. Although he was able to crawl home it still took him weeks to recover from his wounds and he still bears the scars along his chest, neck, and face. After that his father taught him the way of the axe and spear sparing no effort in the boy’s education. From that day on he never went anywhere without a weapon or wearing sturdy hide armor.

He learned quick and showed much skill with arms at an early age. His father was Called when the boy had lived a dozen winters and was never seen again. The rest of the clan taught him the way of the warrior and helped him become a man. He earned his name in a battle with the Hope-Stealer clan, after the battle they counted the number of spears wielded by the men he had slain.

Suddenly the knife and bowl make their way to him rousing him from his memories. Without hesitation he slices the palm of his hand and watches the blood spill out into the bowl mingling with the blood that is already gathered there. After he has bled for a while he passes the bowel and knife to the warrior next to him.

Eventually all the warriors in the room make their contribution and pass the bowel back to the Witch. In unison the warriors begin rhythmically pounding their fists into their bloody palms. Simultaneously the Witch starts chanting and places a white feather into the bowl of blood. As she chants she removes the feather and squats down in the center of the room drawing a circle on the center of the floor. When the circle is done she has everyone in the room spit into the circle to the beat of the pounding fists.
To his mind the beat of the fists sound like the beating of a hart. The Witch still chanting in a low monotone voice reaches into her pouch and removes three bone dice throwing them into the circle. When the dice stop so does the chanting and the pounding. The Witch rushes over and squats to examine the dice. Slowly she raises her gaze looking around the room. Eventually, her gaze settles on you and she raises a skeletal finger and points it in the newest warriors direction saying, ”Six-Swords, son of Many Bones, son of Bloody Mountain is chosen!”

Six-Spears doesn’t remember much of the celebration that followed his Calling except that, as custom demanded, he had lain with three virgins in hopes of passing on his blood to the next generation of warriors.

Outsiders would say that Six-Spears has few social graces, he is straight forward and curt when dealing with people and would much rather deal with physical problems then emotions. His decisions are based on his concept of honor, what a warrior would do, and tribal taboos. Additionally he can appear aloof as he often doesn't pay attention to others but rather is paying attention to his surroundings.

Six-Spears can see the dust the army is making as it travels toward Kenabres and judges that he can catch up with them in an hour. These outlanders are very brazen to travel so openly, he thinks as he stops to take a break by a small pool of water. He approaches the pool and thrusts his head in cooling off from the days exertions. Still dripping he takes a second to regard his reflection and smiles at his likeness. It was not a nice smile and would not win him many friends. It was the type of smile that would have men grabbing for swords or make mothers hide their daughters.

He considered his reflection and decided he was built as a man should be, he stood a hand taller than most men, was broad in the shoulders and narrow in the waist. His body was well-muscled with thick corded forearms. As he observes his likeness he decides he was built more like a hunting cat than a bull. His smile deepens as he considers the many scars crisscrossing his body.

As Six-Spears continued looking at his reflection he noticed his eyes, they are same color of the sky right before a storm, but it is more than their color that draws his attention, his gaze appears knowing and penetrating. His eyes are set in a chiseled, clean shaven, and well-tanned face with three large scars running across his face from the left side of his jaw to his forehead. His face is framed by long flowing dark hair, the color of a raven’s wing. He takes one last look and admonishes himself, enough daydreaming, time to go.

He quickly bends down to fill his waterskin to ready for his journey. As he stands he makes sure he doesn’t leave anything behind. With everything accounted for he moves away from the watering hole with the grace of a predator disappearing into the landscape.
Height: 6’6”
Weight: 250lbs
Eyes: Grey
Hair: Black
Skin: Tanned (dark)

Atorak
Male hobgoblin bloodrager (untouchable rager) 1/inquisitor (spellbreaker) of Dranngvit 1/gestalt 1
LG Medium humanoid (goblinoid)
Init +2; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +7
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 18, touch 12, flat-footed 16 (+6 armor, +2 Dex)
hp 15 (1d10+5)
Fort +6, Ref +2, Will +5
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 40 ft. (30 ft. in armor)
Melee dagger +3 (1d4+2/19-20) or
dwarven waraxe +3 (1d10+3/×3) or
warhammer +3 (1d8+2/×3)
Ranged light crossbow +3 (1d8/19-20)
Special Attacks bloodrage (8 rounds/day), judgment 1/day
Inquisitor (Spellbreaker) Spells Known (CL 1st; concentration +4)
1st (2/day)—cure light wounds, true strike
0 (at will)—acid splash, brand (DC 13), detect magic, sift
Domain Law (Inevitable subdomain)
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 14, Dex 14, Con 18, Int 14, Wis 16, Cha 8
Base Atk +1; CMB +3; CMD 15
Feats Arcane Vendetta
Traits civilized, stolen fury
Skills Intimidate +0, Knowledge (arcana) +6, Knowledge (dungeoneering) +6, Knowledge (local) +7, Knowledge (religion) +6, Perception +7, Sense Motive +8, Spellcraft +6, Survival +7
Languages Common, Dwarven, Goblin, Infernal
SQ +1 hit point, command, destined strike +1, fast movement, magehunter, stern gaze +1, strong-willed
Other Gear chainmail, dagger (2), dwarven waraxe, light crossbow with 20 bolts, warhammer, backpack, bedroll, belt pouch, belt pouch, candle (5), chalk (5), flint and steel, grappling bolt[UE] (2), holy symbol, cold iron, holy text[UE], manacles, mess kit[UE], pot, silk rope (100 ft.), soap, spell component pouch, trail rations (5), twine (50')[APG], waterskin, whetstone, 11 gp, 7 cp
--------------------
Tracked Resources
--------------------
Bloodrage (8 rounds/day) (Su) - 0/8
Command (6/day) (Su) - 0/6
Crossbow bolts - 0/20
Dagger - 0/2
Destined Strike +1 (3/day) (Su) - 0/3
Judgment (1/day) (Su) - 0/1
Trail rations - 0/5
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
+1 Hit Point +1 Hit Point
Arcane Vendetta +2 bonus on damage vs. arcane spellcasters
Armor Proficiency (Light) When you wear a type of armor with which you are proficient, the armor check penalty for that armor applies only to Dexterity- and Strength-based skill checks.
Armor Proficiency (Medium) When you wear a type of armor with which you are proficient, the armor check penalty for that armor applies only to Dexterity- and Strength-based skill checks.
Bloodrage (8 rounds/day) (Su) +4 Str, +4 Con, +2 to Will saves, -2 to AC when enraged.
Civilized +1 trait bonus on Knowledge (nobility) and (local) checks. Knowledge (local) is always a class skill for you.
Command (6/day) (Su) As per command spell.
Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white vision only).
Destined Your bloodline is destined for great things. When you bloodrage, you exude a greatness that makes all but the most legendary creatures seem lesser.
Destined Strike +1 (3/day) (Su) As a free action, gain insight bonus to one melee attack.
Fast Movement +10 (Ex) +10 feet to speed, unless heavily loaded.
Inquisitor (Spellbreaker) Domain (Inevitable)
Judgment (1/day) (Su) Variable bonuses increase as the combat continues.
Magehunter +2 to Spellcraft to identify spells and +1 attack against arcane spellcrafters.
Martial Weapon Proficiency - All You are proficient with all Martial weapons.
Shield Proficiency You can use a shield and take only the standard penalties.
Simple Weapon Proficiency - All Proficient with all simple weapons.
Stolen Fury +2 trait bonus to CMB vs. Demons. Mythic athletes: Champion
Strong-Willed (Ex) At 1st level, a spellbreaker is able to stand strong against magical effects that seek to control, compel, or persuade her. The spellbreaker rolls twice and takes the best result when making a Will saving throw against a mind-affecting effect.

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Atorak was born in Numeria. His family was slaughtered when he was kidnapped by cultists. When he escaped the cultists' rituals he wound up in Kenabres. He was raised by a Dwarven crusaders to hate demons, and evil spellcasters. He gladly takes part in Kenabres' witch hunts.

The alleyway was deserted. Crates and ragged tarps littered the ground. No one paid attention, though. With the Fourth Crusade dragging on, such scenes were not so strange in Kenabres. The people walking the streets, then, never noticed that this alley was different. Against one wall, behind a broken crate was a small child, no more than four or five at the most. Her soft sobs unheard by the people on the streets.

Or so she thought.

"What's wrong, why are you crying," asked a man in blue, purple and silver robes, a silver and amethyst symbol, that of a butterfly hanging from his neck. His unshaven face covered in the coarse hair of a two-day beard.

The young girl, startled at the voice looked up, terror blazing in her deep, ruby red eyes. She nearly tried to run, but something made her stay.

"D-dey said I was ah monstah," she replied in a wet, sob choked voice, "dey said I w-would b-be bettah dead!" Her wail signaling another round of tears.

The man sat next to the girl, taking her in his arms and letting her cry on his shoulder, her tears staining the fine fabric. Together they sat like that, for a long time.

"Are you done," he asked gently when the girl had cried herself out of tears. Her voice too hoarse to say anything, she merely nodded.

"That's good, sometimes we need to cry, but it's not good when others hurt us," he told her, "they called you a monster, but I don't see any monsters."

"You don't," she asked, her voice cracking a little.

"No, I don't," he confirmed, before smiling like a young boy about to get away with something, "except for a tickle-monster! Rawr!"

Tickling fingers made the girl squeal with laughter as the man let her get a step away before snatching her up and tickling her again. The memories of being called a monster and crying all but forgotten as tears of laughter replaced the ones of sorry.

===

"Please! Let me see him! He's my papa," a girl of seven begged the guard.

"I may not o' known Priest Talmus that well, but I know he didn't have no daughters, specially no demon-cursed daughters," the gruff man said, his brown eyes seething with contempt as wide, ruby-red eyes looked, tears welling in their corners.

"B-but he's all I've got! He's the only one that cared about me! Please, lemme see him," she begged, on her knees, though a vanishingly small part of her was revolted at her acquiescence.

"I said beat it, hell-spawn!" A gauntleted backhand sent the girl spinning to the ground. She cried out in pain as blood from the inside of her cheek flowed freely into her mouth.

"Pwah-ese, mis'ah," she sobbed through swelling lips, "Ah'm Ale'to! Tell him Ah'm 'ere!"

"I said beat it!"

An iron-shod boot knocked the breath from Alekto's lungs as the rain began to fall.

===

The young girl sobbed as the procession gathered around the mausoleum. A blue urn with a silver butterfly on it's face was gently placed inside the marble structure. Father Talmus, Alekto's papa, the only family she'd ever known, even if he wasn't related by blood, was dead. He had been slain by a demon, and poor Alekto had been suspected of aiding in his murder for a short time until his true murderer had been discovered. The demon that had left Father Talmus mortally wounded was still out there, and no one knew when it would appear again.

Look to the heavens and witness their beauty. Spread happiness and goodwill wherever you find your journey leading, and always seek the road less traveled, for there you will find those in the most need, he had said many times to her, teaching her how to be a good person, and prove everyone that had called her a monster wrong.

She watched the ceremony continue from her rooftop perch, unable to get any closer. Her sobs, even as quiet as they were, drowning out the whispers on the wind. She'd tried to do good when she and Father Talmus weren't together, but no one would let her. They all pushed her away. How was she supposed to help people if she couldn't even get close to them?

She waited, but no answer came.

===

The wet, rumbling growl from her midsection made one thing clear to Alekto, she needed to find something to eat and soon. Otherwise, her belly was likely to devour itself. The smell of baking bread and dozens of wood fires cooking meals and dishes filled the air, and only made the rumbling worse. She stopped in front of a bakery and looked hungrily on the baskets of loaves, rolls, and buns. The temptation to just steal one was almost overwhelming. Just one, it would never be missed, she thought. Just one and the hunger would be gone.

No.

If she was going to be good, she couldn't steal from people, even people who'd never miss what she took. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, steeling herself before she walked into the small shop.

"Uh, ex-excuse me," Alekto asked quietly, her eyes not quite meeting those of the shopkeeper's, "If-- if you c-c-could spare some bread, m-may I have it? I'd b-be willing to work for it. I promise to do a good job, I'm just--" another growl from her stomach interrupts her and her cheeks flush with embarrassment as large, ruby-red eyes look away. This was it. She'd be chased out, the curse of "demon-spawn" chasing her back.

"My, how can I say no when you're obviously hungry. I'm afraid bread alone isn't going to fill that belly, though," the shopkeeper, a woman in her late twenties answered with a smile as she held out a hand, "my name is Alfsigr. Can you tell me yours?"

"A-alekto. I'm just Alekto."

Alekto took Alfsigr's hand and followed the woman in silence for a moment.

"Y-you don't hate me," she asked in surprise, not quite able to believe this wasn't a dream.

"How can I hate a young girl like you," Alfsigr answered softly, "just because you look different from a human or an elf doesn't mean you're not a person. Now, let's just get you cleaned up and we'll eat, okay?"

"O-okay."

It had been a year since Alekto had seen anyone show her kindness, and feeling as if she was worth something for the first time in a long time brought tears into her eyes again.

===

Alekto darted down the alley, the same one she'd met Father Talmus in five years ago, but that thought was far from her mind as her feet, bound only in ragged, dirty wraps, slapped against the cobbles.

"Get her! Get the demon-girl," the children behind her cried as she rounded another corner, trying to lose the gang on her heels, and growing more and more desperate as the chase wore on. Much to her surprise though, she found herself on the ground after running into a boy nearly a foot taller, three times as wide, and at least two years older than she was. Her surprise was complete when the children chasing her stopped. They looked at each other, then, nervously, at the much larger boy now looming in their path.

"Don't you know this is Demonspit turf? Get outta here before Big Louis decides to show you what for," the boy yelled, and almost instantly, the other gang was gone.

"Th-thanks," Alekto said as she picked herself up off the ground, "I thought they were going to get me, and, uh, sorry I ran into you," she finishes sheepishly as she looks away, a blush forming on her fair skin.

"Well, I guess I'm in a forgivin' mood," the boy said with a big grin, "name's Big Louis, but you can call me Boss, if you want to be in my gang."

Alekto looked down at the ground, not quite able to believe someone, anyone, would want her.

"O-okay, Boss."

===

"Look, Louis. I want out! I've had enough of this," Alekto told the overweight slob sitting on a crate in what the gang had dubbed, ironically in her opinion, the Palace. The filthy hovel was littered with empty bottles that had contained alcohol at some point in the past, bedrolls infested with lice, and crates filled with battered and worn goods that the gang hadn't been able to fence. Around her sat the other half-dozen of the Demonspit gang. It'd been three years since she'd run into Louis Alberwood, and she'd regretted every day since then. She'd managed to persuade the gang out of trying to do a protection racket, a drug operation, and being assassins, but she hadn't managed to keep them from engaging in general thuggery. They'd managed to take a half-dozen wagons with some goods and some booze, and even that was too much in Alekto's opinion.

"Out," Louis parroted in a slow, stupid voice, "You can't get out, you owe me! If I hadn'ta saved your pale ass three years ago, you'd be dead!"

"And this is living," Alekto shot back, venom dripping form her voice, "no, we're even after I saved your bacon from getting fried by that mage you tried to rob. I want out. I'm getting out. I'm not debating it."

"Fine, you want out, you can walk into the Worldwound fer all I care," Louis said, waving his had to the door, "though I had thought you liked that one baker. What was her name? Alfsigr? It'd be a shame if something happened," he said, an evil gleam in his eyes as he rubbed his jaw.

Smug bastard. I had hoped he had forgotten about Alfsigr. Her family doesn't need Louis trying to make life harder on them, Alekto thought as she ground her teeth. She hadn't visited the bakery since shortly after joining Louis' gang and learning they were just a bunch of thuggish kids trying to make themselves feel big.

"Fine," she grated out, "you've made your point."

"Good, because we'll need your skills for what I have in mind."

===

How far had they walked?

The landscape around them was barren, nothing but blood-red dust and grey rock for miles. The sky above was an angry yellow, the sun hotter, more oppressive and dimmer all at once.

"You demon-born B~$~+!"

A large meaty fist slammed into Alekto's gut, curling her over the arm of the man to whom the fist belonged. Louis gnashed his teeth as he began another round of beatings. It had been the same for the past two days, but even as furious as he was, he'd forbidden anyone from marring her face or breaking her bones, not that it made the pummeling any less painful, nor did it mask the sour taste in her mouth as bile threatened to come out. She wanted to curl up on the ground, but she couldn't. Two of Louis' cronies had her by the arms as their boss screamed again, punctuating each word with a brutal, bruising blow to her belly.

"YOU! TRAITOROUS! DEMON! BORN! B*$#&!"

She vomited, spewing bile all over the ground before her, and on Louis' arm. Disgusted, he grabbed the front of the thin, rough-spun tunic she wore and ripped it off of her to wipe the bile from his arm. beneath the now useless garment was a patchwork of fresh and not so fresh bruises. The past two days had been filled with walking and beatings. Nothing lethal or too damaging. That would have ruined the merchandise for his next scheme.

Calmer now, or as calm as he got after half of the Demonspit gang had been arrested, he eyed Alekto from the waist up. All that was protecting her modesty now was the under garment she wore to keep her budding chest bound. Ironically, her underclothes were definitely the best clothes she had by a wide margin, given that she would normally have been mortified to know that anyone else had seen them.

Alekto was too battered and shaken to be embarrassed, however, but not so much that she missed the look in Louis' eyes as he traced the developing curves of her hips and waist.

"Not that it matters now," he said, panting from the exertion, "but when things calm down in Kenabres, we're going back, and you, my dear, sweet Alekto, are going to be workin' those goods you've got growin'. Maybe even be workin' 'em before we get back," he leered as his two remaining thugs laughed.

All Alekto could do was hang her head. She'd tried to do good. She'd warned the guard and had tried to slip away when they had sprung their trap, but Louis and his two favorite henchmen had caught her and they had ran for the Worldwound.

Now, they had very little water, no food, and Alekto doubted that the three idiots had even considered how stupidly dangerous it was out here. Kenabres was below the horizon now, and she doubted they'd ever see it again. To make matters worse, there was a chill in the air now. Soon, it would be night again, and she debated whether it would be better to try and keep warm by staying close to her captors, or to freeze to death.

Freezing, she thought as she looked up at Louis once more, was starting to look appealing.

===

She spotted them before anyone else, not that it mattered. When the idiots continued right into an ambush, hauling Alekto along for the ride, anger, grief, and fear overcame fatigue and with a strength born of a demon’s rage, she broke free and began running.

To bad the fiend-touched satyrs were faster than she was.

The last two of Louis’ thugs were cut down as they turned to chase their now escaped captive. Louis, for his part, realized what was going on before they did, and was running away from the demonic goat-men as fast as he could waddle.

”What about him.” one of them asked.

”leave him, we have something more interesting to play with,” another answered with a leer as he jerked his horned head towards Alekto’s fleeing form.

Too slow to outrun them, and too tired to fight, Alekto was brought down and surrounded by eight of those leering, twisted fey. They made no effort to hide their pleasure at having a new toy, even if she was on the young side. Alert could only whimper, her rage spent and her limbs barely able to hold her up, even with the satyrs to either side.

”Well, well, well,” said one of them, obviously the leader, ”look at the beauty we have here, boys!”

”A little too young fear me tastes, but I bet she’ll be right fine in two years!”

”I don’t care! I wanna hear her sing now!”

On and on they went, getting more detailed with what her fate was to be when an iron arrow burst through one of their hearts.

The other seven stood dumbfounded as their fellow slowly collapsed, dead before he even hit the ground. Another, then another took arrows to the head and chest. The survivors looks around in a panic before spotting a woman wielding a bow and taking aim. As one they snarled and let their rage consume them. They would tear this interloper apart and feast on her flesh. They’d crack her bones and sup on her marrow.

They all died before getting within twenty paces.

===

Cold. Frightened. Tired.

Alekto sat shivering on the ground, unable to stand, barely able to keep her head up. She had eaten nothing in two days, and it had been a day since she’d had anything other than her own spit to drink. She wasn’t sure what to expect now. Had the woman saved her, or did she only want poor Alekto for her own purposes. Either way, it would be over soon. She was coming, and Alekto was too tired to keep her from doing anything to her.

The woman was beautiful, fair-skinned with raven hair and large, lipid eyes. They were sad, those eyes. How strange, Alekto thought. The woman pulled a water-skin from her pack and held it out. Her clothes were blue, that same shade of blue that she remembered from long ago. It was the symbol about the woman’s neck, however, that caused her breath to catch.

”It’s alright. You’re safe now,” She said, the silver butterfly with amethyst wings glittering in the twilight. She held out the water-skin, kneeling to be on the same level as Alekto. ”You’re safe now,” she repeated, just before Alekto embraced her, holding on as if letting go would mean the person in front of her would disappear. The tears came fast, and the young girl wept softly as relief flooded through her.

===

The woman carried Alekto, too sore and tired to even walk. The young girl was dressed in an outfit that seemed like it was meant for a royal after the rags she had worn for so long. It was alright if it was too big, for her small frame anyway. They were warm against the chill winds now blowing across the Worldwound, and hadn’t been ripped to shreds like her last outfit had been.

”Well, what do we have here,” A black and red robed man sneered as he approached the pair, ”my you two look good enough to eat!”

”Bite your tongue,” the woman commanded, ”Do you know who I am, or what I am about? I assume you don’t because only a fool would stop me,” she asked him, her tone one of barely restrained fury.

”I— I am sorry ma’am,” the man answered, unsure of himself now, ”but I haven’t a clue who you are?”

”I am on a mission given to me by Deskari’s lieutenants. I am going to sow discord and chaos, using this child as a seed.”

The man looked about, confused. More of black-robed men and women emerged from hiding, looking at and whispering to each other. As their attentions were not on them, the woman stole a glance down at Alekto and winked.

”What proof have you,” the man asked after some deliberation with his fellows.

”Proof? What proof indeed. Why else would anyone walk around here with a symbol of one of the pretenders about her neck? Even the Iomedaeans exercise discretion on this side of the river. So, either I am insane, which I am not, or I am telling the truth.”

The cultist looked at each other before shrugging as one.

”Very well, may you succeed sister,” the leader of the group tells the woman.

They were well out of sight when Alekto sees the woman hold onto the silver symbol hanging form her neck as she had been since she’d rescued the young girl.

”Desna, forgive my words, though the be empty.”

Desna, Alekto thought, her eyes drooping in the waning sunlight, is that who Papa followed?”

===

Warm.

She felt warm.

Slowly, reluctantly even, Alekto returned to the waking world. She was in a small room with stone walls and a small fire crackling merrily in its place in the corner. The window looking out over Kenabres was frosted with snow that fell from slate-grey clouds. Heavy blankets and quilts covered her, helping to ward her from the chill outside. Was it all a dream, then? The flight into the Worldwound, the beatings, the demonic fey, and the mysterious woman? Were they all dreams? Alekto moved to sit up, only to cry out as pain lanced through her body.

It wasn't a dream after all.

The door opened as two acolytes of Iomedae swiftly walked in. Both of them wore slightly fixed expressions of worry.

"Are you alright," one of them asked in a somewhat dull tone, as if he was trying to sound caring, but couldn't quite manage it, "We heard you scream."

"Tried t'sit up," she answered through gritted teeth. The pain wasn't as sharp, but it was still there, causing her to take shallow breaths.

"I would try to avoid doing that for now," the acolyte told her, "Whatever happened to you left you with a few cracked ribs. It will take time to heal," she added as she pulled out a vial, "drink this, it should help with the pain."

The acolyte held up Alekto's head and put the vial to her lips. The bitter liquid almost locked the young girl's jaw, but soon, the pain was subsiding and faded until it was only a dull ache.

"Better," the acolyte asked, her eyes softening a bit as she saw her charge relax some.

"Yes," Alekto answered in a more normal voice. A part of her wanted to snarl at being so helpless, at being weak, at accepting the help of these holier-than-thou priests and priestesses, but that part had been growing smaller every day, so much so that it was rare she even noticed the feelings.

Today was not one of those days. It worried her, and she wondered if that trek out into the Wounded Lands had left more scars on her than a few cracked ribs and a mural of painful bruises. What if it had awoken something inside of her? She lay there as the acolytes went about tidying up the room and making sure she was comfortable. As they left, she called out to the young woman.

"C-can you--" she said, her voice cracking as long buried memories brought tears to her eyes, "can you stay? Please?"

The young woman looked to the other acolyte, her brow knitted in indecision. The young man nodded, saying, "stay if you want. I can handle the rest of our chores."

===

It was several hours later before Alekto and the young woman, Brie Valetinus, were finished talking. The young girl had told Brie everything she remembered. How she met Father Talmus, how she'd been beaten bloody when she had tried to see him on his deathbed, how she'd tried to do good and fallen in with the Demonspit gang, and how she'd been beaten and beaten as what was left of the gang dragged into the Worldwound. By the end of her tale, both of them were crying. Brie hugged the young girl, letting her compassion take reign.

"It's okay, Alekto," she whispered, "it's okay to cry. It's okay to hurt. We'll help you be the person you want to be. I promise."

Alekto, fell asleep as she cried that night, Brie holding her, comforting her, until she had.

===

Alekto shuffled down a hallway of the Kenabres Cathedral. She was healing, and quickly, but she'd been badly hurt, and it still hurt for her to move quickly. She had also cried more in the past week than she had in the past six years. Alfsigr, the baker that had been so kind to her, had stopped by no less than three times, bringing the young girl a treat and a warm meal each time. As she had recovered, she'd also come to know the names and faces of many of the clerics, paladins, and acolytes that made their home in the cathedral. Brie, though was the one she had grown the closest to, almost as a sister.

She pondered as she roamed the corridors. What had happened to that woman who'd saved he? The guards patrolling the area around Kenabres had found her alone on the old path that lead into the Wounded Lands. Seeing that she was injured and suffering from exposure to the cold, they brought her to the Cathedral to be treated and to heal. That was all they knew. They had never seen the woman she had described, or anyone else. It was all so odd. People didn't just vanish into thin air without a trace. Still, not everything she had learned since then had been as frustrating. For one, she'd finally begun learning about her papa's faith.

Desna, that was the goddess he had worshiped and served. She was the goddess of dreams and journeys, the Starsong. She'd been learning as much as she could from the Desnan clerics, many of whom recognized her form the descriptions Father Talmus had given them. Fables and lessons on what Desna's faith was were mixed with stories and tales about Talmus and his travels. It had only been a week, but already she felt as if she'd barely learned about her papa before he had been taken from this life.

"Hello, Alekto. How are you this day," the voice of an elderly woman asked, pulling her from her reverie.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ms. Malavaki," she said as she turned to the gray-haired priestess standing beside her, "I'm doing okay, it still hurts if I move too fast though."

"That's good dear," the priestess replied, her face splitting into a wide smile, "Talmus would be glad to her you are doing well, and he'd be proud of you."

"Me? I--" Alekto looked away, shame burning on her face, "I don't know about that."

"He would," the priestess said, gently rebuking the young girl, "We have all heard of what happened after Talmus' passing, and you have done better than many, even those who were born of a more celestial bent, and you have tried to make right your wrongs. That would make anyone proud of you," she paused, letting Alekto soak in her words. "But I didn't come find you to tell you things that you should already know," she added after a moment, her smile returning, wider than before, "I came to give you this," she tells Alekto, holding up a silver butterfly symbol with sapphire wings by a fine silver chain.

Alekto, too stunned to say anything, stands there, her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide. Tentatively, she reaches out to touch one of the wings. It was too much, too much for her.

"Please, Alekto," the priestess said softly, "take it. Talmus would have loved for you to have this as a reminder, and as a symbol of who you are."

===

Brie had proven as good as her word. Once Alekto was deemed healthy enough, she'd begun working under an Erastillian ranger by the name of John Bones. Over the next year, she'd learned archery, swordsmanship, and how to deal with demons. It had been a hard year, and her tutelage was far from done, but today was one of the rare ones she had to roam Kenabres. She'd already visited Alfsigr, who'd commented that she was growing into a fine young woman, and Talmus' resting place. Now, she was wandering where ever chance lead. Who knows, maybe she'd find something new.

She turned down an alley, hoping to see if this was a new way to get to that tavern she'd found last time. She wanted to see if the keeper would let her sing there for a little while. It was a fine afternoon and she would have plenty of time to recover even if she did sing all night.

Halfway through the alley, she stopped. Something didn't feel right here. Her time as the scout and trap-handler for a gang and her skills honed by the tutelage of John Bones all told her to get out of here.

She wasn't fast enough.

"Well, well, well," an all too familiar voice crooned, "Look who it is. Alekto the Demon B@!~!."

Louis Alberwood stepped out behind her, blocking her way back while two other thugs emerged from the shadows behind him. In front of her, another four chuckled evilly as they boxed her in.

"What do you want, Louis? I'm not a part of you little group of thugs anymore," Alekto asked, silently kicking herself for not noticing the ambush sooner.

"Do you even have to ask? I want what I'm owed," Louis said in that greasy voice he'd cultivated while Alekto was still in his little gang.

Alekto turned to face Louis, trying to ignore her skin crawling as she felt the leers of the seven thugs around her. It had been a year since she'd last seen Louis, and a part of her had believed he had died out there in the Worldwound. She didn't want anything to do with Louis, if she could help it. It appeared that fate had other ideas.

"I don't know why you are going after me then, I don't owe you a thing," Alekto said, her eyes narrowing as her mind tried to work out an escape.

"Well, it looks like we've got ourselves a comedian," Louis chuckled, even smiled as his cronies joined him. Alekto felt herself tensing, waiting for them to slip.

Instead, two meaty hands wrapped around her neck and hauled her off the ground. Louis was almost a full foot taller than her, and he was holding her a head above his. Their iron grip choked a cough out of her, but she could still breath. There was no laughter in his face then, only pure raw anger and hatred twisting his features into a grotesque mask.

"Don't play dumb with me, you b$%$@," he hissed angrily at her, "your pale ass is mine." A hideous smile slowly spread across his face before he added, "though I will say that a year can make quite a difference. Before, you were flat as a washboard, and now, you're half-way to being a real woman."

The thugs gathered around, lax, lazy, inattentive. They chuckled at their boss's words, and admired the way her clothing pulled on her hips and chest, but they never noticed the knife until it was flashing for Louis' face. A howl of pain echoed in the alleyway as Louis dropped Alekto to clutch at his face. The young woman was ready and by the time the thugs had begun to react, Alekto was already beyond them and running for the streets. Blood dripped from her dagger as she rushed down the main thoroughfares looking for anyone she could ask for help from against seven thugs.

===

Alekto shuddered against the crumbling stone wall just outside of the town gates. The sun stained the sky red and gold as it set.

"Here," A burly ranger dressed in worn leathers said as he tossed a bundle into the young woman's lap, "you're going to need these."

"Bones, what you talking about," Brie, now a full member of Iomedae's clergy, asked.

"She's too recognizable. Her hair and eyes are too distinctive and it's either change them or hide them," John Bones answered.

"But--"

"It's okay Brie," Alekto said, stopping the older girl's retort, "I should have known that Louis would be looking for me if he had survived. Besides, he can't go around stopping everyone hiding their face." Alektop looked up at her friend and gave her a wane smile, "I'll just have to hide in plain site is all. I'll be okay."

===

Armasse was tomorrow. It had been about three years since Alekto had last run into Louis, and she was beginning to hope that he'd forgotten about her. She'd finished her apprenticeship under John Bones some months before and had continued to work along side him and Brie in scouting the roads leading from Kenabres, keeping them clear of bandits and traps, but tomorrow, she'd have the day to herself to enjoy the festival. Brie, though wasn't so lucky, having pulled street patrol. The young woman wondered if she should try to bump into Brie's patrol with a basket of Alfsigr's pastries.

Maybe, she'd have to see if she had enough coin for it, then she'd have to see if Alfsigr had the pastries for her to buy.

Those were concerns for tomorrow. Tonight, she needed to find a place to sleep. She'd slept in a different place every night she was in town, hoping that Louis would neve catch her if she wasn't in the same place every night. She may hope he had forgotten, but the fear she felt that day still felt fresh each time she remembered his hands around her neck.

She held onto the holy symbol of Desna she'd been given. She drew comfort form it and even now, it still filled her with wonder that someone would have given her such a gift.

Alekto shook her head and continued her search. the night was still young, but she was tired after the long day she had endured. It would be good to get some sleep and see what dreams awaited her.

Alekto
Demon-spawn tiefling ranger 1/rogue (unchained) 1/gestalt 1 (Pathfinder Player Companion: Blood of Fiends 20, Pathfinder RPG Bestiary 264, Pathfinder Unchained 20)
CG Medium outsider (native)
Init +3; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +7
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 16, touch 13, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +3 Dex)
hp 12 (1d10+2)
Fort +4, Ref +5, Will +1
Resist cold 5, electricity 5, fire 5
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 30 ft.
Melee dagger +4 (1d4+3/19-20) or
. . gladius +4 (1d6+3/19-20) or
. . kerambit +4 (1d3+3/×3) or
. . kerambit +4 (1d3+3/×3) or
. . longsword +4 (1d8+3/19-20)
Ranged longbow +4 (1d8/×3)
Special Attacks favored enemy (evil outsiders +2), sneak attack (unchained) +1d6
Spell-Like Abilities (CL 1st; concentration +3)
. . 1/day—shatter (DC 14)
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 16, Dex 17, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 13, Cha 14
Base Atk +1; CMB +4; CMD 17
Feats Point-Blank Shot, Weapon Finesse
Traits chance encounter, hard to kill
Skills Acrobatics +6, Diplomacy +6, Disable Device +9, Disguise +6, Perception +7, Perform (sing) +6, Profession (cook) +5, Sleight of Hand +6, Stealth +6; Racial Modifiers +2 Disable Device, +2 Perception
Languages Abyssal, Common
SQ track +1, trapfinding +1, wild empathy +3
Combat Gear holy water; Other Gear studded leather, arrows (40), dagger (4), gladius[UC], kerambit[UC], kerambit[UC], longbow, longsword, bedroll, blanket[APG], cutting board, wooden (2 lb), explorer's outfit, knife, cutting (0.5 lb), ladle (0.5 lb), masterwork backpack[APG], pot, seasonings, local (0.5 lb), silver holy symbol of Desna, skewer (1 lb), skillet[UE], thieves' tools, tinder packet (0.5 lb), tripod, iron (3 lb), 12 gp, 4 sp
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Chance Encounter (1/day) Re-reroll failed Acrobatics, Bluff, Disguise, Sleight of Hand or Stealth check, keep 2nd result.
Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white vision only).
Energy Resistance, Cold (5) You have the specified Energy Resistance against Cold attacks.
Energy Resistance, Electricity (5) You have the specified Energy Resistance against Electricity attacks.
Energy Resistance, Fire (5) You have the specified Energy Resistance against Fire attacks.
Favored Enemy (Evil Outsiders +2) (Ex) +2 to rolls vs. Favored Enemy (Evil Outsiders) foes.
Hard to Kill When dying, your penalty to stabilize is only 1/2 your negative Hp.
Point-Blank Shot +1 to attack and damage rolls with ranged weapons at up to 30 feet.
Sneak Attack (Unchained) +1d6 Attacks deal extra dam if flank foe or if foe is flat-footed.
Track +1 Add the listed bonus to survival checks made to track.
Trapfinding +1 Gain a bonus to find or disable traps, including magical ones.
Wild Empathy +3 (Ex) Improve the attitude of an animal, as if using Diplomacy.

Age: 17 ish
Height: 5' 1"
Weight: 100 lbs.
Hair: Black with bright red tips (happens naturally. After cutting her hair, the tips turn bright red over the next hour.)
Eyes: Ruby-red
Skin: Pale, almost white

Alekto is a petite, beautiful, young woman. Her eyes are ruby-red, like the heart of a fine red wine. Her skin is a pale porcelain that doesn't seem to tan at all. Her hair is black with naturally bright red tips. She wears it long, braiding it to keep it out of her way. Her slender frame is narrow at the waist and shoulders, and wide at the hips. She prefers to wear clothing that hides her figure, however, wearing loose tunics and pants while covering her hair with her cloak's hood and her face with a scarf. She wears dark grays and blacks to help her blend in while scouting at night, since her eyes have no issue seeing in the dark.

Alekto is both friendly and wary at once. While she is easy-going and willing to converse, she often steers the subject away from herself when speaking with people outside her closest friends. Winning her trust can be difficult, and her inability to really open up with others makes it hard for her to make new friends, while frustrating her old friends to no end.

@ GM Runescarred Dragon: I'm putting this here in case you would like to use some of the NPCs from her background. I know when I am GMing I like to tweak and add things so that the background of the PCs is used more in the main story. I don't know if you are the same way, but I felt that it would be more convenient for you to place all of this info here for your perusal if you did want to use it.

Talmus - Male Cleric of Desna (DECEASED)
Talmus was a kindly man that would have adopted Alekto if he had lived. He had been trying for three years, but the cathedral simply didn't have the room. Before he could adopt the poor girl, however, he was mortally wounded by a demon. He'd died of those wounds shortly after.

Alfsigr - Female Human(Ulfen)
Alfsigr is the owner of a local bakery that Alekto frequents when she has the time. She is in her mid-thirties and has a husband and three children.

Louis Alberwood - Male Human
A thug of the worst sort, and rather stupid to boot, Louis is still looking for Alekto and intends to make her pay for the scar running form his jaw to his forehead over his left eye that she gave him. He's a fat, stupid, craven bastard in general, but he has enough muscle to keep his thugs in line.

Brie Valetinus - Female Cleric of Iomedae
Brie and Alekto are like sisters. Brie is in her early twenties/late teens, and is the quieter of the two, though not by much as the other priests and guards have often commented.

John Bones - Male Ranger of Erastil
John Bones, or Bones if you prefer, is a gruff, no nonsense man with an ironclad sense of honor and justice. He's not a bad man, just a hard one, but he does have a soft spot for the young woman who was his apprentice until a short while ago.

Ms. Malavaki - Female Cleric of Desna
Ms. Malavaki is, perhaps, the oldest of the priests and priestess at the Kenabres Cathedral, if not in number of years, in experience. She's traveled much of the Inner Sea and has even been to Tian-Xia a time or two. Now that she is too frail to travel, she's made it her mission to help Alekto grow up to be a fine young woman, almost considering the girl her own grand-daughter.

I never knew my mother. I sometimes wonder how my life would have been different had she stayed, given up the crusade. My father still cries at night for her, but he'd be ashamed if he knew I knew. As for myself, I can't say I miss her...you can't miss something you never had, but I have questions that I can't answer without her. Why is it so hard? Why am I so quick to hate? Where does my anger come from? I try to be a good person, but it is a struggle. I've given myself to the gods, in hope of relief, or at least an answer. I wonder if my mother had the same struggle. Is that why she became a crusader? Did she leave me her holy symbol because she knew what I would face? The answers will never come, I've resigned myself to that, but the struggle will always continue. I try to be the person I want to be, not the person I feel like.

Selene Kelnir was born in Nerosyan, and the presence of the Worldwound has been a fact of life for Selene her entire life. Her father, a local merchant, fell in love with an aloof but beautiful crusader, who stayed out of the ongoing battles long enough to give birth to Selene. Her mother's fate ultimately unknown, likely lost in the endless fight against the Abyss, Selene was unaware of the power passed on in her blood. Aside from this power, the only thing she has of her mother's is a symbol of Serenrae. It was perhaps this power that drew the attention of a rogue demon that escaped the wardstones and attacked her. She survived, but this encounter awoke the dormant power of the Abyssal heritage left by her mother. Unable to understand the nature of her power and the rage that always accompanied it, Selene turned to the gods. Swearing an oath to Serenrae, the goddess of her mother, and to Iomedae, the goddess of her city, she undertook the grueling challenges of paladinhood in hopes that the self-discipline instilled in her would allow her to control her demonic impulses. Iomedae desires to protect the innocent, to help those who have fallen from the path of righteousness, or end those who will not repent. She hopes that with every evil she defeats or redeems she perhaps will take one more step away from whatever it is that fuels her rage and hatred.

Init +2; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +7

Defense
AC 18, touch 12, flat-footed 16 (+6 armor, +2 Dex)
HP 15 (1d10+5)
Fort +6, Ref +2, Will +5

Offense
Speed 40 ft. (30 ft. in armor)
Melee dagger +3 (1d4+2/19-20) or
dwarven waraxe +3 (1d10+3/×3) or
warhammer +3 (1d8+2/×3)
Ranged light crossbow +3 (1d8/19-20)
Special Attacks bloodrage (8 rounds/day), judgment 1/day

Spells
Inquisitor (Spellbreaker) Spells Known (CL 1st; concentration +4)
1st (2/day)—cure light wounds, true strike
0 (at will)—acid splash, brand (DC 13), detect magic, sift
Domain Law (Inevitable subdomain)

Statistics
Str 14, Dex 14, Con 18, Int 14, Wis 16, Cha 8
BAB +1; CMB +3; CMD 15
Feats Arcane Vendetta
Traits civilized, stolen fury
SQ +1 hit point, command, destined strike +1, fast movement, magehunter, stern gaze +1, strong-willed

Skills
Acrobatics -3; (Untrained, +0 class, +2 Dex, -5 ACP (Armor))
Appraise +2; (Untrained, +2 Int)
Bluff -1; (Untrained, +0 class, -1 Cha)
Climb -3; (Untrained, +0 class, +2 Str, -5 ACP (Armor))
Diplomacy -1; (Untrained, +0 class, -1 Cha)
Disguise -1; (Untrained, +0 class, -1 Cha)
Escape Artist -3; (Untrained, +2 Dex, -5 ACP (Armor))
Fly -3; (Untrained, +2 Dex, -5 ACP (Armor))
Heal +3; (Untrained, +0 class, +3 Wis)
Intimidate +0; (Untrained, +0 class, -1 Cha, +1 Stern Gaze)
Knowledge (arcana) +6; (Ranks:1, +3 class, +2 Int)
Knowledge (dungeoneering) +6; (Ranks:1, +3 class, +2 Int)
Knowledge (local) +7; (Ranks:1, +3 class, +2 Int, +1 trait (civilized))
Knowledge (religion) +6; (Ranks:1, +3 class, +2 Int)
Perception +7; (Ranks:1, +3 class, +3 Wis)
Ride -3; (Untrained, +0 class, +2 Dex, -5 ACP (Armor))
Sense Motive +8; (Ranks:1, +3 class, +3 Wis, +1 Stern Gaze)
Spellcraft +6; (Ranks:1, +3 class, +2 In)
Stealth -3; (Untrained, +0 class, +2 Dex, -5 ACP (Armor))
Survival +7; (Ranks:1, +3 class, +3 Wis)
Swim -3; (Untrained, +0 class, +2 Str, -5 ACP (Armor))
Languages Common, Dwarven, Goblin, Infernal

Equipment and Encumberence
Weapons and Ammo dagger (2), dwarven waraxe, light crossbow with 20 bolts, warhammer
Armor and Defense chainmail
Combat Gear
Other Gear backpack (bedroll, grappling bolt (2), holy text, manacles, mess kit, pot, silk rope (100 ft.), soap, trail rations (5), waterskin), belt pouch(candle (5), chalk (5), flint and steel, twine (50'), Whetstone), belt pouch(money), explorer's outfit, holy symbol (cold iron), spell component pouch
Coins 11 gp, 7 cp
Carrying Capacity
L / M / H - 58 / 116 / 175 lbs.
Encumberence
With backpack - Medium load, 103.36 lbs.
Without backpack - Medium load, 67.86 lbs.

Tracked Resources
Bloodrage (8 rounds/day) (Su) - 0/8
Command (6/day) (Su) - 0/6
Crossbow bolts - 0/20
Dagger - 0/2
Destined Strike +1 (3/day) (Su) - 0/3
Judgment (1/day) (Su) - 0/1
Trail rations - 0/5

Special Abilities
+1 Hit Point FCB (1) +1 Hit Point
Arcane Vendetta +2 bonus on damage vs. arcane spellcasters
Armor Proficiency (Light) When you wear a type of armor with which you are proficient, the armor check penalty for that armor applies only to Dexterity- and Strength-based skill checks.
Armor Proficiency (Medium) When you wear a type of armor with which you are proficient, the armor check penalty for that armor applies only to Dexterity- and Strength-based skill checks.
Bloodrage (8 rounds/day) (Su) +4 Str, +4 Con, +2 to Will saves, -2 to AC when enraged.
Civilized +1 trait bonus on Knowledge (nobility) and (local) checks. Knowledge (local) is always a class skill for you.
Command (6/day) (Su) As per command spell.
Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white vision only).
Destined Your bloodline is destined for great things. When you bloodrage, you exude a greatness that makes all but the most legendary creatures seem lesser.
Destined Strike +1 (3/day) (Su) As a free action, gain insight bonus to one melee attack.
Fast Movement +10 (Ex) +10 feet to speed, unless heavily loaded.
Inquisitor (Spellbreaker) Domain (Inevitable)
Judgment (1/day) (Su) Variable bonuses increase as the combat continues.
Magehunter +2 to Spellcraft to identify spells and +1 attack against arcane spellcrafters.
Martial Weapon Proficiency - All You are proficient with all Martial weapons.
Shield Proficiency You can use a shield and take only the standard penalties.
Simple Weapon Proficiency - All Proficient with all simple weapons.
Stolen Fury +2 trait bonus to CMB vs. Demons. Mythic Path: Champion
Strong-Willed (Ex) At 1st level, a spellbreaker is able to stand strong against magical effects that seek to control, compel, or persuade her. The spellbreaker rolls twice and takes the best result when making a Will saving throw against a mind-affecting effect.

Defense
AC 16, touch 10, flat-footed 14 (+6 armor, +2 Dex, -2 untyped)
HP 17 (1d10+7)
Fort +8, Ref +2, Will +7

Offense
Speed 40 ft. (30 ft. in armor)
Melee dagger +5 (1d4+4/19-20) or
dwarven waraxe +5 (1d10+6/×3) or
warhammer +5 (1d8+4/×3)
Ranged light crossbow +3 (1d8/19-20)
Special Attacks bloodrage (8 rounds/day), judgment 1/day

Statistics
Str 20, Dex 14, Con 22, Int 14, Wis 16, Cha 8
BAB +1; CMB +5; CMD 15
Feats Arcane Vendetta
Traits civilized, stolen fury
SQ +1 hit point, command, destined strike +1, fast movement, magehunter, stern gaze +1, strong-willed

Skills
Acrobatics -3; (Untrained, +0 class, +2 Dex, -5 ACP (Armor))
Climb -1; (Untrained, +0 class, +4 Str, -5 ACP (Armor))
Fly -3; (Untrained, +2 Dex, -5 ACP (Armor))
Heal +3; (Untrained, +0 class, +3 Wis)
Intimidate +0; (Untrained, +0 class, -1 Cha, +1 Stern Gaze)
Perception +7; (Ranks:1, +3 class, +3 Wis)
Ride -3; (Untrained, +0 class, +2 Dex, -5 ACP (Armor))
Sense Motive +8; (Ranks:1, +3 class, +3 Wis, +1 Stern Gaze)
Survival +7; (Ranks:1, +3 class, +3 Wis)
Swim -1; (Untrained, +0 class, +4 Str, -5 ACP (Armor))
Languages Common, Dwarven, Goblin, Infernal

Atorak was born in northern Numeria. As a child he took part in his tribes warrior training. Sparing with other children his age, learning the art to commanding noisome goblins. At the age of 10, about six years ago, a group of cultists invaded the tribes youngling barracks. His cohort was slaughtered. They seemed to pick him out, but he could never tell why. As they dragged him away, he watched as his tribe's camp burning. He has no idea if anyone survived.

The cultists kept him locked in a box for days until they released him during an arcane ritual. Looking back, he is pretty sure he was intended to be a sacrifice to the demons of the Worldwound. However, when the mystic energies washed over him, nothing happened. The ritual devolved into chaos and somehow he found his way out of the diablerists' grasp. He thinks there were others there who may have escaped, but he has never been sure. He wandered the wilderness in shock for a day or so, until he was found by a group of dwarven crusaders.

When they found him there was a short argument about whether they should take him as a slave, but when they heard his story, they decided to train him instead. They brought him back to Kenabres with them as a squire (not much better than a slave, but with more chance for advancement). They capitalized on his racial issues with arcane spellcasters and his natural talents for avoiding arcane energies. They taught him about monsters and their abilities. And about diablerists and demons. They also taught him of the Dwarven gods. His desires for vengeance against all diablerists (and specifically the cult that kidnapped him, if he can ever find them or figure out who they were) drew him to the worship of Dranngvit.

At just 16 years of age (a horribly immature age according to his dwarven mentors) he has finally stepped out into the world to make his place. Standing just shy of five and a half feet, he thinks of himself as tall since he has been around Dwarves so much. He can be sensitive about his lack of facial hair (but as he spends more time with non-dwarves this is beginning to fade). His deep mossy green skin is rough and calloused from years of weapon training. His burning red-orange eyes watch the world around him with scorn. His notched and pointed ears droop down when not hidden by his helm.

Pitborn tiefling BloodRager 1/Brawler 1/gestalt 1
CN Medium outsider (native)
Init +3; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +8
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
{}=raging ()=raging + enlarge person
AC 15 {13} (11) , touch 11 {9} (7), flat-footed 14 {12} (10) (+4 armor, +1 Dex)
hp 17 {19} (1d10+3+3+1)
Fort +6, Ref +3, Will +2 {+4)
Resist cold 5, electricity 5, fire 5
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 40 ft.
Melee Fist +5 {+7} (+8) ; 1d6+4 {1d6+6} (1d8+7)
Special Attacks
Spell-Like Abilities (CL 1st; concentration +3)
. . 1/day—shatter (DC 14)
Spells
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 18 {22} (24), Dex 13 (11), Con 16 {20}, Int 8, Wis 14, Cha 14
Base Atk +1; CMB +5; CMD 16
Feats Toughness; Improved Unarmed Strike;
Traits chance encounter, Reactionary
Skills Acrobatics +3; Intimidate +6; Perception +8; Sense Motive +6; Racial Modifiers +2 Disable Device, +2 Perception
Languages Abyssal, Common
SQ
Combat Gear Chainshirt (100gp); Potion of cure light wounds (50gp); Potion of shield of faith +2 (50gp); Potion of enlarge person (50gp); Dagger (2gp); Barbarians kit (9gp) {Backpack, belt pouch, blanket, flint and steel, iron pot, rope, soap, torches (10), trail rations (5 days), waterskin}; Gold (39);
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Exposed To Awfulness (1/day) Once per day when you fail a saving throw against an effect created by a demon that would kill or physically incapacitate you, you can immediately reroll that saving throw as a free action. You must take the second result, even if it is worse.
Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white vision only).
Energy Resistance, Cold (5) You have the specified Energy Resistance against Cold attacks.
Energy Resistance, Electricity (5) You have the specified Energy Resistance against Electricity attacks.
Energy Resistance, Fire (5) You have the specified Energy Resistance against Fire attacks.
Reactionary increase your Initiative Mod by 2
Fast Movement movement speed is increased by 10 ft per round
Bloodrage 7 rounds a day
Bloodline Abyssal
Bloodline Powers:
Claws At 1st level, you grow claws while bloodraging. These claws are treated as natural weapons, allowing you to make two claw attacks as a full attack, using your full base attack bonus. These attacks deal 1d6 points of damage each (1d4 if you are Small) plus your Strength modifier. At 4th level, these claws are considered magic weapons for the purpose of overcoming damage resistance. At 8th level, the damage increases to 1d8 points (1d6 if you are Small). At 12th level, these claws become flaming weapons, which deal an additional 1d6 points of fire damage on a hit.

Brawler’s Cunning If the brawler's Intelligence score is less than 13, it counts as 13 for the purpose of meeting the prerequisites of combat feats.
Martial Flexibility A brawler can take a move action to gain the benefit of a combat feat she doesn't possess. This effect lasts for 1 minute. The brawler must meet all the feat's prerequisites. She may use this ability a number of times per day equal to 3 + 1/2 her brawler level (minimum 1).
The brawler can use this ability again before the duration expires in order to replace the previous combat feat with another choice.
If a combat feat has a daily use limitation (such as Stunning Fist), any uses of that combat feat while using this ability count toward that feat's daily limit.
Martial Training At 1st level, a brawler counts her total brawler levels as both fighter levels and monk levels for the purpose of qualifying for feats. She also counts as both a fighter and a monk for feats and magic items that have different effects based on whether the character has levels in those classes (such as Stunning Fist and a monk's robe). This ability does not automatically grant feats normally granted to fighters and monks based on class level, namely Stunning Fist.
Unarmed Strike At 1st level, a brawler gains Improved Unarmed Strike as a bonus feat. A brawler may attack with fists, elbows, knees, and feet. This means that a brawler may make unarmed strikes with her hands full. A brawler applies her full Strength modifier (not half ) on damage rolls for all her unarmed strikes.
Usually, a brawler's unarmed strikes deal lethal damage, but she can choose to deal nonlethal damage instead with no penalty on her attack roll. She has the same choice to deal lethal or nonlethal damage while grappling.

this is about how Dray looks except he has slightly longer hair.

Livia Bayne
Female Lawful Good Aasimar (Idlylkin) Oracle of Life / Paladin (Sacred Shield), Level 1, Init 2, HP 13/13, Speed 20
AC 20, Touch 12, Flat-footed 18, CMD 14, Fort 5, Ref 2, Will 2, CMB +2, Base Attack Bonus 1
Scimitar +1 (1d6, 18-20/x2)
Breastplate, Heavy Steel Shield (+6 Armor, +2 Shield, +2 Dex)
Abilities Str 11, Dex 14, Con 18, Int 12, Wis 12, Cha 18
Condition None
Traits: Touched by Divinity, Seeker
Feats: Selective Channeling
Class Features: Channel Energy 1d6+1, Bastion of Good, Detect Evil
Skills: Heal +5, Perception +5, Spellcraft +5

Livia was born to Arryn and Valerie Bayne in the city of Kenabres sometime during the 4th Crusader; she is the youngest of three children, with two older brothers named Edgar and Wilem. The Bayne clan is a widely known for being devout, almost fanatical followers of Sarenrae and members of the Eagle's Watch faction. The family grew to prominence during the 3rd Crusade, as Livia's Grandfather Garet Bayne famously led a series of inquisitions that resulted in the execution of many suspected witches and agent provocateurs. Though Garet was steadfast in the righteousness of his deeds, some scholars debate whether the inquisitions were moral or effective. Tragically, or fortunately depending on a person's point of view, Garet himself was betrayed by forces within the Mendevian crusades, and was assassinated when Livia's father Arryn was still a young boy. Though Arryn remained a devout disciple of Sarenrae, being raised by his mother allowed for a more balanced outlook than that of his father, an outlook that led him to switch allegiance to the Everbright Crusaders.

Arryn himself had become a renown hero of the crusades, having led several successful campaigns into the Worldwound, though the crusades themselves were a failure. During one such raid, he rescued Valerie Warden, a woman of untold serenity whom appeared to be of celestial descent. They fell in love, and were married with children in short order. Arryn settled into a more relaxed and happy way of life, though he trained his children for their eventual service to Sarenrae. As such, Livia received combat training alongside her older brothers from a young age. Though she was physically smaller than her brothers, she kept pace with them and showed some martial ability in spite of the fact she detested violence. Ultimately, Livia showed a far more promising talent for channeling the divine and healing as she entered late adolescence, her very physical being seemingly brimming with positive energy. Her true gift for healing had clearly descended from her mother, who recognized that her child was manifesting great celestial powers. Sadly, her gift for healing appeared to come at a cost, as she gradually grew deaf as her healing power manifested ever more strongly. Though her deafness was cause for grief amongst her family, Livia herself viewed it as no more than a sacrifice for the power she had been blessed with. From the age of eighteen on, Livia trained to harness her natural talents, and in time became a sought after healer and medic in Kenabres.

Presently, Livia lives a peaceful and relatively happy life in Kenabres, rendering medical and divine healing services at various temples and hospitals within the city. Though not officially associated with the Church of Sarenrae, she is a devout follower of the Dawnflower, and regularly worships in her many temples.

Livia is of moderate height and slender build, though she is nevertheless very athletic and more formidable than she appears. While signs of her idylkin heritage are slightly elvish appearing ears and catlike yellow eyes, she otherwise appears as a lovely and graceful human girl in her early twenties.

She typically wears her hair up in a ponytail, mostly to keep it from her eyes when she is working. Whilst adventuring, she opts for rugged clothing, including thigh high boots of soft dark red leather, form fitting breeches of light grey, and a white studded leather jacket with red accents.

Height: 5'7
Weight: 112 lbs
Hair Chestnut Brown
Eyes: Yellow

Reference image

Livia has an infectious and magnetic personality, though privately she is somewhat more introspective. Most people she encounters would quickly describe her as bright, buoyant and rarely without a smile or kind word for the people of Kenabres. She is optimistic, and given to enjoying life and all it has to offer, almost in defiance to the tyranny and misery the Demon hordes would like to impose on the people of Golarion. Though she is more open and accepting of other races than her siblings, she sometimes has to fight off leering suspicions when around Tieflings or others with clearly some demonic heritage.

Keirsey Temperament Sorter: INFP

The infirmary doors flew open with a sudden bang, soldiers pouring in with wounded comrades slung over their shoulders, or carried on makeshift gurneys. The band of knights carried the banner of some knightly order or another, but it was tattered and blood stained; if they were fresh recruits, they were blooded and fresh no more.

Amidst the chaos, a lovely silver haired girl glided about, triaging all wounded in a methodical but not unkindly manner. She spoke quietly, though confidently as she directed an older caretaker who was following her around with a clipboard "Put this young man over there, and move this stretcher to the corner, I’ll tend to him in a moment." Before moving onto the next casualty, the young medic paused and stopped the stretcher she had just sent away to talk to a clearly frightened young man "Listen, everything will be fine, okay? We’ll take good care of you here." Her bedside manner was impeccable; the boy’s fate was uncertain, but he seemed to relax at her soothing voice and assured demeanor.

Suddenly, a hulking ulfen man in fullplate armor thundered into the infirmary. While every other caretaker in the facility immediately took notice of his entrance, the silver haired girl didn’t so much as move a muscle, her attention solely focused on the young boy in her care. As the ulfen man barked orders at various soldiers in his native tongue, it was clear to all and sundry that he was in charge. Suddenly, one of the soldiers pointed out the silver haired girl to the commanding officer, and he nodded as he barrelled towards her. He was a giant of man, nearly a foot taller than she was, yet the girl seemed oblivious to his intimidating presence. He appeared impatient, agitated and above all… angry "You there, girl, you’re in charge here? Your name?" The second question was evidently a command more than a query. Again, she paid him no attention, which only seemed to agitate him more. "Listen here now princess, I asked you a question!" The girl continued to pay him no mind, much to the horror of the soldiers in his unit; they feared him, and worried how he might respond to such impertinence. The commander’s face twisted into a horrible scowl, and he yelled as he grabbed at her shoulder and yanked her around to face him "Damn you! Answer me!"

To the commander’s surprise, the silver haired girl appeared frightened and shocked by his sudden action, seeming very much surprised to see the hulking ulfen commander. Recoiling back, she shook her head as the older woman with the clipboard stepped between them. To her credit, the old crone had the steely sense to put the commander in his place, obviously having dealt with such men in her time "Commander, that's enough! You’re obviously new to Kenabres, because if you were from around here, you’d know that this dear girl is deaf!" Immediately, the commander grew red faced and embarrassed by this revelation, and backed down enough to allow the old nurse to continue "Her name is Livia."

Turning around to the silver haired, the nurse made several gestures that were clearly sign language. Nodding understandingly, Livia appeared herself again, certain and no longer frightened as she faced commander "How can I help you commander?" She was cool and diplomatic under pressure, and clearly had plenty experience dealing with military types. The commander had obviously suffered a defeat, or at the very least a setback out in the Worldwound. Appearing somewhat mollified by her response, he relaxed slightly and gave a quick report to her "Our battalion was ambushed by vulture demons, cut us to shreds."

Livia studied his lips as he spoke, and softly interjected when she felt it necessary to impress upon the commander before letting him continued "Vrock. Frightening demons; their spores will grow into vines that can strangle a full-grown man. We’ll have to purify your soldiers to be safe." The ulfen man appeared annoyed at having been interrupted, but his expression changed quickly when he realized the gravity of the situation "Yes of course, spores. Yes, so we purify them then? Anyway, this is just the first wave of injured I’m afraid, you can expect dozens more." Looking over towards his men, he stroked his beard and appeared pensive and distracted "Can you handle his many?"

Livia smiled, and placed a hand gently on his arm to regain his attention "We can commander. Healing the injured is my gift from the Dawnflower, and it’s what we do here; your men will live to fight another day." Something about this girl's confidence put the commander at ease, and he smiled at her, probably the first time he had smiled in weeks.

Seemingly, it was she who was in charge now; she smiled assuredly while pointing towards the wall before quietly adding [B]"Now commander, go sit over on that bench. Your injuries are minor, so you’ll just have to wait."