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Korvosian Wizard

Irina Moretskya's page

340 posts. Alias of Nazard.


About Irina Moretskya

CONSUMABLES:

HP 20/23; non-lethal: 0

Healing Hex Targets
Herself [X]
Alma [X]
Warren [X]
Markov [X]
Trom []

Ammunition
crossbow bolts (6) [] [] [] [] [] []

Alchemical Items
alchemist's fire (1)

Spell-Like or Racial Abilities
prestidigitation (1) []

Class Abilities
tanglefoot bombs (DC 16) (7) [X] [X] [X] [] [] [] []
cognotogen (Intelligence) (1) []

Mind-Chemist Infusions
Firsts
cure light wounds (DC 16) [X]
expeditious retreat []
shield [X] []

Witch Spells
Prepared Cantrips
detect magic, guidance, message
Firsts
enlarge person [X]
obscuring mist []
silent image (DC 16) []

IRINA MORETSKYA

Female human Witch 1/Alchemist (Mind Chemist) 2
N Medium humanoid (human)
Init +2; Senses Perception +5 (+7 if Scree is near)

DEFENSE
AC 12 (+2 Dex), touch 12, flat-footed 10
CMD 11
HP 23(1d6+1+1+2d8+2)
Fort (3) +4, Ref (3) +5, Will (2) +1
Defensive Abilities None
Immunities None
Resistances +2 Poison resistance

OFFENSE
Speed 30 ft
Melee
morningstar -1 (1d8-2; 20/x2)
Ranged
light crossbow +3 (1d8; 19-20/x2; 80 feet)
bomb +3 (1d6+5 fire; 20/x2; 20 feet) (splash damage 6) (Reflex save DC 16)
Special Actions

STATISTICS
Abilities Str 7 (-2), Dex 14 (+2), Con 12 (+1), Int 20 (+5), Wis 8 (-1), Cha 12 (+1)
Base Attack +1; Melee Touch -1; Ranged Touch +3
CMB -1

Feats
Extra Hex (human): Irina knows one extra hex
Accursed Hex (1): target of Irina’s hex must make an additional Will save the next round if the first save passed.
Brew Potion (A1): able to brew magical potions
Throw Anything (A1): no non-proficiency penalties for throwing non-ranged weapons
Extra Discovery (3): learn the tanglefoot bomb discovery

Traits
Caretaker: +1 trait bonus to Heal
Magical Talent: cast prestidigitation once per day; CL 1

Skills
Craft (Alchemy) (3) +12
Heal (3) +6
Intimidate (3) +7
Knowledge (Arcana) (3) +16
Knowledge (Nature) (3) +16
Knowledge (History) (1) +9
Knowledge (Religion) (2) +12
Perception (3) 5 (+7 with Scree nearby)
Profession (Fortune Teller) (1) +3
Sense Motive (0) -1 (+1 with Scree nearby)
Spellcraft (3) +11
Use Magic Device (3) +7

Languages
Common, Elven, Celestial, Goblin, Giant, Draconic

MAGIC
Alchemist
Caster Level 2; Concentration +7; Spell Penetration +2
Abilities:
Bomb: 1d6+5 fire; 5 ft.-burst radius, splash 6 damage, and entangle (Reflex DC 16)
Cognotogen: At 1st level, a mindchemist learns how to create a cognatogen, as per the cognatogen discovery. This ability replaces the mutagen class ability (a mindchemist cannot create mutagens unless she selects mutagen* as a discovery).
Bomb (Su): In addition to magical extracts, alchemists are adept at swiftly mixing various volatile chemicals and infusing them with their magical reserves to create powerful bombs that they can hurl at their enemies. An alchemist can use a number of bombs each day equal to his class level + his Intelligence modifier. Bombs are unstable, and if not used in the round they are created, they degrade and become inert—their method of creation prevents large volumes of explosive material from being created and stored. In order to create a bomb, the alchemist must use a small vial containing an ounce of liquid catalyst—the alchemist can create this liquid catalyst from small amounts of chemicals from an alchemy lab, and these supplies can be readily refilled in the same manner as a spellcaster's component pouch. Most alchemists create a number of catalyst vials at the start of the day equal to the total number of bombs they can create in that day—once created, a catalyst vial remains usable by the alchemist for years.

Drawing the components of, creating, and throwing a bomb requires a standard action that provokes an attack of opportunity. Thrown bombs have a range of 20 feet and use the Throw Splash Weapon special attack. Bombs are considered weapons and can be selected using feats such as Point-Blank Shot and Weapon Focus. On a direct hit, an alchemist's bomb inflicts 1d6 points of fire damage + additional damage equal to the alchemist's Intelligence modifier. The damage of an alchemist's bomb increases by 1d6 points at every odd-numbered alchemist level (this bonus damage is not multiplied on a critical hit or by using feats such as Vital Strike). Splash damage from an alchemist bomb is always equal to the bomb's minimum damage (so if the bomb would deal 2d6+4 points of fire damage on a direct hit, its splash damage would be 6 points of fire damage). Those caught in the splash damage can attempt a Reflex save for half damage. The DC of this save is equal to 10 + 1/2 the alchemist's level + the alchemist's Intelligence modifier.

Alchemists can learn new types of bombs as discoveries (see the Discovery ability) as they level up. An alchemist's bomb, like an extract, becomes inert if used or carried by anyone else.

Discoveries:
Infusion (Ex): When the alchemist creates an extract, he can infuse it with an extra bit of his own magical power. The extract created now persists even after the alchemist sets it down. As long as the extract exists, it continues to occupy one of the alchemist's daily extract slots. An infused extract can be imbibed by a non-alchemist to gain its effects.

Tanglefoot Bomb (Su)*: A creature that takes a direct hit from a tanglefoot bomb must save against the bomb's DC or be entangled and glued to the floor as if it had failed its save against a tanglefoot bag. Creatures in the splash area that fail their saves are entangled but not glued to the floor; those who make this save are not entangled at all.

Spells Known
Level 1 adjuring step, cure light wounds (DC 16), detect secret doors, detect undead, expeditious retreat, illusion of calm (DC 16), shield, true strike

Witch
Caster Level 1; Concentration +6; Spell Penetration +1
Familiar - Scree (bat) +3 bonus to Fly checks, +2 to Perception and Sense Motive when within arm's reach; share spells

Hexes: DC 15
Slumber Hex: A witch can cause a creature within 30 feet to fall into a deep, magical sleep, as per the spell sleep. The creature receives a Will save to negate the effect. If the save fails, the creature falls asleep for a number of rounds equal to the witch's level. This hex can affect a creature of any HD. The creature will not wake due to noise or light, but others can rouse it with a standard action. This hex ends immediately if the creature takes damage. Whether or not the save is successful, a creature cannot be the target of this hex again for 1 day.

Healing: A witch can soothe the wounds of those she touches. This acts as a cure light wounds (DC 15) spell, using the witch's caster level. Once a creature has benefited from the healing hex, it cannot benefit from it again for 24 hours. At 5th level, this hex acts like cure moderate wounds (DC 15)

Spells Known
Level 0
arcane mark, bleed, dancing lights, daze (DC 15), detect magic, detect poison, guidance, light, mending, message, putrefy food and drink, read magic, resistance, spark, stabilize, touch of fatigue
Level 1
cause fear (DC 16), charm person (DC 16), cure light wounds (DC 16), enlarge person, hypnotism (DC 16), mage armour, obscuring mist, silent image (DC 16)

COINS
PP – 0
GP – 484
SP – 5
CP – 8

EQUIPMENT
Carrying Capacity: Light – 23 lbs; Medium – 46 lbs; Heavy = 70 lbs; Current – 22 lbs (Light) (22 lbs (Light) without backpack)

Weapons – light crossbow (35 gp, 4 lbs), bolts x 10 (1 gp, 1 lb), Morningstar (8 gp, 6 lbs)
Armour
Alchemical – alchemist’s fire (20 gp)
Other Combat Gear
Scrolls
Potions
Wands
Other Magic Items
Mundane Gear – backpack (2 gp, 2 lbs), spell component pouch (5 gp, 2 lbs), barbed vest (10 gp, 4 lbs), adventurer’s sash (20 gp, 3 lbs)
Backpack – candles x 20 (0.2 gp, -- lbs), needle and thread (0.5 gp, -- lbs)
Horse - saddle (10 gp, 25 lbs)), saddlebags (4 gp, 8 lbs), bit & bridle (2 gp, 1 lb), bedroll (0.1 gp, 5 lbs), blanket (0.5 gp, 3 lbs), waterskin (1 gp, 4 lbs)

BACKGROUND

Irina’s Story:

Irina Moretskya was living the life she had wanted ever since she was a little girl. Fensmoor is a tiny Lantian village of 150 nestled on the tiny strip of arable land between the rocky Giant’s Maw Forest and the swampy and sodden Mistmoors. The Moor Road, a hard-packed yet little-used offshoot of the Imperial Road splits the hamlet neatly in two. Visitors are rarer than a white calf, and outside influences never touch the picturesque little town – exactly as Irina and her family have always preferred.

Irina was the grand daughter and daughter of the village midwife and healer, who prepared extracts from components from the local swamp to use as medicines. Irina was fifteen when the plague came to Fensmoor. A horrible, wasting sickness, with high fevers, leaking boils, and death, Irina’s mother did her best to combat its spread. While in the end she succeeded in wiping it out, she herself fell as the disease’s final victim, leaving Irina alone to take up the mantle as Fensmoor’s resident medicine woman.

Irina was nineteen when Pietro Borgov, the handsome son of the local miller finally melted her resolve. The two were wed, and Pietro, knowing full well his wife’s important station within the village, moved into Irina’s hut with his new bride. While handsome, strong, and loyal, Pietro was a bit on the dumb side, though his seed was strong, and within months, Irina was expecting. At the appointed time, she gave birth to a daughter.

Madira was born into a loving household, and the entire village doted on her. She filled her parents with joy every day, and for almost two years, Irina’s life was perfect. Then, she arrived.

Clara. The village of Fensmoor would buzz with anticipation anytime a visitor arrived, and how much more they buzzed for his hero, this legend, this holy warrior, a valiant, shining beacon of purity and goodness. Every villager opened his home to the paladin. She dined at every table, spoke to every woman, kissed every child, and turned over every rock.

Clara loved Fensmoor, and Fensmoor loved her, so when Clara suggested to the mayor that the local jail was inhumane in its filthiness, of course, the citizens banded together to clean it up. When she suggested that old Mr. Comescu’s favourite book of adventuring stories was inappropriate because of its depiction of demons, naturally it was burned, along with every other book and tome the villagers could find which contained anything the paladin deemed inappropriate. The coals of the bonfire had barely cooled before Clara mentioned that black cats were often used by devils to spy upon the pure and faithful. Miss Melovich lost twelve of her dear friends and companions to the paladin’s mighty sword (all eagerly offered up by her own hand, of course, for who would ever think to anger Clara the archon of goodness herself). Then Clara happened to mention that some women have been known to do things that were unholy.

You need a man to fall in love with you? So-and-so’s aged grandmother once new a charm or herb for that. You need to know where to dig your next well? So-and-so’s great aunt knew how to manipulate a goat’s intestine to find the best source of water. You need to mend a grievous injury? There are magic potions for that, too, but these charms and brews come with a price, and not of the mortal kind. Women like this, Clara taught, lived like a cancer inside the healthy body of the village, infecting it with their evil. It would be sad, of course, but better for all for the people to find out these sinners, and expose them. And who would ever think to defy Clara.

Mothers-in-law were the first to be outed, sisters too, and then daughters who had one too many strange and rebellious teen-age idea. Of course, all were innocent and were eventually proven so, but not before a great deal of damage was done to the various families. Despite these failures, the hysteria over witch hunting ran hotter and more contagious than the great plague which had taken Irina’s mother.

Pietro completely fell for Clara, both her hysteria and her as a woman, and as befits a man of such little brain, he came to the natural conclusion that any woman who performed healing without the aid of the divine must also be a witch. One night, as Irina was laying her beloved daughter down into her bed, she heard a noise from outside, and a flickering light crept in through the shutters. Fifty men, all of whom owed their very existence to the skill of Irina’s mother’s birthing hands, stood before the hut on the edge of town, pitchforks in one hand, and lit torches in the other, all chanting for the witch to come out. At the head of the crowd, as befitting a person of her skill and station, stood Clara, one arm brandishing her holy sword, the other wrapped comfortingly around the waist of Pietro Borgov.

Enraged, Irina presented herself to the crowd, demanding that they leave, shaming them with stories of the many times Irina had selflessly aided and healed almost every person in that mob. But for every uneasy grimace she placed on their faces, Clara wiped it away with her calm rhetoric of purity and goodness. The crowd quickly turned against the “witch”. With little choice, Irina was forced to flee into the woods and fens surrounding her hut. Through luck, she was able to avoid the mob, and by the time they left, her husband had taken her daughter and left town with Clara. Irina searched for them for months, unable to track them down, with no success. After a year, she mourned the loss of her daughter. Since then, Irina has traveled the roads of the known world, dealing in cures, helping other villages when she could, but never staying too long in any one place. And everywhere she went, she made sure to teach the people the dangers of rumour, hysteria, and paranoia, which the holy warriors who think themselves better than all, are prone to spread.

The TRUTH:
Irina Moretskya was living the life she had wanted ever since she was a little girl. Fensmoor is a tiny Lantian village of 150 nestled on the tiny strip of arable land between the rocky Giant’s Maw Forest and the swampy and sodden Mistmoors. The Moor Road, a hard-packed yet little-used offshoot of the Imperial Road splits the hamlet neatly in two. Visitors are rarer than a white calf, and outside influences never touch the picturesque little town – exactly as Irina and her family have always preferred.

With outsiders, there is always the chance that someone will poke a little too deeply into their personal affairs. The villagers of Fensmoor have, for decades, been content to consult the kindly sages and healers who occupy the out-of-the-way hut outside of town. They would marvel at the potency of their brews and cures, and the accuracy of their psychic predictions, never once thinking that magic had anything to do with anything – which was exactly what the witches of Fensmoor wanted.

They were not an evil sort – not by any means, but common village folk were not the type to view somebody who consulted with a dark and mysterious power, who read fortunes in the entrails of rodents, and brewed elixirs from the toads, frogs, and other creatures of an icky bog as a shining paragon of virtue. So as long as the locals were ignorant, and content to continue supplying the ladies of the hut with game, grain, and goods, everybody was happy.

Irina was fifteen when the plague came to Fensmoor. A horrible, wasting sickness, with high fevers, leaking boils, and death, Irina’s mother did her best to combat its spread. While in the end she succeeded in wiping it out, she herself fell as the disease’s final victim, leaving Irina alone to take up the mantle as Fensmoor’s resident witch.

Irina was nineteen when Pietro Borgov, the handsome son of the local miller finally melted her resolve. The two were wed, and Pietro, knowing full well his wife’s important station within the village, moved into the Hut with his new bride. While handsome, strong, and loyal, Pietro also had the advantage of being quite dumb, making it quite a simply affair for Irina to hide her true nature. Her dark patron could not have cursed the union too much, as, within a month of the nuptials, Irina divined that she was expecting – a daughter.

Madira was born into a loving household, and the entire village doted on her. She filled her parents with joy every day, and for almost two years, Irina’s life was perfect. Then, she arrived.

Clara. The village of Fensmoor would buzz with anticipation anytime a visitor arrived, and how much more they buzzed for his hero, this legend, this holy warrior, a valiant, shining beacon of purity and goodness. Every villager opened his home to the paladin. She dined at every table, spoke to every woman, kissed every child, and turned over every rock.

Clara loved Fensmoor, and Fensmoor loved her, so when Clara suggested to the mayor that the local jail was inhumane in its filthiness, of course, the citizens banded together to clean it up. When she suggested that old Mr. Comescu’s favourite book of adventuring stories was inappropriate because of its depiction of demons, naturally it was burned, along with every other book and tome the villagers could find which contained anything the paladin deemed inappropriate. The coals of the bonfire had barely cooled before Clara mentioned that black cats were often used by devils to spy upon the pure and faithful. Miss Melovich lost twelve of her dear friends and companions to the paladin’s mighty sword (all eagerly offered up by her own hand, of course, for who would ever think to anger Clara the archon of goodness herself). Then Clara happened to mention that some women have been known to do things that were unholy.

You need a man to fall in love with you? So-and-so’s aged grandmother once new a charm or herb for that. You need to know where to dig your next well? So-and-so’s great aunt knew how to manipulate a goat’s intestine to find the best source of water. You need to mend a grievous injury? There are magic potions for that, too, but these charms and brews come with a price, and not of the mortal kind. Women like this, Clara taught, lived like a cancer inside the healthy body of the village, infecting it with their evil. It would be sad, of course, but better for all for the people to find out these sinners, and expose them. And who would ever think to defy Clara.

Mothers-in-law were the first to be outed, sisters too, and then daughters who had one too many strange and rebellious teen-age idea. Of course, all were innocent and were eventually proven so, but not before a great deal of damage was done to the various families. Despite these failures, the hysteria over witch hunting ran hotter and more contagious than the great plague which had taken Irina’s mother.

As befits a man of such little brain, it took Pietro a good while to connect his wife’s hobby with the warnings of the paladin. One night, as Irina was laying her beloved daughter down into her bed, she heard a noise from outside, and a flickering light crept in through the shutters. Fifty men, all of whom owed their very existence to the skill of Irina’s mother’s birthing hands, stood before the hut on the edge of town, pitchforks in one hand, and lit torches in the other, all chanting for the witch to come out. At the head of the crowd, as befitting a person of her skill and station, stood Clara, one arm brandishing her holy sword, the other wrapped comfortingly around the waist of Pietro Borgov.

Enraged, Irina presented herself to the crowd, demanding that they leave, shaming them with stories of the many times Irina had selflessly aided and healed almost every person in that mob. But for every uneasy grimace she placed on their faces, Clara wiped it away with her calm rhetoric of purity and goodness. The crowd quickly turned against the witch.

Stunned at the betrayal, by both her husband and her friends, Irina lost control. She called curses down upon the houses and crops of every man before her. She willed boils upon their flesh, frogs into their wells, and all manner of disease and misfortune to befall them. As the mob moved in to apprehend her, she struck back with sleeping curses, causing several to fall, but it wasn’t enough to turn the tide, and Irina did the only thing she could – she summoned a mist to hide her escape and fled into the fens, leaving behind her traitorous husband and villagers, her sweet and innocent baby girl, and the miserable wretch who ruined her life – Clara, the paladin.

Since then, Irina has traveled the roads of the known world, dealing in cures, helping other villages when she could, but never staying too long in any one place. And everywhere she went, she made sure to teach the people the dangers of rumour, hysteria, and paranoia, which the holy warriors who think themselves better than all, are prone to spread.

Irina looks forward to the day when she can bring down a paladin as she was brought down. And if that paladin happens to be Clara herself, so much the better.

DESCRIPTION
Irina is a woman in her late twenties, with a few streaks of grey cascading from her temples in her waist-length brown hair (usually done up in a thick braid down her back). Her black eyes are like pinpricks of coal, which match her traveling robes. Fetishes and bizarre components are stuck everywhere on her clothes: in little pockets both inside and outside her robes, threaded through her hair, and on leather cords around her neck.

SCREE
Male bat Familiar 1
NG Diminutive magical beast
Init +2; Senses Perception +6, Sense Motive +2, blindsense 20 feet, low-light vision

DEFENSE
AC 17 (Dex +2, size +4, natural +1), touch 16, flat-footed 15
CMD 3
HP 3
Fortitude (2) +0, Reflex (2) +4, Will (2) +4
Defensive Abilities Improved Evasion
Immunities None
Resistances None

OFFENSE
Speed 5 feet, fly 40 feet (good)
MELEE
bite +6 (1d3-5; 20/x2)
Special Actions
None

STATISTICS
Abilities Str 1 (-5), Dex 15 (+2), Con 6 (-2), Int 6 (-2), Wis 14 (+2), Cha 5 (-3)
Base Attack +0, Melee Touch +6, Ranged Touch +6, CMB -2

FEATS
Weapon Finesse (1): Dex used instead of Str on attack rolls

SKILLS
Fly (1) +16
Perception (0) +6
Craft - Alchemy (1) -1
Heal (1) +3
Intimidate (1) -2
Knowledge - Arcana (1) -1
Knowledge - Nature (1) -1
Profession - Fortune Teller (1) +3
Spellcraft (1) -1

LANGUAGES
None


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