Backpack 2gp 2lbs
bedroll .1gp 5lbs
Scroll Case 1 gp .5 lbs
flint and steel 1gp
Bullseye Lantern and oil 15gp
Small steel mirror
Crowbar 2gp 5lbs
Rations Trail 5days 2.5gp
Grappling Hook 1gp
Rope 100' 2gp 20lbs
Portable Alchemy Lab 75g 20 lbs
Alchemests kit 25 gp
50 iron vials 5gp
Tanglefoot Bag 25gp SC
Smokestick x2 20gp SC
sunrod x5 25gp SC
Alchemist fire x5 50 gp SC
Poisons[Not sure on cost/implementation for this...150gp worth?]
Ioun Torch 75gp
Potion Enlarge Person x5 125gp Self Crafted('SC')
Potion Shield x5 125gp SC
Potion True Strike x2 50gp SC
Potion Cure light wounds x2 50 gp SC
Potion Exp. retreat x2 50 gp SC
Potion Disguise Self x2 50 gp SC
Wand of Cure Light (1d8+1) 50chg. 750gp
Wand of Mage Armor 50chg, 750gp
Remaining Gold 25gp - Weight ~100 lbs
Rahjin , at only 120 years of age is still a young elf, and his childhood has been difficult and unrelenting, almost like a progressive diatribe, but each time Rahjin has simply continued to roll with the punches, drudging forward as best he can. He is, as far as he knows, the only survivor of his family. He and his twin sister were raised by their father and their older sister most of their life. He never knew his mother, but though he could never get his gruff old man to admit to anything, he is fairly certain that she was the reason they came to the River Kingdoms in the first place. His older sister would occasionally make excuses for the old man, after he’d lost his temper in the bottom of his glass some nights. One night she told Rahjin and Raein the story of how they had used to live in a great city, an Elvin city, that was both beautiful and timeless, a gleaming refuge against the dangerous and ever changing onslaught of the rest of Golarion upon their proud people. She told how their father, while nothing grandiose, was an honest workman, an Apothecary; a better man than the pitiful sod before them now. Their mother however was swayed by the passion, fire, and station of one of the cities few visitors, a powerful human Invoker. When the tryst was uncovered, the two adulterers left their lives behind them with nary a second thought. Shamed and infuriated, their father did his best to track them down, but a life on the move was no good for their small family, and the trail went cold here in the river kingdoms. Resigned to his pseudo-exile, their father attempted to ply his trade in their new home and was somewhat successful; the other people of Golarion didn’t seem to deride the alchemist’s profession as a demeaning subdomain of wizardry as he had been chided for back home. Under the slow crush of time however, and with a maiming accident as a catalyst the man became despondent and bitter about his circumstances, falling into his drink. It was at about this time, 60 years ago, Rahjin first remembers the silent grey cloaked figures appearing at the apothecary. The men-the only few other elves Rahjin has ever seen- would always show up, and their father, regardless of his condition, would snap to attention and hurry them into his workshop to work for days without stop, before finally silently sending them on their way.
Things continued like this for another decade or so, his father becoming more and more obsessed with the work he undertook for these hooded men. Even this furtive attempt at normalcy was soon shattered though when their father discovered that the eldest daughter was romancing a migrant farmer whom had ventured into the area; a farmer who was well over 1/3rd orcblooded. As one could imagine, this didn’t sit well, and in a rage he turned her out from the house, even unto pain of death. Rahjin heard rumors some years later that while traveling with that orc, the two fell victim to plague.
The warm caring touch of their elder sister gone, the two remaining children were subjected to harsh, even radical treatment. They were effectively under house arrest, lest they come into contact with any n’er do wells out and about town. Secluded. Isolated. Safe. For quite some time all the twins knew was the tenderings of their now likely crazed father. He would babble and rave about how it used to be. About the past, their old home, and how the three of them had all come to be in this mess. About all that was wrought unfairly against them. How this was the cost of meddling with the short-lived races. But the crazed old man had a plan, and he began the process of shaping his remaining two offspring to be strong. To be capable, self-sufficient, tough, and above all, avengers for their family. They had a daily exercise regimen, and they were indoctrinated in all the father could remember of their racial history, of their culture, and most importantly of their traditional weapons and combat styles, as well as the art of alchemy. Rahjin in particular had the capabilities and latent abilities to enhance the base alchemical works he was taught by his father into even more potent, magical effects. The twins also became test subjects for all manner of toxins, venoms, and contaminants their father produced for the hooded strangers. Their robust fortitudes handled the weakened strains well, but the beatings, thrashings, labor, and tinctures left an indelible mark on both their bodies. To this day Rahjin has severe scarification upon his face back and upper torso, thinned wispy white hair, as well as several burst veins and abscessed boils from relapsed conditions.
From this condition, the twins were obstensiouly ‘rescued’ by a local militia looking to pressgang new recruits during a local spat between two rival would be river kings. They may have been called an army, but they were little better than bandits and thugs. The twins were utilized as scouts to take advantage of their natural abilities and the two watched and observed as the army, like a cloud of disgusting locusts, would swarm from one town or thorp to another, friendly and enemy alike, and eat their fill, kill those that opposed them, and regularly abuse all their privileges and their vaunted ‘River Freedoms.’ The twins became disgusted with the behavior of these people, whom when left to their own devices seemed incapable of anything but bringing about destruction and pain even unto their own. They continued their service for several years, until one day Raien caught the attentions of one particularly vile captain, another elf even, while they were making their scouting report. When she rebuffed his callous advances and the two left, the captain refused to let the slight go. Months later after returning from maneuvers the two got separated, and when he finally found her, Raein was being loaded into a prisoner wagon, with 4 dead men spread about the tavern behind her, the captains trousers still lowered from his ill-fated attempt. Desperate to help her and find her though he was, leadership was silent as to her fate. Ultimately, Rahjin was forced to elicit the truth, as well as his discharge papers, from a smarmy democrat after offering the man an antidote to a unique, and quite painful, poison Rahjin had created just for this occasion. As far as he knows, despite slavery being illegal technically in the river kingdoms, Raien was sold into bondage and clandestinely sent down the rivers to Cheliax. He has little hope of ever seeing her again.
He returned home that year, only to find that his father had passed away in the mean time, dead drunken in some gutter. With little else on the horizon, Rahjin resigned himself to working the Apothecary, hoping to maybe save up enough to travel down to Cheliax and find Raein, or maybe to just discover where it was exactly his father had come from, and return to that shining light on the hill that was all that he’d ever known to dream for. That was, until the hooded elves returned once more to that run-down apothecary out in the wilds of the river kingdoms.
Looking for his aide they came, but it was their aide, the aid of the Shin’Rakorath that Rahjin needs. It is with their help, through this organization he has found what he hopes and dreams is a home. A place where he might be able to finally experience firsthand all the greatness of his people, and earn his rightful place among them; justify his and his father’s work in alchemy rather than wizardry. A place where his talents and skills can be put to use punishing those short lived, heathen cultures that would dare intrude and contaminate the pristine nature of his heritage; and even more-so the dangerous traitors among them who would see their people assimilate, collude, and eventually disappear under the oppressive gathering of the non Elvin peoples.
He is under few illusions as to the work he may be doing though, and considers it an honor if and when he is given the opportunity to make Golarion a better, safer place for his people, even if there is no place in the world his hands are making for himself beyond the Shin'Rakorath itself.
Rahjin isn't pretty. That is the first, and truest impression of his character as well as his appearance. He is heavily scarred, and even looks mildly gangly, sickly, and pale. Despite that, there is a rugged sense of grit and toughness in his stance and demeanor.
He prefers simple, effecient attire. Often little more than simple traveling boots and sturdy britches with a warm tunic under his simple chain shirt. Sloppily hand sewn and tailored are innumerable little pockets, tags, cords and other devices he uses to hold any number of random alchemical reagents, poisons,potions, vials and tools of all descriptions, all padded and adjusted to make as little noise and rattle as possible in any manner of vigirous movement he may spring into. His hair, what little is left, is left unkempt, and while he washes himself regularly enough, its obvious that its for the benefit of those around him more than any sense of hygiene.
His mood is often dour, as he has a tendancy to be a wee bit...pessimistic in most his outlooks. Past his gruffness though is a rather deep-seeded sense of stoicism and caring for the home and people he has never before had a chance to know. He is heavily introverted, and task oriented. He has an aloof, almost clinical cold point of view many others would seem to find as insensitive and unempathetic; the occasions he does act in a manner descriped as caring and compassionate seem mildly creepy...odd, or off somehow. This isn't so much the case, as he does have a highly devolped sense of empathy, but his view on physical pain and suffering are simply more detached. From both his work and his life,he has become acutley aware of the anatomy and workings of the elfin and generally humanoid biology.Pain, both his own and others, is less a cruelty and thing to be avoided, as much as an undeveloped, and in his opinion, under-utlized emotion and form of expression. These views, he realizes, aren't as common or easily understood, and he does his best to 'fake' what he has come to believe are the standard reactions to these situations.
Until recently, Rahjin knew and cared little about the gods of Golarion. They simply werent an important part of his every day life. He never found nor even looked to them for solace, or strength through his struggles. Recently however, he has become enamored with the faith of Calistria. His faith is new and budding, as he finds solace in her teachings on trickery and more importantly, Revenge.