1.) GM Edwin's Jade Regent (Inactive)

Game Master Insnare

Marten Gorlan

Personal account of events leading to his visit of Kalsgard:

I have never considered the life of your run of the mill adventurer to be of particular interest to me. It seemed weird to be going from place to place hoping to be hired for a job of (often) questionable profitability. And why go on adventure if there is no profit in it. Instead I dreamed to become an investigator since early childhood. As I was growing up in orphanage, I looked for a role model and I found one in an agent of Sleepless Agency who was investigating a strange murder in our little town. I followed him and his team around and eventually run after them when the murder was solved and they left the town.
My abilities and skills I later developed did not lie in one of the classic professions one associates with detectives but my keen intellect helped and after several years I was able to get my dream job. I was part of a team of highly skilled and diverse individuals. Problem was, while we were quite skilled we were all just upstarts and did not have the wisdom to back down and walk away from a job. And that proved to be our undoing.
Our last assignment led us to follow a certain individual in Ostenso, a major port city of Cheliax. We tailed him to a meeting. It turned out it was a highly secret meeting and he was most likely a highly placed member of Aspis Consortium. And they like to keep their identities secret. Through some very unfortunate circumstances our stakeout was discovered. We had abort and leave. We even decided to split and lie down for a while, than meet again after a year.
There were five of us in the team. Only three of us met the following year. We found out the other two died under strange circumstances. We got really scared. And that was before we met the guy in red mantis mask.
Now I am the last one. Always running, never staying more than a week in one place. I must have traveled through the whole Avistan. Several times I thought I found a perfectly safe haven for me, only to find out later I had been mistaken. There was always some sign I have been discovered. People could say I am paranoid. I might be. That does not mean they are not still after me. Now I got to the north and have to decide where to go next. Maybe join one of the caravans traveling across the Crown of the World. It would be dangerous. But for me, it might be safer than the alternatives. Hopefully, they will not follow me there…

Halfling Oracle 4
CG Small humanoid (halfling)
Init +2; Senses Perception +3
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 12, touch 12, flat-footed 11 (+1 Dex, +1 size)
hp 27 (4d8+4)
Fort +3, Ref +4, Will +6; +2 vs. fear
Weakness oracle's curses (lame)
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed
Special Attacks channel energy
Oracle Spells Known (CL 4th; concentration +8):
2nd (4/day)—spiritual weapon, lesser restoration, cure moderate wounds
1st (7/day)—shield of faith, bless, endure elements, cure light wounds, detect undead
0 (at will)—guidance, purify food and drink (DC 14), detect magic, create water, light, read magic
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 10, Dex 14, Con 12, Int 12, Wis 12, Cha 19
Base Atk +3; CMB +2; CMD 13
Feats Rapid Reload, Selective Channeling
Traits fast-talker, well-informed
Skills Acrobatics +2, Bluff +9, Climb +0, Diplomacy +11 (+12 to gather information), Escape Artist +2, Fly +2, Handle Animal +11, Heal +10, Knowledge (history) +5, Knowledge (local) +7, Knowledge (nature) +5, Knowledge (planes) +5, Knowledge (religion) +6, Perception +3, Ride +4, Sense Motive +7, Spellcraft +7, Stealth +6, Survival +5, Swim +0; Racial Modifiers +2 Perception
Languages Common, Dwarven, Halfling
SQ fearless, mysteries (life), revelations (healing hands, oracle channel positive energy)
Other Gear 6000 GP
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Special Abilities
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Fearless +2 racial bonus vs Fear saves.
Healing Hands (Ex) +4 Heal, improve effectiveness of Heal skill
Lame One of your legs is permanently wounded, reducing your base land speed by 10 feet if your base speed is 30 feet or more. If your base speed is less than 30 feet, your speed is reduced by 5 feet. Your speed is never reduced due to encumbrance. At 5th
Oracle Channel Positive Energy 2d6 (5/day) (DC 16) (Su) Positive energy heals the living and harms the undead; negative has the reverse effect.
Rapid Reload (Light crossbow) You can reload fast with one type of Crossbow or Firearm.
Selective Channeling Exclude targets from the area of your Channel Energy.
Well-Informed (Knowledge [local]) +1 Gather Information and Knowledge (Local), and one of these is a class skill.

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Morthar The Scholar is an intriguing diabolist by any standard, born a slave in Cheliax Morthar rose to diabolical power by arranging himself to be the slave of a student in the Egorian Academy. The student never dreamed that Morthar was actually intelligent and capable of gleaming far more knowledge out of the texts the student brought to his room then the student himself could. Morthar however did and one night the student died in what appeared to be a summoning spell gone wrong.

It was assumed that Morthar himself had been carried off by the fiend back to it's home. Morthar in truth arranged the whole thing and had escaped, his destination was Korvosa where he could learn more of the diabolical arts. He did, in Korvosa the arts diabolical flourished and so did he for a time. Eventually however Morthar found that at least for the moment Korvosa could teach him nothing more and then he set off to become a mercenary. It was during this time that at the age of twenty Morthar joined a group called the Sandpoint Swords, a group of mercs based in Sandpoint among there number stood the elven ranger known as Shalelu.

This was nearly seventy years ago and now Morthar finds himself in the path of that elven lass, for she may not have known but old Morthar was keeping an eye on her...

Morthar early on recognized an essential reality to a warlock's survival, one must not be a pawn... Instead of making a pact with the first devil he found capable of creating such a pact Morthar leafed through the ranks of fiends to find the ideal patron and so he did. Morthar located the highly obscure Heresy Devil called Ivagaurn, like all heresy devils Ivagaurn was a diabolical scholar who knew the secrets of ancient heresies and forgotten sorceries. However Ivagaurn had not been quite as..."politically astute" as his fellow devils and as a result he had little power.

This changed when Morthar made his pact with the devil to further his interests in exchange for diabolical power, unfortunately for Ivagaurn Morthar was not a "pawn"...he was a bishop or perhaps even a "queen". Morthar had systematically eliminated all written records of his patron and by doing so virtually isolated his patron from any other possible source of mortal minions. Further more everything Ivagaurn has accomplished on the mortal plane would be either obliterated or vastly diminished if Morthar were to die or worse yet switch diabolical allegiances. As such everything his patron has is pinned on this one "pawn" and as such Morthar has wheedled out many concessions from his patron. One of these concessions is the secret of long life, while not truly a state of immortality Morthar will live a lifespan three times a normal human's thanks to his patron's efforts.

Morthar has made himself both essential to his Patron and has attained what must be considered to be "life time pact security". As besides just obliterating all (known) mortal records of his patron he also has another thing going for him: Reputation. Morthar is not just an incompetent failed apprentice of a wizard seeking power, he is a capable and lethal warlock that gets things done. If Morthar wanted to change his pact Hell would have dozens of devils ranging the spectrum of powerful devils (matron devil+) who would give Morthar a powerful pact. Ivangaurn knows this all too well...

When Morthar joined the Sandpoint Swords his diabolical ties were not known to them, they weren't exactly a goody two shoe bunch but they weren't outright villains either. They were true mercenaries and eventually they bit off more then they could chew. They signed on to guard a wizard's tower from his rival, a terrifying orc witch doctor and his orc horde. It was forty mercenaries, a mage and a warlock against a horde of orcs led by one of the most feared witch doctors in the land.

The siege lasted for a week, during which time a hundred orcs died and three forths of the defenders had been slain, the end was near and they all knew it. Due to Shalelu's known disapproval of diabolists and the like (elves...) and his attempts to woo her Morthar had abstained from using his most hideous and horrifying powers against the orc horde for fear of her rejecting his (so far) successful overtures. However things were desperate and Morthar figured that Shalelu and the rest of the Swords would be grateful if he turned the tide of battle in their favor. He did that by calling upon his patron to grant him a brief surge in power, within minutes squads of dead orcs and slain Swords were possessed by the damned and the tide was turned.

Morthar had been half right, the Swords and the Wizard were pragmatic enough to be grateful for Morthar saving their hides... Shalelu however was horrified by what he had done, she did not openly attack or rebuke him but the look of betrayal on her face and the fact that she fled the company of the swords told all that had to be told. Morthar has since kept his eye on her, hoping that as she ages Shalelu may become wiser and recognize that Morthar was simply using what was available to save her neck...

If there was one thing you learned as an Irrisen noble it was that disrespecting nobility was a cardinal sin and punishable by death. Whipping insubordinate servants was one of Barthos earliest childhood memories and a cause of many adulthood nightmares.
However he had underestimated how persistent the Jadwiga were in their pursuit of insubordinate male nobles. It had been over 6 months that he had made his flight to the Lands of Linnorm Kings but they would not relent. Not even shaving his head growing and dying a beard had been of any use. First the Goblin assassins, that had been mighty close, now this here mess.
Barthos flicked the girl’s blood off his blade feeling sorry for her misguided ambition. Her companion, that big oath was still sleeping soundly. For a short moment Barthos considered to slit the Ulfen’s throat but decided against it. He didn’t want to be that way, not any more. He had committed enough atrocities in the name of the Jadwiga to last a lifetime.
Then he had an idea, he looked at his pinky then the girls index finger and figured they’d be similar enough. He cursed himself for doing something so despicable but it would likely prevent further bloodshed, particularly his own.
“What has become of us Hubertus?” the small man asked the toad peering out of his pocket and whose keen senses he likely had to thank for his life once again. The toad merely croaked and Barthos’ blade came down cleanly severing the finger. A few arcane gestures and words later the finger was burning and Barthos put the fire out with a handful of snow. Pleased with the result he turned to the warrior finger in one hand blade in the other. The large Ulfen man was just beginning to wake but Barthos decided to kick him in the side just a bit to make a point. As the man woke and stared down a blade he began to stammer but Barthos cut him short.
“I’m not interested in anything you have to say!” Barthos said with determination. “You have three options. Die here and now. Return to Irrisen and tell my mother you failed her and that her niece is dead as well. Both of these options most likely will result in my mother seeing to it that you’re wife children and parents are also executed for your failings. ” Barthos lets that hang there for a moment before going on “Or you take along this finger claim it to be mine, that I was burned badly by her fire, none the less skewered her and that you were able to take me out in my weakened state. You will be rewarded handsomely and likely handed a respectable position in the military.” The Ulfen man looks at Barthos grimly but makes no move.
“I for my part vow to never return to Irrisen, actually I just heard about a Caravan heading east. Perhaps they have need for another guard.”
The Ulfen nods and extends his hand. “You have a deal!”

Barthos is a scion of Irrisen nobility and possesses the typical haughty manner so typical of his descent. However what he lacks is the penchant for cruelty otherwise so typical for the Jadwiga. Instead the young man has a very keen sense of freedom and thus has grown to despise his homeland and particularly his kin.
Riddled by a guilty conscience of his misdeeds Barthos is a man who finds himself in constant emotional turmoil, wishing to overcome his past but finding that he cannot fully escape from who he was.

Barthos is a wiry man of short stature. He wears his head shaven and a dark beard both in order to hide the snow white hair so typical of the Jadwiga.
His eyes are ice blue and his handsome features tend to be marred by a regal expression.
The man walks with the gate of a seasoned warrior and wears a shirt of fine chain underneath a dark brown leather west. A large green toad tends to hide in the left pocket of his exquisite cloak.

Male human warlock (Devil Pact) 4
LN Medium humanoid (human)
Init +4; Senses Perception +0

DEFENSE

AC 15, touch 10, flat-footed 15 (+5 armor)
hp 23 (4d8)
Fort +2, Ref +2, Will +7
Defensive Abilities

OFFENSE

Speed 30 ft.
Melee
Ranged
Special Attacks Mystic Blast (2d6)
Spell like abilities Repurpose Foe, Gate Breacher, Explosive Shield
Special Abilities Hellfire, Lash of the Slaver, Devil Kin, Unwelcome, Blast Trait: Terrifying

STATISTICS

Str 10, Dex 10, Con 10, Int 16, Wis 10, Cha 19 (16+2+1)
Base Atk +3; CMB +0; CMD 10
Feats Improved Initiative, Elaborate Contract, Iron Will
Skills Knowledge (planes, religion, arcana) 10+, Diplomacy 11+, Intimidate 12+, Sense Motive 8+, Use Magic Device 11+
Languages Common, Abyssal, Infernal
traits, Fiendish Confidence and Outcast's Intuition
SQ Pact, Blast Trait, Patron's Reward
equipment 1+ Chain Shirt (1100 gp), Cloak of Resistance 1+ (1000 gp), Potion of Invisibility 3 (900 gp), Potion of Cure Light Wounds 12 (600 gp), Potion of Levitate 1 (300 gp) and cold iron dagger (4 gp).

Morthar is a focused individual, he has both the charisma to sway you and the intelligence to manipulate you. Morthar is a student of knowledge and does not shirk from the dark secrets and forgotten heresies so many others fear. While he is still a warlock and ultimately at heart a ruthless being Morthar is not truly evil, he is simply far too much of a pragmatist to succumb to evil as a life style. Morthar's pragmatism shows itself when dealing with bandits, he is perfectly willing to allow a captured bandit to escape the noose if the bandit will betray his comrades... Morthar is willing to use both good and evil to achieve his own ends.

Morthar's face is a ruggedly handsome one that has seen some wear and tear, his pale white skin and dark hair paint him clearly as a chelexian. He wears a chain shirt composed of red links and a cloak and hood of black material. Morthar stands at just under six feet tall and walks with the gate of a man who has seen and fought much and lived to tell the tale...

School evocation
Spell Level 1
Casting Time 1 standard action
Components S, V
Range Personal
Target You
Effect Arcane energy crackles as it surrounds the caster’s
body. Any creature that makes a successful melee attack
against, attempt to grapple, or otherwise touches the caster
takes 1d6 points of damage per 4 caster levels. Attacks with
reach weapons do not triggerthe effects of this incantation.
Once per day when this
incantation is in effect, the caster may end the duration of
the incantation in order to deal 1d6 damage per 4 caster
levels (to a maximum of 5d6 at 20th level) to all creatures
within 15 feet (Reflex halves). If the caster discharges the
incantation in this way, they may not activate this
incantation again for one hour.
Duration 1 round/level
Saving Throw none and Reflex halves (see text); Spell Resistance
Yes

School necromancy
Spell Level 1
Casting Time 1 standard action
Components S, V
Range Close (25 ft. + 5 ft/2 levels)
Target One corpse
Effect The caster infuses a nearby corpse with his own
eldritch essence, controlling it like a magical puppet.
The targeted corpse is reanimated as a zombie as per the
animate dead spell except as noted here. The corpse’s HD
may not exceed the caster’s caster level. The caster may
give the zombie commands telepathically as a free action.
At the end of the spell’s duration, the zombie crumbles
to dust as its bones and flesh are degraded by the caster’s
volatile magic. The corpse may not afterwards be animated
as an undead creature.
If the caster’s caster level is at least 10, the duration of this
incantation changes to 1 minute per level.
Duration 1 round/level
Saving Throw none; Spell Resistance no

School conjuration (summoning)
Spell Level 1
Casting Time 1 full-round action
Components S, V
Range Close (25 ft. + 5ft. /level
Effect Terrible things exist behind invisible gates. The
caster possesses the power to pry open such gates, however
briefly. This incantation functions as summon monster
I except as noted here. At 3rd level, and every 2 levels
thereafter, the power of this ability increases by one spell
level, allowing her to summon more powerful creatures
(to a maximum of summon monster VII at 17th level). A
caster may not have more than one summon monster effect
active through the use of this ability at a time. Creatures
summoned in this way are sometimes hostile to everyone,
including the caster. Each time this ability is used, there is
a 5% chance that the summoned creature will be free of the
caster’s control and attack the nearest creature each turn.
Such creatures cannot be dismissed by the caster.
Duration 1 round/level (D)
Saving Throw none; Spell Resistance no

If there was one thing you learned as an Irrisen noble it was that disrespecting nobility was a cardinal sin and punishable by death. Whipping insubordinate servants was one of Barthos earliest childhood memories and a cause of many adulthood nightmares.
However he had underestimated how persistent the Jadwiga were in their pursuit of insubordinate male nobles. It had been over 6 months that he had made his flight to the Lands of Linnorm Kings but they would not relent. Not even shaving his head growing and dying a beard had been of any use. First the Goblin assassins, that had been mighty close, now this here mess.
Barthos flicked the girl’s blood off his blade feeling sorry for her misguided ambition. Her companion, that big oath was still sleeping soundly. For a short moment Barthos considered to slit the Ulfen’s throat but decided against it. He didn’t want to be that way, not any more. He had committed enough atrocities in the name of the Jadwiga to last a lifetime.
Then he had an idea, he looked at his pinky then the girls index finger and figured they’d be similar enough. He cursed himself for doing something so despicable but it would likely prevent further bloodshed, particularly his own.
“What has become of us Hubertus?” the small man asked the toad peering out of his pocket and whose keen senses he likely had to thank for his life once again. The toad merely croaked and Barthos’ blade came down cleanly severing the finger. A few arcane gestures and words later the finger was burning and Barthos put the fire out with a handful of snow. Pleased with the result he turned to the warrior finger in one hand blade in the other. The large Ulfen man was just beginning to wake but Barthos decided to kick him in the side just a bit to make a point. As the man woke and stared down a blade he began to stammer but Barthos cut him short.
“I’m not interested in anything you have to say!” Barthos said with determination. “You have three options. Die here and now. Return to Irrisen and tell my mother you failed her and that her niece is dead as well. Both of these options most likely will result in my mother seeing to it that you’re wife children and parents are also executed for your failings. ” Barthos lets that hang there for a moment before going on “Or you take along this finger claim it to be mine, that I was burned badly by her fire, none the less skewered her and that you were able to take me out in my weakened state. You will be rewarded handsomely and likely handed a respectable position in the military.” The Ulfen man looks at Barthos grimly but makes no move.
“I for my part vow to never return to Irrisen, actually I just heard about a Caravan heading east. Perhaps they have need for another guard.”
The Ulfen nods and extends his hand. “You have a deal!”

Barthos is a scion of Irrisen nobility and possesses the typical haughty manner so typical of his descent. However what he lacks is the penchant for cruelty otherwise so typical for the Jadwiga. Instead the young man has a very keen sense of freedom and thus has grown to despise his homeland and particularly his kin.
Riddled by a guilty conscience of his misdeeds Barthos is a man who finds himself in constant emotional turmoil, wishing to overcome his past but finding that he cannot fully escape from who he was.

Barthos is a wiry man of short stature. He wears his head shaven and a dark beard both in order to hide the snow white hair so typical of the Jadwiga.
His eyes are ice blue and his handsome features tend to be marred by a regal expression.
The man walks with the gate of a seasoned warrior and wears a shirt of fine chain underneath a dark brown leather west. A large green toad tends to hide in the left pocket of his exquisite cloak.

Ability Score
STR 16
DEX 12
CON 12
INT 20
WIS 8
CHA 10
Init +2 Perception +5 Darkvision
HP: 34 AC: 16(FF 15/T 16) CMD: 17 CMB: +6 BAB: +3
Wil: +3 FORT: +5 REF +2
+1 Longsword +7 1d8+3 (19-20x2)
Dagger +7 1d4+3 (19-20/x2)

Feats: Enforcer, Extra Arcana: Arcane Accuracy
Traits: Pragmatic Activator, Seeker
Racial Abilities:Dual Talent
Class Abilities: Spell Combat, Spell Strike, Arcana: Familiar, Hex: Slumber

Spellbook
Cantrips Brand, Dancing Lights, Detect Magic, Mage Hand, Ghost Sound, Prestidignation, read Magic 1st Frostbite, Grease, Color Spray, Shield, Feather Fall, Weapon Wand, Unseen Servant, 2nd Invisibility, Spider Climb, Abrasive Barrier, Baladed Dash
Spells Prepared:
0- Brand, Dancing Lights, Detect Magic, Mage hand
1 - Frostbitex2, Shield, Color Spray, Shoking Grasp
2 - Ablative Barrier, Bladed Dash
Skills
Intimidate +7
Use Magic Device +12
Perception +8
Knowledge (Planes) +9
Knowledge (Arcana) +9
Knowledge (Dungeoneering) +9
Fly +8
Climb +7
Swim +7
Spellcraft +12

[B]Equipment:
Chainshirt+1
Weapon +1
Pearl of Power
Wand of Infernal Healing
Cloak of Protection +1

Romm remembers very little of his childhood, growing up in a simple farming village northwest of Nisroch, the shadow-haunted nation of Nidal’s largest port. He does not even know the names of his mother and father: Romm was taken from them at the age of four.
He was raised under the inhuman tutelage of the Shrouded one, tortured and trained, brought up with an unholy discipline of body to become a weapon and instrument of fear: one of Nisroch’s dreaded Silent Enforcers. Even today, years after his escape, he could not tell how he hung on to some sliver of humanity, some remnant of a soul, but he knows that he was extremely fortunate: most times, the slightest sign of weakness or disloyalty was punished with slow, horrible death. Perhaps the very discipline that was ground into him in his training enabled him to hide his fear, loathing, and longing to escape. Stationed in Nisroch, he saw tantalizing glimpses of the outside world outside. Enough to fester in is innermost thoughts.
His formal indoctrination and training culminated in the Last Vow – He swore his unending loyalty to the Midnight Lord and His servants, and, so that those words would be the last he ever uttered, his tongue was cut out. For three years, he served as a one the Enforcers, shadow and fist, but never lost that miniscule spark of hope. One day, about three years after the Last Vow, he and his silent brothers were raiding the docks - a departing ship allegedly housed foreign heretics, clergy of Desna and Shelyn. A half dozen warriors and acolytes sacrificed themselves on the docks while the swift schooner pulled away. In a moment of desperation, Romm struck down one of his fellow enforcers and, with a leap surely augmented by the kindly Goddesses themselves, flung himself to the departing deck. He surrendered without a fight, vainly trying to make his wishes to flee known. The priestesses that were indeed hiding aboard showed mercy, going so far as to regenerate the young man’s tongue.
The ship, with the aid of the priestesses’ powerful magic, mad good its escape, carrying Romm into the terror and majesty of the outside world for the first time. He spent three years in a secluded monastery dedicated to Shelyn, unlearning the lessons of Zon-Kuthon and dedicating himself to His kinder sister. He went forth, first to Magnimar, but soon discovered that the reach of Nidal was longer than he thought. Whether or not he was targeted for retrieval, or merely observed the agents of shadow on some other task, he neither knew nor cared. With the blessing of his temple, he fled.
He has been fleeing ever since. Every few months, or a year at most, he moves further away from Nidal. He has been in Karlsgard for a few months now, but its status as a port has him nervous.
Romm is still occasionally wracked with guilt from the horrors he helped cause, and that he has done so little as a priest of Shelyn to offset them. He has been working as a teamster and porter in the caravan yards of Karlsgard, occasionally lending a hand to the downtrodden in the neighborhood of his simple, cell-like flat – be it a pare copper for a meal or a closed fist to drive off a two-legged predator.

Romm is feeling nervous and restless, looking for opportunities to move on and to do some good in the world…

Romm stands about 5’7”, with a thin, wiry frame. Despite the healing magics lavished on him by the cults of Desna and Shelyn, his scars were far to numerous and deep to all fade: a network of oddly deliberate white lines is visible across any exposed flesh. Usual hidden by his clothes are the foot-long, inch-wide grayish stripes that were flayed from his chest, back, and thighs. A vivid white scar, half an inch wide at his lower left eyelid, descends to a sharp point at his pointed jaw.
He wears his dark brown hair cropped to less than an inch in length. His deep-set, wide eyes are also dark brown. Romm’s scarred hands sport slightly exaggerated knuckles on the first two joins, each encased on a rough callous layer.
He is typically dressed in a nondescript dark green jacket, loose in the shoulders and buttoned tight at the wrists, and matching pants. In warmer weather, he is typically barefoot, but the climate of the Land of the Linnorm Kings is too much even for a monk’s self discipline: He sports knee-high boots of soft leather, tufts of grey fur visible at the top.
Romm is typically unnaturally still , having grown accustomed to sitting in shadows observing for hours on end. He is likely to begin communicating with a gesture, or small clap or snap of his fingers to draw attention, habits of spending years without a voice. When he speaks, it is usually soft, as if afraid of his own volume, and a high, clear tenor.
Since his days in the monastery of Shelyn, he has taken to carrying and playing a brass flute.

Romm
Human (Varisian/Nidalese) Cleric 1/Monk (Martial Artist) 3
NG Medium humanoid (human)
Init +4; Senses Perception +9
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 15, touch 15, flat-footed 12 (+2 Dex, +1 dodge, +2 untyped)
hp 27 (4d8+4)
Fort +7, Ref +6, Will +8
Defensive Abilities evasion; Resist resistant touch
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 40 ft.
Melee dagger +4 (1d4+2/19-20/×2) and
masterwork cold iron glaive +5 (1d10+3/×3) and
unarmed strike +5 (1d6+2/×2)
Ranged shuriken +4 (1d2+2/×2)
Special Attacks Channel Energy 1d6, flurry of blows, stunning fist (3/day, DC 15)
Spell-Like Abilities
5/day—resistant touch, touch of good
Cleric Spells Prepared (CL 1st; concentration +3):
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 14, Dex 14, Con 12, Int 12, Wis 14, Cha 14
Base Atk +2; CMB +5; CMD 19
Feats Crane Style, Deflect Arrows, Dodge, Improved Unarmed Strike, Selective Channeling, Stunning Fist, Weapon Focus (unarmed strike)
Traits reactionary, suspicious
Skills Acrobatics +7 (+11 jump), Climb +6, Disable Device +1, Escape Artist +8, Heal +7, Intimidate +6, Knowledge (history) +5, Knowledge (religion) +5, Perception +9, Perform (wind instruments) +7, Sense Motive +8, Spellcraft +5, Stealth +9
Languages Common, Shadowtongue, Varisian
SQ ac bonus, aura, domains (good, protection), fast movement, maneuver training, pain points, spontaneous casting, stunning fist (stun), unarmed strike
Combat Gear Wand of cure light wounds, Acid (2), Alchemist's fire (2), Alkali flask, Antiplague, Antitoxin, Candlerod (10), Frostbite ointment, Oil (3), Smokestick, Sunrod (5), Vermin repellent; Other Gear Dagger, Masterwork Cold Iron Glaive, Shuriken (40), Backpack (14 @ 3 lbs), Bedroll, Belt pouch (2 @ 0.5 lbs), Blanket, winter, Candle (10), Candlestick, Cleats, Cold weather outfit, Compass, Flint and steel, Holy symbol, silver (Shelyn), Holy text (Shelyn), Monk's outfit, Mug/tankard, Musical instrument (Flute), Riding saddle, Saddlebags (32 @ 57.3 lbs), Silk rope (2), Snow goggles, Snowshoes, Soap, Spell component pouch, Teapot, Waterskin (2), Light Riding Horse, 109 GP, 1 SP, 5 CP
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
AC Bonus +2 The Monk adds his Wisdom bonus to AC and CMD, more at higher levels.
Antitoxin This substance counteracts a specific toxin. If you drink a vial of antitoxin, you gain a +5 alchemical bonus on Fortitude saving throws against poison for 1 hour.

Alchemical Power Component
Like antiplague, this substance can augment certain healing spells.
Neutralize Poison (M): Add +2 on your caster level check to neutralize poison on a target creature. Antitoxin has no effect when you cast the spell on an object.
Aura (Ex) The Cleric has an aura corresponding to his deity's alignment.
Cleats -50% walking penalty for slick surfaces.
Cleric Channel Positive Energy 1d6 (5/day) (DC 12) (Su) Positive energy heals the living and harms the undead; negative has the reverse effect.
Cleric Domain (Good) Granted Powers: You have pledged your life and soul to goodness and purity.
Cleric Domain (Protection) Granted Powers: Your faith is your greatest source of protection, and you can use that faith to defend others. In addition, you receive a +1 resistance bonus on saving throws. This bonus increases by 1 for every 5 levels you possess.
Cold weather outfit +5 Fort save vs. cold weather.
Compass +2 circumstance for Survival or Knowledge (Dungeoneering) to avoid becoming lost.
Crane Style Penalty when fighting defensively reduced to -2 and dodge bonus increases by 1.
Deflect Arrows (1/round) While have an empty hand, negate one ranged weapon hit you are aware of (unless from a massive weapon).
Evasion (Ex) If you succeed at a Reflex save for half damage, you take none instead.
Fast Movement (+10') The Monk adds 10 or more feet to his base speed.
Flurry of Blows +1/+1 (Ex) Make Flurry of Blows attack as a full rd action.
Improved Unarmed Strike Unarmed strikes don't cause attacks of opportunity, and can be lethal.
Maneuver Training (Ex) CMB = other BABs + Monk level
Pain Points (Ex) At 3rd level, a martial artist's advanced knowledge of humanoid anatomy grants a +1 bonus on critical hit confirmation rolls and increases the DC of his stunning fist and quivering palm by 1. This ability replaces still mind.
Resistant Touch (5/day) (Sp) May donate Protection Domain's Resistance bonus to ally by touch for 1 minute.
Selective Channeling Exclude targets from the area of your Channel Energy.
Snow goggles +8 save vs. visual effects, -4 sight-based Perception & all foes have 20% concealment.
Snowshoes -50% walking penalty for heavy snow.
Spontaneous Casting The Cleric can convert stored spells into Cure or Inflict spells.
Stunning Fist (3/day) (DC 15) You can stun an opponent with an unarmed attack.
Stunning Fist (Stun) (Ex) At 1st level, the monk gains Stunning Fist as a bonus feat, even if he does not meet the prerequisites. At 4th level, and every 4 levels thereafter, the monk gains the ability to apply a new condition to the target of his Stunning Fist. This condition
Touch of Good (5/day) (Sp) Grant +1 to skill checks, ability checks and saving throws for 1r.
Unarmed Strike (1d6) The Monk does lethal damage with his unarmed strikes.

Family is and has been for the longest time what drives Ogrin to do what he does. Some of the things Ogrin did were not very pleasant, but it was all with the higher goal of keeping the family and community safe and together.
Ogrin didn’t always have such a strong sense of community. In fact in his childhood years, he felt like sort of an outcast. He was born prematurely to a tradesman and the Ivory Quarter of Karlsgard, which would have awarded him some kind of status except he never fit quite in due to his small size and little aptitude for the traditions of a traditional Ulfen upbringing. He couldn’t swing swords or sail boats like the rest of them. Eventually the bigger and stronger ones picked on him, so he retaliated by being far more cunning. He hid, he took cheap shots and showed little mercy, though he eventually took things a little too far when he nailed one boy in the eye with a pebble, causing some serious damage. He was brought to the priest of Erastil for disciplinary action. While he expected some form of nasty punishment possibly involving being struck with a big branch or having to scrub chamberpots, they explained to him the importance of having self-restraint for the good of the community. While most of their lectures through one ear and out the other, he began to try and see the good in people. Erastil was the god of family and community; while he didn’t take to his community, he did place high value on family and in a sense some of the members of his community were like family too. He calmed down considerably when he was about 12. He became interested in more scholarly and philosophical pursuits. The followers of Erastil eventually trained him to be quite the shot with the bow. His father was impressed with the work the followers did with the boy, and thought that his only son might make a decent warrior yet. For despite his father’s façade of a humble tradesperson, both him and Ogrin’s mother hailed from a lineage of warriors. His mother may have been an ex-adventurer, but she never talked about it. For his 15th birthday, they gave him a bow with his clan’s coat of arms and motto engraved on it: “First and last in battle”. While proud, Ogrin’s true goal was to enter the priesthood of Erastil. He didn’t in fact believe he could be a real bowman, even if he wanted to—which he didn’t. He still didn’t have the robust appearance of many of the other youths. He couldn’t move with the same speed, master same sword technique or act with same aptitude in the wilderness like some of the others could in his mind. What he did have though, was conviction—or an unwavering stubbornness. As stubborn as he was he didn’t want to publicly go too far against what was the way things were done in his community or bring dishonor to his family through his disobedience. He knew even the oldest preachers would pick up arms and fight if they had to. Nevertheless he ignored this unpleasant fact of life and kept striving to be a preacher, though for whatever reason he was never quite as approachable as the others. There was always a bit of this lingering hostility he had from his perceived ‘otherness’. He threw himself into studying all the intellectual aspects of religion, and even though he gained some understanding of them, he could never quite form coherent arguments as he got angry far too easily. He was simply unwilling to compromise on any of his viewpoints or values most of the time. He learned much about other religions, creatures that Erastil’s warriors would have to combat, the history of his people, and even stranger topics such as the outer planes themselves, but he never quite mastered the art of preaching itself. It became apparent that his knowledge of their enemies and their history wasn’t enough to prove himself as a devotee of his god, so he elected to worship Old Deadeye through actions rather than words. He got his chance to do so, though not in a way that anyone would have wanted. His drunken scoundrel of a cousin had an affair with a strange and foreign woman of low standing, bringing much embarrassment to his family. The woman had expensive tastes and drove his cousin to steal and raid for money. Ogrin tracked down his cousin, unsure of what he would do when he found him. It was still his blood, though as long as he was there, he brought dishonor to his family and disorder to the community, which he could not let stand. He approached his cousin, and told him to leave the city, never to return. His cousin laughed in his face, at which point Ogrin pulled out an arrow and said his cousin could leave town on his feet or crawling on his knees. He was dead serious. And perhaps it was the intervention of Erastil guiding his words or maybe in that moment he truly became a man, but for that reason Ogrin was able to move his own blood out of town through words. He was conflicted by the decision at first, but then he reconciled his actions with the fact that he did it for the greater good, and most importantly, he did it for family. He continued trying to enforce order in the community behind the shadows, and while the church knew and wasn’t entirely comfortable with everything he did, they trusted him to make his own decisions at that point. The young Ogrin continued to police secretly and spy on those he considered enemies of the community using the newfound power granted by his god. Fortunately, he managed to do so without actually using violence. He still had not been exposed to much live or death combat, and was still quite content on continuing his studies with the clergy. That was until, a tragedy struck which showed just how far he would need to go to protect his loved ones.
One rainy summer night, one of his father’s friends told him that some raider from a Land under another King’s jurisdiction had assaulted Ogrin’s sister. While enraged, he managed to remain calm enough to head straight to the church of his god. Rever, the oldest preacher of Erastil and the one he consulted with the most, let out a heavy sigh and told Ogrin “You and I both know the penalty for this crime in these lands. I only pray you will find the temperance to treat your prey honorably.” So Ogrin left, bow in hand and tracked the man to the outer reaches of town. He was a little sloppy that time. He stepped on a twig, but before his quarry could turn around and pull out his blade, he put two arrows in his back and another arrow in the man’s chest just to make sure. In his mind this first kill was not vengeance, but justice. And once again, he did it for family. He made sure the people in charge thought it was bandits, though in time everyone in the district knew the truth. In time his community would call down on him to put down threats. Instead of going to the guard, they would go to the Erastil worshippers. In time, an axe wielding dwarven ex-member of the guard joined him with a strange foreign woman with unusual abilities. He went from hunting elk and rabbit with his comrades in the church to hunting down violent criminals and cultists. Whenever someone in the community was wronged, it was up to Ogrin to right these wrongs in the shadows. An old woman’s son was killed here, a gnome was having trouble with cultists on his land there, all these members of his community would approach Ogrin and tell them their problems while he listened in silence. He eventually gained respect within the violent crowd within the community who shunned him earlier in his life. By his late teens he parted ways with the dwarf and the foreign women, but he was drinking with the rest of the warriors whenever he had a free night from his studies in the church. He would go on to get a position in the town guard, due to some strings pulled by his wealthy family. While this was a great honor, it would mean Ogrin would have to put his dream on hold, but once more, he did it because family and tradition demanded it. This didn’t go as well as he would have liked however as Ogrin was too stubborn to fully follow the way of the guard. He considered the laws of his god about them, but his position lead to a rift developing between Ogrin and his fellow worshipers. He didn’t like his position, but a lot of the members of the community he was born and raised in liked him there, so he persevered because some things had to come above his own happiness. Though one day, out of nowhere, another tragedy struck. His parents were injured in a hunting accident. A wolf got the jump on them and his mother lost so much blood she went unconscious, while his father lost his hand trying to fight it off. They were so badly damaged, even his powers couldn’t heal them. Since then Ogrin has had a particular dislike of wolves.
While he suspected it was not really an accident, it didn’t matter because he hand no leads. He was the oldest son and his elders were incapacitated. In short: he needed money. The other worshippers looked down on him for on the surface changing his goals from protecting the community to the acquiring of gold, but Ogrin knew that he could not support his family of 6 through helping the farmers or his meager guardsman’s salary. He still constantly consulted with Rever, but the old man was too tired to defend him from the others. Not that Ogrin felt that the aging preacher should. He did not do what he did because it made him look good on the surface, but because he was a man now, anyone who did any less was less than a man. Still, at age 19 it was quite a burden put on his shoulders in addition to his regular duties. He began hiring himself out for whatever kind of jobs he could find, around taverns or on the roadways, but he never really ventured too far from Karlgard, as he felt it was his duty to take care of his community even if supporting his family meant venturing away from it. Even if he looked like he was turning his back on what he held most dear. He managed to track down his old companions, Grom the dwarf and Rin the foreign woman. The two had become quite accustomed to the adventuring life, which Ogrin didn’t particularly like or understand, but he trusted them, so he ventured with them into the wilderness along the river where they planned on putting down some raid in the lair of some sort of fey sorcerer rumored to keep a massive treasure. Ogrin managed to skewer quite a few mites, and they managed to reach the bottom of the lair, but the treasure was not nearly as big as they had hoped. They parted ways once again after this. All the venture really did was buy Ogrin time to make some real money. His companions suggested the idea of joining a caravan crew, which he did not take to but he later heard of great riches to be found in lands such as Tian Xia or Varisia from the local foreign population in Karsgard. With jobs drying up and the local populace beginning to distrust him, it became clear he had to leave to support his clan. He tried to avoid venturing too far at first, but ventures to the nearby towns paid meagerly. He returned to his old duties of tending to the farmers and hunters with the rest of his faithful, while keeping his eyes open for new opportunities. His family’s status and well-being were slipping, and in a couple years time Kalsgard would likely become very chaotic due to the rumors of its leader going away to die on some kind of pilgrimage. Despite his intense love of his people, there were times he doubted the merits of a system of government based on Vikings lopping off Linnorm heads. For both his family and community he needed a great deal of gold, and he hoped that perhaps a long journey away would aide him in the future if he learned a new trick or two on this journey. The only solace he would have is that his younger brother, Igar and Rever would take care of things while he was gone—right after he tied a couple of loose ends.
Ogrin is a young man who takes pride in his community and what he does for his community. The fact that his god doesn’t seem as popular in his homeland these days has not dampened his love of both. Worshipers of Erastil are a stubborn lot, having been around for thousands of years, and Ogrin is no exception. He presents a very gruff exterior and seems far more stoic than someone his age should be. He is sometimes a little quick to advocate a forceful solution, he rarely acts smiles, and constantly plays the role of the martyr, sacrificing his own wellbeing for that of his community. These qualities intensify the further he gets away from his people. Inside his community he’s a little less mopey, occasionally known to have the occasional drink and even crack a laugh every now and then. Behind this stern façade beats the heard of a family man. He doesn’t show it, but he is in fact surprisingly sentimental. Whenever he’s away from home, he’s constantly writing letters to friends and family members. He loathes to show this side of him to strangers, as they may take it as a sign of weakness. Ogrin simply doesn’t see himself getting attached to people outside of his community. New things and new places always make him visibly uncomfortable, even if he keeps his mouth shut most of the time.

Ogrin is a pale skinned man just out of his teens with brown hair and big dark, shifty eyes affixed in a constant scowl. The young man always either looks fixated on something and angry, or morose and staring off into the distance. His hair is always long and unkempt and he likes to wear hooded cloaks and leather for practical reasons. His clothing style is surprisingly simple for someone from the well-heeled part of town. Ogrin is short with long arms and small delicate hands which aid in his precision in combat. He has an unimposing build due to his odd stature, but his gaze can send chills down peoples’ spine. Despite looking softer in a lot of ways than most people in the Land of the Linnorm Kings, he has the hard eyed, scowling appearance who is always willing and capable of committing violence.