Old Guy's Wrath of the Righteous Campaign (Inactive)

Game Master Jeff Przybylo

TruStrike sits and wonders to himself why the drunkest dwarf in town picked him to sit next to. He pays attention the best he can but cant help but let his mind wonder a bit. "I hope they take me seriously. It was quite the journey, I would think the distance alone would prove my sincerity", he thinks to himself. He takes a sip of his ale and nods at the dwarf, amused by his optimism if nothing else. "He may not be so bad if he'd quit spitting with each word". The left half of his brain tells him to answer the question just asked of him. I do whatever I can. Usually just running errands for alchemists or wizards. I've made a bit of coin protecting caravans lately.

Growing up in southern Taldor, Samantha was an active girl in her community, as befitting that of the only daughter of a paladin of Abadar. Because of this, it was not uncommon for her to have run-ins with traps set in the forests outside of her village by a local tribe of kobolds. She learned how to spot and disable them after a few of her fellow villagers were injured by them.

It wasn’t long, though, before her father was called north to join the crusades. He moved his family to a small town south of Kenabres, where her mother got a job as a bar maid working in an alehouse. While exploring the small town, Sam came upon a group of boys arguing with each other. Intrigued, she went to talk to them. She was able to find out as she approached that they were daring each other to enter a certain grove that lay outside of town. Eager to make new friends and curious as to why they would seem frightened of a grove of all things, she walked up to them and accepted their challenge.

It wasn’t hard, approaching the grove, to figure out why the boys seemed so scared of it, as the air felt thick with evil and it seemed as if time had stopped. As the small group came upon the grove, they heard chanting, and each of them slipped into the trees. Inside the grove, a group of five men in dark, blood red robes were gathered around a basin filled with a thick, red liquid. One of the boys went for a closer look, but was unfortunate enough to step on a dry twig at the wrong time. Turning as one, the group of older men noticed the boy, and as one, Samantha and the boys fled, picking directions at random.

It wasn’t long before she realized that they were all lost. Not just in direction, but to each other, as well. The area she found herself in was devoid of vegetation, and a thick mist seemed to close in from all sides. Sounds of fleeing and pursuit, muffled shouts, panting and running, seemed to echo all around her, near and far. Just as she started to lose all hope, however, a bright light pierced the mist, and a mysterious and beautiful woman, with a deep sense of sadness about her, made her way to Samantha. The next few hours were hazy to Sam, but she remembered being in awe with the woman’s skill with the bow, but more specifically of the symbol of Desna she wore. She often held onto it without seeming to realize it, as if the connection to the goddess was something she clung to in a sense of need, as someone might clutch at a rope while dangling over a vast pit.

Together, the two were able to track down each of the boys, using the way sounds moved within the mist to trick and confuse the cultists giving chase. After gathering everyone, the woman left their side, and a few moments later they were picked up by a patrol of crusaders, who finished the job of escorting them back to safety. To this day, Samantha does not know the name of the mysterious woman and has not seen her since. But since that day, she has been exceptionally lucky when it came to trickery to deceive and confuse her enemies.

Seven years later, Samantha prepares herself to join the crusaders in Kenabres, using the skills she's honed over the years to join at the front ranks as a scout and archer against the demons. In memory of the mysterious woman, she has helped those stuck within the Worldwound when able, and has taken up training with the bow.

Dolth
Dwarf magus 1
NG Medium humanoid (dwarf)
Init +1; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +0
DEFENSE
AC 14, touch 11, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +1 Dex)
hp 9 (d8+1);
Fort +3; Ref +1; Will +2; +2 racial vs. poison; +4 racial vs. spells/SLAs
Defensive Abilities defensive training (+4 dodge to AC vs. giants);
OFFENSE
Speed 20 ft.
Melee battleaxe +2 (1d8+2/x3) or heavy pick +2 (1d6+2/x4) or warhammer +2 (1d8+2/x3)
Ranged alchemist’s fire +2 (1d6/1 splash), light crossbow +1 (1d8/19-20)
Special Attacks arcane pool (5 points/day), hatred (+1 on attack rolls vs. orcs/goblinoids), spell combat
Magus Spells Prepared (CL 1st; concentration +7)
1st—chill touch (Fort DC 15), grease (Reflex DC 15)
0—acid splash, detect magic, read magic
STATISTICS
Str 14, Dex 13, Con 12, Int 18, Wis 10, Cha 10
Base Atk +0; CMB +2; CMD 13 (17 vs. bull rush/trip)
Feats Steel Soul
Traits Pragmatic Activator, Riftwarden Orphan
Skills Appraise +5, Craft (weapons) +8, Knowledge (arcana) +8, Knowledge (local) +5, Knowledge (planes) +8, Spellcraft +8, Use Magic Device +8; Racial Modifiers +2 Appraise (nonmagical goods w/precious metals or gemstones), +2 Perception (unusual stonework)
Languages Common, Dwarven, Giant, Gnome, Orc, Terran
SQ slow and steady, stonecutting, weapon familiarity
Combat Gear alchemist’s fire (1), crossbow bolts (30), scroll of expeditious retreat; Other Gear artisan’s tools (Craft [weapons]), battleaxe, heavy pick, warhammer, light crossbow, magi kit (backpack, bedroll, belt pouch, flint and steel, ink, inkpen, iron pot, mess kit, rope, soap, spell component pouch, torches [10], trail rations [5 days], waterskin), spellbook (spells prepared and all 0-level magus spells, plus color spray, shield, shocking grasp, snowball, weaponwand) studded leather armor, 20 gp

Dolth's parents were both Riftwardens who were reported missing in action after failing to return from a mission behind enemy lines in the Worldwound shortly after his birth. He was raised by a dwarven blacksmith in Kenabres named Kazar. He spent the days of his childhood helping Kazar with the blacksmithing; he took especially to crafting traditional dwarven weapons. He spent his free time satiating his curiosity. He read whatever he could get his hands on and tried to get the crusaders in town to tell him stories about their adventures. Most of the adventurers in town were too busy to talk to a dwarven boy, but one of them--a human magus named Venn Gramdy--recognized Dolth's tattoo and decided to help him reach his potential as an arcane warrior.

A young dwarf, arrayed in leather armor, held a battleaxe high over his head. He saw his opening, and the battleaxe dipped under the human's guard and slashed at his stomach, clanging off the human's shiny breastplate.
"Well done, Dolth. You're ready."
"Ready for what, Venn?"
"Ready to join the crusade. I've been summoned south to Numeria. Somebody needs to take my place."
Dolth's eyebrows furrowed. "Are you sure? What can I do?"
"Well, you're pretty good at walking up to things and smacking them with Hacky there, or even Pointy or Bashy...at least as good as I was when I joined up." Venn pointed at the battleaxe and then the heavy pick and warhammer that criss-crossed Dolth's back. "Don't forget what I've taught you...or what Kazar taught you, for that matter. Always think. Outsmarting one's opponent produces victory. A warrior who forges his weapons--and those of his friends--can count on them in the forge of combat. Knowledge is the key. Whether it's knowing an enemy's strengths and weaknesses, knowing how to make a magic item work, or even just knowing you're not getting ripped off in a trade, knowledge is power. Fare ye well, Dolth."

An orphan of the Crusades like so many others before her, Verene was adopted as a baby by a family of devout worshipers of Iomedae in Kenabres. From an early age she desired nothing more than to aid her parents in their fight, and to honor the sacrifice of the birth parents she couldn't even remember. Her resolve crystallized on that day of fire, fear and blood when Khorramzadeh the Storm King first came to Kenabres. She burned to pledge herself as a blade in Holy Iomedae's hand, to be able to send demons shrieking back to the Abyss and to keep her loved ones hale and whole. For four years she trained and toiled to shape herself into a weapon of the Lady's will. And on her eighteenth birthday she kept her vigil, all the long night through; and at sun's rising swore her vows, body and soul now and for ever to the service of the Just Queen of Heaven.

But Iomedae was silent.

At first Verene thought she had displeased the goddess. She performed rituals of purification and of penance, and tried again. And again. Her father and mother attempted to comfort her, telling her that she could serve the Crusade in other ways; pointing to the spiraling birthmark on the back of her neck as evidence that her path might lie elsewhere. But Verene would not listen. Whatever her birth parents had been, she was and would be Iomedae's servant. She became convinced that the goddess was testing her faith, and eventually embarked upon a pilgrimage to the holiest sites of the church, scattered across Avistan and Garund. It led only to the same silence, and to her first crisis of faith.

If Iomedae would not hear her prayers, Verene thought, perhaps another god would. Perhaps in her narrowminded insistence on the One True Way, she had been shutting herself off to signs from a different faith, one where her true destiny lay. She entered an even longer period of wandering and self-reflection, seeking out temples large and small, familiar and foreign, giant cathedrals and secret mystery cults, and asking for the lowliest work they had in exchange for learning something of their faiths, morals and philosophies. Some places she stayed only a week or two; others, months or even a year. But if at the end of the year no sign had come, no sacred peace, no certainty, Verene moved on. The gods did not hesitate to make themselves known to the ones they did choose, after all. And no answer was its own kind of answer. She had to trust that she would know, when she had found her path.

But the gods were silent.

So came her second crisis of faith, the one that growing up in a Crusader city, shepherded and safeguarded in every way by divine intervention, had left her unprepared for: The gods did not care. Or they did, but not for her, and not for most people in the world. For Verene had now seen too many desperate prayers in desperate circumstances go unanswered to cling to her old childish faith in fate and mysterious ways. It was the closest she came to true anger, but even this was unsustainable. The miracles worked by divine magic, for some people, were real. They did real good in the world. It was simply that they were unfairly and often randomly applied, rarely helping the most vulnerable lay believers who needed them most. And only those who had sworn themselves to a higher power could work the greater magics of healing - well, and those who had so mastered arcane powers that they might as well be gods themselves.

And so Verene came home, a dozen years later, defeated. There was no point to having faith. The gods were playing their own game. If they were going to hear you, they would, whether or not you even knew you were praying to them; and if they weren't, they wouldn't, no matter how deeply you believed or how obedient you were. Her new perspective saddened her parents, but they reached an uneasy peace by avoiding the topic. After a time, Verene found piecemeal work as a translator of Tien and Vudran, which she had learned on her travels. And she applied herself to the study of simple magic, putting all gods and religion as far out of her mind as it is possible to do in Kenabres.

After three years, the passage of time has made it easier to laugh as well as wince at the memory of those painfully well-intentioned and self-serious days of her wandering, but it has done nothing to soften her convictions. And magic comes easily to her mind, far more easily than enlightenment ever did - but it does not feel like victory.

Three Years Ago

The road is bad.

In one sense, of course the road is bad. Go to any given corner of the world, and people may dress differently, eat differently, walk and talk and fight and even sleep differently, but the one consistency will be: the roads in late autumn will be bad. If this is normal, can it really be bad?

In another sense, Verene watches as the cart jounces from rut to rock to sucking mud with bone-jarring force, and doubts that its passengers care about normal. Those who can are walking, to spare the horses, but the cart's current occupants are not so lucky. "Convalescent's better than dead," one of the older soldiers joked to her around the fire last night, "but not so's you'd notice."

He smiles at her now, grey-faced, and says hoarsely, "You've a pretty voice, lass. Don't suppose you know the mountain song?"

Verene bows her head. She knows the one he means. As the cart rolls inexorably toward Kenabres, she takes a deep, steadying breath, and begins to sing.

"On tomorrow's painted wagon, in a yester-dreamin' day
I rode to heaven, never thinkin' I'd be back this way
Now I'm standing at your doorstep, with my halo turning gray
Open up your gate, Marianna..."

Verene Tanaquil
Female Human Wizard 1
NG Medium Humanoid (Human)
Init +7; Senses Perception +2
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DEFENSE
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AC 12, touch 12, flat-footed 10 (+2 dex)
HP 7 (1d6+1)
Fort +1, Ref +2, Will +3
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OFFENSE
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Speed 30 ft.
Melee Dagger +0 (1d4+0, 19-20x2)
Ranged Light crossbow +2 (1d8+0, 19-20/x2) or dagger +2 (1d4+0, 19-20x2)
Spells Prepared (CL 1st; concentration +7)
0 - detect magic, mage hand, prestidigitation (DC 14)
1 - color spray (DC 15), summon monster I, identify
Space 5 ft.; Reach 5 ft.
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STATISTICS
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Str 10 (+0), Dex 14 (+2), Con 12 (+1), Int 18 (+4), Wis 12 (+1), Cha 14 (+2)
Base Atk +0; CMB +0; CMD 12
Feats Scribe Scroll, Combat Casting, Improved Initiative
Traits Riftwarden Orphan (+2 to concentration checks), Friend in Every Town (+1 to Knowledge: Local and Diplomacy, Diplomacy as a class skill)
Skills Diplomacy +10, Knowledge (Arcana) +8, Knowledge (Local) +9, Knowledge (Planes) +8, Knowledge (Religion) +8, Linguistics +8, Perform (sing) +3, Spellcraft +8
Languages Common, Abyssal, Celestial, Vudran, Tien, Draconic
Special Qualities
Other Gear crossbow bolts x20
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SPECIAL ABILITIES
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Divination Specialization (Focused Arcane School: Foresight) Specialist wizards receive an additional spell slot of each spell level they can cast, from 1st on up. Each day, a wizard can prepare a spell from his specialty school in that slot. This spell must be in the wizard's spellbook. A wizard can select a spell modified by a metamagic feat to prepare in his school slot, but it uses up a higher-level spell slot.
Enchantment Opposition School A wizard who prepares spells from his opposition schools must use two spell slots of that level to prepare the spell. In addition, a specialist takes a –4 penalty on any skill checks made when crafting a magic item that has a spell from one of his opposition schools as a prerequisite.
Forewarned (Su) You can always act in the surprise round even if you fail to make a Perception roll to notice a foe, but you are still considered flat-footed until you take an action. In addition, you receive a bonus on initiative checks equal to 1/2 your wizard level (minimum +1). At 20th level, anytime you roll initiative, assume the roll resulted in a natural 20.
Prescience (7/day) (Sp) At the beginning of your turn, you may, as a free action, roll a single d20. At any point before your next turn, you may use the result of this roll as the result of any d20 roll you are required to make. If you do not use the d20 result before your next turn, it is lost.
Necromancy Opposition School
Empathic Link with Familiar
Share Spells with Familiar
Bonus Feat Humans select one extra feat at 1st level.
Skilled Humans gain an additional skill rank at first level and one additional rank whenever they gain a level.
Weapon and Armor Proficiency Wizards are proficient with the club, dagger, heavy crossbow, light crossbow, and quarterstaff, but not with any type of armor or shield. Armor of any type interferes with a wizard's movements, which can cause her spells with somatic components to fail.
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SPELLS
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Spellbook:
0 - Arcane Mark, Bleed, Dancing Lights, Daze, Detect Magic, Detect Poison, Disrupt Undead, Flare, Ghost Sound, Haunted Fey Aspect, Light, Mage Hand, Mending, Message, Open/Close, Prestidigitation, Ray of Frost, Read Magic, Resistance, Spark, Touch of Fatigue
1 - Color Spray, Expeditious Retreat, Grease, Identify, Mage Armor, Protection from Evil, Summon Monster I, True Strike
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GEAR/POSSESSIONS
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Carried Backpack (2 gp, 2 lbs), candle x5 (5 cp), flint & steel (1 gp), lamp (1 sp, 1 lb), money (.5 lbs), oil (1 sp, 1 lb), paper (4 sp), scholar’s outfit (free), scroll case (1 gp, .5 lbs), spell component pouch (5 gp, 2 lbs), spellbook (free, 3 lbs), waterskin (1 gp, 4 lbs)
Carrying Capacity Light: 33 lbs Medium: 34-66 lbs Heavy: 67-100 lbs Current 21 lbs (light load)
Money 0 pp 20 gp 3 sp 9 cp

Tristan Uthyr
Male Human Ranger
LN Medium Human
Init+4 Senses- Perception +6
Speed 30ft
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Defense
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AC 17 Touch 14 Flat 13
HP 13
Fort +4 Ref +6 Will +2
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Offense
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Melee
Greatsword +3 Atk, 2d6+3 Dmg, 19-20/x2, S
Ranged
Longbow +3 Atk, 1d8 Dmg, x3, P
Ammunition
Arrows x60
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Statistics
STR 14 DEX 18 CON 14 INT 12 WIS 14 CHA 8
BAB +1 CMB +3 CMD 17
Feats - Point Blank Shot, Precise Shot
Languages - Common, Elven
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Traits
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Stolen Fury - You were forced to take part in a demonic ritual as a youth after having been captured by cultists. Whatever the ritual’s purpose may have been, it didn’t work out the way your captors envisioned—rather than corrupting your soul, you absorbed the ritual’s energy and made it your own before you escaped to safety. Ever since, you’ve been haunted by strange nightmares about the ritual, and have long felt that the energies it bathed you in have changed you. Recently, those energies have changed— it’s as if you’ve finally managed to come to terms with your past and have turned the ritual’s aftereffects to your advantage, following the old adage of what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. You’ve been unable to learn more about the ritual or what it was for, but the question lingers in the back of your head to this day. This nagging has instilled in you a fury against demonkind. Today, when you face demons in combat, those energies bolster your fury, granting you a +2 trait bonus on all combat maneuver checks against demons. Associated Mythic Path: Champion. Multiple Characters: You and any other PC who takes this trait were all part of the same ritual, and it was only by working together that you managed to escape—further, the support of your fellow ritual survivors has played a key role in your coming to terms with it, and you retain a close bond of friendship (or perhaps a friendly rivalry) to this day.

Vagabond Child - You grew up among the outcasts and outlaws of your society, learning to forage and survive in an urban environment. Choose: Disable Device, Escape Artist, or Sleight of Hand. You gain a +1 bonus on that skill, and it becomes a class skill.
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Skills
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Climb +5 (+1SP, +3CS, +2STR, -1AC)
Disable Device +7 (+1SP, +3CS, +4DEX, -1AC)
Heal +6 (+1SP, +3CS, +2WIS)
Knowledge (Nature) +4 (+1SP, +3CS)
Perception +6 (+1SP, +3CS, +2WIS)
Stealth +7 (+1SP, +3CS, +4DEX, -1AC)
Survival +6 (+1SP, +3CS, +2WIS)
Swim +5 (+1SP, +3CS, +2STR, -1AC)

+8/Lvl (+6 Class, +1 Int, +1 Human)
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Racial Abilities
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Bonus Skill - Humans gain an additional skill rank at first level and one additional rank whenever they gain a level.
Bonus Feat - Humans select one extra feat at 1st level.
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Class Abilities
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Weapon and Armor Proficiency - All simple and martial weapons, light armor, medium armor and shields
Track - Add half level (minimum 1) to Survival skill checks to follow or identify tracks
Wild Empathy - Ability to influence initial attitude of an animal
Favored Enemy (Outsider [Evil]) - +2 bonus on Bluff, Knowledge, Perception, Sense Motive and Survival checks against enemy type. +2 bonus on weapon attack and damage rolls against enemy type.
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Equipment
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13 gp

Greatsword, longbow, arrows x60
Studded leather armor, explorer's outfit
Backpack, bedroll, belt pouch
Flint and steel, iron pot, mess kit
Rope, torches x10, trail rations x5, waterskin

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Background
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Looking back, it was the turning point of his life. Everything leading up to that point was slowly spinning downwards, leading to a life that was out of control. A streetrat who was pinching coppers from gutters and purses just to meet dues.

But when he got caught trying to break into the newest merchant's shop, his life was quickly on the fast track to suffering. Sold several times from master to master, Tristan finally ended up in a sticky situation. For his last master was a demonic cultist that looked at him like he was fodder. Strange rituals soon followed that caused great pain and subjected him to the whims of many demons.

It was a patrolling warden that freed him, having been on the trail of this cell of cultists for several months. Brudgar Uthyr was his name and he took young Tristan under his tutelage, training him in the ways of protector of the woods. But memories of the rituals he was subjected to never quite left him and haunted his dreams.

While his adopted father hoped that Tristan would take over patrol of the deep forest, something else has become Tristan's goal. Instead he heads for Kenabres, to join the Crusades into the Worldwound. While the nightmares will never fully leave him, he hopes his pledge to the Crusades can save others from having to be subjected to the pains of demons.
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Appearance and Personality
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A relatively spry man, Tristan is of middling height and forgettable. Except for the scars that cross his face, some from rival street gangs and others from the claws of demons. He keeps his sandy hair short, preferring to ensure that it remains out of his crystal blue eyes. Unless required to disarm, he is comforted by keeping his weapons close with his hand and a half sword and his warden's bow both in a shoulder scabbard.

Trying to forget his unruly youth that led to his capture, Tristan now strives to be a man upon whom can be depended. He is more than willing to follow orders and will to someone who steps up to take charge. With his talents being more along the lines of scouting, he is practiced at being quiet; though as he becomes more comfortable with someone his sense of slightly macabre humor begins to show.

Finding the facts so he can make informed decisions is paramount for him. While not the most comfortable with lies, if they aid in discovering the truth he is willing to play along.

"I assure you, I understand completely." The smile played across his face, distorted slightly by the scar that went from his chin to just below his cheekbone. It was hard to keep the smile feeling genuine, but past experiences had taught him that it would only seem real if it was real for him. You despicable bastard, I am going to enjoy hunting you down once I confirm your crimes. Hunting was always a reason to smile and he seized upon that feeling to reinforce the validity of his grin.

"I just need to know exactly how many wagons should be.... overlooked." Tristan paused just enough so that the man across the table leaned in just a little bit more, though the rank stink of the slaver almost made him gag. "Tariffs from the pass are profitable after all and it will take quite a bit of convincing from my end to get the outpost to ignore even a couple carts worth of cargo."

He had been shadowing the man for several weeks now and was fairly certain that the cargo was the half-orc youth that had been unaccounted for in the aftermath of the butchery two months ago. But before justice could be handed out, he wanted to be certain he had the right man. All was that was needed now was a slip of the tongue.

"But of course!" The voice of the slaver grated in his ears, as rough as his greased hair was not. "I will only have two carts full, it would have been more but green blood are so tough to manage."

There it was, the slip he had been for which he had been hoping. Get them liquored up and even best will reveal the slime that is within them. Now the hunt could begin, though he needed the man to run. Tristan still had no leads on where the man was keeping his goods. Reaching to his belt, he brought out a narrow wooden tube and handed it across the table.

"Then it is arranged, this is the token that has been evading your grasp." Standing from the table, he turned to leave the smile still etched on his face. As he reached the door of the hut, he spoke the next words with just the faintest breath of air so that the scum would have to strain to hear him. "The justice that has evaded so many of your kind."

The man would run, he would know what the red shafted arrow within the tube meant. But Tristan did hope that the man was as greedy as he thought he was, because then there would be no way that the slaver would abandon his goods in his flight.

The hunt had begun....

You find the elf sitting in the furthest corner of the room, flinching and hissing each time the door opens and the fading daylight splashes across his face. Perched in the rafters above him is a massive old owl, red eyes half-lidded.

"Oh, it's you," the elf sneers. "Kept me waiting long enough, didn't you?" Without another word, the elf snatches up his heartwood bow from the table and stalks, angrily, toward the exit. The owl spreads its wings and lazily glides after him.

He stands at the door, pulling up his hood over his eyes. "By my ancestors, it's bright out here," he mutters, before turning back to face you. "Coming? We aren't growing any younger..."

Lucille was running through one last check of Rusty's saddle and pack when Svandril, the owner of the farm she'd spent the last week working on, approaches her, pouch in hand.

"That was a nice bit of work with the sheep. Got them all rounded up and shorn in half the time as last year."

Lucille tightens the straps on her quiver, positioning it for a clean draw by a rider.

"And my boy Telek has a new trick with the whip where he can pick up a rock on one side of the barn and put it down on the other. He tells me you showed him that."

A grin flits across Lucille's face, then leaves as quickly as it came. "Boy's got a light touch. And a good eye."

"I guess what I'm saying, Sweet Lucille, is that we've plenty of room and plenty of work for you if you'd like to stay a bit longer. You don't have to be rushing off on account of our original deal."

Lucille turns to look at Svandril for the first time. "Thank you, sir. The offer's much appreciated. But I've things to do."

"You're sure I can't change your mind? I might be able to see my way towards raising your pay..."

Lucille shook her head once. "It's time to move on. To Kenabres."

Svandril nodded thoughtfully. "All right then. But you're welcome back anytime." He tossed the pouch to Lucille who stowed it without opening it. "Seven days, seven silver, just as we agreed."

Lucille stroked Rusty's neck, then swung into the saddle. "Much appreciated. Stay safe."

"I should say the same to you," Svandril said. But Sweet Lucille had already ridden off.

Briathos made the sign of the sword over his heart as he entered the temple. Resident sword brethren moved about performing routine duties. He needed no direction to the cleric-major's quarters, and made his way there forthwith, smiling and giving brief words of greeting to the familiar faces he saw en route. Cleric-Major Hadren's gravelly baritone bade him enter at his knock.
"Briathos, thank you for coming." the husky priest gestured to a stout wooden chair in front of his desk. "I don't suppose you've seen any of these pamphlets that have been making the rounds...?"
"Yes sir, outright lies aimed at weakening the resolve of the novices. I'd heard a few had made it into the barracks."
"Unfortunately, you've heard correctly. Exaggerated mortality rate of novices on the front lines as well as some rather gruesome depictions of a demonic attack inside the city. The usual tripe. I'd like you to speak to the new recruits after weekly service."
"Of course sir, I shall let the Inheritor's light drive away any shadows that have taken hold." Briathos vowed.
"As I knew you would, and if any should confess where they received the tracts..." Hadren began.
"I will report to you directly, sir."
"As I knew you would. Light of the Sword be with you."
"As with you sir."
"Dismissed."

LG Human Wizard/1
Str: 8 Dex: 14 Con: 13 Int: 17 Wis: 12 Cha: 16
Arcane School: Abjuration
Opposition Schools: Enchantment, Necromancy
Full character sheet and character portrait here

A thin human of modest height, with piercing blue eyes, and a neck-length mop of sandy blond hair. He usually dresses in robes and a cloak, and always carries a staff with him.

From his mother, Fabian has learned self-discipline, and he finds it difficult to tolerate sloppiness or lax behavior. From Firilliath, and from his own nature, he has learned an insatiable curiosity about the natural world and about the ability fo the practitioners of the arcane to control it. From something inside himself, he has learned the determination and drive to fight the good fight, and to hold back the filth pouring out of the worldwound. Finally, from growing up in Kenabres, he has learned a fair amount about demons, and would love for that knowledge one day to become obsolete on Golarion.

Fabian is a foundling. He was discovered just over two decades ago in the early years of the Fourth Mendevian Crusade by a group of paladins and fighters returning on a patrol past the wardstones. Nobody is very sure how he got out there, or what he was doing; he was a squaling infant, naked except for a cloth diaper, sitting inside a small crater on the blasted plain of the Worldwound. An elderly elven wizard with the crusaders by the name of Firilliath was able to detect some residual conjuration magic, and suspect that somehow the infant had been brought there by magic. He also pointed out the strange birthmark on the baby's back left shoulder, a rune that Firilliath identified as the Sign of the Seeker's Spiral.

The crusaders brought Fabian back home. They were able to determine through divinaitions that his parents were two Riftwardens who had disappeared on a mission, and who were presumed dead. Upon learning this, one of the paladins who had discovered him, a Taldan woman by the name of Alissa Moldonado, adopted Fabian, gave him his name, and began to raise him as her own. Alissa is a severe and strict Iomedean, full of compassion and mercy, but also a strong disciplinarian. She raised Fabian, hoping to train him to be a paladin himself. However, as Fabian came into his teen years, it became apparent that his modest stature, light frame, and unimpressive musculature-- coupled with an extremely sharp mind-- meant that another path was better for him. So, she apprenticed him to the elven wizard Firilliath, who trained Fabian as a wizard. An abjurer himself, Firilliath trained Fabian in that same school of magic.

Having spent six years as the apprentice of Firilliath, having had many friends of his adopted mother and of his own be lost to the Fourth Crusade, he is now of age, a fledgling wizard in his own right, and is ready to take up the mantle himself. A faithful worshipper of Iomedae himself-- something his adopted mother insured he would carry into his life-- he is eager to join the Fourth Crusade (not believing that it is on its last legs, as so many say), hoping to bring his arcane skill to bear. He idly dreams of one day becoming a Riftwarden himself, hoping to learn more about his mysterious parents. He also knows, somehow, that the one who killed his parents still lives, and he would like to even that score.

Fabian walked into his master's study. The elf had called him, for what Fabian did not know. He held his staff, the specially craftedstaff that over the last several months Firilliath had shown him how to bond with in order to make his magic stronger.

"Master," Fabian said in a level voice.

"Ah, Fabian," the elf said, his face crinkling into a smile. Although very old, as an elf his face did not show his age. Still, the air of gravitas about him, and the care with which he made even the most mudane of movements, gave away his many years on Golarion. "I have something for you."

"Yes, master?" Fabian asked, keeping his voice neutral. Part of him feared that it was going to be an arduous task, and another part of him scolded that first part for fearing it. An arduous task set by Firilliath would only make him stronger, more capable, and is not something to dread.

The elf, the smile still on his face, held a tome out to Fabian. "Your spellbook," he said.

"My... spellbook? I..." Fabian paused, not sure how to respond.

"Your studies are complete, Fabian. You have been an excellent student. You are now a full abjurer. It is traditional, both at schools of magic, and when students study with an individual master as you have done with me, for the student to be given a spellbook upon the completion of his studies, when he is ready to go into the world as a journeyman wizard."

"I..." Fabian said, still at a loss for words. After a moment, he went down to one knee, bowing before his master, and said, "Thank you, master, for everything you have taught me, for everything you have given me."

Firilliath chuckled. "No need to be so formal, my friend. That's your mother's training in you again. Stand up!"

Fabian stood and took the book from the elf, tucking it under his arm.

"What will you do next?" Firilliath asked?

"I will join the crusade," Fabian responded without hesitation.

Firilliath signed inside, but did not betray his feelings on his face. "Your path is yours to choose. But be aware that even though your studies with me are complete, you still have much to learn. You really are but a fledgling wizard. And as for the crusades... the work that the crusaders do is noble, but as you know, many people, including myself, believe that the Fourth Crusade is failing. I would hate to see you throw yourself away in an effort that has already lost its heart."

"If the Fourth Crusade is failing," Fabian responded, "then it is the responsibility of all of us to revitalize it. All of Avistan is depending on Mendev, and the crusaders here to wall off the demonic incursion. There is no more important thing one can do. But, I will take your advice to heart. I know that I am young, and that I am inexperienced, and I will try not to get in over my head."

"I wish you well, my student," Firilliath said, as Fabian gave him another shallow bow, before leaving the room.

Darius Hammerhand
Dwarf Wizard 1
LG Medium humanoid (dwarf)
Init +0; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +3
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Defense
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AC 10, touch 10, flat-footed 10
hp 9 (1d6+3)
Fort +3, Ref +0, Will +5; +2 vs. poison, spells, and spell-like abilities
Defensive Abilities defensive training (+4 dodge bonus to AC vs. giants)
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Offense
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Speed 20 ft., shift
Melee warhammer +2 (1d8+2/×3)
Special Attacks +1 on attack rolls against goblinoid and orc humanoids
Wizard Spells Prepared (CL 1st; concentration +6):
1st—[/i]
0 (at will)—[i]
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Statistics
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Str 14, Dex 10, Con 16, Int 16, Wis 16, Cha 8
Base Atk +0; CMB +2; CMD 12 (16 vs. bull rush, 16 vs. trip)
Feats Scribe Scroll, Spell Focus (conjuration)
Traits magical knack, riftwarden orphan
Skills Craft (armor) +7 (+9 on checks related to metal or stone), Craft (stonemasonry) +7 (+9 on checks related to metal or stone), Craft (weapons) +7 (+9 on checks related to metal or stone), Knowledge (arcana) +7, Knowledge (religion) +7, Spellcraft +7; Racial Modifiers craftsman
Languages Common, Draconic, Dwarven, Giant, Terran
SQ arcane bonds (arcane bond [warhammer]), opposition schools (enchantment, necromancy), specialized schools (teleportation), summoner's charm
Other Gear warhammer, artisan's tools, artisan's tools, artisan's tools, backpack, bedroll, belt pouch, dwarven trail rations (5), flint and steel, ink, black, inkpen, mess kit, pot, soap, spell component pouch, spellbook, torch (10), trail rations (5), waterproof bag, waterskin, 12 gp, 5 sp
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Special Abilities
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Arcane Bond (Warhammer) (1/day) (Sp) Use object to cast any spell in your spellbook 1/day. Without it, Concentration required to cast spells (DC20 + spell level).
Craftsman +2 on Craft/Profession checks related to metal/stone.
Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white vision only).
Defensive Training +4 Gain a dodge bonus to AC vs monsters of the Giant subtype.
Enchantment You must spend 2 slots to cast spells from the Enchantment school.
Hatred +1 Gain a racial bonus to attacks vs Goblinoids/Orcs.
Magical Knack (Wizard) +2 CL for a specific class, to a max of your HD.
Necromancy You must spend 2 slots to cast spells from the Necromancy school.
Shift (5') (6/day) (Sp) Short-range teleport
Spell Focus (Conjuration) Spells from one school of magic have +1 to their save DC.
Summoner's Charm (+1 rds) (Su) Increase duration of summoning spells by 1/2 level (permanent at 20).
Teleportation Associated School: Conjuration

Darius is a dwarf that has a very keen affinity for the earth and metal. Given his background, the idea for the character is to be a crafter, both of mundane items and also magical items down the line. Also plan on using whatever downtime rules are available to help arm and equip the party as well as supplement income to be able to assist the rest of the party. In combat, Darius is planned to be a mystic theurge, so he will be using both wizard and cleric spells and powers to try and support, attack, as well as manipulating the battlefield. Once he as a few levels under his belt, Darius should be a very skilled battlefield manipulator and support caster, but if needed can also take up his hammer to try and bolster the line. Rather than max out on mental stats, I wanted Darius to be more represented as a wizard that lived in a more dangerous place, and Kenebras seems to have more than its fair share of danger and trouble.

Darius is a son of the Hammerhand clan, his Father and Mother members of the arcane association known as the RiftWardens. They left shortly after his birth on a very secret mission, one that he still to this day knows nothing about, and they have never been heard from since.

Darius was raised by his aunt and uncle, Korg and Delia Hammerhand. Upon his coming of age, they gave Darius his parent's last gift, paid apprenticeship in the arcane arts. Having been raised well by his uncle, a devout follower of Torag, Darius undertook the apprenticeship and after many years completed his work, becoming a novice magister. He proceeded to work his craft, but shortly after he completed his apprentice studies, word came that his uncle had passed due to old age. Darius returned home, and spent a customary week of mourning with his family. He spent several days at home, and quickly realized that his aunt needed his help to run the family forge.

Darius ended up staying home, and ever since has been working the forge and stone masonry for the family, doing his level best to get their business to a place where it could support his aunt. During this time, Darius found three items that his uncle left for him. And iron wrought holy symbol of Torag, his Uncle's Warhammer signifying himself as First Defender of the Hammerhand family in Kenebras, and a rather large ironbound tome, Hammer and Tongs. He reads every night when he does his devotions, as well as studies arcane theories and practices his spells.

Darius is a stocky and broadly built dwarf. His firey red hair is often soiled with metal shavings, filings, and grime from working in either the forge or the masons shop on a normal day. When not working, he does clean up well, though his callouses and scars from working in the forge do stand out a bit. He wears robes of leather, odd for many, but they protect him with his apron while working the forge, so it doesn't seem to bother him much.

Tink tink, clang. Tink tink, clang. Tink tink, dong.

Darius sighs, working on smoothing out the final edge for the guard's blade. "So, Will, seen anythin good up on tha walls?"

The human man chuckles at him. "Of course not Darius. Hells, I haven't seen any decent action in several weeks. Not since they pulled me off onto guard duty away from the front lines."

Darius keeps working slowly, repairing the small dings in the man's sword. "Den which fool did this to ya blade? I mean come on lad, certainly someone had to have shown you basic care of your sword."

The human chuckles at him. "You say that every time I come see you. Its like you don't want my money. I come by here every few days just to make sure its in tip top shape. Besides, didn't you train as a Riftwarden or something? Shouldn't you be out slaying demons with magic spells and such?"

Darius frowns as he keeps working. "That seems like another life ago. Sure I'm a mage, but auntie needed me. I know someday I'll have this place set up and be able to practice my craft again. Torag's beard I pray that is so. But I can't abandon the only family I got. Not here, where demons roam in plain view of where children play. And uncle Korg was the First Defender, and I'm the closest thing to a son they have. I have to do my part to help the family. Gimme a couple more years lad, then I'll get back to it."

Will smirks at him. "Don't look so dour man. You are the most dependable smith that I know. If there is a way out of your situation, I know you will build the bridge to get there." He smirks, testing out the blade's balance before smiling at Darius handing over a few coins. "Same time next week?"

Darius waves a hand and chuckles at him. "Sure thing lad, and tell your friends up there, I could always use more customers. And thanks, sometimes I just look at the big picture and get sour about things. Thanks for the kind words. Tell ya what lad, if your off duty tonight, meet me down at the Stone Flagon. I pick up the first round."

TruStrike sits and wonders to himself why the drunkest dwarf in town picked him to sit next to. He pays attention the best he can but cant help but let his mind wonder a bit. "I hope they take me seriously. It was quite the journey, I would think the distance alone would prove my sincerity", he thinks to himself. He takes a sip of his ale and nods at the dwarf, amused by his optimism if nothing else. "He may not be so bad if he'd quit spitting with each word". The left half of his brain tells him to answer the question just asked of him. I do whatever I can. Usually just running errands for alchemists or wizards. I've made a bit of coin protecting caravans lately.

Seraphyna, or Sera as she is known to many of her friends, wakes with a stretch and a sigh. She had stayed in a field, preferring the open air and view of the night sky to a raucous and smelly tavern. Packing up her small campsite before she is found out by the fields owner, she takes a moment to stretch and ensure her new armor doesn't impede her too much. The leather armor, still fairly new from the armorer, was one of the few good ideas Sera had gotten while her mother railed at her about how she'd be split by a human's sword, eaten by a pack of wolves, fall off a mountain and be crushed by boulders, or a dozen other things. Picking up a small stone, she drops it, only to have it flung some 10 feet away. "Good morning to you as well" she says to no one, "I'd ask if you slept well, but I think we both know that answer." As if to answer her, a breeze comes from no where and sends her long hair billowing.

Finally ready, Sera continues on her trek, coming to a small inn about to begin her day. The smells of roasted meat fill her nostrils and the rumble in her stomach remind her that hard tack is not a good meal, and it was early enough to avoid many of the more rowdy customers, so she decides to risk entry into the inn.

Quietly entering the inn, she does her best not to disturb the youth engrossed in his book, and a giggle escapes her lips as the dogs play with each other, much to their owners dismay. At the sight of another elf, Sera's face goes white, and she dashes to a seat that she hopes will hide her from view, Oh heavens, father must have already sent people out to look for me. Stupid Sera, this is the closest settlement, of course he'd think this would be my first stop. she thinks. She is so completely engrossed in thought she completely misses the serving girl approach and ask her three times what she wanted to eat. "Oh, I'll have whatever the cook is making this morning and an empty mug." she says.

I see Judah's role in the party as a source of knowledge for the group as well as an additional shield for the group (filling in the gaps where the cleric can't reach with communal and wide area spells) and as a debuff agent against enemy casters so his allies or summoned monsters will have an easier time assaulting them.

Judah is the second child of two former pathfinders John Fish-Slayer, a Kellid warrior and Amelia Pasket, a Shaonti priestess of Sarenrae. Raised on a small farm on the coast of Varisia with his older sister Miriam, Judah had a happy childhood. Every few years John, would take his family to see his in-laws in the Realm of the Mammoth Lords. There Judah enjoyed visiting his uncle Sean Woe-Singer; the chief war singer of the tribe who entertained his little nephew with his cantrips and stories of how he bested a frost giant or primordial beast with his magical voice and humorous illusions.
Inspired by his uncle, Judah decided to take up the role of a magician. When he came of age Judah enrolled at the Stone of Seers, in Magnimar. Like his uncle, Judah would not battle his enemies with by blasting them with hell-fire and calling down thunder and lightning to strike them down; he would outwit them. With the right shielding spells he could ignore attacks, magical or mundane, with a well timed dispelling charm he could prevent any magical assault or obliterate any number of existing spells his opponent protected himself with. Judah would make it a battle of attrition.
After years of rigorous study Judah graduated from the academy and sought work hiring himself out as an adventuring wizard. Unfortunately no one wanted to hire a wizard who couldn't create fire from his hands. After a year of being passed over for his “flashy” colleagues, Judah decided to leave Magnimar and begin questing on his own; what did he have to worry from bandits and goblins they would not be able to break through the weakest of his wards. Before he left Judah had to visit the Temple of Sarenrae to pray for the Dawn-flower to keep him safe on his travels.
Judah's mother may have retired her habit but she had instilled a love of the sun goddess in her children's hearts. Everyday before Judah looked over his scrolls and spellbooks he would bow to the east and give his prayers Sarenrae. As Judah began to exit the temple to begin his search for adventure, a ray of sunlight blinded him. As Judah stopped to regain his vision he saw the source of his blindness was off a caravan of paladins armor. Remembering the proverbs of how Sarenrae would grab her followers attention with the light of her holy orb, Judah walked to the paladins and asked where they where going.
“To the Worldwound, to slay the demons that crawl out from the Abyss and reclaim the land for humanity.”
Without hesitation Judah asked the caravan to take them with him. This was the will of Sarenrae, why else would so many adventuring parties pass over him for so long and why else would the sun blind him on the steps of a sun god's shrine if not to point him to this destination. His shields and wards would be needed to protect so many of the gods' warriors against the horrors of the outer planes and who knew maybe one of his barrier spells could be used to close the World wound itself.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” One of the templars asked as he passed the bowl of stew to Judah. “We haven't left Varisia, yet. There's still time to return home lad.”
Judah, blew on the stew and gave the paladin a very tired look. “I paid the caravan master to take me with all of you to the World Wound and by the Dawn-flower, that's where I'll be in a fortnight.”
“Lad, I'll gladly give you a refund. I couldn't live with you on my conscience if I could have said something to convince you to drop this folly.”
Judah, was quickly getting tired of hearing this speech. It seemed to him that at every evening fall the knights would draw straws to see who would try to convince “the lad” to turn back.
“What makes it folly for me to join in the crusade against the abyss, but perfectly acceptable for you and your companions to venture there?”
Judah could swear the man nearly snorted at the question. “Lad, we're an order of holy knights trained to combat the forces of demons and devils alike. Some of us have already fought against their ilk already. I mean no offense by this but you're just a mage, still green from school.”
“Why is it whenever someone says “no offense”, it's always before they say something really offensive?” Judah thought.
“Very well,” Judah said as he picked himself up and started to walk away. “Clearly you need a demonstration of my skill.”
He stopped when he reached about ten paces from the camp fire. “Shoot me.”
The camp grew quiet as the templar asked confusedly “Excuse me?”
“You question my ability to survive in the crusade because of my lack of experience. I say I am more then adequately prepared for the challenges ahead. I see you carry a crossbow. I bet you can't strike me down from this distance despite your training. So I'll say it again, shoot me.”
“Lad, you can not be serious.”
“Deathly. If you can put one of your bolts into me from this distance I will return home. I see we have a priest of Desna in our company. If I suffer serious injury he can heal my injury and I can start the walk back to Magnimar all the sooner.”
The templars murmured to each other for a minute. “You swear you'll return home lad.”
“By the rays of the Dawn-flower, I swear it.”
Reluctantly the knight shouldered his crossbow and took aim. Judah began to silently chant the words to his personal ward and make the arcane signs for shield with his hands. He knew it wasn't guaranteed protection against the bolt but it was the best he had. If this was indeed the right path he should take, Sarenrae would see him through this trial.
After what seemed like an eternity the paladin pulled on the crossbow's trigger and the air hissed as the bolt flew. Time seemed to slow for everyone as they saw the bolt go towards Judah's stomach and then shatter as it hit an invisible wall right above his seemingly unprotected midriff.
Judah looked at his stunned audience. “Well I hope that will be the last I hear about me going back home."

Judah Rune-Reader
Male Human Wizard 1
NG Medium Humanoid (Human)
Init +2; Senses Perception +2
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DEFENSE
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AC 12, touch 12, flat-footed 10 (+2 dex)
HP 8 (1d6+1 con+1 favored class)
Fort +1, Ref +2, Will +4
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OFFENSE
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Speed 30 ft.
Melee Mwk Quarterstaff +2 (1d6+1, x2)
Spells Prepared (CL 1st; concentration +4)
0 - detect magic, mage hand, prestidigitation (DC 13)
1 - magic missile, summon monster I, shield
Space 5 ft.; Reach 5 ft.
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STATISTICS
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Str 12 (+1), Dex 14 (+2), Con 13 (+1), Int 18 (+4), Wis 14 (+2), Cha 10 (+0)
Base Atk +0; CMB +1; CMD 13
Feats Scribe Scroll, Combat Casting, Widen Spell
Traits Touched by Divinity(able to cast cure light wounds),Pragmatic activator (use my int mod when using the use magic device class skill
Skills Knowledge (Arcana) +8, Knowledge (Nature) +8, Knowledge (Planes) +8, Spellcraft +8 Swim +2, Use Magic Device +5
Languages Common, Celestial, Shaonti, Draconic, Hallit
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SPECIAL ABILITIES
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Abjuration Specialization Specialist wizards receive an additional spell slot of each spell level they can cast, from 1st on up. Each day, a wizard can prepare a spell from his specialty school in that slot. This spell must be in the wizard's spellbook. A wizard can select a spell modified by a metamagic feat to prepare in his school slot, but it uses up a higher-level spell slot.
Enchantment and Necromancy Opposition School A wizard who prepares spells from his opposition schools must use two spell slots of that level to prepare the spell. In addition, a specialist takes a –4 penalty on any skill checks made when crafting a magic item that has a spell from one of his opposition schools as a prerequisite.
Resistance A wizard gains resistance 5 to an energy type of his choice, chosen when he prepares spells. This resistance can be changed each day. At 11th level, this resistance increases to 10. At 20th level, this resistance changes to immunity to the chosen energy type.
Protective Ward (6/day) (Sp) As a standard action, a wizard can create a 10-foot-radius field of protective magic centered on him that lasts for a number of rounds equal to his intelligence modifier. All allies in this area (including the wizard) receive a +1 deflection bonus to their armor class. This bonus increases by +1 for every five wizard levels he possess. he can use this ability a number of times per day equal to 3 + his intelligence modifier.
Bonus Feat Humans select one extra feat at 1st level.
Skilled Humans gain an additional skill rank at first level and one additional rank whenever they gain a level.
Weapon and Armor Proficiency Wizards are proficient with the club, dagger, heavy crossbow, light crossbow, and quarterstaff, but not with any type of armor or shield. Armor of any type interferes with a wizard's movements, which can cause her spells with somatic components to fail.
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SPELLS
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Spellbook:
0 - Acid Splash, Arcane Mark, Dancing Lights, Detect Magic, Detect Poison, Flare, Ghost Sound, Haunted Fey Aspect, Light, Mage Hand, Mending, Message, Open/Close, Prestidigitation, Ray of Frost, Read Magic, Resistance, Spark, Touch of Fatigue
1 - Shield, Feather Fall, Magic Missile, Mage Armor, Protection from evil, Summon Monster I
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GEAR/POSSESSIONS
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Carried Backpack (2 gp, 2 lbs), lamp (1 sp, 1 lb), belt pouch (1 gp, .5 lbs, ), oilx3 (3 sp, 1 lb), scholar’s outfit (free, 6lbs), scroll case (1 gp, .5 lbs), spell component pouch (5 gp, 2 lbs), spellbook (free, 3 lbs), canteen (2 gp, 1 lbs), grooming kit (1 gp, 2 lbs), bedroll (1sp, 5lbs) ink (8 gp), ink pen (1 sp), mess kit (2 sp, 1 lb), Abacus (2 gp, 2 lbs), Magic ink (20 gp), Silver Holy Symbol (free)
Carrying Capacity Light: 43 lbs Medium: 44-86 lbs Heavy: 87-130 lbs Current 32lbs (light load)
Money 0 pp 0 gp 2 sp 10 cp

Traits: Resilient, Chance encounter

Mythic Path: Trickster

Background: Kazul was born to the Blackspear tribe of orcs. He was to be sacrificed at birth, but upon seeing a tattoo of a bear on his chest, he was spared and raised in the tribe by the orc witchdoctor. His youth was quite dangerous and he had to survive many attempts on his life from the orcs in the tribe. Kazul learned to be quick and strong to survive, earning the nickname the "Bear". He looked forward to the day he would escape the tribe, he did not revel in their cruelty. About a year ago, his tribe was set upon by demons from the Worldwound and he miraculously survived due to the rescue of a Desnan woman. He was left in Kenabres to recover from his injuries. He feels indebted to the city and plans on joining their Crusade against the demons. He even taught himself their language in the city's archives to better understand and defeat them. He plans on becoming a scout for the human armies. He also wishes to seek out his female savior to thank her.

Description: Kazul is 6'1" and looks like this: Image

Writing sample: Various in profile and previous RotRL game