The Deepest Shadows Lie Longest (Inactive)

Game Master Dreaming Warforged

His present career is not one that would have been obvious in his youth, although he had always paid reverence to Pharasma--his birth was a difficult one, and he survived only by the skill of the Pharasmin midwives. He's the only child of two merchants, and as a boy he was taken along on many of their trading journeys. They specialized in setting up long-term agreements with nations around Lake Encarthan and down the Sellen--olives from Andoran, salt from the mines of Ustalav, horses from Lastwall, and (unfortunately) rivals and enemies from Druma. The Thetras' success was ultimately their undoing; the rumor (though baseless) that they had managed to broker a trade deal with Kyonin roused the jealousy of the Kalistocracy, who bought them out subject to the condition that no member of their family would become a merchant. On the way back to Almas, the trio was staying in a small village that fell prey to a group of worshipers of Urgathoa, who infected the townsfolk with a virulent plague. Again, Windle survived thanks to the timely intervention of a priestess of the Lady of Graves, but his parents succumbed to the diseases spread by the cult.

This left young Windle in need of something to do with the rest of his life. At first he thought to become a priest of Pharasma, in gratitude for their role in saving his life twice over. Then he learned of the role a particularly venal priest of the Lady of Graves had played in spreading the rumor about his parents.... His travels had taught him much of the need to guard against corruption everywhere, even in the clergy, and thus his vocation was made plain to him. In addition he discovered a love for scholarship that grew to eclipse his young love for mercantile pursuits. He thought nothing of spending hours in a scriptorium, laboriously copying ancient texts in a dual effort both to preserve their contents and learn them for himself.

The time spent traveling in his youth was a great advantage to the fledgling inquisitor, as he was already familiar with many of the cultures and peoples of the nations around Lake Encarthan, and through his parents knew many wealthy and influential merchants. Time and time again he was drawn to Ustalav, though. The many problems that the people of that haunted nation faced called to him--the plagues of undead, the inability of the nation's nobles to protect their people, and worst of all (from his point of view) the Pharasmin inquisitors like him who perverted their mission into a way to blame the victims of the terrible supernatural forces afflicting the land for their plight.

He is presently in Carrion Hill after dealing with one of the latter, who had been about to burn all the children in a pair of nearby villages alive for being ensnared by evil spirits that only he could see. In this he was assisted by the scholar Arlend Hyve, whose knowledge of the area's history proved invaluable in answering the renegade inquisitor's accusations. As it turned out, he already had a pair of acquaintances in Carrion Hill--a trading partner of his parents, Rupman Myre; and Marshan, one of his parents' old caravan guards who'd gone into adventuring before retiring from the trade. This has meant a lot of time listening to people talk about how he's grown, but the time spent with them has been a reminder of happier times...when his future held a long career as a merchant, instead of being what seems like a never-ending battle against ignorance and darkness. He's been staying near the Ossuary Church (the clerics get nervous when a moderately accomplished inquisitor comes calling, for some reason) for a couple of weeks now, visiting, doing research in the church archives, talking with worshipers, and the like. Even though he's unfailingly polite, and helpful in the archives, the longer he stays the more anxious the priests of Pharasma get about finding something other than them to keep him occupied...preferably something that will take him far away, or offers a risk that he'll go on to his no doubt well-deserved reward at the Boneyard. Not that they have anything to hide, of course!

Grigor is no exception. Raised on stories from his grandfather and father and assorted watchmen who periodically drank with them, he prepared himself to also enter the family trade. All things considered, this was easy enough - all that was really required was an opening and the right introductions.

Despite his youth he did very well. He'd accumulated a lot of experience before his feet even touched the cobbles and was known to be a diligent albeit slightly zealous agent of the law, such as it was in the small city.

Overconfidence can be deadly.

When word came from Caliphas that they were looking for experienced Watchmen to take up a large number of recently vacated positions (which later turned out to be a more often than occurance than was thought), he sought a recommendation from Commander Garus and then councilman Heggry, both friends of the family. It was hard to leave the family home but the bonus money was a big incentive and Grigor hoped for better opportunities but he did take with him a personal memento - his Watchman's badge.

He was hired without reservation.

Work in Caliphas's constabulary proved to be very much different from anything he'd done on Carrion Hill but he proved just as skilled in Caliphas as a watchman... but sadly his brusque personality with those he considered unworthy to be 'on the strength' made him few friends, and his myopic world of 'watchmen and criminals' squeezed out any other relationships. A few chance arrests brought him to the attention of some powerful patrons - a recovered valuable amulet, a captured rapist guilty of defiling a member of the wealthy family and return of a run-away bride landed him a promotion to 'Inspector'.

And at that point Grigor learned that with powerful friends come great obligations.

Inspector is a special role, rated as a sort of speciality Sargeant, their job is to take responsibility for those cases that require special attention or investigative skills. As an Inspector on the Watch he was given responsibilty over the crimes that were both high profile as well as those crimes that certain people made it known would be resolved quickly, quietly, discreetly and with a certain disregard to the actual evidence. It didn't help that much of the pressure came from Captain Boverde Hoptler, Commander of the Watch and someone who had developed a dislike for Grigor as an arrogant upstart - particularly when Grigor ignored or misinterpreted orders and suggestions when he felt best to do so.

When a case of missing persons whose families were marginally wealthy enough to make noise over the issue Grigor was given the case but told it was likely some sort of sets of random disappearances (again, more common in Caliphas than he'd originally thought) and should be closed as such.

What he discovered instead was a nightmarish cult involved in the worship of beings so perverted as to strain sanity itself. Disregarding suggestions, then instructions and then direct orders he continued with the case. He was driven to open tomes of blackest lore, to study Foul Languages, ancient and arcane lore and finally, to learn to use magic himself. In the end the trail of corruption led to one of the sons of Baron Meier. Just when he was readying to strike and to bring down the head cultist, he was bought before Captain Boverde Hoptler, stripped of his position and jailed for a month.

It was in that month that Captain Hoptler captured a few members of a small cult who had sadly been responsible for the earlier murders... and Lukas Meier quietly disappeared from society, rumoured perhaps to be delicate of health and in need of a brief period of hospitalisation.

The loss of position and the injustice of it was more than he could handle. Friendless, Grigor took to drink, and for around 3 months drank away such funds as he had until news reached him of his Fathers death.

Too late for the funeral he still managed to make it back to Carrion Hill to fufill the duty to support his mother as the oldest Son of the family. Taking pity on Grigor, Commander Garus had him re-installed in the watch where Grigor has been for the last two years, and now holds the position of Senior Watchman. He still has a drinking problem, who wouldn't after what held experienced, but it is under control for the moment indulged off duty for the most part. Married to the sister of a merchant, Rupman Myre, whom he doesn't love and Father of a son of his own, he has become resigned to his life in Carrion Hill.

Where Grigor was once diligent and driven, he now goes through the motions, only fully focusing on such cases that temporally kindle his passion. In his youth he was idealistic and zealous of obedience to the law, he is bitter and sees the law as merely a framework and something that can be exploited by those with the wealth, position or talent to do so.

The one thing that has meaning in his life is that he's a Watchman, of a family of Watchmen. He can't give up the job that has been central to his whole life. His one hobby outside the job that he has retaken up is fishing.

The majority of the stock that Valiard sells comes from a yard garden behind his house, that he weeds and tends with fastidious attention. The remainder he buys or orders from traders and recieves in dried form.

Valiard gets bored easily, so he breaks into people's houses. Wait, that didn't sound right. Let us start over from the beginning.

Valiard had the normal upbringing of any merchant's child in the city. Lots of work learning his future trade with his father, Oril Tessar, and plenty of time, running through the streets of the city with the other children. His mornings were always filled with lessons, sums, chopping, weeding, grinding, mixing, making poultices and unguents. But in the afternoon he was one of the wild children, climbing walls, running on rooftops, chasing stray dogs and generally being a nuisance. On one particular afternoon he found himself in the Crown and when a patrol of Ravens was coming down the street, he scurried over a wall into the Cobal family compound. Scared out of his mind, he hid in the eaves of the house. Curiosity overtook him while he was there and he became fascinated with the life that he heard and saw before him. The speech patterns, the mannerisms, the activities of the household, they were a fascinating window on a world that he had never known. Valiard stopped running with the other children, and started skulking the houses of the rich. He never took anything, well, he didn't take anything at that time of his life, he was observing. And he found out things about his father’s clients, ways to help them, ways to make them healthier. With this information, two things happened: Valiard made his first sale in his father's shop, and the shop began to prosper as after that first upper class sale, more people came to know and trust their services.

His father let him keep the silverpiece from that first sale, as a lucky token. Valiard plays with it whenever he is nervous or thinking, and he has rubbed it smooth over the years.

Valiard inherited the business when his father passed on, and his nocturnal activities dwindled. His good looks and grace got him invited to many a party though, not as a suitable suitor, of course, but as an escort and dancing partner, he continued to exist at the margin of that world. Some might have been bitter by that, Valiard was keenly aware of the facade that the upper class placed on their lives, and in many ways found the unwritten rules they followed to be stifling.

It was at a party that he heard a curious thing. While they were dancing one of the young ladies remarked that a brooch of hers had gone missing. When she described the brooch, Valiard felt a moment of recognition, he had seen the brooch somewhere else quite recently. Later in the evening he realized that he had seen it on the chest of another, older madam when she had been leaving the party. It was at this moment, that the Taker was born. Valiard broke into the house of the older woman, removed the brooch from her possession, broke into the house of the young lady, and returned the brooch to her, placing it beside her bed. The gossip in the town went wild. Young ladies were sighing and swooning like crazy and wild speculation abounded. Valiard never stole for himself (unless you consider how much he enjoyed the challenge) but continued to work small magics, returning stolen items every so often, perhaps every other month. He broke into houses regularly though, honing his skills and learning to work with the night, blending in wherever he was.

Up until then, she was just "you there!" or "girl!" or, when she overheard others talking about her, "the Hag-girl." She has no memory of being left with the Varisian caravan in the bed of a days-old infant in the middle of the night, of being taken from that bed to be nursed when she began to wail, or of the screams and tears of despair from the woman who suckled her when the morning light revealed her mismatched eyes and the bereft mother realized what had become of her own child. The woman would have dashed the changeling to pieces in her anger and grief if her cries hadn't brought the caravan leader to the scene.

Ionacu was a pragmatic man. Snatching up the terrified infant before it could come to any harm, he put the woman in her place with hard reason: She'll bear another child to replace the one that was lost; it's not the changeling's fault she was born to a hag; the child is gone, no matter what they do, so they might as well make the best of the bargain and find some use for the substitute. He took the changeling away and gave it to an aged widow to feed on goat's milk squeezed from a cloth until she could be weaned.

As soon as the girl could walk and follow instructions, she was set to tending the caravan's goat herd. She had food and shelter; she had clothing enough to keep her warm; what she never had was human contact or affection. The other children stayed far away, as she watched them play with hungry eyes from her place among the goats.

She matured more slowly than the human children, staying childish and gawky in form when the other girls were rounding out, but there finally came a day when she noticed one of the caravan boys watching her tending the goats. After several days, she worked up the nerve to smile. They were in a salacious situation within a copse of trees when they were discovered by one of the Varisian women. She shouted in anger and threw stones -- not at the changeling, strangely, but at the boy. Didn't he know what hags did after mating? Did he want to be killed and eaten as her mother had devoured her father? Chasing the boy away as he tripped over his pants, the woman ignored the changeling altogether, as if she were nothing more than a natural hazard like poison ivy or a hornet nest that he should have known better than to approach.

It was only a few days later that she sat bolt upright in the middle of the night, a keening song filling her head with wanderlust. She flung herself against the walls and doors of the wagon she slept in to no avail; as always, they were locked from the outside. Ionacu had been prepared for this, as well. In the morning, when he opened the padlock, a group of men caught her as she tried to dash out the door and carried her to a cage.

The cage was in Ionacu's own wagon, a much more comfortable one than the one on which she was used to sleeping on the bare floor. He had a bed, a table and chair, shelves on the walls. He wasn't unkind. She was fed regularly by his own hand, and no one was allowed in to gawk at her in her imprisonment. She doesn't know how long she was in there, the song in her head driving her mad with its allurement and her inability to respond as she was driven. When she was sore and bruised from throwing herself against the bars, she spent hours collapsed on the floor, sobbing, barely aware of anything around her.

One evening, as she was in this despairing state, Ionacu brought her plate and lingered to watch her. For the first time, he spoke directly to her as he did to other humans, and it was such a novel experience it startled her out of her reverie. "It's for your own good," he told her softly. "You wouldn't like what you found if you answered that call ... what would be done to you. You're a skinny little thing, but you're not painful to look at. You don't want that slim little frame to grow hunched and twisted or your smooth skin to turn green and warty." He stared at her glassily for a few seconds before clearing his throat and going on. "She'll give up summoning you before too much longer. Then you'll be free and won't have to worry about her again."

Two days later, she woke up from an exhausted sleep in the early morning light to an eerie silence. The usual sounds of the caravan waking up and going about its business were there, but the summoning song in her head was gone, leaving behind a gnawing emptiness. Ionacu rolled out of his bed and peered into her cage; she looked up at him, blankly, bereft. "There," he nodded, taking the key ring off its hook on the wall. "Told you so. Back to the goats, girl."

From that day, she stumbled through her daily routine, eating, sleeping, tending the goats, half-stunned by the persistent silence in her head. The utter absence kept her awake at night, as she lay on the floor of her wagon, staring up into the dusty corners. In the moonlight, night after night, she watched as a spider spun a web, its graceful and measured movements soothing and hypnotic to her raw nerves. One night, her eyes flashed with interest, and she sat up to stare. In the moonlight falling through the barred windows, the threads of the web seemed to shine like runes which she suddenly understood. The patient spider paused a moment, its front legs poised delicatedly in mid-air, then scuttled down the wall to approach her. The changeling nodded in agreement. She would spin her web and bide her time; with patience and planning, she would be free.

The following day, she was ready and alert, watching for her chance. When one of the men struck an errant hammer blow that smashed his thumb, she rushed in, darting out with her hand and speaking a word in a strange tongue that restored the shattered nail and broken flesh almost before he had finished cursing in pain and anger. Ionacu was delighted. His long gamble had paid off, and her natural bloodline had outed at last; he had himself a hedge witch in the making.

The girl's wagon was improved with the addition of a bed behind a hanging curtain and a table with two chairs. Her serviceable wardrobe was supplemented with colorful scarves and strings of beads befitting a diviner. Most importantly, a medium needed a name; the outside of her wagon was painted with inducements to seek the supernatural aid of Mireza, with a list of prices to be paid to Ionacu for the privilege. After the dust and cobwebs had been swept out, the spider wove itself a new web in a corner above her bed.

Despite the advertisement, Mireza had no skill as a diviner, but with the tutoring of Ionacu, she developed enough talent at bluffing and at making vague statements that could be interpreted in various fashions that she was successful in passing herself off as one. Her most attention-getting line was delivered when visitors commented on her mismatched eyes: "One eye sees the future and the other, the past." Her ability to heal injuries was real enough, and it made Ionacu a tidy extra profit as the caravan passed through the Ustalavan countryside. She developed other talents that enabled her to fulfill her own prophecies of weal or woe and thus add to her reputation, and the cost of love potions and cursing rivals was painted onto the price list on her wagon.

After many months, when the caravan set up outside the city of Carrion Hill, Mireza's web was spun and ready. The spider as it danced reminded her of the way Ionacu had stared at her in the cage, speaking of her skin and figure. One evening, when he came to her wagon to collect her earnings, she surreptitiously cast the spell that so many lovelorn clients paid so well for. He crossed the wagon in a stride and crushed her lips to his; she was pliant in his arms. He awoke early in the morning to find her sitting on the edge of her bed and waiting.

"I want to leave," she said. Angrily, he refused, listing all the things he had done for her, all the other things he intended to do for her now that she'd taken him into her bed. "I want to leave," she repeated, "and until you let me go, you will sicken and waste away." The color drained away from his face as he realized that she had put the same blight on him as he slept that he had collected coin for her to put on others.

When the caravan left Carrion Hill, Mireza stayed behind, in her pocket enough coin to rent a room and Ionacu's worn ring, given to her as pledge that she was a free woman and not a runaway. She set herself up as a fortune teller and healer. The spider had its choice of corners. Ionacu's gold ring was strung on a chain around her neck, the symbol of her liberty and the success of her plan.

In the first week after she had hung out her sign, a dark, stern man in the uniform of the Crows opened her door. Commander Garus was taking it upon himself to check up on the new fortune teller, aware of the often-well-earned reputation of the profession as charlatans and pick-pockets preying on the desperate and gullible. Mireza turned on all the considerable charm her small, slight form, pale skin, and exotic mismatched eyes could muster, meekly assuring the man that she desired only to make enough to live on by assisting the lovelorn to happiness and the wronged to justice without interfering in the affairs of the police. She recognized in him a man like Ionacu, an authority figure better on her side than against her. She assured him that, should any crimes or other illegal activity be brought to her attention in the course of her business, she would inform the Crows at the earliest opportunity, and she has kept her word, often passing on rumors and festering rivalries that have assisted the Crows in keeping peace in the city, if only after pocketing her fee for the consultation. The commander has often found her useful as well in going places where the presence of the Crows would cause wagging tongues to be still and gathering information in regard to certain cases in the lower two-thirds of the city, in exchange for a supplement to her income from fortune telling.

She quickly became moderately successful in the superstitious town, thanks to her ability to detect the surface thoughts of her clientele and tell them what they desired to hear, and there is never any shortage of unrequited lovers longing for consummation or angry rivals wanting revenge. Her notoriety grew until she drew the attention of some of the town's more vaunted personalities. She was able to diagnose and heal a somewhat embarrassing disease Rupman Myre had somehow acquired without the unpleasant publicity involved in going to a temple, and recently Old Man Marshan had come to her for the chance to appear ten years younger for a mysterious assignation. In both cases, her reputation for not asking questions or showing undue curiosity about her clients' situations served her well; in truth, while she can successfully feign compassion, she has little feeling for the problems of those who come to her for help. She spent too much time shunned and alone in her childhood to have any natural empathy for her fellow beings; without bearing them any ill will, she sees them as a means to an end, that end being the support and moderate comfort of herself and the spider.

She has lived well in Carrion Hill, better than she ever dreamed she would when she was tending goats, but the way the spider is always moving its web from one corner to another reminds her that if a web stays in one place too long, it loses its efficacy; prey learns to avoid it, and cleaning women knock it down. One day they will leave again and spin a new web elsewhere; whether she is running away from something or toward it, she does not know.

Iozef has never forgotten that day. Ever since, he knew what he was calling was to be.

Being the studious fellow he was, his parents had scrimped and saved for several years so they could send him to a school of higher learning. Once accomplished, they sent him to Caliphas where he could further his education. Living his whole life in Carrion Hill, being sent off to Caliphas was quite the experience. Having always lived at home with his family, he had no idea what to expect. But it was for a greater purpose, so he was ready. He would take advantage and learn all he could on death, and how various cultures would celebrate it.

After returning home and settling back in, he made his way to the temple of Pharasma and was taken in as an acolyte. After a short time--being as well learned as Iozef is--he was given a position within the hall of records.

Iozef mostly keeps to himself, but when he manages trips into town, he makes it a point to stop and see Arlend Hyve. He always enjoys their talks. Arlend's endless knowledge on that of Ustalav, has always fascinated Iozef.

Along with his trips into town from time to time, Iozef would occasionally run into Old Man Marshan. He always had a tale to offer. Iozef always found him a bit annoying, but refused to be rude and would halt whatever errand he was running and listen. He never realized one man could go on so many grand adventures. And as much of a hindrance it was to have to stop and listen, Iozef couldn't help but find such tales fascinating.

More often than not, his trips consisted of visiting Rupman Myre's and informing of what information was acquired about his ancestors. The man was determined to know if his family line could be traced back to the Ustav lineage. No matter how many times Iozef had come back with a response of: "Nothing yet.", Rupman was determined he was related somehow. Iozef didn't mind, though, he enjoyed delving into records.

Reason for investigating strange occurrences, defending the city, or finding a murder: Iozef has lived in Carrion Hill all his life. This is home. This was his ancestors home. If he was called upon in any situation to where he could be of some help, he wouldn't hesitate to respond.

Iozef is 6'5", 215lbs, and is 26 years old. Tall and lanky, he is straightfoward, brusk, yet respectful. He owns a book that consists of his family tree his parents passed down to him when he became of age. He keeps it with him at all times.

Weapons - 4666gp
Light Crossbow and 10 bolts 36gp
2 Daggers - Cold Iron (boots) 8gp
Hanbo (Nightstick) 1gp
Brass Knuckles 1gp
Two Short Swords +1 4620

Equipment - 1852gp, 4sp 4cp
Backpack 2gp
Hooded Lantern 7gp
2 flasks of oil 2sp
1 Alchemical fire 20gp
2 Thunderstones 60gp
Empty Sack 1sp
Water Flask 3cp
1/4lb Tabacco 2sp 5cp
Flask of strong booze 2sp 3cp
Wooden pipe 5cp
Flint and Steel 1gp
Whetstone 2cp
Whistle 8sp
15 ft rope 3sp
Clay Tankard 2cp
2 fishhooks 2sp
50ft string 1cp
3 pieces of Chalk 3cp
Manacles 50gp
Thieves tools 30gp
Masterwork Tool - Boots (+2 Stealth for sound rolls) 50gp
Pearl of Power (1st Level) 1000gp
Wand of Cats Grace (7 Charges) 630gp