The Deepest Shadows Lie Longest (Inactive)

Game Master Dreaming Warforged

Known by frequent visitors as the Boil, or, more basely, the Wart, Carrion Hill rises over the otherwise swampy southern banks of Kingfisher River, the only solid ground of any reasonable scope in the swampland known as the Wrythe for a distance of nearly 20 miles to east or west. Carrion Hill gets its name from the fact that the city itself is built on the conquered and vanquished bones of previous cities—the site is no stranger to the carrion left in the wake of wars and famines and plagues.

When the river fog rolls in every morning and evening, those who dwell on the hill’s Crown district can look out on a world of white vastness, while those below take solace in the simple fact that the ground beneath their feet is solid and unlikely to wash away after one of the area’s frequent rainstorms or seasonal floods.

Carrion Hill is split into three districts. Atop the hill, the Crown serves as the home for the city’s nobility, government, and most of its public works. The hill’s slopes are a thick tangle of buildings and maze-like alleyways; this is the Tangle, where the bulk of the shops and residences can be found. The lowest part of the city, both physically and spiritually, is the Filth, a series of islands both natural and artificial, connected by old boardwalks and stone bridges. The city’s poor and desperate dwell here, as do those industries so vital to the city’s prosperity but so unwanted by its citizens—tanners, gong farmers, street cleaners, the fisheries, and the looming middenstone vats. Yet the Filth is also the city gateway, as the vast majority of Carrion Hill’s visitors arrive by riverboat or barge via the district's refuse-choked canals.

The cities buildings are mostly made of middenstone, a cheap material build from bone, dust, mortar and the crushed shells of purple carrion roaches. Middenstone has strong mauve hues. It doesn’t hold well to weather but can be easily shaped into any form and has thus been very popular around the city.

The Crows are enforcing order in the city. They are led by Commander Garus, a pragmatic, sour yet honorable man, respected by his men. Government is held by the city’s Mayor and his council, located in Crown Manor.

The city counts 9,000 souls, of very different ethnic origins: Kellids, Varisian and Ustalavic mostly. Though they share the usual Ustalavic cautiousness towards strangers and trouble, they form a tight and proud group, surviving in a cramped city with scarce resources.

Carrion Hill is also called the isle of 10,000 temples, and although the nickname is a significant exaggeration (there are actually a mere 180 temples in Carrion Hill, most of them but tiny one-room shrines), it seems that places of worship for gods both vast and slight grow from the very land. Shrines the size of cupboards, painted representations of gods with an offering of flowers beneath, rub shoulders with churches that somehow squeeze balcony upon balcony in tiny frames over almost decadently elaborate pulpits, and above all is the grandest place on the hill—the Ossuary Church of Pharasma.

What to Expect
The adventure is about horror and investigation in an ancient city. It is about unfolding truths and nightmarish secrets, built around a cosmopolite community making a living in harsh conditions.

I prefer games that lie heavily in the gray zones of morality, where the players are torn between what it means to do the right thing. I also prefer fewer but meaner encounters, with challenging situations and terrain.
So if you make a “big stupid fighter” that can’t move around, chances are you’ll have a hard time.

I’m not the DM who can easily quote RAW, and I have my own interpretation of rules as they pertain to situations. As such, I sometimes (probably often for certain) make rulings as I see fit and do not wish (especially since a written medium is so poor for conflict resolution) to have many long discussions on rules.

The Carrion Hill module is not a sandbox and modules sometimes require a fair bit of railroading. Players should expect this to a certain extent and play along, for the sake of the story.

I’m not very fond of the multiplication of magic items, especially when we get to the point where they loose their special quality. As such, access to magic item will be strict. You could say that it will be a low magic world in a sense. I’m still not sure what crafting feats I will allow.

The challenge of running a module in a PbP is mainly keeping the pace and getting through the whole thing. To that effect, players need to post regularly and announce their absence in advance. Also, I will try and regroup encounters and move the story forward by all means possible. I will also skip certain parts or narrate them if I feel they don’t bring a lot to the story. I also won’t use XPs but instead base leveling on where the characters are in the story.

Finally, if all goes well, I will keep the adventure running, perhaps joining with the Carrion Crown AP (probably around book 3), or perhaps with another module.

Requirements

• Start at level 5.
  
• No evil.
  
• 20 point-buy for attributes, no score above 18 or below 8, after racial adjustments, but before the 4th level bump.
  
• Races allowed: Core races, Changeling and Fetchling allowed. Most characters should have strong ties to Ustalav.
  
• Classes allowed: Pathfinder Core and APG, except the following: Gunslinger, Monk, Ninja, Paladin, Samurai and Summoner. Archetypes are allowed.
  
• An extra feat taken from the following list: Acrobatic, Alertness, Animal Affinity, Athletic, Cosmopolitan, Deceitful, Deft Hands, Great Fortitude, Iron Will, Lightning Reflexes, Magical Aptitude, Persuasive, Self-Sufficient, Stealthy, Skill Focus.
  
• Starting cash is average for level 1. We’ll discuss increased wealth and equipment when the players have been chosen.
  

Applications should contain

• Character sheet (equipment optional) with at least one skill point in a knowledge and one in a profession or mundane craft (not alchemy for example) that relates to your character’s work.
  
• Description
  
• Personality
  
• Motivation
  
• Background (see below)
  

Regarding Background
Your background should address, either implicitly or explicitly:

• The reason why you’re in Carrion Hill and whether you’re a local or visiting.
  
• Your connection to at least three of the following NPCs: Mayor Heggry; Commander Garus; Arlend Hyve, an authority on regional history and lore; Councilwoman Dimyian (half-elf); Old Man Marshan, a retired adventurer and the first victim; Rupman Myre, a successful merchant of middenstone.
  
• Three significant events in your life that shaped who you became and why you would leave everything and travel to the end of the world.
  
• A clear reason why you would be call to investigate strange occurrences, defend the city from an imminent threat or find a murderer.
  
• A cherished item of importance for you.
  
• Your job or occupation in Carrion Hill (how do you make a living).

Finally, make sure your application presents ties to the Golarion setting. Avoid bland and general backgrounds that would fit any game or setting.

The nation of Andoran is not known for religious heresy to match its political unorthodoxy. However, it does happen, and that's where people like Windle Thetra come in. A tall, slender, distinguished-looking man of apparent middle years (his hair is prematurely gray), Windle's amiable good nature hides a fierce loathing for the enemies of the Lady of Graves--and for those he sees as perverting Her teachings. He prefers to impose Her will through persuasion rather than fear, but will not hesitate to turn to force in Her service should the situation demand it. He has traveled extensively around the Inner Sea doing Her work, and has occasionally served as a liason between inquisitors of Pharasma and Sarenrae in dealing with outbreaks of the undead, because his personal philosophy aligns well with theirs.

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!

In appearance Windle looks rather like a young Peter Cushing--tall and thin with angular features, grey hair combed back from a widow's peak, and eyes that can go from watery to piercing with no warning. He dresses in black with silver trim, as befits his office, but still wears the simple wooden spiral one of the midwives left for him when he was born. (He has had the holy symbol all his life, and has made a private vow that he'll keep it until he dies. So far he's only had to have it mended once; by an odd coincidence, he has died once and been raised.)

300 years ago, the Gregorovitches were respected swordsmiths in Ardis, boasting blades as artistic as any sculpture. One day, Ivan Gregorovitch, patriarch and master smith was retained by a wealthy but secretive patron to craft a weapon to strange and exacting specifics. Ivan labored for two years on the sword, forsaking all other work. More than once he came close to bankruptcy in his fevered craft, for the blade had become his obsession.
When the patron finally returned to claim his prize, he heaped praise and wealth on the smith, but these things no longer meant anything to Ivan. Before the mysterious man could take the blade from him, Ivan struck him down and then went on a brutal rampage through the family home. Finally, covered in the blood of his wife and children, Ivan's eldest son killed him in self defense. And so, ‘Black Ivan’ has been passed from Gregorovitch to Gregorovitch ever since. Most caretakers of the weapon are wise enough to lock it away, and not so much as gaze upon it, for fear that it might take their minds like it did its creator’s.
So it went for many years until a balmy night three springs ago, when a mysterious stranger entered the smithy, asking after the sword that the family had done its best to forget, and wipe from the memory of their suspicious neighbors. When Vasily Gregorovitch told the stranger in no uncertain terms that the blade could not be had for any price, the cloaked man left in a rage. The shop and the family home were burglarized and vandalized several times in the following weeks, until Vasily had enough. He took his son Drovysta aside and entrusted him with Black Ivan. Drovysta spent the next few weeks in a moldy garret apartment, waiting for word from his father. Word never came though, and when the young man ventured forth to return to the family home, all that greeted him were the mangled corpses of his relatives and the clouds of black flies that had made a feast of them. He fled by riverboat to Carrion Hill.
Drovysta (Drovya to his friends) is a tall, well made young man with glossy, black hair that hangs to his shoulders and piercing blue eyes. He usually dresses in well worn leathers and the heavy apron of a journeyman smith. Despite his good looks, he is very quiet and unassuming and rarely tries to stand out. The loss of his family, and his gruesome discovery of their remains have turned the once outgoing and friendly boy into a taciturn and gloomy man. The fact that the sword sometimes speaks to him in his own mind also makes him doubt his own sanity.
Since his arrival in Carrion Hill, Drovy has shown signs of his ancestor’s obsessive nature. Every waking moment that he is not working the forge, he has studied swordplay with Old Man Marshan, a former client of his family, as well as the arcane workings of Black Ivan. Along the way, he has become an accomplished wielder of magic and has even assisted Councilwoman Dimyian in a very discrete matter involving attempted blackmail by a distant cousin. He also stood shoulder to shoulder with Commander Garus last autumn in dispatching some restless corpses in the lichyard when most of the garrison was ill with a strange pox.
Lately though, Drovy’s focus has begun to waver as he has become smitten with one of the local milk maids. It remains to be seen if she will return his affection, but she did gift him with a lock of her flaxen hair after he mended a barrel chamfer for her. He keeps the lock in his shirt pocket at all times, and occasionally takes it out to look at it.
Drovy works part time for a local smith to support himself and afford his studies. If he applied himself, he could perhaps become a master swordsmith like his ancestors, but Black Ivan and his family’s slayer are his true obsessions, and word of the murderer’s whereabouts would be sufficient cause for him to leave everything else behind in an instant.

If it's ok with you, I'd like Drovya's blade to be a Rhoka (1h exotic, 1d8 18-20/x2) It's in Adventurer's Armory, and is the racial weapon of the Urdefhan in Bestiary 2. My character concept doesn't depend on it, but I thought it would definitely stand out as a weird sword, with a sort of Lovecraftian feel to it. If not, no big deal, I'll probably just get a scimitar or bastard sword, but I thought I'd run it by you to see what you think. Thanks.

Valiard is a local. The owner of a small apothecary known as "True Tonics", a tiny shop wedged between the temple of forgotten Ba-istava a tree goddess from somewhere in the south, and a temple to the decay aspect of Gozreh. A painted sign of a golden mortar and pestle, with rays of light (and some lightning bolts for good measure) surround the mortar and pestle. Valiard counts the Councilwoman Dimyian, Rupman Myre and Arlend Hyve among his clients. (the council woman for health tonics, Arlend Hyve for digestive aids and Rupman Myre to treat a case of gout. As both a respected and knowledgeable person in the arts of herbology as well as one of the last people to see poor Arlend alive, it makes sense for Valiard to be summoned. Valiard is also a good person to assist in the investigation. He has many
contacts in the local community through his work, and may more easliy make inquiries.

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.

Denison is a fun-loving high energy Varisian wanderer. He grew up traveling with his family's caravan on a route that took them from Caliphas down to Katheer. His part of the caravan was playing the lute while his cousin sang. Sometimes he acted in the plays, but other than the stunts and swordplay, he was no natural on stage. During stays in larger cities, he sometimes ran one of the cups tables; but he wasn't terribly successful at that. He believes that he was set up as a decoy to drive business to the puppeteers, but it doesn't bother him. He was better at cantrips and song anyways. One day the Madre decided that he was to be formally trained as a bard at the Kitharodian Acadamy in Oppara after she realized he would not be making much coin for the caravan as a gambler or shyster, and his lute skills seemed to have peaked.
At the college, although he took his studies seriously, he also took to living it up during this time. He managed to scandalize a number of noble families with dalliances with daughters who were sent to the school to find a husband of good blood. Upon graduation, he went back to the caravan to work the crowds as a magician and played his lute for the evening performances. Although he loved the life, was secure in his wealth, he longed for more. With the Madre's blessing, he once again left the caravan for the life of an adventurer.
He naively answered the call of a Chelaxian noble named Julistar who was forming an archaelogical team called "Her Majestrix's Expeditionary.' At first, the explorations he new team went on excited him to no end, and he grew richer than ever before. The team did many explorations among the pyramids of Osirion, the jungles of Mwangi; he spent quite a bit of time in Absalom. But on one expedition, he learned the true deviousness of his cohorts when they were up against a rival adventuring party in search for clues for some device Julistar was looking for. They ended up setting a malicious trap for this other group of adventurers, who died horribly in the fires. It made him sick that he would be a part of murdering several people just because they were in the way of his team's goals. Later that day, Denison took the rearguard during their exploration, and purposely tripped a trap that sealed the rest of the team in. He grabbed everything he could and booked the first passage north as far as he could get knowing that Julistar try and get revenge. He gave up the adventuring life, but couldn't yet go back to face his family.
He remembered an old adventurer that was part of his inspiration to take on the trade himself in the city of Carrion Hill. Old Man Marshan. Marshan, who hadn't seen Denison since before he left for college, was ecstatic that the young man had come to visit. He laughed off Denison's concerns of revenge from his old team. "That sort of shiite happens all the time!" Mashan put him up for a few days, asking for payment occasional songs and that he share stories of Ancient Osirion over scotch with him and an acquaintance, a historian by the name of Arlend Hyve. Denison agreed and for the next several months, he met with the two over drinks at nearly every establishment that would pour a quality spirit. Of late, they have had another guest has joined the trio in their discussions, Councilwoman Dimyain. Dimyain and Denison have developed a flirtatious banter that both Marshan and Arlend have both noticed as something that could develop into a budding romance.

Denison is a naturally fun-loving and gregarious Varisian man. He loves life and lives it to the fullest, whether it drink, gambling, women, or adventure. He has the typical dusky skin of a Varisian coupled with raven-black hair and large, green eyes. He has the build of fighter, but slightly more lithe. He moves with the grace of a fencer and acrobat. He dresses as a Varisian, in a multitude of colors including his orange scarf, a blue vest, and pink handkerchief. One might notice that he doesn't have a touch of green on him.

Reason in Carrion Hill
After he ran from Julistar, he didn't know where else to go. This is where his inspiration to adventure lives.
Connections
Old Man Marshan - Denison was fond of listening to his stories as a boy when his caravan was stopped in Carrion Hill, and he was the first person he thought to turn to when he ran from Her Majestrix's Expeditionary
Arlend Hyve - They meet for drinks every Wealday to exchange stories and history.
Councilwoman Dimyain - She has recently been invited to join the weekly discussions by Arlend.
Three significant events
1) He was not enthralled with the life of a gypsy, and sought ways to leave including going to bardic college and beginning the life of an adventurer. Part of this was the impatience of youth. He had yet to master the arts his caravan routinely used and it was frustrating.
2) He took part of the murder of a rival adventuring party, became disgusted with himself, and betrayed his team. His new friends have forgiven him.
3) Umm...still working on a third.
Cherished Item
An gold amulet inlaid with ivory and obsidian that his family's Madre gave him before he set off on his adventures.
Job
He makes a living performing magic tricks and playing the lute in taverns or for parties.

VALIARD TESSAR CR 4
Male Human (Taldan) Rogue 5
LN Medium Humanoid (Human)
Init +3; Senses Perception +10
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DEFENSE
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AC 16, touch 14, flat-footed 12. . (+2 armor, +3 Dex, +1 dodge)
hp 31 (5d8+5)
Fort +2, Ref +7, Will +1
Defensive Abilities Evasion, Trap Sense +1, Uncanny Dodge
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OFFENSE
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Spd 30 ft.
Melee Dagger +4 (1d4+1/19-20/x2) and
. . Unarmed Strike +4 (1d3+1/20/x2)
Special Attacks Sneak Attack +3d6
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STATISTICS
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Str 12, Dex 17, Con 12, Int 14, Wis 11, Cha 14
Base Atk +3; CMB +4; CMD 18
Feats Alertness, Combat Reflexes (4 AoO/round), Dodge, Mobility, Rogue Weapon Proficiencies, Stealthy
Traits Charming
Skills Acrobatics +11, Appraise +7, Bluff +9, Climb +9, Diplomacy +8, Disable Device +13, Disguise +6, Escape Artist +9, Heal +2, Intimidate +6, Knowledge (Local) +9, Knowledge (Nobility) +4, Perception +10, Perform (Dance) +8, Profession (Herbalist) +7, Sense Motive +8, Sleight of Hand +8, Stealth +13, Survival +1, Swim +5, Use Magic Device +6
Languages Common, Halfling, Shadowtongue
SQ Fast Stealth (Ex), Ioun Torch, Trap Spotter (Ex), Trapfinding +2
Combat Gear Dagger (10), Leather; Other Gear Caltrops, Grappling hook, Ioun Torch, Mask, Pickpocket's outfit, Rope, silk (50 ft.), Thieves' tools
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SPECIAL ABILITIES
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Charming +1 Bluff/Diplomacy/save DC for a language-dependent spell vs. targets who could be sexually attracted to you.
Combat Reflexes (4 AoO/round) You may make up to 4 attacks of opportunity per round, and may make them while flat-footed.
Evasion (Ex) If you succeed at a Reflex save for half damage, you take none instead.
Fast Stealth (Ex) You may move at full speed while using the Stealth skill without penalty.
Ioun Torch This item is merely a burned out, dull gray ioun stone with a continual flame spell cast upon it. It retains the ability to float and orbit, and allows the bearer to carry light and still have his hands free. It may be in any crystalline shape common to ioun stones (ellipsoid, prism, sphere, and so on).

Construction
Requirements Craft Wondrous Item, continual flame, creator must be 12th level; Cost 62 gp, 5 sp
Mobility +4 to AC against some attacks of opportunity.
Sneak Attack +3d6 +3d6 damage if you flank your target or your target is flat-footed.
Trap Sense +1 (Ex) +1 bonus on reflex saves and AC against traps.
Trap Spotter (Ex) Whenever you come within 10' of a trap, the GM secretly rolls for you to find it.
Trapfinding +2 +2 to find or disable traps.
Uncanny Dodge (Ex) Retain Dex bonus to AC when flat-footed.
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MIREZA CR 4
Female Changeling Witch 5
NN Medium Humanoid
Init +2; Senses Darkvision (60 feet); Perception +1
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DEFENSE
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AC 13, touch 12, flat-footed 11. . (+2 Dex, +1 natural)
hp 23 (5d6)
Fort +1, Ref +3, Will +5
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OFFENSE
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Spd 30 ft.
Melee Claw x2 (Changeling) +2 x2 (1d4/20/x2) and
. . Unarmed Strike +2 (1d3/20/x2)
Special Attacks Blight (DC 15)
Witch Spells Known (CL 5, 2 melee touch, 4 ranged touch):
3 (2/day) Detect Thoughts, Silent (DC 15), Reckless Infatuation (DC 16)
2 (3/day) Blindness/Deafness (DC 15), Detect Thoughts (DC 15), Disfiguring Touch (DC 15)
1 (4/day) Unnatural Lust (DC 14), Ill Omen, Diagnose Disease, Youthful Appearance (DC 14)
0 (at will) Detect Poison, Detect Magic, Arcane Mark, Putrefy Food and Drink (DC 13)
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STATISTICS
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Str 10, Dex 14, Con 10, Int 16, Wis 12, Cha 16
Base Atk +2; CMB +2; CMD 14
Feats Persuasive, Silent Spell, Skill Focus: Bluff, Voice of the Sibyl
Skills Bluff +12, Diplomacy +9, Heal +8, Intimidate +9, Knowledge (Arcana) +7, Knowledge (Local) +6, Profession (Fortune-Teller) +8, Spellcraft +10
Languages Aklo, Common, Hallit, Skald, Varisian
SQ +3 bonus on Climb checks, Deliver Touch Spells Through Familiar (Su), Empathic Link with Familiar (Su), Green Widow (Ex), Healing (2d8+5) (Su), Scar (3 at a time) (DC 15) (Su), Share Spells with Familiar, Speak With Familiar (Ex)

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SPECIAL ABILITIES
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+3 bonus on Climb checks You gain the Alertness feat while your familiar is within arm's reach.
Blight (DC 15) (Su) Curse animals, plants, or land
Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white vision only).
Deliver Touch Spells Through Familiar (Su) Your familiar can deliver touch spells for you.
Empathic Link with Familiar (Su) You have an empathic link with your Arcane Familiar.
Green Widow (Ex) A changeling of green hag descent is naturally able to lure in potential mates and effectively trick them into pursuing her. You gain a +2 trait bonus on Bluff checks made against characters that might be sexually attracted to you.
Healing (2d8+5) (Su) Cure Moderate Wounds at will (1/day/person)
Scar (3 at a time) (DC 15) (Su) This hex curses a single target with horrible scars of the witch's choosing, whether something as simple as a single letter on the target's forehead or blotchy, burnlike scars on his body. The target may make a Will save to resist this hex. These sca
Share Spells with Familiar The wizard may cast a spell with a target of "You" on his familiar (as a touch spell) instead of on himself. A wizard may cast spells on his familiar even if the spells do not normally affect creatures of the familiar's type (magical beast).
Silent Spell Cast a spell with no verbal components. +1 Level.
Speak With Familiar (Ex) You can communicate verbally with your familiar.
Voice of the Sibyl Gain bonus to Bluff, Diplomacy, and Perform (oratory) checks
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ARCANE FAMILIAR CR 1/4
Female Spider, Scarlet
NN Tiny Magical Beast
Init +5; Senses Darkvision (60 feet); Perception +8
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DEFENSE
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AC 21, touch 17, flat-footed 16. . (+5 Dex, +2 size, +4 natural)
hp 11 (1d10)
Fort +2, Ref +7, Will +4
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OFFENSE
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Spd 30 ft., Climbing (30 feet)
Melee Bite (Spider, Scarlet) +9 (1d3-4/20/x2) and
. . Unarmed Strike +9 (1-4/20/x2)
Space 2.5 ft.; Reach 0 ft.
Special Attacks Poison - STR Damage (DC 10)
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STATISTICS
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Str 3, Dex 21, Con 10, Int 10, Wis 10, Cha 2
Base Atk +2; CMB +5; CMD 11 (19 vs. Trip)
Feats Go Unnoticed, Weapon Finesse
Skills Acrobatics +13, Bluff +1, Climb +21, Diplomacy -1, Fly +9, Heal +4, Intimidate -3, Perception +8, Spellcraft +4, Stealth +17, Swim +9
Languages
SQ Improved Evasion (Ex)

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SPECIAL ABILITIES
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Climbing (30 feet) You have a Climb speed.
Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white vision only).
Go Unnoticed During the first round of combat, flat-footed opponents are considered not to have noticed you yet for the purposes of Stealth skill checks, allowing you to make a Stealth check that round to hide from them.
Improved Evasion (Ex) No damage on successful reflex save; half on failed save.
Poison - STR Damage (DC 10) (Ex) Poison deals 1 STR damage, 1/round for 0 rds, cure 1 save.

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Mireza didn't have a name until she was more than twenty years old.

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.

6'3", dark skin, bald, brown eyes, with tons of scars and old bruises (nose been broken numerous times). Not a pretty fella.

Kragan was born into poverty, growing up in the Filth section of Carrion Hill. The youngest of five kids, he did not know even who his father was, as his mother died when he was three. Since that time, Kragan was raised by his grandmother (Gramma), Lucinda Stone, with 8 other children. Despite their poverty, Gramma always instilled a code of honor in Kragan, never to steal no matter their need and always help the poor and less fortunate. As can be expected, the youngest of the eight children, Kragan was bullied a lot by his family siblings and cousins. But at least it taught him to fight, a lot, and over time, he grew up to be the biggest kid on the block reaching 6' by age 14. Tired of laying bricks for a pittance of pay for a local merchant, Rupman Myre, and with his Gramma's health failing, Kragan almost turned to a life of crime but for his Gramma's code. Instead, he decided to use his size and supposed skill to try and earn money as professional fighter. The Pits were the poor's only respite and distraction from their sorry lives. Fighting the dirtiest and most desperate fighters around, Kragan got his ass kicked a lot and earned many scars. He got the nickname "The Bloody" by how beaten he was after every match. If he could not win, at least the crowd loved to see his blood spray all over. Despite the beatings and the toll on his health, Kragan continued to sacrifice for his Gramma, trying to earn coins for her cleric visits. Thankfully, a retired adventurer one day in attendance, Old Man Marshan, saw potential in the young man (more like took pity on him). He was impressed by the young man's devotion to his grandmother and helped train him, teaching him the value of fighting with daggers and brass knuckles, and using his recklessness to his advantage. With new inspiration, Kragan won his first match, in bloody fashion as usual. More wins followed as Kragan grew strong and skillful. He was now the one delivering the devastating blows, yet he always ended up bloody, as he was never good on defense. Eventually, Kragan earned enough money for Gramma and left the Pits. He fights now, once in awhile to hone his skills, or when he is down on his luck. Looking for new work, he got an apprenticeship with a weaponsmith, through Old Man Marshan. Kragan loves using his muscular arms to pound the blade of a weapon and has become quite a good craftsman in his own right. The smith where he works has a contract with the local guard to supply and maintain their weapons and that brought him into contact with Commander Garus. The Commander saw goodness in the young man's eyes and was impressed by his honor. He tried to recruit him into the Crows, given his enormous physique, but Kragan refused, as he has seen too much violence for the past 4 years and now wants a different life for himself, though Commander Garus insists he will convince him one day to help make the city a better place. Kragan did not discount the possibility. if the right situation appeared, as he is always willing to help. For now, Kragan works crafting weapons at the smithy, paying for his Gramma's expenses, and fighting, once in awhile. Besides his grandmother, the most cherished things for Kragan are his two daggers, personally crafted and etched with lions and his brass knuckles etched with bull horns. They remind him of how hard it has been to get this far and how much more he is willing to sacrifice.

KRAGAN THE BLOODY CR 4
Male Human Fighter 5
CG Medium Humanoid (Human)
Init +2; Senses Perception +5
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DEFENSE
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AC 17, touch 13, flat-footed 15 (+4 armor, +2 Dex, +1 dodge)
hp 25 (5d10+10+5)
Fort +6, Ref +3, Will +4
Defensive Abilities Bravery +1
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OFFENSE
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Spd 30 ft.
Melee Brass Knuckles +10 (1d3+7/20/x2)
TWF: +8/+8 (1d3+7/20/x2)
Dagger, Punching +11 (1d4+9)
TWF: +9/+9 (1d4+6/20/x3) and
Unarmed Strike +10 (1d3+7/20/x2)
--------------------
STATISTICS
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Str 18, Dex 15, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 12, Cha 8
Base Atk +5; CMB +9; CMD 22
Feats Dodge, Double Slice, Power Attack -2/+4, Toughness, Two-weapon Fighting, Weapon Focus: Dagger, Punching, Weapon Specialization: Dagger, Punching; Bonus: Iron Will
Skills Acrobatics +1, Climb +11, Craft (Weapons) +10, Escape Artist +1, Fly +1, Perception +5, Ride +6, Stealth +1, Survival +8, Swim +3
Languages Common
Combat Gear Brass Knuckles, Brass Knuckles, Chain Shirt, Dagger, Punching, Dagger, Punching; Other Gear Artisan's tools, masterwork: Craft (Weapons)
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SPECIAL ABILITIES
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Bravery +1 (Ex) +1 Will save vs. Fear
Close Control (Ex): At 2nd level, a brawler becomes skilled at forcefully moving his opponent around the battlefield. The brawler gains a +1 bonus on bull rush, drag, and reposition combat maneuver checks. The brawler also gains a +1 bonus to CMD when attacked with the bull rush, drag, and reposition maneuvers. These bonuses increase by +1 for every four levels after 2nd (to a maximum of +5 at 18th level). This ability replaces armor training 1.
Close Combatant (Ex): At 3rd level, a brawler gains a +1 bonus on attack rolls and a +3 bonus on damage rolls with weapons in the close weapon group. Both of these bonuses increase by +1 for every four levels beyond 3rd (to a maximum of +5 on attack rolls and +7 on damage rolls at 19th level). This ability replaces weapon training 1 and 2.
Power Attack -2/+4 You can subtract from your attack roll to add to your damage.
Two-weapon Defense +1 to AC while wielding 2 weapons. +2 when doing so defensively.

Gold remaining: 17 gp