The Walking Dead of Golarion, by GM Fiendish

Game Master Fiendish Zen

AC: 15, Touch: 13, FF: 12
Fort: 0, Ref: 5, Will: 0

Melee: 1
Ranged: 3
CMB: 1
CMD: 14
Init: 5

Feat: Point-Blank Shot
Trait: Reactionary, Poverty-Stricken

Ifrits can use burning hands 1/day as a spell-like ability (caster level equals the ifrit's level).

Fire Resist: 5

Skills (With ranks):
Acrobatics: 7
Bluff: 6
Craft(Bows): 4
Kn(Local): 4
Perception: 4
Sense Motive: 4
Stealth: 7
Survival: 5 (Poverty-Stricken)

Gear:
Leather Armor (10g)
Short Bow (30g)
10 Arrows(1g)
Bedroll w/ Blanket (6s)
Bear Trap (2g)
50 ft of Hemp Rope (1g)
5 days of trail Rations (2g 5s)
2 Torches (2c)
Common Backpack (2g)

Total Spent: 49 Gold 1 Silver 2 Copper
Total Left: 8 Silver 8 Copper

One thing to note though, aside from the mechanics of the race/template, how has being partially turned marked you? Is it obvious to others that you have been hit with a bad disease? Do you have pock marks, scars, discolourations etc? Do you detect as necromantic in nature? This fluff is just as important as the crunch of race building, as will have an impact on gameplay, be it having to hide under a cloak lest others try to stab you in the head, or else having a ready excuse as to why you are still alive if you are looking like you'll turn at any time... What are your thoughts?

I originally did Cha because it is the replacement stat for Con for undead, and some undead have good Cha anyway (such as vampires). But zombies only have average Cha (and no Int), so I thought the new stat array better. I see where you're coming from though.

I have my submission basically done, so I can just go back and redo the stats accordingly. And yes, I was assuming he'd basically look like a not-rotting zombie, so he'd have to go concealed most of the time. One of the things I haven't done yet is buy full robes. I don't think he'd stink or anything, but he might detect as undead, interpreting half-undead much like half-elf or half-orc, counting as both alive and undead for purposes of basically everything. So he'd probably get two saves vs Command Undead, and be immune to Hide from Undead, and he'd take damage from holy water, etc.

When the rauður uppskera came - what you call the Red Harvest - the dead rose, heroes and slaves alike. The fortresses became death traps, and in a matter of days, the race you call hobgoblins was all but eradicated. Yes, yes, I know, it's cause for celebration. Your children will no longer whimper in fear of being taken by our warriors. They have a new nightmare now, one that we share.

How did I survive? The same as you, I was smarter, faster, stronger than those around me. Seven of us barricaded ourselves in a tower on the edge of a cliff, two hundred feet above the river you call Kazaron. We knew the doors would only hold for so long, so we waited for dark and climbed down. Two of my kin fell to their deaths, and when we reached the bottom, we found more of the undead. Another of our number was wounded as we fought our way through to the boats. We thought that on the water, we would be safe. When our wounded sister turned, she took another of us with her to the bottom. We were three, then.

Stulka was a strong woman, but Gyoza was afraid. We went to the other warlords' castles, looking for help, but they were gone. When we were camped one night, a group of the dauður came. Gyoza was keeping watch, and she panicked. Her death bought Stulka and I time to escape, but then were only two. That was when we heard a rumor of a warlord in the south, gathering the survivors in a new stronghold. It was a glorious dream, and we went in search of this new warlord.

Stulka was the one who kept us alive. I was a simple warrior, but it was she who taught me to track, to hunt, to survive without the clan around me. She was the one who thought to sling hammocks in the trees, out of reach of the dead. She was the one who fed us in those first weeks, as we crossed the cinderlands. It was almost half a year before we found the new warlord, if he deserves such a name. By then, Stulka's belly was round with my children, and it was I who was keeping her alive.

Svikari was nothing compared to the warlords of the past, just a dozen of the people and another dozen or so of the soft races. They were not slaves, but armed warriors, standing beside hobgoblins. It was sickening to see, but the necessity of it was clear. They had a good fort, well hidden in the mountains you call Fogscar, but too big for a dozen to hold secure with slaves. They foraged and survived. I should have seen it immediately, but I was so relieved to think we were done wandering that I let myself become a fool.

There was not a single hobgoblin woman there to give them true sons and daughters. When Stulka and I came, they welcomed us and feasted us, and gave us some wretched liquor they brewed. It had been months since we had felt safe and secure, so we let our guard down. We became drunk. I woke naked, hanging from a tree over a pit, bait for the dauður. I escaped the trap, but there was nothing further I could do. One warrior against a dozen was simply not a realistic hope. Also, I knew that my children would have a better chance to survive in Svikari's fortress than wandering the wilderness with Stulka and I. I was near the coast then, and I followed the shore, scavenging from the ruined settlements of the soft races, hunting, surviving, until I reached this Sandpoint.

Back Story
A son to farmers, Beldarion never wanted to settle down and be a simple famer all his life, he wanted more than his father he wanted to see what was beyond their fields. But he had a duty to his family to their lands while Beldarion fought with his father it was his mother who would keep him put he could never let her down.
So he stayed, he did his duty as a son he helped tend the fields herd the animals but he never let his dream die. He would spend time with the local guards and militia he would train with them help out whenever he could. He made a friend out of one of the Captains Talark was his name he would teach Beldarion everything he knew, the years that passed went by smoothly his family's lands were producing a lot of money and he was coming along leaps and bounds with his training so he finally decided before his 19th birthday he was going to tell his family he was leaving. He had so much he wanted to see so many dreams... tell the Red Harvest tell that night that changed everything.

He came home late from working the fields and his parents weren't home so he went to the village to look for them. That's when he saw of men dressed in black surrounding the towns folk as they heard them into a circle he spotted his father in with the other villagers, all Beldarion could do was hide there were so many of them where were the guards he thought to himself. That's when he saw Talark dressed in black chanting in a strange language as he finished the villagers were all executed only to rise again moments later they faces changed into something evil. All Beldarion could do was stare at his father the wound that killed him still fresh his eyes glazed over he was gone killed but for what reason.
That's when the fires started Talark barricaded the town hall and set it on fire then made his way out of town with the men in black burning every building on their way out with the horde of undead villagers following them, even his father almost mindlessly following.

A lifetime passed or so it felt as Beldarion hid so scared he couldn't move, then he heard the screams almost as a reflex he stood up and ran for the town hall, busting in the now half burnt door the heat hit him first then the smoke as he fell to the ground dragged himself in to find anyone he could save maybe his mother was there was all he could think, then he found them looking up he saw a group of dead women and children. That was the last thing he saw before the smoke finally got to him as he blacked out.

He thought he was dead only waking up when he felt the rain hit his burnt flesh, hi back and arms scared from the fire the pain was nothing compared to the memory of what he saw, as he relived every moment. He again blacked out again from the pain or maybe he had just given up but the next thing he remembers is waking up in the back of a caravan saved for whatever reason healed up he lived but would live with the scares from that night.

Over the next few months he recovered he would helped out the caravan to repay them for their kindness but as soon as he could he struck out on his own travelling with groups but never staying to long, he searched for any news on his village did anyone escape? He took odd jobs helping with securing supplies working on protected farm lands, he would stay near his village along the coast there were a lot of people who needed help, his training would come in handy. But still reliving that night, pushing away the dreams he had for his life. For now all he has is himself all he has is the revenge he wants so dearly. Talark.. Talark.. he repeats over and over.

Appearance
Beldarion is a man of simple looks, his muscular looks and tall stature are what make him stand out at 6 foot 1 and weighing 195lbs. He has short black hair with brown eye's and white skin growing up on the farms around Sandpoint on the varisian coast.

He wears very plain clothes, simple traveling ones with his hide armor over the top, he carries his shield and the longsword he was train in while part of the local guard.

Motive
Beldarion lost his entire world when the Red Harvest happened, people he knew and came to trust turned on his family and town as they killed everyone and burnt it to the ground. He has put aside childish thoughts of seeing the world and becoming a hero, he now fights to stay alive he fights to avenge his family to put an end to any evil he see's and hopefully put an end to the people who turn on his village.

At least its freedom, the half-elf thought to himself, thinking about how different the last six months had been. He never wanted to go back to the whips and lashes of his former masters. Despite being half –drow, he had been considered nothing more than a slave by his brethren. A drop of human blood, that’s all it took in drow society to be deemed a lesser, a beast, an animal, unfit for anything more than a servant. He, along with many of the other untouchables, lived in the layer of Zirnakayin called Ghenavoc. His master, his half-brother Exitius Azrinae, had rarely come to check on his slaves, leaving the training to the lesser-born, but still pure drow, slavemasters. Their task had been to whip the smarter slaves, the half-drow and the pure drow unfortunate enough to be given to the slavemasters, into highly trained and fearless shock troops. Unwilling to spend much coin on these disposables, each slave was lightly armored with a shield, a shortspear, and a shortsword. Jeggred recalled his training experiences, which had him rely on his brothers-in-arms next to him for defense. He barked a short laugh at the sheer futility of all of his training. Yes, out here in the woods, above grounds, with his comrades all beneath him, whether still stuck in the hell-hole that all of Zirnakayin had become with the Red Harvest, or buried with their heads neatly removed, his many years of training with a phalanx were completely useless. Even his extensive weapon training with the short sword and spear were unusable. He had disposed of his shield many months ago, too heavy for the rapid and stealthy traveling he did. As he felt the smooth black shaft of his glaive, he recalled how not too long ago, they had been two different weapons. After careful consideration and seeing his first companion fall to the rotters’ bite, he had no longer felt comfortable wielding his shortsword versus the undead fiends, and had formed his current weapon.

As he loped along through the forest, he thought again about the slavemasters he had left behind. They often beat the slaves bloody, and then had them spar viciously, sometimes to the death. No , thought Jeggred, being on the run from packs of blood-thirsty undead is indeed preferable, as long as the air in my lungs is sweet with the taste of freedom. The Red Harvest had been a brutal and terrifying night, yet he still remembered the joy of killing his former tormentors as they attempted to hide in the slaves barracks. During all of the confusion, Jeggred had escaped along with eight of his fellow soldiers. The drow nobles had buried most of their dead within the city walls, so Zirnakyin had turned into a den of horror with hordes of the rotters patrolling the streets, mindlessly killing all they found. Although he very much doubted that House Azrinae and the other greater houses had been affected drastically, safe within their subterranean keeps, the city proper had been turned into a killing field. For once in his life, Jeggred had been happy to live in Ghenavoc, the lowest level of the city and the one closest to the city gates, and freedom. His relief was short lived as every dead creature within miles was attracted to the screams emanating from the drow city, and the tight, winding tunnels to the surface were packed with hordes of the relentless undead. For nearly two months, he and the other former slaves fought through the tunnels until finally emerged, bloodied and wounded from the depths of the underground.

That first breath of fresh air that he had ever taken almost made up for the unthinkable horrors that he had witnessed in the tunnels and the blinding light that he was greeted with; yet along with that first scent of freedom came the savage realization that out of eight, he was the only one that made it. His comrades had been brutally slaughtered one by one by either the ravenous zombies or hostile duergar forces, just as desperate as the drow slaves to be free from their city-turned tomb. The worst was when he and his brothers-in-arms were forced to take out one of their own as they succumbed to the bites, or the stench of rotti-Best not to go there Jeggred thought. He had witnessed enough horrors, and dwelling on them brought such despair that he sometimes doubted that he would be able to continue. But Jeggred was a born survivor, and determined to succeed for his real siblings, his fellow slaves who he had trained with, fought with, and bled with.

Jeggred saw the edge of the trees approaching, and the distant view of city walls looming ahead. Maybe there will be friendly survivors there who I can trade with. Or maybe it’s just another city filled with the dead. he thought grimly. No use in continuing on tonight. As he rigged his hammock almost 15 feet off the ground he couldn’t hear the tell-tale groaning of the walking dead for the first time in almost a week. Feeling relaxed and safe as possible, he let himself drift off to sleep.

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Defense
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AC 15, touch 12, flat-footed 13 (+2 dex, +3 armor)
HP (1d12+2)=14
Fort +4, Ref +2, Will +1
Special defenses Light Blindness, Thin-Blooded Resilience (+2 saves vs. posion/disease)

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Offense
================
Speed 40 feet
Melee Glaive +4 (1d10+4,x3,Reach)

Ranged Chakram+3 (1d8+3, x2, 30 ft)

Special attacks Rage (6 rounds/day, +4Str/Con,-2 Ac, +2 Will Save, Endless Hope: Whenever I enter rage, bonuses last+1d4 rounds), Power Attack

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Statistics
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Str 16, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 12, Cha 8
BA +1; CMB +6; CMD 16

Feats: Power Attack, Skill Focus (Survival)
Skills: Acrobatics [1] +5, Climb[0] +2, Perception [1] +7, Stealth [1] +6 (+10 in jungle), Survival [1] +8, Craft (Weaponsmith)[1] +4
Languages: Common, Undercommon
Traits: Live for the Dead (Optimistic Gambler), Slippery
Racial Traits: Drow-Blooded, Thin-Blood Resilience, Jungle Affinity (+4 bonus to Stealth while within a jungle, ignore difficult terrain)

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Gear:
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Studded Leather-25 gp
Glaive- 8 gp
Pathfinders Kit- 12 gp
Hammock-1 Sp
Chakram x3- 3 gp
Trail Rations x3- 1.5 gp

Have you had to do anything you regret in order to make it this far?
Killing my dead, but risen companions made me sick to my stomach. I have also had to kill a man who attacked me for my possessions. It was only later that I found out he had a wife and child. I scavenged some food for them, but they were too afraid of me to accept it.

Have you got family out there or just a strong desire to survive? What gets you through?
(laughs) If my blood-family is still out there, I'd like nothing more than to kill the vile monsters. Hopefully the rotters have devoured their cursed flesh. I survive for my real family, my fellow slaves. Through my survival and success, maybe their spirits will have some rest. The world is a vile place right now. I just want to survive this storm in hopes that it passes and I am able to enjoy my freedom.

AC: 14, Touch: 12, FF: 12
Fort: 3, Ref: 2, Will: 0

Melee: 4
Ranged: 3
CMB: 4
CMD: 16
Init: 2

Feats: Weapon Focus (Short Sword), Two-Weapon Fighting, Dual Strike
Trait: Eyes and ears of the city, Highlander

Skills (With ranks):
Climb: 7
Craft(Weapons): 6
Craft(Traps): 6 (Favored Class)
Perception: 5 (Eyes and ears)
Stealth: 7 (Highlander)
Survival: 4

Equipment:
2 Short Swords
Leather Armor
Backpack
Bedroll
Flint & Steel
Sewing needle
2 Waterskins
Whetstone
8 Candles
5 Trail Rations
Bell
Rope 50'
Sling
10 Sling bullets
Caltrops
6 Pitons
Handaxe
Crowbar

Background:
Samuel missed the days of his youth living on the plateau to the east. The open skies, the hunts that he'd gone on with his father. He thought of the day when he'd told his father that he was a man now and left for Magnimar to find fortune. What he found was poverty, crime and fear. It wasn't long before he'd decided to join the guard to help them rid the streets of the city of the predators that ruled the darkness there.

Then a new darkness came. The Red Harvest. He had been on furlough visiting his parents and on his way back to the city when everything happened. The skies swirled black and the animals had been shrieking throughout the night, but his camp had been well made in a small cave a way off the road so he slept as well he could. Around midday the following day he came to a hill overlooking Magnimar and what he saw was terrifying, fires burned in the city, it looked as if an army had ransacked the place. There were people milling about outside the walls, so he went down to see what had happened. It was fortunate that he noticed the smell of death in the air before the horde realized he was there. As he snuck closer he found that those people were really zombies, nothing lived closer to the walls of the city that he could see.

He said a silent prayer to Abadar for the well being of anyone left alive in town and left silently the way he'd come. Since then he'd been living on the land, avoiding the undead, and trying to make his way back to the highlands in hopes that his parents had survived.

Bah, so you still wanna know my story huh? Well sit down, it sure as hell isn’t pretty. He heaves a deep sigh.
It was on my 16th birthday, The same year I would join the order’s trainees. Man.. I was the pride of the family. It was a night, much like this one actually, stormy, dark. My family and I were home when a faint knock was heard from the door. My parents went to investigate, and when they opened it they saw a sickly beggar, Half blind, starving. He begged for shelter from the storm, a warm hearth and food. … and of course, just like the fools they were, they invited the seemingly harmless man in. As soon as the beggar crossed the threshold the door slammed shut, all the candles and fires went dark, and then he reared up, his illusion dissipated, and before us stood a Vampire. “tar-baphon sends his regards” was all he uttered before impaling my father through chest, hmph, a lot of good Imoeade did him there. Next was my mother, She shouted some spell, I can’t remember it now, It was impressive, the vampire reeled back, as if struck by sunlight…. It didn’t last. He disappeared and reappeared right in front of her, she hadn’t even reach her blade yet. He grabbed her around the throat, He lifted her off the ground, and as he suffocated her, he bit. Blood spattered across my face. My own mothers blood, as he sat there, drinking for what seemed like hours, all I could do was watch.. All I could do was think *NO! NO! NO! MOM!!* I didn’t even realize I was crying until I tasted my own tears. Then, he looked at me. Cold, heartless unfeeling,…. Powerful eyes. They held me there transfixed. I shouted in my head, I shouted out against the scene before me. * NO, DAMN YOU, DAMN YOU BACK TO HELL WHERE YOU BELONG… why. Why won’t my feet work, why can’t I move. WHY! IOMEADE, SARENREA WHERE ARE YOU, HELP ME!.... I don’t want to die….*
Heh, I guess you can figure they didn’t. No, I was there alone, Scarred, shocked, transfixed. All I could do was cry as this monster, this powerful vampire sat there, and considered what to do with me…. I wish he had just killed me that day. No, what he did was worse, much worse. He took me, and, changed me. I felt my blood go cold, as he spoke some spell, or prayer, I am not sure. I wasn’t exactly in my right mind at the time. But, what he did… At the time, I think, he actually granted my wish. He gave me power, a much longer life than I would have had, he let me live.. indeed, It was my flaw, and perhaps still is. I didn’t…don’t want to die. He read my thoughts. He gave me this, but the cost is more than I wish to remember. Before he left, as I lie there on floor in my parent’s blood, in pain, he gave me one last sentence before parting.

At the time, I wanted to yell out, “YEAH, RIGHT, I’LL FIND YOU, AND KILL YOU!!” but all I could do was gurgle in pain. It went on for hours more. The pain was unbearable, eventually it began to subside… but what came next, I would rather live eternity in that pain then re live what happened next. I… was overcome with thirst, not for water or wine no… but for blood. I, couldn’t stop… I sat there, for the rest of the night, lapping up my own parent’s blood. I tried, I tried so hard, I just couldn’t force myself to stop, It was delicious… That is what got to me the most, on some level, I ENJOYED drinking it. I ENJOYED drinking my parent’s life blood. Oh, it’s not over yet, It gets better. The next day, when I finally collapsed in exhaustion… when the horrible event had been discovered, and my new self, with blood…there blood.. on my chin was found… I, was blamed, they called me a monster. They claimed I was the one who killed them. That I had somehow gone undetected. It didn’t matter I could breathe, eat, bleed, or even walk in the sunlight. That just made them fear, and hate, me more. I was locked in the church, tortured, and ridiculed. The people that had just a day ago been my dearest friends and loved ones, sentenced me to death. For what I couldn’t even help at the time, I almost gave in, I thought I was a monster too by that point. It wasn’t until the night before my execution that someone came to me. A girl, she had a look in her eyes, sad, despairing, and distant. She had the look I had. She told me what I was, that I had been turned into some half vampire half human breed. That only the strongest of willed people that go through what I did, would retain any semblance of humanity. .. Thinking back, maybe Those 2 gods did help me… Anyway, she told me that I could come to control my –urge- that it wasn’t necessary to live but I had to escape first… and well…. I didn’t want to die… with her helped I managed to escape that place, those oh… 60 years ago? So eventually, whether fate or some primal instinct instilled in me that night, I met that vampire again. By now I had suffered to much hatred and abuse from the “living” that girl, Maria, my only friend, my lover, had been slain by an angry mob, why? Because we were different that’s it. My hatred was boiling; I wanted nothing but revenge… You know, I think that’s what he was waiting for, either way he found me. He offered his aid in gaining my revenge if I pledged to follow and serve tar-baphon… Yep, you got it. I did. I didn’t hesitate. With the powers granted to me by this god, and the vampire’s aid, I slaughtered the village. No one, not even the children were spared…. I still have nightmares about that night. What’s worse is that I know Maria, oh sweet, kind Maria, would have never wanted me to do that… after that I did several things, horrible things, for the cult. Eventually my anger and hate subsided as I came to my senses, but.. By then it was far too late. I had made my decisions. It was my own solace, that I kept telling myself, eventually I would have my revenge on that vampire, that one day, I would gain the power, and mastery over death to defeat and slay him…. Well, as you can guess that day still hasn’t come, and well, here we are, almost completed the ceremony, this darkest of rituals… I keep telling myself that it won’t work, that someone will stop it.. I hope they do, if this goes as planned… no one will survive. Oh, well I got to go; it’s time to finish it… Bye.
As Daniel turned back into the sanctuary his spirit was lifted away, and suddenly, he was in the light of day, bright, burning, and radiant. He heard a voice, a voice so heavenly he could sit and listen to eternity.
“My poor child, you have been through much, But I fear your trials have only begun. You can right the wrongs committed, you must stop this dark ritual. “
“who are you!, Where am I? Why must I do anything?!” Daniel shouted in fear.
“I am Sarenrea, I speak to you know directly, to tell you that you, can save the world. It was, and still is, your fate.”
“Bah! It is too late for me, I can do nothing!... I gave up long ago. Someone else will stop this, They have too… I can’t.”
“Let me show you what is to come, should you do nothing.”
A scene of pure terror, all life, eradicated, shambling husks in a shadowed world is all that remains. The image is so horrifying Daniel shuts his eyes, but he still sees it. Lifeless.. void.. He couldn’t let this happen.. NO
“NO” Daniel shouted, the cultist’s in the room turned to regard him. “NO, I CANNOT, I WILL NOT, allow that to come to pass!”
Suddenly, Daniel see’s all too well what he has done over the course of his life. Tears fill his eyes, Eyes that haven’t cried in decades, a surge of strength courses through him as he resolves what he will do.
I will FIGHT, It may too late, all may be lost but I will FIGHT. I will Live and fight, I will fight for those who cannot, I will Fight for Sarenrea , but most of all, I will fight, and I will live, FOR MARIA!”
He shouts this with such strength, and conviction that the cultists are stunned.
Daniel Draws his sword, but suddenly in a flash of radiant light his blade becomes a scimitar, The dark room is lit with a radiant light, It takes a moment before Daniel Realizes it is radiating from him. He felt himself changing again, similar to when he was twisted by the dark magic of the vampire, but this was different, there was no pain, indeed there was relief, as if the wrongs of his body had been turned out into something better, something It should have been. He didn’t even realize he is already fighting, his limbs are strengthened by Divine power, they move almost as if controlled by another. Soon, all that remains in the room is the foul artefact and Daniel, radiating the power of Sarenrea, He lifts his blade, and brings it down with all the strength he can muster, under the force of the blow combined and empowered by Sarenrea herself, the artifact shatters… But at the same time A rumble in the distance is heard.
“No… NO!” Daniel shouts, He realizes what is happening and he watches in horror as the fell energy, the energy he helped to unleash, spreads across the world. He seeks to his knees. All hope gone. He still resolves to fight, even if there is nothing worth fighting for left. Then he hears a voice, feint, like a whisper
“Fear not, for all is not lost, thanks to you, some will live, thanks to you, the world may yet be saved.
Remember, All, can be redeemed..”… the voice fades slowly until dispersing into a slight breeze.
Daniel Lifts his scimitar, a determined look in his eyes, a clear conscious and proper goal finally being followed for the first time since his childhood. He takes a step out into the now changed world. Determined to redeem his actions, determined to do all he can. This is his task, his responsibility, and he will not fail, not again. Not ever again….

In addition, my black humour in this thread aside, once the campaign begins it will be a real struggle for survival. That's not to say there's no room for levity, blowing off steam is an important part of people's stress management, especially given the pressures the party will be under. What I question though is a character who's essence revolves around being one step away from the others in her own world, and as you say 'making everyone uncomfortable'. There will be enough challenges for the party already without one of their number being a complete loose cannon, especially a villainous one. In addition the demeanour of the character, being uncaring/finding everything darkly humorous simply wouldn't mesh with the tone. I hate to lose such a promising concept, but I'm concluding that the character doesn't match the campaign, which is a real shame. I respect your right to keeping your character true to their concept, but I can't accept Agatha's application as is. Thanks for your interest up to this point, I wish you all the best in finding a campaign that works with the vision you have for Agatha.

Attributes
Str:16
Dex:10
Con:10
Int:8
Wis:14
Cha: 16

Saves-
Fort +2
Ref +1
Wis+4

Spells-
0th-Create water, Detect magic, Light
1st-Portection from evil, Divine Favor, shield of faith

Feats-Extra Channel

Gear-Scimitar, Hide armor, light steel shield, Rations (20), Waterskin (2), Flint and Steel, Clerics vestment, Backpack, bedroll, Hammer, Belt Pouch, Hemp Rope (50ft), Sack, Flask, Fishhook.

Skills-
Climb- 1 (+4)
Perception (+7)

Special abilities-
Suns blessing –passive