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About WarshawskiHere's the Scoop on Warshawski:
The rain pounded outside, slapping angrily against the cobblestone streets like they were trying to break them open and suck out the marrow of the city.
Just like a lot of the parasites out there. I was safe from the rain and in my office when he walked in. I've seen his type before. Silk clothes colored blue and gold with expensive dyes and shining gold hair that probably took his servants hours to style. His big, shining, gorgeous blue eyes made him seem like an angel but he was anything but. His name was Vincenzo Mustafa and he was at the top of my list. It didn't matter how pretty those blue eyes were. Mustafa was a tax dodger. "I hear you've been looking for me, inspector." Mustafa opened, draping himself casually in a chair facing my desk. He was trying to appear nonchalant but I had his number. If he was here, he was out of options. Mustafa was cornered and he knew it. Of course, rats are most dangerous when they're cornered. "You're a cheat, Mustafa." I said, not even bothering to look at him. "A tax dodger. You owe the city nearly a thousand pieces of gold. I hope you're here to cough it up." Mustafa sneered as if I had just thrown pig s&$! on those well-tailored threads of his. "If anything, the city owes me money." Mustafa said with a conviction only entitlement can bring, "I keep a dozen of the city's wretched citizens employed. Without me, they'd be living under the bridge." "And they pay their taxes. So should you." I kept my voice disinterested but my hand had already slipped under my desk. I wanted to be prepared in case things went south. Things always go south. "Look, your hounding of me is making life difficult." Mustafa stood up. "Perhaps we can come to an understanding? I'm sure your position doesn't pay much. And if it isn't gold you want, well... I'm sure we can arrange something. You're a very pretty girl." Mustafa did have gorgeous eyes but pretty boys were easy enough to come by. I could spend a night at any of a dozen brothels in the city and all it would cost me is some coin. Mustafa's offer would cost me my soul. Besides, I was a woman. Not a girl. "I wouldn't spit on you if you were on fire, Mustafa." I said, turning my full attention to him. I wanted the little ass to see the contempt in my eyes. Mustafa sprung from the chair with the sort of resolve that can only come from injured pride. He was halfway across the desk, screaming something about how ugly I would be when he was done with me, when I threw the satchet into his face. The little explosion of powder was satisfying. He inhaled it. Mustafa went rigid and hit my desk like an anchor being tossed out onto the docks. The paralysis wouldn't last long but it only took a moment to lock his arms behind his back with the manacles. "You're a parasite, Mustafa." I hissed into his ear, "I hope you enjoy debtor's prison." After the guardsmen had hauled Mustafa away, I thought about his parting words. He'd been raving mad, then. Foaming at the mouth. His pretty blue eyes didn't seem so pretty then. "Why do you even care if someone pays their damn taxes!?!" Mustafa had shouted at me. Somedays, I ask myself the same question. ---- My name's Warshawski. Just Warshawski. I was poor, growing up. I didn't live in the shadow of the bridge, mind you. I was poor. Not destitute. My parents worked hard to make sure I had a roof, a bed and three squares a day. They were loving. Kind. Everything parents should be. Mom and dad both worked for a businessman. An importer of rare good. Dad worked the docks. Mom cleaned the offices. The jobs didn't pay well but they paid enough. And every time they were paid, my parents made sure the city collected its cut. I asked them about that, once. Why they paid taxes when the we had so little. It isn't like we saw much of that money being spent to improve our lives in our little corner of Lowcleft. To answer my question, my parents took me for a walk the next day. We walked for what seemed like hours until we arrived Serpent's Run. That day, from the cheap seats, I watched a circus for the very first time. Afterwards, my parents took me to Alabastar Park and I was awed by the beauty. "This is why we pay taxes." my father told me that day, "Because it helps pay for things like this and because it is the right, honest thing to do." I'll never forget that day. It was only a year later that life changed. My parents were concerned when I started holding conversations with thin air but they were canny folk and they loved me. Instead of freaking out, they brought me to Sister Kaye, a devout follower of Ashava the True Spark. Sister Kaye confirmed what my parents suspected. I had the gift to see and talk to spirits. Some of them were the dead but not departed. Others weren't ever alive to begin with. All of them seemed to like me. After that, lessons in reading and writing and math were supplemented with lessons from Sister Kaye in how to control my abilities. I learned how to talk to the spirits. Sometimes, I helped them to the other side. Other times, they helped me with useful information. I enjoyed my time with Sister Kaye. Honestly, I might have gone into the clergy and become a cleric of Ashava myself if things had gone differently. But that's the thing about this world. Things always go differently. I was twelve when the town guard caught up with mom and dad's boss. Seems he had been smuggling pesh into the city. Of course, he was rich and mom and dad weren't so he was able to bribe the guard into accepting evidence as fake as a tin gold coin that they had been behind it all. The guard came to take mom and dad away. We all ran and Sister Kaye gave us refuge. She could only promise us a few days before things turned ugly, though. I had to do something. If it wasn't for the spirits I wouldn't have been able to. I waited until everyone was asleep and then I snuck out. Turned out, the old man my folks worked for wasn't just a smuggler. He was a murderer. There was more than one angry soul hanging around his offices, hoping for some payback. They were as thrilled as a kid during the Swallowtail Festival to help me. Here's the thing. I wasn't able to find the evidence I needed to hang the bastard on smuggling or even murder. No, he was too cagey for that. But I found his books. His real books. And the spirit of the accountant the old ass had killed told me those ledgers would hang him. I stole the books and brought them to the office of tax collection. The spirits went too, flanking me like an honor guard. They guided me to the offices of an old crust named Parker. Most adults wouldn't give me the time of day but Parker was different. He listened to my story seriously and then accepted the ledgers. I sat there for what seemed like hours, watching him go through them. I knew he liked what he saw. His smile grew every time he turned a page. He was grinning like a lunatic by the time he closed the books. And then he closed the books on my folks' employer, too. The fat old smuggler got picked up for tax evasion that very day. Further investigation by the city guard got him pinched for smuggling and murder, too. He was dancing on the noose by the end of the month and my parents were cleared of all charges. I'm pleased to say his spirit's never visited me. Parker was impressed by what I'd done. Said it took gumption and skill. Said I had promise. He came to my parents and offered to take me in as an apprentice. Told them I'd make one hell of an inspector. My folks were thrilled at the idea of me having a promise of gainful employment but they left the decision up to me. I said yes. I liked Parker. I liked what I'd done. The rich shouldn't get to dodge paying their fair share just because they're rich. The poor don't get the chance. Parker said I had a natural gift for investigation. Of course, having spirits to help me made it easier. A warrior spirit whispered over my shoulder during fight practice. Other spirits were happy to point out clues I'd missed. I couldn't have done it without them. These days, Parker's retired and living a quiet life, relaxing and reading his books. I visit him for dinner at least once a week, just to make sure he's eating right. I'm in what used to be his office, doing his job. Making sure no one skips out on paying their fair share. I love my job. Warshawski by the Numbers:
Warshawski
Female Human Investigator 3, Medium 2 NG Medium Humanoid (Human) Init +2; Senses: Perception +10 (+12 vs surprise) Favored Class: Investigator (+1 skill point/level) Defense AC 15 (10 + 2 (Dex) + 3 (MW Studded Leather Armor))
Offense Speed: 30 ft
Statistics Str 10 (+0), Dex 14 (+2), Con 12 (+1), Int 14 (+2), Wis 16 (+3), Cha 10 (+0) Traits
Drawback
Feats
Skills Appraise 6 (1 rank + 2 INT + 3 class bonus)
Racial Abilities
Class Abilities
Knacks
Adventuring Gear
* Fighter's kit contains: a bedroll, a belt pouch, a flint and steel, an iron pot, a mess kit, rope (50 ft, hemp), soap, torches (10), trail rations (5 days), and a waterskin. Combat Gear
Magic Items
Total Weight: 65 pounds (medium encumbrance)
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