Briareos

Warforged (1/2 elf) Ranger/Scout

Description:

Level: Scout 4/Ranger 1

Statistics

Strength 18 Wisdom 14
Dexterity 18 Charisma 13
Constitution 17 Perception 14
Intelligence 18 Comliness 13
Initiative 9
Hit Points 44

 

Saves

Fortitude 8
Reflex 10
Will 3

 

Attacks

BAB 4
Melee 8
Ranged 8

AC

Studded Leather 18
Touch Attack 15
Flat Footed 14

 

Class & Racial Abilities

* Favored Enemy: Human, Orc

* Skirmish +2d6 * Trapfinding

* Uncanny Dodge

* Trackless Step

* Fast Movement +10'

* Wild Empathy

* +1 AC When Skirmishing

* Endurance

* Darkvision 60'

* +2 VS Disease, Poison, Mind Affecting

* Integrated Weapon – Bastard Sword

* Cure only heals 1/2

* Susceptible to things that affect constructs, wood, metal, etc.

* Does not eat, sleep, breathe

* 25% chance to negate sneak attack or critical hit

* Immune to fatigue and exhaustion

 

Feats

* Simple and Martial Weapons

* Light Armor and Shields

* Exotic Weapon – Bastard Sword

* Swift Hunter * Versitile

* Weapon Focus – Bastard Sword

* Improved Skirmish +2d6 and +2 AC when moving 20'

* Improved Initiative

Skills

Bluff 5, Climb 6, Diplomacy 5, Disable Device 8, Escape Artist 6, Handle Animal 3, Heal 4, Hide 12, Intimidate 9, Jump 6, Knowledge;dungeongineering 7, Knowledge;geography 7, Knowledge;nature 8, Move Silently 12, Open Locks, Ride , Survival , Swim , Tracking , Tumble 8, Use Rope 5

Magical Items

Brooch of Shielding – absorbs up to 101 points of magic missile damage

Cloak of Elvenkind – +5 to hide in natural surrondings

Boots of Elvenkind – +5 to move silently

Ring of Protection +1 ,

Bio:
I am … And I am not. I exist between the worlds of life and death, able to experience the environment around me, but lacking the things that make someone truly alive. I move, I fight, I stalk… But I cannot touch, or taste, or feel. What am I and why am I here? Why has Blessed Sigmar refused my access to Paradise? Perhaps I have angered him? Perhaps I am unworthy? Perhaps there is something yet left for me to do. I have friends, I think. They include me in their lives and praise me when I do well. They call me “Ace” and “Vandal.” And they laugh and cheer whenever I crush the lives of our enemies under my boot. But these enemies are not Warriors; they are not highborn knights, evil sorcerers or blood-maddened reavers who’ve come to take what’s ours. They are common people, they are unarmed and they are scared. The last one looked in my eyes with a meek smile and forgave me right before I squeezed the life out of her. Sweet Sigmar, something is wrong. I look at my friends for comfort, but their vile laughter and jokes turn into bile in my…ear? I think? Slowly, I start to hate them.

I must leave.

That was two moons ago and now I wander alone. I have no need for food or shelter; the forest is my shelter and watching the daily lives of all who touch it is my food. The people forage, they hunt, they hide and they play. They smile and they laugh. But they do it differently from my friends. Theirs is a laugh of innocence and fleeting pleasure in a hard world. It feels…cleaner. Better. Sometimes I help them. And old man hunting a large stag will find it cleaned and dressed inside his barn. A young woman will find a wheelbarrow full of truffles and roots outside of her door on a day she plans to forage. Children who are lost in the forest are found the very next day in the local hall. I kill orcs seeking the easy prey of my village. And then one day, I am seen. The people, my people, fly in fear and screams, running to the Watch to tell them of the Tzeentch-born monster living in the forest. The guards try to find me, but they are too loud. I look for the most reasonable, the one most likely to hear my pleas and I present myself to him. Perhaps he will hear me out? Perhaps he will listen? Perhaps he will know me as the silent guardian of our small village?

He draws his sword instead… And I kill him.
I must leave.

Briareos

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