About Torvin GallusTorvin Gallus
Defence:
————— Defense ————— AC 16, touch 13, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +3 Dex) hp 13 (1d10+3) Fort +4, Ref +5, Will +2 Offense:
————— Offense ————— Speed 30 ft. Melee dagger +3 (1d4+2/19-20) or longsword +3 (1d8+2/19-20) Ranged longbow +4 (1d8/×3) Statistics:
————— Statistics ————— Str 14, Dex 16, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 14, Cha 8 Base Atk +1; CMB +3; CMD 16 Feats Point-Blank Shot, Precise Shot Traits monster hunter, reactionary Skills Climb +5, Handle Animal +3, Heal +6, Knowledge (dungeoneering) +5, Knowledge (geography) +5,
SQ animal focus (1 minutes/day), animal focuses (tiger ACG), track +1, wild empathy +0
Special Abilities:
————— Special Abilities ————— Animal Focus (1 minutes/day) (Su) As a swift action, gain bonuses from emulated animal(s). If no companion, +1 slots. Point-Blank Shot +1 to attack and damage rolls with ranged weapons at up to 30 feet. Precise Shot You don't get -4 to hit when shooting or throwing into melee. Tiger +2 (Su) When assuming this aspect, gain listed enhancement bonus to Dex. Track +1 Add the listed bonus to Survival checks made to track. Wild Empathy +0 (Ex) Improve the attitude of an animal, as if using Diplomacy. ------------------------------------------------- Backstory:
Mother, Father I trust this letter finds you well. I arrived early this morning in the town of Sandpoint, a small place on the Varisian Gulf. How’s my brother? Lornak would call it ‘soft,’ but the people are friendly and welcoming of a Hunter which is more than can be said for some of Ustalav, where the townsfolk seem as monstrous as the things that stalk the night. Nevertheless, all of them seem to know something of this Sandpoint Devil, a creature famed for its almost deliberate attacks on the town and those who dwell in the outskirts. I have set my sights on bringing in its hide. In other matters, though the town is pleasant the journey was anything but. In the orcish city of Urglin on the Storval Plateau, I heard tell of a griffyn hunting caravans that crossed the wastes into Varisia. For three days and four nights, I tracked the thing without rest or shelter, marking it’s tracks and spore with my own scent, just as you told me, Father - challenging the thing and warning it to stay out of my territory. When it sprung my trap, the fight was fierce. I clipped its wings but under that pale moon both flesh and feathers flew. But I remembered my lessons, Father. My quiver remains full, my blade keen. As you always taught me. Pray for me. Torvin. He blows out his cheeks with a resigned sigh, reading over the letter for the third time. He had taken all afternoon to write it and now sitting by his campfire as it was close to dying, he seals up the letter with wax and his family's crest. Letting the wax cool he spins the letter around very carefully making sure every part of it is correct before standing up walking over to the fire. He places more kindling and wood on top and watches as it catches, he watches the growing flames closely. His hand closes on the letter and crumples it into a ball in his gauntlet. He opens his hand looking down at the crumpled ball of paper, he tosses it idly toward the fireplace, not doubting for a moment that it landed nestled in the flames. He lets out a long sigh he knew this ritual was ridiculous, but he had no place to send the letter even if he had wanted to. But the act of writing it out on paper helped him remember, even the lies. Who am I kidding? I haven't fought anything apart from nausea from this swill they call ale. With that in mind, he sinks the last of it and throws the clay mug out into the darkness of the night. He was out on a hunt, some hope of getting a bounty from the town. But all his planning and stealth was for nothing after the drink and memories sunk in. Sandpoint was a dustbowl. A small, unassuming town with little going on beyond this Swallowtail Festival that was whipping the populace up into a frenzy. At least some of what he had written was true. Tales were rife of monsters pervading the swamps, goblins harrying caravans and even the legendary Sandpoint Devil roaming the landscape, preying on the unsuspecting traveller. But he had been here for four days and had seen hide nor hair of any of them and he wondered how he would ever have the chance to prove to his family that he could be good, or at least honour their memory. He had been writing the letters for months now on his journey across the Inner Sea. At first, they were just missives on how his travels, that he had arrived safely (though he had no particular destination in mind) and that he was investigating rumours as any good hunter should when gaining worldly experience. But gradually, as trails had gone cold and myths turned out to be nothing more than old wives' tales he had begun to feel the weight of expectation. He had to get away, away from all the shameful looks. It wasn't his fault but he wasn't there to help, maybe just maybe if he had been there that night they would all still be alive. Torvin could remember years past where he and his brother would spar in the courtyard of Gravecharge, the massive Pharasmin Cathedral in Lepistadt. For hours they would match steps and strike and dodge and parry and lunge and through it all, he could feel his father's eyes on his back. Always watching him, always judging him as if his brother had already proven all he needed and that he was slow in his training. Or worse, a disappointment. Every time his brother knocked him down he would be forced to stand and recite passages from The Bone Lands in a Spiral while the other initiates looked on. His Father felt he was honing his son as one might hone a blade, but in the darkness of his spartan cell, Torvin often wondered where the point was that a honed blade became brittle and broken. Well even now when his father was five hundred miles away buried with the rest of his family in Ustalav he felt like that little boy in the courtyard once again, wilting under his father's unyielding stare. Hoping he was still here, he would hate me but everything would be better. The temptation had always been to write the letter and take it home, to set aside all the apprehension and face everyone let them know no matter what they thought he wasn't going to run from his home. He would hope to regale them with stories of heroism and derring-do that could answer any criticism that Rannok his father - one of the greatest vampire hunters of his generation - could have had of his youngest son. But the man had a perception like no other he had ever met, even the Head Priest Father Cidaimoikis, seemed intimidated by him, and he would see through the lies without question if he were still alive. No, he couldn't he had left , he was no better than a criminal slinking out in the dead of night just to get away from the stares and whispers. Maybe one day he would live up to his father's expectation and reputation and he would do so by earning it, in blood if necessary. Even if in truth his journey had been uneventful thus far, one lesson he had truly learned from his father was that monsters are everywhere. Somehow, despite his travels, he knew he had to keep moving the shame of it looming over his and no matter what he wanted to keep moving and hopefully put his skills to use, to make up for the night he wasn't there. Personality:
He is determined but he has as much to prove to himself as to the momory of his father and the people he left behind. He always wants to do what’s right but will not hesitate to do what needs to be done. It has been drilled into him to know one’s enemy for Pharasma places as much import on knowledge as she does on death. Ustalav is a dark place where undeath lurks in the shadows but before Torvin can hunt these horrors he must be ready. In truth, as much as he wants to prove his worth, he also wants to step out of his father’s shadow. He has seen that there is as much evil in the world from the living as the undead and wonders if the Lady of Graves has a different Fate for him. Description:
Torvin is tall for a human but lean. He dresses in the black of his faith and is often mistaken for a mortician or plague doctor to those less aware of Pharasma’s Inquisitors. He has dark hair and is often unshaven, placing far more care on his numerous pieces of equipment than his own appearance. Although he can be grim and serious, he learned at the Cathedral that hunters work best when the hunt in a pack and he is both fiercely loyal to and protective of those he calls allies and he is as likely to share hunting tales as a joke with them. Party Role:
Torvin is a switch hitter offering range and melee damage where it is needed. He has a lot of skills. |
