About Astor EvisthanAstor Evisthan Stats:
Astor Evisthan Male Human Fighter 3 NG Medium humanoid (human) Init +4; Senses Perception +4 -------------------- Defense -------------------- AC 15, touch 12, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +2 Dex) hp 34 (3d10+14) Fort +6, Ref +3, Will +2 (+1 vs. fear) Defensive Abilities bravery +1 -------------------- Offense -------------------- Speed 30 ft. Melee +1 shortsword +7 (1d6+4/19-20) and longsword +7 (1d8+3/19-20) and morningstar +6 (1d8+3) Ranged longbow +5 (1d8/×3) -------------------- Statistics -------------------- Str 16, Dex 14, Con 16, Int 12, Wis 12, Cha 7 Base Atk +3; CMB +6; CMD 18 Feats Cleave, Deadly Aim, Power Attack, Toughness, Weapon Focus (longsword) Traits reactionary, suspicious Skills Acrobatics +3, Climb +7, Heal +2, Intimidate +2, Perception +4, Sense Motive +7, Stealth +3, Survival +7 Languages Common, Elven SQ armor training 1 Other Gear studded leather, light steel shield, +1 shortsword, arrows (20), longbow, longsword, morningstar, backpack, bedroll, belt pouch, blanket, winter, custom container, flask, flint and steel, mug/tankard, rope, 161 gp, 3 sp, 5 cp -------------------- Special Abilities -------------------- Bravery +1 (Ex) +1 to Will save vs. Fear Cleave If you hit a foe, attack an adjacent target at the same attack bonus but take -2 AC. Deadly Aim -1/+2 Trade a penalty to ranged attacks for a bonus to ranged damage. Power Attack -1/+2 You can subtract from your attack roll to add to your damage. Astor Evisthan Background:
Astor Evisthan grew up in a small, unnamed farming community in the Lyre Valley. For as long as his family can remember they had farmed these lands. Mostly vegetable produce, they often travelled into Bards Gate during the summer months to hawk their goods. Ever since he was able to walk Astor took the week long journeys once a month to Bards Gate. By the time he was a teenager not one exciting thing had happened in his life. He tended the farm in season, chopped wood weekly and hunted food in the winter, and his only piece of excitement was the summer trips to Bards Gate. It was a boring, mundane life and he wanted more. On one trip up to the city Astor witnessed something he had only heard about, a goblin raid! Their cart happened upon a small horde of goblins charging towards the gate just as the sun was setting and the light was dimming. But as the goblins charged, a group of adventurers sprung up from a patch of nearby trees. Astor and his father were so close that the two horses pulling their cart reared up, knocking the cart off balance and sending Astor and his father off the sides. They horses regained their balance and took off in the opposite direction, his father in hot pursuit, cursing and hooting at the horses while trying in vain to recover produce that was flying this way and that. Astor, on the other hand, ran up to a nearby tree. Not so much as to hide, but to get a better view at the action. There were five or six of the adventurers and who knows how many goblins. Every time Astor recalled the story in the future the number seemed to fluctuate, mostly putting the odds against the heroes, making them that much more… heroic. There were a couple of men wielding various styles of weapons, one a sword and a morningstar, the other an axe and when he dropped that he saw what he learned later was a flail. There was a dwarf with a two handed hammer and a man and a woman in robes, standing back but sending occasional bolts of something, Astor never could figure that one out. He was closest to the man with the long sword. His movements were effortless, and he smiled as he fought. In reality the battle was hopeless and only a couple of the goblins managed to escape. The heroes gathered up what spoils they could find, checked on each other, and walked into the town. Mesmerized, a 15 year old Astor walked through the gates and never looked back. 15 Years Later Astor slugged back another pint, nearly falling over in his stool. The owner was out of town tonight so no work would get done. Astor had a night job as a bouncer in one of the local taverns. Occasionally drinking on the job wasn’t necessarily a big deal to the owner of a dive like this one, but getting sh*t faced was. And if he got caught this time it would be his last. Luckily for him it was a slow night anyways and his favorite wench was tending bar. Torna was a bit on the heavy side but an animal in the sack. Certainly no girlfriend material, Torna had her share of other regulars, but Astor wasn’t in “settling down” place in his life. The last 15 years hadn’t been exactly the glamorous life he had hoped for when he walked through those gates. He followed the group of adventurers all doe eyed right to a tavern, where Astor was promptly removed. He really didn’t know what to say, but once he walked out onto the street his real problems began. What was he going to do? He had a few coins on him, but with no way to earn and a little too much pride and hope to go back out and find his father, Astor began to wander. He looked around for lodging but every place looked too familiar. He had been coming here for years so when his father finally came looking for him he couldn’t be in one of those familiar places. He wandered further into the city, into unknown and unfamiliar places. Darker and frankly scarier places. Astor had grown up his whole life in the Valley, so he didn’t understand the way the big city worked outside of the marketplace. The further the wandered the more worried he became. Before he knew what was happening he was shoved from behind. It caught him off guard so he fell face first onto the gravel, scraping his hands and knees. Another person jumped on his back, pushing his face into the ground, holding him down, while two others rifled through his pockets. Though he was a rather large and stout fellow for his age, the element of surprise and the experience of his muggers kept him helpless until he felt a swift and well placed kick to his side, knocking the wind from him so he wouldn’t try and pursue. They took what little money he had. Astor slept in the nearby alleyway and cried himself to sleep. He grew up on the streets but never really became a “street kid”. He was bigger and stronger than most, so he was used as a bit of a tough for the gangs he ran with. The theft, breaking, entering, and general street smarts he left up to the others. It wasn’t that he didn’t have brains, it was just that he would rather use them in a fight than to sneak into a building or steal from a vendor. In the early days he mostly survived off of the good graces of the local churches, mostly the Temple of Freya. Something about the mainly women worshipers didn’t hurt, but that longsword that she held... Astor never really got religion or the gods, the whole divine being idea never made sense to him. But he certainly respected them and listened when the acolytes and priests spoke. It was certainly inspiring stuff, but what he really needed was the food that they provided. Through all this time he had never lost the hope of becoming one of those adventurers. He tried on several occasions to join the local guard, but he had no great love for authority and a bigger love for mead, so he never could quite make the cut. The bit of street fighting he did growing up paid off, so he was occasionally hired by the more seedy side of the city. Mostly threats and shake downs, it didn’t really satisfy his need to be great. But 15 years later, here he was. The great Astor Evisthan, the drunken bouncer and slayer of chubby bar maids in bed. And even as the hope of grandeur dwindled, he always carried with him a long sword and a morningstar. Just in case.
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