Male half-elf unchained rogue (scout) 1 (Pathfinder RPG Advanced Player's Guide 134, Pathfinder Unchained 20)
LN Medium humanoid (elf, human)
Init +4; Senses low-light vision; Perception +7
AC 17, touch 14, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +4 Dex)
hp 13 (1d8+5)
Fort +3, Ref +6, Will +1; +2 vs. enchantments
Speed 30 ft.
Melee dagger +4 (1d4+1/19-20) or
. . elven curve blade +4 (1d10+1/18-20) or
. . light mace +4 (1d6+1)
Special Attacks sneak attack (unchained) +1d6
Str 12, Dex 18, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 12, Cha 9
Base Atk +0; CMB +1; CMD 15
Feats Toughness, Weapon Finesse
Traits militia veteran (any town or village), rostlander
Skills Acrobatics +7, Climb +4, Disable Device +6, Knowledge (dungeoneering) +5, Knowledge (local) +5, Linguistics +5, Perception +7, Ride +8, Sleight of Hand +7, Stealth +7, Use Magic Device +3; Racial Modifiers +2 Perception
Languages Common, Elven, Hallit, Sylvan
SQ elf blood, trapfinding +1
Other Gear studded leather, dagger, elven curve blade, light mace
Elf Blood Half-elves count as both elves and humans for any effect related to race.
Elven Immunities - Sleep You are immune to magic sleep effects.
Low-Light Vision See twice as far as a human in dim light, distinguishing color and detail.
Sneak Attack (Unchained) +1d6 Attacks deal extra dam if flank foe or if foe is flat-footed.
Trapfinding +1 Gain a bonus to find or disable traps, including magical ones.
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Caerwyn grew up on a farmstead just outside Brevoy’s border, it weren’t much but it was home. Even this close to the kingdom the threat of banditry was of real concern. One day as Caerwyn was helping his mother with the chores a group of raggedy men rode up to the farmhouse on scraggly horses and demanded to speak with Caerwyn’s father.
They told the elder Callandriil that in exchange for money and a cut of the farm’s harvest they would provide “protection” against any other roaming bands who might seek to prey upon them. Visibly angered, but fearing for his family, Caerwyn’s father agreed. After the men left his father took the young boy to the barn and from the rafters above the shed’s door took down an oil soaked cloth bundle that Caerwyn had never seen before. Inside was a huge sword that glinted in the torchlight. Despite it’s size it had an elegant grace to it that hinted at it’s manufacture. Gravely, the older man told his son that all evil needed to flourish was for good men to do nothing and despite the fact that his days were behind him, Caerwyn’s were still ahead of him. It was to this end that he would teach Caerwyn to wield this sword, a family heirloom handed down from generation to generation.
Months passed and the uneasy truce with the bandit gang began to fray as they demanded more and more “tribute” to keep the famer’s in the area “safe”. After a particularly bad harvest Caerwyn’s father begged for some relief from the “taxes” the bandit’s were demanding but his pleas fell upon deaf ears as they took what they wanted and left the family with barely enough to survive the coming winter. That winter was the worst that anyone could remember and it lasted long into the spring. Despite what foodstuffs the family had stored, starvation was a constant companion, always looming over their shoulders.
As the bandit’s grew more secure in their control over the cowed farmers they began to send less and less of themselves to collect their due, until one day only one of them showed up to the Callandriil farm. Unsatisfied with the quality of the foodstuffs, the brigand accused Caerwyn’s father of keeping the good stuff for themselves and slapped him to the ground. Standing, his balled fists the only sign of his anger, he stared stoically at the bandit which only enraged him more as he punched Caerwyn’s father in the gut, bringing him to his knees.
The abuse was too much for Caerwyn to stand and he emerged from the barn with his father’s sword in his hand. Rushing headlong across the courtyard wildly swinging the sword before he charged toward the outlaw, despite his father’s shouted protests. To his credit, the bandit stood his ground and waited for the youngster to approach and when he was close enough he punched Caerwyn in the face knocking him to the ground and causing him to drop the sword. Laughing, the bandit told the family that he was going to tell the band’s leader about this and things were not going to go well with the family when he returned. Seeing his son’s bloody face and hearing the bandit’s laughter, as well as his none too veiled threats, something within the elder Callandriil snapped and he calmly picked up his family’s sword and in one fluid stroke separated the brigand’s head from the rest of his body.
Expecting retribution for what he had done Caerwyn’s father had the family pack up their meager belongings and load them up on their wagon.
After dragging the bandit’s corpse into the farmhouse and, without a backwards glance, tossing a lit torch through the open door he climbed aboard the family's wagon. As the flames of the funeral pyre began to reach into the sky, his father knicked the reins on the wagon and, with a tear in young Caerwyn's eye, headed back to Restov.
Years passed and Caerwyn grew from a gangly youth into a fine young man. Remembering his father’s words about the growth of evil the younger Callandriil joined the Restov city guard and soon rose through the ranks. When he heard about the Swordlord’s expedition to restore order to the Stolen Lands he enthusiastically volunteered.