Here is my barbarian Varro Ilthane:
Human Unchained Barbarian (Liberator) 1 LG Medium Humanoid (Human) Init +1; Senses- , Perception +5 _____________________ Defense _____________________ AC 16, touch 11, flat-footed 15, CMD 15 HP: 14 (1d12+2) Fort +4, Ref +1, Will +1
Backstory:
Varro Ilthane, Liberator of Kintargo
Varro Ilthane was raised to believe that freedom was a privilege earned through obedience. Cheliax taught him that true liberty required restraint: contracts honored, tongues measured, bodies registered and accounted for. Chaos, he was told, was what happened when people acted on impulse. Order—Thrune’s order—kept everyone safe. Varro internalized that lesson deeply. He didn’t dream of heroics. He dreamed of stability. As a clerk in Kintargo’s dock offices, he learned the quiet mechanics of control: travel papers, work licenses, curfews, indentures. He told himself these weren’t chains—just structures. Necessary ones. When people complained, he reminded them (and himself) that the law applied evenly. That lie held until he saw how easily the law wrapped itself around the innocent. The first time Varro felt the pressure behind his eyes—the thing that would later become his rage—it was not during violence, but during confinement.
Still, he complied.
When the Hellknights moved to bind her, Varro moved between them. His first rage was not about killing. It was about breaking holds. He remembers snapping a manacle like rotten twine. He remembers the shock on a Hellknight’s face as control simply failed. He remembers dragging his sister free while steel rang uselessly against him, every strike only hardening his resolve. Later, people would say he fought like a madman. Varro knew better. He fought like someone who could no longer tolerate seeing others restrained. Now, as part of the rebellion, Varro is the one sent when people are: Shackled Enspelled Cornered by authority that refuses to listen His rage flares when allies are pinned, silenced, or forced to kneel. It burns hottest when someone else’s will is being overwritten—by chains, by fear, by infernal magic dressed up as law. He doesn’t chase glory. He breaks lines. He opens doors. He stands between victims and systems that claim ownership over them. Varro still knows the laws of Cheliax. He uses that knowledge ruthlessly—finding the seams, the contradictions, the moments where authority overreaches and exposes itself. He doesn’t want anarchy. He wants a world where no one has to ask permission to breathe freely. And when his rage comes—focused, unrelenting, liberating—it is not because Varro has abandoned civilization. It’s because he refuses to let civilization become a cage. Description: Varro Ilthane does not look like the sort of man who breaks chains.
He stands a little over six feet, broad-shouldered but not hulking—built from years of lifting cargo manifests’ crates and dockside work rather than battlefield glory. His frame carries strength in the practical way of someone accustomed to labor, not spectacle. There is nothing ostentatious about him at first glance. His hair is a dark, iron-brown, worn shorter than fashion in Kintargo would dictate—kept neat out of long habit from his clerk days. It curls slightly when damp with sweat, especially at the temples. A faint streak of silver threads above his right ear, not from age, but from a night that changed him. His face is square and steady, with the kind of features that disappear easily in a crowd: straight nose, firm mouth, strong jaw perpetually set as though he is holding words back. His skin bears the olive tone common among Chelish dockworkers, weathered by sea air rather than campaign dust. His eyes are what unsettle people. They are a deep, muted gray—calm, observant, analytical. The eyes of a man who once read contracts for flaws. But when his rage begins to rise, that gray seems to harden, sharpen, like steel catching light. There is no wildness in it—only certainty. The expression of someone who has decided that restraint is no longer required. A thin scar crosses his left forearm, pale and rope-like—the mark of a Hellknight’s manacle biting too deep before it snapped. He does not hide it. In fact, he keeps his sleeves rolled when among the rebellion, the scar visible as quiet testimony. His clothing remains practical and understated:
Heavy boots built for cobblestone and ship deck alike A sleeveless leather coat fitted close to the torso, allowing full movement Gloves with the fingers cut free—useful for grip, easier to tear away if someone tries to bind him He wears no jewelry save for a small iron ring on a cord around his neck. It is bent out of shape—once part of a chain. He keeps it not as a trophy, but as a reminder. When standing at ease, Varro’s posture is controlled, almost formal. Shoulders back. Chin level. A man who once believed in hierarchy. When danger approaches, that posture changes subtly. His weight shifts forward. His hands open slightly. His breathing slows rather than quickens. And when he steps between someone and their oppressor, there is nothing theatrical in him—no roar, no bravado. Only the quiet, terrifying presence of a man who has decided that no one will be taken while he still stands.
O light once sworn within my bleeding hand,
Concept: Sad-sack, natural born loser type who's life is in a downward spiral two year after the tragic loss of his fiance, her being the only good thing to ever happen to him, is caught in a whirlpool of self pity. One day while walking down the street after being being dismissed from a job he had only had for a week and a half. He begins aimlessly doom scrolling on his phone oblivious to this around him he falls down a manhole. He wakes, revives, comes to or whatever is going on in the strange waiting room. Then finds out he has been plucked from whatever his next destination was to this by Momomancy intending to set him off to learn about helping others to find true purpose and happiness, along with some self forgiveness.
I don't know about LA +3. It's the 3.5 half ogre (LA +2) with some wisdom tacked on and half the Natural Armor. Humanoid Giant 0 RP
The above lands us at 20 RP with
We could drop the Advanced Str to bring RP down to 16 but at that point I think the various plane touched are better
I didn't initially use ARG but this is what it looks like Humanoid Giant 0 RP
RP total of 29 Want me to try to get it closer to 20?
As mentioned in the interest thread I have come up with the following stats for Zakhara Ogre.
Compared to the normal Ogre +10 Str, -2 Dex, +4 Con, -4 Int, -4 Cha, Large, Reach, Darkvision, low-light vision, +5 Natural Armor Stats are a reduction by half in all bonuses and penalties. I also threw in the bonus to Wis as representation of Zakhara's focus on "enlightenment". Still kind of stupid powerful.
Reviewing materials for Al-Qadim and Zakhara I noticed that it notes that Ogres living peacefully with the normal population. I have long had this idea of an Ogre that uses a "cannon" and after the initial volley uses it basically as a large metal great club. As always, I expect the answer to be no, because 'Ogre', but just thought I would throw it out there.
Krango: Krango Fighter 1
NG Medium Human (Versatile Human) (Humanoid) Perception +6 (+2 initiative); Languages: Common, Goblin Skills: Acrobatics +5, Athletics +7, Diplomacy +3, Lore: Farming +3, Nature +4, Survival +4 Str +4, Dex +2, Con +2, Int +0, Wis +1, Cha +0 Items: Scale Mail, Bolts (10), Backpack, Bedroll, Chalk (10), Flint and Steel, Rope, Rations (2), Torch (5), Waterskin, Soap, Climbing Kit AC 18; Fort +7, Ref +7, Will +4 HP 20 Shield Block Reactive Strike Speed 25 feet Melee Greatsword +9 (Versatile P), Damage 1d12+4 S Melee Dagger +9 (Agile, Finesse, Thrown 10 ft., Versatile S), Damage 1d4+4 P Ranged Crossbow +7 (Crossbow), Damage 1d8 P Sudden Charge Vicious Swing Additional Feats: Assurance, Incredible Initiative
4d6 - 2 ⇒ (2, 6, 3, 3) - 2 = 12
4d6 - 5 ⇒ (6, 5, 5, 5) - 5 = 16
Unchained monk ok?
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