Gareth Shrike's page

About Gareth Shrike

Male Dhampir Gunslinger 1
Init. +5 (+3 Dex., +2 Reactionary); Senses Perception +5, Darkvision 60 ft., Low-light vision

AC 17 (+3 Dex., +4 Chain shirt)
hp 12
Fort +4, Ref +5, Will +1 (+4 vs. Illusions; Skeptic trait)
Speed 30 ft.
Melee
+2 Dagger; damage 1d4+1
+2 Sword cane; damage 1d6+1
Ranged
+5 Dagger; damage 1d4+1
+5 Pistol; damage 1d8

Str 13, Dex 16, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 12, Cha 10

Base atk +1; CMB +2; CMD +15

Feats
Gunsmithing
Point-blank Shot

Skills
Acrobatics +5 (1 rank, +3 Dex., +3 class skill, -2 ACP)
Climb +3 (1 rank, +1 Str., +3 class skill, -2 ACP)
Craft (alchemy) +5 (1 skill rank, +1 Int., +3 class skill)
Perception +5 (1 rank, +1 Wis., +3 class skill)
Sleight of hand +5 (1 rank, +3 Dex., +3 class skill, -2 ACP)
Survival +5 (1 rank, +1 Wis., +3 class skill)

Traits
Reactionary
Skeptic

Languages
Common

SQ
Darkvision 60 ft.
Dayborn
Deeds
Grit (2)
Low-Light Vision
Negative Energy Affinity
Resist Level Drain
Undead Resistance
Vampiric Empathy

Equipment
8 gp
8 sp
8 cp

Backpack
Bedroll
Belt pouch
Chain shirt
Dagger
Firearm bullet (30)
Flint and steel
Gunsmith's kit
Powder horn (8 doses)
Rope (silk, 50 ft.)
Signet ring
Sword cane
Trail rations (9)
Traveler's outfit
Waterskin
Whetstone

Appearance
At first glance, Gareth looks older than his years. His hair is pure white, his face is thin, and he walks slightly hunched over.
In truth, he has the vitality of a young man. When he dares to raise his eyes, onlookers can see they are a pale blue, not unlike the eyes of some wolves. His big hands are covered with small scars; the marks of old powder burns and scuffles with the apprentices at the monastery where he grew up. Other than that, his pale skin is smooth and supple.
His clothes are rough and dusty; a long coat, boots, trousers and shirt, a hat with a wide brim that leaves most of his face in shadow. He always walks with a cane, and those who are lucky never find out that it hides a sharp blade...

Background
One stormy evening, a pregnant woman staggered into a monastery of Irori, the Master of Masters. She refused to tell the Monks her name or the cause of the terrible scars on her neck and the blood on her clothes. She also refused to cooperate with the midwives until the coming of dawn; she held everyone at her distance with the threat of a pistol she had carried into the monastery.
As the sun rose, she finally allowed the child inside her to come out -- and she died shortly after she had named her son and he had drank his first draught from her breast. It did not take long before the Monks realized the boy was a Dhampir, one cursed from birth.

Gareth's life could have been worse. For one thing, it could have been drastically shortened; many people would snuff out a Dhampir as soon as they discovered it.
Instead, the Monks considered the boy a challenge: could they instil a discipline in him that would enable him to live a decent life, and perhaps even join their number?

Gareth was cared for. He was fed regularly, given clothing, provided with an education and taught how to take care of himself. But he was disciplined rigorously every time he stepped out of line.
The boy was not mean-spirited, but grew withdrawn and antisocial because every time he did anything that stepped outside the strict boundaries his teachers set for him, he was punished. He grew resentful of the other novices, who were not punished half as strictly for deeds that made his own indiscretions look insignificant.

Something had to give. Fortunately for all concerned, Gareth decided to demand his right to leave the monastery, rather than take his frustrations out on anyone. On the day of his departure, the Monks first told him the story of his birth and his ancestry, and encouraged him to stay and seek greater discipline over the evil he must be harbouring somewhere inside.
Gareth declined. If there was evil in him, he feared it was far more likely to emergy if he stayed where he was. He did, however, demand his mother's remaining belongings -- his only legacy. He received his mother's pistol, her swordcane and armour, and a signet ring marked with the picture of a shrike in flight.

Gareth named himself for the image on that ring; he had no idea what his real family name might be or where he might find any relatives -- or whether he would be very happy to find them.

Ever since that day, Gareth has been wandering, looking for something, anything, to give purpose to his existence. Most people make it clear that they do not want him around once they start to suspect the unnatural element to his blood, and so he has become withdrawn and sullen. Or, as he likes to put it, 'a private person'.

Varisia truly suits Gareth; the wilderness offers him many places to spend his days and nights without having to interact with people who despise him as soon as they understand what he is. The ruins of lost glory suit his often grim mood. The dangers of the wilderness give him an acceptable outlet when his frustration threatens to spiral into despair. And when he needs things that the wilderness does not provide, there are communities where he can go. The sound of human voices. Hot, cooked food. Soft beds, and temporary security. And when people start to look at him oddly, there is the wilderness, waiting to embrace him again.

Rumours of the carnival, overheard while observing travelers from the shadows, have drawn Gareth out of the wilderness again. He has heard of such things, but he was never allowed to see one while a novice at the monastery, and he has never encountered one before during his roaming. Gareth is cautiously eager for a new experience, but intent on keeping his wits and his weapons about him in case that he needs to flee once again...