Garrun Fain's page

Garrun Fain
Male Warpriest 2
CG Humanoid (Human)
Init +1; Perception +7
Favored Class: Warpriest
FCB: 2 HP
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DEFENSE
AC 19 (11t, 18ff) ACP -2 (-3 Shield)
HP 19 (2d8+6)
Fort +5, Ref +1, Will +5
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OFFENSE
Speed 20 ft
Melee Mwk Longsword +6 (1d8+3x19-20x2)
Melee Dagger +4 (1d4+3x19x20x2)
Ranged Light Crossbow +2 (1d8x19-20x2)
Spellcasting (CL 2, Concentration +4)
0-level (4/day) - Light, Message, Create Water, Detect Magic, Purify Food & Drink
1st-level (3/day) - Divine Favor, Shield of Faith (Cast), 1 Empty
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STATISTICS
Str 17, Dex 13, Con 14, Int 13, Wis 15, Cha 12
Base Atk +1, CMB +4, CMD 15
Traits : Armor Expert, Inspired (1 / 1)
Feats Weapon Focus (Longsword), Power Attack, Step-Up, Proficiency (Martial, Simple, All Armor, Shields)
Skills Climb +5, Craft (Armor) +8, Knowledge (Dungeoneering)+6, Knowledge (Religion) +5, Spellcraft +5, Swim +5
Languages Common, Dwarven
Fervor 1d6 (2 / 3)
SQ Blessings (Destruction, Strength) (4 / 4)
Destructive Attacks
Strength Surge
Combat gear: Mwk Longsword,Cold Iron Longsword, Mwk Heavy Wooden Shield*, Mwk Breastplate*, Light Crossbow, Bolts (20), Dagger, Weapon Cord, Potion of Cure Light Wounds, Alchemist's Fire (3)
Other Gear : Masterwork backpack, bedroll, belt pouch, 50ft Silk Rope, Grappling Hook,Flint and steel, Coffee Pot, Coffee Beans 1lb, Mess kit, Soap, Spell Component Pouch, Torch (2), Trail Rations (4 days), Waterskin, Masterwork Blacksmith's Tools, Iron Holy Symbol (Gorum), Explorer's Outfit, Hip Flask (Mead)
GP 123, SP 9, CP 3
*-self-crafted

War shaped Garrun Fain's life from before his earliest memory. Orphaned by bloody conflict, young Garrun found himself surrendered to the Church of Gorum as soon as his legs would carry him. A child he may be but these were dark times and The Lord in Iron always needed more hands to bear his standard. The boy's instruction began immediately. Cruel it might seem but his teachers knew the younger a soldier began, the less chance death would find him on the field. And so it was that oversized armor weighed painfully on weak knees and the cold implements of battle shook in unsteady hands, but the boy would be taught. Garrun's days were long and the studies or warfare, both combat and tactics, wore on body and mind with little respite. There would be time enough to rest when you were dead his teachers would say.
All this in not to say the boy hated his life, quite the opposite in fact. Garrun himself was an enthusiastic child, one who took to the tenants of Gorum's faith with zeal. As years passed, those weak knees found their way to a warrior's sturdy stance and unsteady hands turned to iron as hard as the weapons they wielded. As his prowess grew, so too did Garrun's faith, even beyond many of his fellow students. Watching those other initiates, he knew he would never share the bloodlust that united many of them but The Lord in Iron teachings were no less close to his heart. His origins had never been kept from him. He knew war had claimed his parents and robbed him of a different life. In his mind, the tragedy of his circumstance was that there were too few proper soldiers standing between his family and those that had slain them. His fondest wish during his teens was that should he hone his skills sufficiently, he might one day hold the line where weaker wills would buckle and in doing so spare the lives of others like his parents. It may not have been the most common of drives amongst his peers but it seemed good enough for his God. Each day Garrun would offer his prayers and his practice to Gorum and each day the god's favor grew a little stronger within him. By the time he was old deemed ready to enlist, there were a scant handful of students who could hope to match him.
Garrun had never been as proud as the day he enlisted in the Molthune army proper. He had been waiting his entire life to be counted a proper soldier, longer in fact than most. During the worst of the conflict with Nirmathas, young Gorumites were often enlisted as early as 15. These days, with the uneasy peace between nations, need for able bodies was less pressing and the church prided itself on turning out more well rounded students.
Garrun Fain had seen 18 winters before he ever laid eyes on an actual battlefield. The experience itself failed wholly to live up to expectation. Lacking a concerted war effort, Garrun found himself deployed to a small county whose Lord had thought it better to cry rebellion than pay taxes to the crown for another season. With only a small Fort from which to mount defense and fall approaching, it was deemed prudent to starve them out as opposed to a full assault. The poor upstart barely made it past the first snows before his stores were exhausted. Proud to the last though, this lord marshaled what beleaguered forces hadn't already fled and took to the field. Four months of utter boredom and digging latrines had already done much to dampen Garrun's enthusiasm for the upcoming battle but he still carried hope there would be glory to come. Laying eyes on the starved, ragged band that assembled across the field to meet them did little to inspire hopes of heroic deeds either. When battle was joined however, it was the lost eyes of a starving farm-boy, fourteen winters if he was lucky, that finally extinguished Garrun's romance of a soldiers life. The poor boy took one look at Garrun's iron clad form and threw down the rusted scythe he called a weapon and began pleading for his life. Slaughter around him, Garrun stared into the boy's terrified eyes and felt lost. There was none of the glory or honor he'd been promised on this field, just misery. The boy before him was no worthy opponent, this defeated child was one of the very people Garrun had dreamed of shielding with his prowess.
All in all the mess they called a battle only lasted another few minutes but Garrun took no part in any more bloodshed. That evening as the others drank to victory and another day among the living just as he'd once dreamed, Garrun packed what gear wouldn't slow him down and turned his back on the soldier's life. The stories he'd be raised on were of great wars fought against greater evil. Conflicts that benefited real people, fought for independence, or safety, things to be proud fighting for. He decided then and there he would have no part in lord's petty squabbles pride, or lines on a map. With little idea what else to do now he was branded a deserter, Garrun set out to find somewhere he might be able to put Gorum's teachings to use on his own terms.