Barbarian (Armored Hulk) 1
HP: 17/17, Rage: 6/6, Perc: +4, Init: +1, F: +4, R: +1, W: 0, CMB +3, CMD +14
About Kilian Stein
Kilian Stein (Kellid)
Male Barbarian (Armored Hulk) 1
Init +1; Senses Perception +4
AC 20, touch 11, flat-footed 19 (+7 armor, +2 shield, +1 dex)
hp 17 (1d12+2)
Fort +4, Ref +1, Will +0
Armor Banded Mail, Heavy
Shield Heavy Steel Shield
Defensive Abilities Indomitable Stance (PFUC 28)
Spd 20 ft/x3
Melee Longsword +3 (1d8+2) 19-20/x2
Ranged Light Crossbow +2 (1d8) 19-20/x2
Str 14, Dex 12, Con 15, Int 11, Wis 10, Cha 16
BAB +1, CMB +3, CMD +14
Feats Armor Proficiency (LIGHT / MEDIUM / HEAVY) (PFCR 118), Fortified Armor Training (PFUC 102), Shield Proficiency (PFCR 133), Toughness (PFCR 135)
Acrobatics +3, Climb -1, Intimidate +7, Knowledge (nature) +4, Perception +4
SQ Rage  (PFCR 32)
Traits Armor Expert (Combat) (PFAPG 327), Stolen Fury (Campaign) (+2 trait bonus on combat maneuvers against demons)
Languages Common, Hallit
Light Crossbow (20 bolts)
-> Bread (x5)
-> Cheese (x5)
-> Flint and Steel
-> Oil (2 pints)
-> Rope (50ft)
The buckle cinched close under his armpit. Kilian breathed a sigh of relief. He finally felt dressed. His familiar banded mail's weight like a child's comforting blanket.
He gave an experimental swing of his arm to ensure the best movement possible.
"Son, you don't have to do this. We don't owe them Crusader's a damned thing." his father's voice echoed in the room. The large man, past his prime but still a great and hulking figure, moved into Kilian's room and put his enormous hand on Kilian's shoulder. "We live here, in the Mammoth Lord's lands, because we are free. History is just that, history. Sarkoris is gone. We need you too, son. The other tribes attack our borders daily."
Kilian strapped his longsword, won from one of those other tribesmen in his youth, to his hip. He stood and looked the graying and scarred man in the eyes, "I don't owe them anything. I don't want Sarkoris back. But if we push those demons back and the smart wizards can close the 'Wound back up...maybe the other tribes will look that ways for more land. You raised me to read, to think as well as fight, father. I'm thinking it makes more sense to do this than to fight the same fight for eternity." Kilian's steel shield dinks against his armor. He puts his free arm around the older man's shoulder as he stands. "I love you, father. I won't say you'll get to hear those words again...we both know I may not come back. But it's a chance I have to take to better our tribe's future. My armor, another product of the thought you instilled me in, will protect me. My arm, strengthened in battle beside you, will protect me. Tell mother I love her."
Kilian's father watched with pride and sadness as his middle-but largest-son walk out the door. His son's words were true. He prayed to Abadar that justice be swift and golden protection encompass Kilian.
What is this festival? the Kellid man thought to himself. His large and clanking figure making its own path through the crowd. Lord Hulrun, Armasse, competitions? I best make my way to the cathedral. I can offer a prayer to the Gold-Fisted and enter myself. Perhaps I could make a name for myself to Lord Hulrun and get myself into a good fighting unit.
Each step bringing him closer to Clydewell Plaza and the cathedral, Kilian eagerly takes in the sights and the sounds. Not bothering to conceal his newness at the city he walks directly into a small group of people. "My apologies. I did not mean to walk so blythely into you. Please, my name is Kilian Stein, son of Kalain Stein, of the Realm of the Mammoth Lords. I seek to join this crusade against the foul demons. Is this cathedral dedicated to the Judge of Gods, Abadar? I wish to offer a prayer before entering one of these competitions and win my way into one of the front line fighting units."