 About Warrok the WandererBackground & Information:
Warrok is a tall, burly Catfolk. His truly wild nature is made quite apparent by the ragged furs clinging to his legs and shoulders, many of which are still coated in dried blood from past battles. He clutches a long spear with gleaming tip in his long-clawed paws, and on his back glint the sharpened points of three smaller spears. A large shield hangs over one shoulder, which looks to be made from some large mammal's shoulder bone -- perhaps a bear or large boar. Warrok's spear is always close at hand, but often in the heat of an intense battle, when he is overcome with the primal rage that's always brimming just below the surface, the shafted weapon is discarded and he tears into his enemies with long, vicious, unforgiving claws.
He's earned his title, 'the Wanderer,' for spending so much of his time abroad around his home among the Shadowlynn tribe. His mother died in child birth, so he never knew her, but his father was a great hunter until he was slain during a skirmish with some Human bandits. Since that day Warrok has been led through life by his anger. He rarely speaks of all the misfortunes in his life, and it does not get in the way of his loyalty to the tribe. He looks at the structure of more civilized societies and scoffs -- he rarely even sleeps more than a night or two each week in the tribe. He prefers sleeping in the wild -- up a tree or under a bush, spear in hand, with a practiced eye left open to watch for forest predators. Generally, most of his time is spent wandering the forest, hunting and foraging for food to share with his tribe members. --- Dawn. Sunrise. The beginning of a new day. Warrok's stomach growls to remind him of his duty to the hunt. He grabs his spear and rolls from under the low-hanging branches, standing up and brushing off the forest detritus stuck now to his fur and clothing. Sun barely penetrates the Fierani forest's roof, making a curious orange glow that shines about him. Warrok stops and freezes a moment, listening to the eerie silence. Not even a bird or critter makes a sound... this time something is different. Something is wrong. Warrok follows his uncertainty through the forest, tracking it much as he might a deer he'd gotten some instinctual clue to follow. There are no physical signs, but in his heart and in the pit of his stomach something is calling him, and it's something unnatural and wrong. It's an uneasiness that is far more important than checking his traps and snares, or scanning the soft earth for tracks. Warrok's hand is gripped tight on the shaft of his spear; he advances ever-cautiously forward. He turns south, an inexplicable action even to himself, but still he is drawn away. The morning passes and turns into mid-day, and that turns into afternoon and then evening. The dusk sky burns purple and red just below the tree line, and Warrok's haggard face expresses weariness, but he presses on, withstanding the growing darkness. The hunt has been forgotten, now there is only this gut-wrenching search. It would be foolish to spend another night without returning to the Shadowlynn tribe. They should be warned of this... irregularity. But Warrok presses on. He feels he has gotten close to the thing -- whatever it is -- and suddenly he finds himself at the very edge of the forest. The Tanglebriar waits before him, and he dares not press any further alone. The sun sets while he's standing there, staring dumbly out at the dangerous swampland. Not the first time he's stood like this, considering the possibilities out there, but this time it's different. He was called here. Why? A noise splits the quiet evening air like an axe chopping wood. A noise that is fierce, unnatural, wrenching and mysterious all at once. A cry. Perhaps for help? -- perhaps it is a war cry, or a greeting of two horrible entities. Warrok cannot hope to understand this noise that splits open the forest around him and causes everything to start. A flock of wild birds -- dark ravens that had nested in the low trees of the Tanglebriar -- takes to the sky in response. Dozens of them. Warrok watches them because nothing else dares move after the ominous screech of something surely not of this world. Twenty-seven birds, flapping desperately to escape from that tainted land... but not soon enough. One bird suddenly freezes in midflight, arcs, and plummets to the ground. It lands with a dull thump at Warrok's padded feet. He looks at it, blood seeps from its eyes and beak and between the feathers around its head. An omen, to be sure. Something has changed. Something has gone wrong. The Elders must be warned.
Stats:
Warrok, CN Catfolk Barbarian (True Primitive) 1
Initiative: +4, +6 in forest Senses: +5 Perception, +7 in forest Languages: Catfolk, Common ============ ===DEFENSE=== ============ AC: 15, 16 w/ shield Touch: 12 Flat-Footed: 13, 14 w/ shield CMD: 16 HP: 15 (1d12+2+1 favored class) Fort: +4 Ref: +2 Will: +1 ============ ===OFFENSE=== ============ Melee Longspear (cold iron) +4 (1d8+3) Shortspear (cold iron) +4 (1d6+3) Claws +4/+4 (1d4+3) Ranged Shortspear (cold iron) x4 +3 (1d6+3) Sling +3 (1d4+3) BAB: +1 CMB: +4 ============ ===STATS=== ============ Str: 16 Dex: 14 Con: 14 Int: 9 Wis: 12 Cha: 9 Feats (1): Power Attack Skills (3): +5 Perception (+7 in forest) (1 rank), +3 Stealth (+5 in forest, -1 armor penalty) (1 rank), +6 Survival (+8 in forest) (1 rank) Cat’s Claws: Some catfolk have stronger and more developed claws than other members of their race, and can use them to make attacks. catfolk with this racial trait have a pair of claws they can use as natural weapons. These claws are primary attacks that deal 1d4 points of damage. This racial trait replaces natural hunter. Cat’s Luck: Once per day when a catfolk makes a Reflex saving throw, he can roll the saving throw twice and take the better result. He must decide to use this ability before the saving throw is attempted. Sprinter: Catfolk gain a 10-foot racial bonus to their speed when using the charge, run, or withdraw actions. Low-light Vision: Catfolk have low-light vision allowing them to see twice as far as humans in dim light. Poverty-Stricken: Your childhood was tough. Hunger was your constant companion, and you often had to live off the land or sleep in the wild. +1 to Survival. Reactionary: You were bullied often as a child, but never quite developed an offensive response. Instead, you became adept at anticipating sudden attacks and reacting to danger quickly. You gain a +2 trait bonus on Initiative checks. Class Skills: The barbarian's class skills are Acrobatics (Dex), Climb (Str), Craft (Int), Handle Animal (Cha), Intimidate (Cha), Knowledge (nature) (Int), Perception(Wis), Ride (Dex), Survival (Wis), and Swim (Str). Weapon and Armor Proficiencies: A true primitive is proficient with hide armor and armors made from bone (see Special Materials). A true primitive is also proficient with bone shields and the following weapons: battleaxe, blowgun, club, greatclub,handaxe, longspear, shortspear, sling, and spear. Illiteracy: A true primitive cannot read or write, and her superstition about such things leads her to refuse to ever learn to read or write, even if she multiclasses into other classes. Rage: 6 rounds. Favored Terrain (forest): A true primitive has a favored terrain representing her native homeland. This ability functions as the ranger class feature, and the true primitive’s bonuses in that terrain improve by +2 at 5th level and every five levels thereafter. However, she does not gain any additional favored terrains. The barbarian gains a +2 bonus on initiative checks and Knowledge (geography), Perception, Stealth, and Survival skill checks when he is in this terrain. A ranger traveling through his favored terrain normally leaves no trail and cannot be tracked (though he may leave a trail if he so chooses). This ability replaces fast movement. ============ ===GEAR=== ============ Combat Gear Furs, 12 gp, 5 lbs. Hide Shirt, 20 gp, 25 lbs. Long Spear (cold iron), 10 gp, 9 lbs. Short Spear (cold iron) x4, 8 gp, 12 lbs. Heavy Bone Shield, 4 gp, 10 lbs. Sling, 0 gp, -- lbs. Pebbles/Stones x10, 0 gp, -- lbs. Torches x2, 2 cp, 2 lbs. Belt Pouch, 1 gp, -- lbs.
Light Load: 76 lbs. or less
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