Sunset of Doom
Stats: * STR: 16 * DEX: 16* CON: 16* INT: 15* WIS: 15* CHA: 15
HP: 16 AC: 19
Base Attack Bonus: +1 Melee Attack Bonus: 4 Ranged Attack Bonus: 4 Initiative : 3
Saving throws: Fort: 5 Reflex: 2 Will: 2
Longsword: 1d8, 19/20×2 crit, slashing dmg.
2 Silver Daggers: 1d4, 19/20×2 crit, piercing dmg.
Club: 1d6, x2crit, bludgeoning dmg.
Shortbow: 1d6, x3crit, piercing dmg, 60ft.
Javelin: 1d6, x2 crit, piercing dmg, 30ft.
Scale Mail: +4 armor bonus, -4 check, 20ft. 30lbs
Large Steel Shield: +2 armor bonus, -2 check, spikes ( 1d6, x2crit, piercing )
The third son of a noble house, Tristan was raised with a sword in his hand. As is typical of nobility, having no chance to inherit title and lands, he was trained from his earliest days for war. And, as befitting his birthright, he was also trained in the scholarly arts, reading and writing, language, customs of royalty. To the surprise of his tutors, Tristan had a quick mind, fairly uncommon amongst most fighters, and took to his studies well. In particular, cartography fascinated him, and he would pore over maps, both antiquated and new, dreaming of far away lands and adventures. He envisioned himself traveling new lands, in shining armor and on a mighty warhorse, mapping the places he would go.
As he neared his 17th birthday, a noble, one of his father’s friends came to visit the keep. This noble had been friends with the family for years, and a close advisor to the king. After feasting, everyone retired to their prospective rooms for the evening. A scream awoke Tristan in the night. Bolting from his bed, he grabbed his sword from its sheath, and making his way into the hallways of the keep, he found that a massacre was in progress. In every room he looked he found his family, servants and retinue dead in their rooms. Some had attempted to fight back, some were slaughtered in their beds. In his brothers rooms, he found that they indeed had fought back, and had slain some attackers before succumbing to their wounds. Tristan noticed that the livery of the attackers was that of his father’s friend, the noble that had come to visit the night before. In a rage Tristan made for his father’s quarters, bursting through the door, coming upon two of the soldiers in a heated battle with his father. With a warcry Tristan flung himself at the attackers, cleaving through one of them, and turning in time to see the other’s dagger pierce his fathers chest. Tristan grabbed the soldier, forcing him to the ground, and in a struggle that seemed to last forever, but in reality only a sec or two, cut the mans throat. Turning to his father, he attempted to lift him, telling him that he would get him to safety. His father refused, slipping off his signet ring, and placing it in Tristan’s palm. He told Tristan to flee, that the soldiers were to many, and to find a way to enact vengeance for this wicked deed. Vengeance against this man, this advisor of the king, a man very powerful indeed. Tristan swore an oath to the Gods, over his father’s dying body, that he would find a way to become as powerful as the man that had betrayed his house, and to kill this man, no matter what it took. Tristan wanders the land now, seeking his destiny, acting as judge, jury and executioner towards the wicked. He seeks his fortune, and keeps his past hidden, biding his time, waiting for the day…....