Vir Venator

Human Male Avenger

Description:

Avenger of Kord

STR: 12 1 AC: 19 INIT: 4
CON: 10 0
DEX: 16 3 FORT: 14
INT: 10 0 REF: 16
WIS: 18 4 WILL: 17
CHA: 10 0
MAX HP: 36 BLOODIED: 18 SURGE VAL.: 9 SURGES/DAY: 7
SKILLS: CLASS FEATURES: FEATS:
Acrobatics: 9 Armor of Faith Quick Draw
Heal: 10 Oath of Enmity(CoP) Invigorating Pursuit
Perception: 10 Channel Divinity Improved Armor of Faith
Religion: 6 Abjure Undead
Stealth: 9 Divine Guidance
LANGUAGES: BACKGROUNDS: GOLD:
Common Crusading Zealot 480 gp
Dwarven

MAGIC ITEMS:
Falchion of Terror +1- +3prof. 2d4dmg. High crit. +1d8dmg on crit. Power: Fear (daily)
Fireburst Cloth Armor +1- Property: auto succeed vs. ongoing fire damage Power: Fire (daily)
Magic Holy Symbol of Kord +1- +1d6dmg on crit.

MUNDANE ITEMS:
Daggers x 4
Crossbow + 20 bolts
Standard Adventurer’s Kit
Climbers Kit
Everburning Torch
Riding Horse
Simple Monk Robes

POWERS:
At-Will: Encounter: Daily:
Bond of Pursuit Whirlwind Charge Aspect of Might
Radiant Vengeance Resonant Escape
Overwhelming Strike Sequestering Strike
Bio:
Height: 5’ 11” Weight: 167lb Hair: Brown Eyes: Grey Age: 27 Align.: UN Deity: Kord

Vir usually travels in simple yet non-tattered monastic robes out of respect for the order he came from. Before combat or during long periods of combat heavy travel however he pries off his robes to show a warrior decked out in garments of war. He is scarred and branded with symbols of Kord. On his back are tattooed the three commandments of Kord. His demeanor may seem uneasy during times of peace for those who have seen him in a zealous glee on the battlefield.

Vir was born and raised in a temple of Kord in the town of Flat Rock on the edge of one of the Vale’s long spanning plains. The town of Flat Rock was relatively peaceful, but only made a humble living off of farming, livestock, and minor trading. His mother and father were traveling along the Dawn Road when they were attacked by highwaymen and forced to seek refuge in the town of Flat Rock. Presumably his father died in the attack as there was no sign of him as the woman stumbled into town. Pregnant and dying she was taken to the temple of Kord by some of the townsfolk. The clerics did all they could for her, but the stress of childbirth and the injuries sustained in the ambush were too much. The baby boy was born healthy and without defect. The clerics, seeing the strength the mother had even in her dying breath, pledged to care for the child and raise him by the standards of the church. Some of the clerics even saw the event not as a tragedy but as Kord himself delivering them a new servant. Not knowing what the mother wished to call her son the head abbot, Renfru, gave him the name Liber, which in the holy tongue meant child.

Much debate went on between the clerics in the years leading up to his training. Some monks believed the boy to be no more than an orphan while others believed the boys destiny to be more divine. When the time came for the clerics to decide, the head abbot sequestered himself in his chambers and meditated for two days. Life in the temple stood still for those 48 hours, and on the dawn of the third day the abbot calmly left his chambers. Gathering the other clerics, the abbot told of his vision where he communicated with the fury of the storm. “And the storm said to me ‘Let the child be raised as the storm, for he shall know full well its manner,’” spoke Abbot Renfru. The other clerics were amazed by this and the decision was passed down to raise the boy, not as a cleric, paladin, or monk, but as an avenger.

Knowing no other life, the boy took to his studies as an avenger well enough. He was frustrated at times by the harder training he endured and the quiet stares that followed him from many of the clerics. None of the other children raised in the temple played with him, ans so the boy lived out his early years without friend or foe. Abbot Renfru saw the progress the boy was making and directed the other clerics to put the boy through even more training. The boys life was filled with work but free from peril, until his graduation.

In the months leading up to his graduation a group of bandits led by a fortuitous and cunning mercenary began to terrorize the Flat Rock. The leader went by the name of Hax, and led his bandits on raids on smaller towns that had little defenses. The clerics began to believe that the boy was brought to them to defeat this evil in the name of Kord. Upon his graduation the clerics gave him the charge to defeat the bandit lord and gave him a new name, Vir (man).

Vir found the bandit camp miles outside Flat Rock on a plateau overlooking the rolling plains. Dark rainclouds were setting in the distance making what was left of the setting day dim and gray. He moved silently into the camp killing the lone sentry but leaving the sleeping bandits untouched. Vir sought the biggest tent, found it, and like a predatory bird swooped for the kill. The bandit lord Hax was sleeping soundly when Vir tapped his side with the point of his blade. The bandit woke startled but instant realization of his predicament entered his eyes upon seeing the boy with death in his eyes. The bandit nervously looked around the room in search of a weapon and spotted a short sword near his bedroll. Vir motioned towards the sword and the bandit, fearful of a trick, scrambled for the weapon. Now facing the boy with contemptuous arrogance, he smiled and told Vir that he would make his death quick. Hax was tall and strong but lacked the speed and agility that the boy trained to use his whole life. With one clumsy chop Hax stepped right into the dagger Vir put in front of him and collapsed on the earth. Struggling to stand or even breathe on the ground, Hax fumbled for his sword which laid just inches from his hand. One more swift blow to the back of his neck from Vir sword ended the raider’s successful career.

Shaking a little from the adrenaline surge and not thinking as clearly as he should have, Vir left the tent. The night was growing cold and blackness swallowed the once lit camp. The faint sound of pattering rain against cold metal caught Vir’s attention. He peered into the darkness only seeing shapes without form. Then a bolt of lightning sparked across the sky lighting the entire campsite and the 16 bandits that surrounded him, their eyes hungry for death their blades eager to supply it. Vir was out of options. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the smell of ozone and rain, and charged.

Waking from blackness, Vir made a mental check of his body’s status. After feeling some cuts, gashes, and bruises he was sufficiently pleased to find that all of his limbs were intact. He tested his strength and made his way to his feet. He was covered in blood, and by looking around he could see that the rest of the camp was too. The corpses of the 16 bandits lay in pieces around the camp, some so small they could barely be called pieces. Vir heard the distant rumble of thunder and turned to see that the mighty storm had moved across the rolling plains. He didn’t know what happened to him but he knew he had changed somehow. He stabbed his sword into the earth and arms spread wide, bearing his chest to the storm he cried out, “NOW AND UNTIL THE DAY I AM STRICKEN FROM THIS EARTH SHALL I BE THE BLADE OF THE MIGHTY STORM GOD, MASTER OF LIGHTNING AND THUNDER! KORD! YOUR WILL IS MY MISSION!”

Since that day Vir has left the small village of Flat Rock and has taken his true masters words to the masses through his actions. He has killed raiders, bandits, cutthroats, goblin, kobolds, and orcs in the name of Kord. He scorns cowardice wherever he sees it and carries the name Kord into every battle he enters.

Vir Venator

Ternocki Di Aryte gun_GRIFFIN