Zaarin Kith Muur

Male Gargoyle Monstrous Humanoid 4 / Fighter 3
True Neutral
Representing JK

Strength 19 (+4)
Dexterity 18 (+4)
Constitution 22 (+6)
Intelligence 12 (+1)
Wisdom 14 (+2)
Charisma 12 (+1)

Size: Medium
Height: 5' 7"
Weight: 270 lb
Skin: Gray
Eyes: Violet
Hair: Black; Straight; Beardless

Total Hit Points: 90 [includes improved toughness]

Speed: 40 feet

Armor Class: 18 = 10 +4 [dexterity] +4 [gargoyle]

Touch AC: 14
Flat-footed: 14

Initiative modifier: +4 = +4 [dexterity]
Fortitude save: +10 = 4 [base] +6 [constitution]
Reflex save: +9 = 5 [base] +4 [dexterity]
Will save: +7 = 5 [base] +2 [wisdom]
Attack (handheld): +11/+6 = 7 [base] +4 [strength]
Attack (unarmed): +11/+6 = 7 [base] +4 [strength]
Attack (missile): +11/+6 = 7 [base] +4 [dexterity]
Grapple check: +15/+10 = 7 [base] +4 [strength] +4 [improved grapple]

Languages: Common Elven Terran


Skill Focus (Hide)
Two-Weapon Fighting
Improved Toughness

Zaarin Kith-Muur - A Gargoyle with out a home….

The only life Zaarin knew was the life he spent in his Father's keep. Yes he went on adventures with his father, often being the muscle that kept the party alive, but WHO he was he never knew. Zulan, his father, wasn't very forthcoming on his past and neither were the many people who came in contact with his father. So here he was, perched atop the keeps tower, lost in his own thoughts.
What he did know is that he was a Gargoyle, and quite an odd one at that. He had heard the stories of his kind, how dumb they were and how brutally evil they were as well. Most of the town’s inhabitants took off in a different direction when he came their way, fearing he would tear them to shreds for the pure enjoyment of murder! His father, a wizard of high regard, had noticed his intelligence at a young age and taught him all he could handle. In the end, he was best at fighting, but he was competent enough to understand more than was expected of his race. He was able to comprehend and use two distinct languages. He learned more than just languages, he learned about history and numbers. He learned about fighting, weapons, and defense. He learned to wrestle and use his hands as weapons. He learned he could blend into a wall of stone, becoming one with the stone and appearing as a statue to the untrained eye. He grew beyond a monster, into a fighter of skill and a person of education. His father taught him all he knew, and for that he was grateful. He was more than a dumb monster that ravaged and killed at will.
He wasn’t bad looking for his race either. He had seen the pictures and drawings of his kind; hideous looking winged beasts with exceedingly large claws and blood dripping from their stained teeth. However, when he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw none of the evil and horror he saw in the drawings. In fact, his father told him on numerous occasions that he was the most handsome gargoyle he had ever seen. What he saw was a well muscled creature covered by soft gray skin. His violet eyes reflected his intelligence, another oddity for his race according to his father. His long black hair glimmered in the moonlight and fell down to where his wings met his shoulder blades. Indeed, when he gazed upon himself he saw a beautiful creature, but the sadness of his face drained all the beauty of his reflection.
It has always bothered him that his father knew so much of his kind, but so little of his past. When questioned, all he would say was that he was found at a very young age, abandoned and hungry. Zulan couldn’t leave him to fend all alone, so he scooped him up and brought him home to live with him as his pet. It was on the trip home that his father tested him and learned of his uniqueness. He proudly stated on many occasions that God had given him the gift of a son since his adventuring left no time for a family.
What he never told Zaarin was that he didn’t find him on accident. Zaarin was the last of his clan, a brutal and evil clan that ravaged and killed without provocation. Clan Deathlocke was so deadly and dangerous that many towns had been wiped clean off the map when their wings swept down for pleasure. It was in one of these towns, a small village of elves, where Zulan found his wife torn to shreds after Clan Deathlocke visited. Upon seeing his wife’s body, Zulan swore vengeance upon the entire clan and spent many years mastering his magic to bring about their demise. When that day finally came, when he found the clan asleep and unaware, he rained fire down upon them. When the fires finally died, all of Clan Deathlocke lay dead. As Zulan walked amongst the charred bodies, he found a baby gargoyle weeping over the dead body of its mother. This tore Zulan’s heart to shreds as he realized he was no better then the gargoyles. He swore he would raise this gargoyle as his own, vowing never to let it know its hideous and shameful history.
Zaarin was incredibly curious for his kind, he wanted to know of his past and he wanted to know of his roots. Many times Zulan cautioned him to forget about his past and worry about his future. ‘The past was something he couldn’t control, but the future was in the palms of his hands’ was his father’s favorite advice whenever Zaarin started his questioning. Still, Zaarin yearned to know of his kind and their whereabouts. Every time he got the itch to fly off and leave his father, something always stopped him. Having heard the rumors of his kind, he knew he was different and he knew they would never accept him as one of them. He would be an outcast, destined to never feel the companionship his kind because he was different. He had the looks of a gargoyle, but had the stature of an educated humanoid. Yet the yearning never left.
When his father decided it was time to stop adventuring and concentrate on his studies, Zaarin knew it was near time for him to start adventures of his own. Many nights he sat atop his father’s towers staring off into the night. His father knew he was going to leave someday, but hoped he had taught his son enough to not search out his past. So finally he broke down one night and told Zaarin of his past and how he came to be his son. Zaarin was speechless and stormed off without a word. For a fortnight he sat upon his favorite tower, not eating or sleeping, just staring off into the world, lost in the confusion of his thoughts.
When he finally came back to reality, he sought out his father for one last conversation. He explained to his father that he understood his desire for revenge. He suffered a great and unwarranted loss: his chance at a family because of Zaarin’s evil clan. However, his father’s loss was not reason enough to destroy his entire clan. Zaarin was torn in two, on one side he hated his father for seeking revenge but on the other he understood his father’s motives. He chose to walk the neutral path, not disowning his father and choosing instead to venture off and start a clan of his own. He explained to his father that they would never again share the same roof as a family, but he would always call him father. It was time for him to seek out his own adventures. Zaarin was going to discover the world and one day settle down with his own clan, guiding them to do more than recklessly kill.
The next morning Zaarin packed up all his belongings and took off from the keep. He didn’t know where his path would take him, but he knew he must follow it. As Zulan watched him go, he saw his son do something he had never once seen him do in all their years together, he was smiling.

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