You only have one eye, and as such have no depth perception. The Medium and Long ranges of all of your spells, powers, and similar abilities are only half as far as normal. Additionally, you halve the range increment of all ranged weapons you use.

Power Attack

Feat (flaw)

Sacrifice (up to) your base attack bonus on attack rolls for a round and add that to damage rolls to normal weapons, or double that to large weapons (no bonus to light weapons).

Fast Movement (ex)

Barbarian 1

A barbarian’s land speed is faster than the norm for his race by +10 feet. This benefit applies only when he is wearing no armor, light armor, or medium armor and not carrying a heavy load. Apply this bonus before modifying the barbarian’s speed because of any load carried or armor worn.

Great Fortitude

Crit

+2 Fort Saves

Weapon Focus (Longsword)

Crit

+1 Attack Rolls with Longsword

Alertness

Crit

+2 Perception

Possession

Location

Wt.

Throwing Axe (x2)

Waist

4

Chain Armor

Worn

30

Longsword

Carried

6

Small Shield

Carried

11

TOTAL

ENCUMBERANCE

WT.

Light

51

LIGHT

MEDIUM

HEAVY

58 lb. or less

59-116 lb.

117-175 lb.

DATE

CHANGE

5/3

Level 1 Barbarian – +1 BAB and 3 Skill Points

5/3

2 skill points to proficiency in Small Shield

Bio:

When I felt the blade strike my face – the warm blood flowing down into my beard…when I heard that ringing in my head, and my vision blurred…I thought my time on Midgard was done, and I was prepared to see what life awaited me afterwards. But no Valkyrie found me, and I did not wake up in Hel, Valhalla, or Folkvang. I awoke at home, with a bandage around my head. And yet, still, I thought my life was over. At first, my mind was a mush. I could barely speak, and what I said often had no meaning. I slept till after mid-sun each day. I could not move myself to piss or shit, let alone fight. I lay there, like a fat hog, being fed only to die, a slow and inglorious death. That is until one night. A wanderer came. I never saw the man – only his horse. Hanging from his horse was a banner of red, and on this banner was a stark black raven, surround by fire like the sun. I moaned when the horse shat and its stench entered my hut by way of the breeze. I could hear the man speaking outside, his voice hoarse – asking of “that creature in the hut”. I heard my father explaining my injury. The man reminded my father of what becomes of warriors who do not die in combat, and suggested my father sacrifice me to Odin while I still reel from injury in hopes that I can still be welcomed into Valhalla. This man, his horse shits on my doorstep and his mouth shits on my ears. I was….am..a warrior, and I would not die in that bed, being cared for by my mother or sister for the remainder of my wretched life. I strained to find something in the room. My wood axe was just out of arms reach…I twisted and stretched to hold it, and though I felt blood swelling to my head I reached it. My anger grew, and I threw the ax towards the bastard’s foul steed. My aim was not. The handle of the ax barely tapped the horse’s ass, and the axe got stuck in my neigbor’s hut post. I groaned again, and began to crawl towards it. I paid no attention to the man or my father until I felt a pain on my back. I struggled to turn and look at the man, but I was pinned. I heard his hoarse voice again, “or perhaps he is not ready to die yet. I suggest this, Jarl Ivar. Give him one year to hunt and kill a wolf. If he fails, sacrifice him to Odin. If he succeeds, I suspect he will live to die on the field of battle.”

It was 10 months after that day when I caught my wolf. I remember everything about it. It was the moment I was reborn. I remember the brisk cold wind against my skin as I tracked it. I remember the warmth of its blood as I lay on my back in the snow, my blade through the pouncing beasts neck. I remember the sound of ravens taking flight as i skinned it. I remember the taste of its meat as I ate it that night. I smell the smell of its wet fur every time it rains, as I wear it to this day.

On that day, so long ago, a sword took my eye. But it did not take my life, and from that wound, I have gained much. I never saw that wanderer, and father will not speak of him….but I know who he was."