Rangers of the North
Gauthir the Knowing
Prof: Seer. Level: 10. Exp Points: 150,000.
Eyes: Green/Blue. Hair: Black. Build: Medium.
Height: 5’ 6". Weight: 125 lbs. Hits: 70/70.
Realm: Mentalism. Power Points: 10 (+2 §).
St-30 (30); Qu-99 (99); Pr-90 (90); ln-89 (89); Em-88 (88);
Co-60 (60); Ag-80 (80); SD-90 (90); Re-78 (78); Me-95 (95).
AT: 2; DB: 40 (+35 AD, +9 TE); Armor Penalty: 0/0/0. Move: 70’.
Equipment: Eye of the Storm (+ 15 bonus to detect Reality
Warps or other disturbances in the fabric of time and space).
Adrenal Defense 35
Body Development 70/70
Disarm Traps 8
Martial Arts Striking 10
Martial Arts Sweeps 10
Read Runes 69
Spell Mastery 10
Stalk& Hide 20/25
Direction Sense 10
Drug Tolerance 50
Faerie Lore 15
Lie Perception 35
Locate Hidden 25
Meditation Trance 84
Meditation Sleep 28
Meditation Healing 50
Poison Perception 20
Region Lore 13
Sanity Healing Lore 20
Sense Reality Warp 48
Sense Ambush/Assassin 40
Spell Mastery: Attack A vd/True Sight 20
Tumbling Evasion 68
GAUTHIR THE KNOWING
Lvl 10 Seer
Gauthir hailed from one of the richest familes in the Northern Gondor. With such fortune, one would think that Gauthir would become a powerful Arnorian nobleman. But the road to glory and prestige was not in the destiny of Gauthir. His future lay in a much different path, rarely walked by the Men of Middle-Earth.
Gauthir grew up in sheer luxury, enjoying all the best in life and rarely experiencing anything but riches of every description. As a child, Gauthir was immensely strong and had the constitution of a full-grown elephant. He excelled in sports and the crafts of war. His bronze-hued skin and rippling muscles brought bubbling excitement to all the ladies of the court.
The turning point in his life came when a sluggish barge from the upper reaches of the river came back with bales of spongy spice that was said to have the most tantalizing taste. It was latter learned that it was also a powerful hallucinogen and very addictive (AF 85). Poor Gauthir, wanting to be the first of the members of
his tight circle of rich compatriots to try the spongy spice, fell head over heels into a spiralling pit of chaos and fear – there, he later confided to friends, his soul was eaten then regurgitated several times by demons so horrifying in appearance that their mere appearance would cause Fighters to collapse and die.
Gauthir returned a different person. No longer a powerful leader, he became a warped Seer of the future, of the past, and of the “what if?” He indulged himself with further drugs and altering chemicals and sat for hours dreaming of gods, demons, and places of great technology. It is even said that once he summoned a firey, great chariot from the sky. The thundering chariot shattered mason buildings for miles in all directions and it spewed forth automatons of black groaning metal and soldiers with flaming
wands of thunder and destruction.
With the Darkening of the Greenwood and the White Council’s struggle in Dol Guldur, it soon became clear to those in the right circles that Gauthir’s mad rantings were actually fortellings of the return of the Necromancer. The Chariots summoned forth by Gauthir’s use of sorcerous visions, were the hosts of the Necromancer, although none of his peers understood that it was Gauthir’s magics that had attracted the enemies who drew down destruction of the North Gondor village. He gathered around him a following of old friends, advisors, and nobility, who used his powerful visions for their own ends. Gauthir’s wealth and prestige grew. Then Gandalf the Grey appeared, and warned against Gauthir’s visions, but he was laughed at and driven from the town. However, the seeds of doubt had been sown, soon many of the great priests and even the Steward of Gondor openly resented his power and ability.
Finally, the Denethor, Steward of Gondor, beseeched the great Saruman the White to bring to an end Gauthir’s visions, and Saruman used the Palantír of Minas Tirith to gain control over Gauthir, clouding his mind and using his abilities to his own ends. Gauthir’s mind was closed from all visions but one, that of a terrible, burning eye.
Driven from the town Gauthir ended up in Minas Tirith, aged, crippled, and racked with horrible nightmares and visions. He has taken to wandering the streets screaming at doors and small stones. His eyes burn with fire from some other plane and he often falls convulsing on the ground, as if seized with demons and devils. He has managed to survive by telling fortunes and reading the palms of the lesser folk who never knew him in his stronger and more influential days, his shriveled husk of a body no longer resembling the powerful moose of only a few years earlier.
After Gauthir’s overdose, he could best be described as a wrinkled dish cloth. After months of catatonia, he arose, revealing a loss of more than four inches in height and more than sixty pounds of weight. He looks as if he was once a powerfully built man, compacted, unevenly, into a smaller body. His head juts lopsidedly on his pencil-thick shoulders. His rib cage is gnarled and gaunt, several ribs simply dissolved away. His legs are elephantine in proportion to the rest of his body, while his face is
smashed and disfigured with bulging, horrible eyes and a knotted forehead. Gauthir limps about, wearing only a large potato sack for clothing. He wears no sandals or boots, and no jewelry besides a bluish orb filled with swirling mists. He carries with him a wicked-looking dagger the length of a
short sword, notched and barbed.