Bariaur

Bariaurs are probably hardy cousins of the centaur, shaped eons ago by the same sylvan being. From the waist up each is a muscular human; below, it is a big ram or ewe. The heads blend human and ram features; males grow horns curling from both sides of the skull. Most carry large clubs. This entry covers bariaurs met on their home plane, a wild, heroic realm among the upper planes; they differ slightly from bariaur player characters, and the special qualities here apply only to these NPCs.

Bariaurs are tough, capable fighters. A warrior's club is a personal emblem, an heirloom passed down through the family or flock, its history carved on it in runes. Losing it is so shameful that the owner usually leaves home to wander other planes until honor is restored. In battle the club strikes with the damage and speed factor of a two-handed sword.

Unarmed, a bariaur can butt for 1d8; males use this in nonlethal contests for leadership. A male that runs at least 30 feet can charge at up to one and a half times its normal speed, dealing 3d8 and having a 50% chance to knock down a foe of its size or smaller.

Keen noses and ears give bariaurs +2 on surprise rolls. A faint sylvan enchantment grants 10% magic resistance, and even when that fails they gain +1 on saves vs. spell. They can also move between the layers of their home plane at will.

Like most natives of their plane, bariaurs are wild and carefree, and wanderlust keeps every flock on the move. A typical flock counts 10 to 30 females, 5 to 20 males and 1d12-1 young. It is a family and normally never splits.

Absolute authority rests with one male who outshines the rest in strength or charisma. Younger males may challenge him, but such duels are formal rituals, never brawls, and losing one carries no shame. Bariaurs aim their chaotic energy outward, not at one another.

They believe the two great goods are upholding honor and having a good time. Flocks gather on vast grassy plains for festivals of singing contests, storytelling and a complex game much like polo. Humans watching often take the rivalry for vanity, then are amazed when everyone leaves on the warmest terms. Even a grim bariaur on a hard quest may stop for an hour of racing with a chance-met friend, and come away as refreshed as from a night's sleep.

Nothing grieves a bariaur more than a friend's sorrow. These brave folk fear neither death nor the darkest powers, yet will cross perilous planar barriers just to sit at a sick companion's bedside.

Bariaurs are herbivores that forage the forests for berries, nuts and leaves, moving to another layer of their plane only when food grows scarce. They have few natural enemies there besides giants, whose lairs whole flocks will assault in an effort to wipe them out.