Sir Gerald Galahad IV, huntsman, scholar, gentleman. He introduces himself to your company of four with a bow, then upon request demonstrates his shooting skills with one of those newfangled Dwarven rifles. The man has got a natural talent of Marksmanship and Charm, even if he is a bit of a jackass. His player isn't especially different, bit of a fedora tipper to be honest. Insists on a "London Fog" when everyone else is on their fourth espresso, literally says "M'lady" holding the door for you, and despite her being a bit of a lesbian he keeps trying with the GM. It's honestly a bit of a routine as the smile in his face and the energy of his courting suggest he's joking, but the man's got such a presentation that it sort of works. He even showers and wears not-too-extreme cologne, is actually a thespian, and when he's not balancing sound equipment he's playing a fiddle as part of a traveling band of Civil War reenactors. You're not exactly friends but you send messages to each other on Facebook sometimes, you might end up friends.
He's a last minute add to your "Forest of the Endless" campaign, literally showed up with a book and drawings of his storied character who has "traversed 3 continuities and two game systems" just to play. Your party lost their Ranger to a car crash (he's fine, but the car is totaled so he can't make session at the GM's rural house). The first session with Gerald is pretty memorable, owed to the absurdity of the situation itself. It was about the midway point, the dungeon you'd pushed through so far had consumed above-average amounts of one time use items, one/day class powers, and half the Wizard's spells. Your party is comprised of a not too unusual loadout: Paladin, Fighter, Thief, Wizard, and Gunslinger. So far things have gone okay, but the Paladin's healing is insufficient and the Bag of Holding keeps producing flasks of Gnomish Lighter Fluid (they work like alchemical fire 1d6, not totally useless) and bundles of singing stones (the DC to resist is like, 12, so basically useless). Gerald loves rolling these stupid percentile dice of his, the whole set is made of metal and it's a little cringe with how loud it is.
He travels with a bag of holding, pretty standard fare for one of his type. It's randomly loaded with odd things collected from his years of travel: exotic spices that make you able to see one's life-force, gems that can store arcane energy, lenses of divination, and even a life-like painting of a nude rat woman lounging (he swears it isn't his). Your GM insists the percentiles have a table of reference with 100 items of many types ranging from stale cake to a scroll of Wish, you don't own the book yourself but it's on the Wiki so it gets to be played. Apparently there is an extra rule that adds additional roll table shuffling based on the phase of the moon, and you can mix in items you get along the way (such as the Rat Woman painting). The present situation dominating the back half of your first session together is calling for something more appropriate than lewd portraits and fistfuls of 1d2 snails. Gerald searches for useful items in the bag whilst the party is pursued by a peculiarly unorthodox and ill tempered undead bear, the likes of which seems to be supernaturally lucky.
The Undead Bear is getting to the point of legend, people are nervously sipping their fourth or even fifth can of soda, the chips are out, empty pizza box, and god forbid, grid paper. Your GM hates, hates, HATES grid paper; but she has had to whip it out because what should have been a three round DPS check has escalated into 18 grueling rounds of intense woodland combat to the death. With each round, Gerald can perform two Search Actions, and all sorts of junk falls out, rolling onto the floor as you and the now transformed Werewolf Fighter throw anything and everything that has an attack score of 1d6 or greater at the beast (it has DR5 that requires good aligned or positive energy to break). It bellows, sending chills down your spine. The Werewolf has Fast Healing 2, an AC of 19, and a +10 to hit with his claws. His 1d8 + 5 slashes should be enough to save the day, on paper. But boy howdy, no one's D20's seem able to break 8 tonight. The zombie bear also crits him. On his turn, Gerald suddenly exclaims (his player nearly jumps out of his seat, gesturing to the 99 on his D100 roll).
"AH-HAH! Fear not fellows! This will sort it out!"
The Werewolf is now trading blows with the unkillable bear, dealing a total of 7 damage over two rounds, and he lets out a yipe and falls unconscious after it pulls off a six hit combo, a command grab bite, and then pops its signature ability and tosses him through an oak tree. At this point the GM is burning their power points because the bear might have become a plot point after all of the battling this evening. You honestly would have done the same, this bear is one player kill away from getting a title, and that means all sorts of crazy shit can be added to its roster of funny moves. Gerald produces a huge taxidermy bear from his bag, with a little name badge on that reads "Delilah". She is wearing an amulet of Giant's Might +5, has multiple Pearls of Power, a Ring of Greater Hold Person, and (of all things) a Hurricane of the Elder God Belt -- you're pretty sure the gear guide only allows someone with Druidic language to wear that. The specimen is miraculously preserved, her fur soft and lively as the day she was felled. Her body stands a full 8 feet tall, her eyes glimmer with a life like shine.
Gesturing with the flair of a man possessed with romantic delusions of grandeur, Gerald points at the small porcelain bear sitting on the grid paper, which has nearly TKO'd the party at this point.
"Delilah, assert dominance."
If a taxidermy bear could grin. So far this session you saw that Gerald put a volley of .68 caliber musket balls that can split a man in half at the waist into said undead bear. The Paladin despite being Half Orc needs bones in her arm set from how easily if flung her away, oh and her shield is broken. The Wizard, well, was following the standard party playbook and is fine -- he literally fell into a hole and has spent the entire time watching in amazed shock as his +3 continues to fail to make the DC20 climb check. You, the thief? You and Gerald had tried to outrun the bear after your pristine soul-slaying knives of eternal death +1 got stuck in its hide. The gash in your leg needs tending, already festering with undead rot (It was a DC 15, you're not proud of the 6 you rolled two rounds ago). The undead bear is not some CR 5 push-over, it's been honorarily moved up to CR 8 by the GM, for lols, because a regenerating undead bear that a vial of holy water would have neutralized shouldn't be this persistent. It has dodged fireballs, soaked volleys of gunfire and crossbow bolts, resisted and reversed grapples, ducked under swords, and more.
This bear is not one to be fucked with.
...and Neither is Delilah. She moves like a construct in a bear costume, easily lifts the undead abomination in her two paws, and breaks it clean in half in a single motion to the tune of 2D12+18 on a x3 Crit. She then casts Greater Strike of Positive Energy, 6d8 bounces across the table, and finishes the damn thing off. It disintegrates from the finisher into vapor, which is good because the first plan of "blow it up" didn't work because the bear had red skeleton logic that allowed it to reconstitute in 5 rounds, hence the scramble through the woods. People are visibly aged by the encounter, but the euphoria of the last minute save is greater than literally anything you've ever felt. Drunk with joy, the party actually literally pick up Gerald's player (the Wizard can bench like 180lbs, and the Fighter works out too sometimes) and parade him around the tiny little living room. In game the team regroups (even helping the Wizard out of the hole) and celebrates with multiple rounds of bandaging and limping back to town after scooping up many odd bits of silverware and chairs and sticks thrown from the bag during the encounter.
"Delilah, return to rest."
Gerald smiles, pulling a wound tending kit and healing potions from his endless sack of goodies. He's sort of shit, like the rest of your party, but the player has the kind of personality that makes you able to at least appreciate his punchable, perfect little face. Everyone is quietly thankful that the percentiles landed at 99.
"Got her at the Bearly Bizarre Bazaar after winning a marksmanship contest. Thought it was a taxidermy, instead it's a retired Templar's soulforce bound to a taxidermied bear. Forgot I had her until your knives got stuck, sorry about all that fuss. Been like, ten sessions since I last glanced at the list, long sheet."
His gear list is 3 dedicated pages. The upkeep on what was spent takes him the rest of the session, which is fine, everyone else is trying to work out how they can recover the losses inflicted by a single undead bear.