You strike from afar, but that does not make you a coward. You are a musician, the song of your bowstring nought but a warning, singing the silent promise of a quick death.
You have a Towering Physique,
Tattooed Skin,
and Long
Hair. Your Face is
Rakish, your
Speech Cryptic. You have
Frumpy Clothing. You are
Gregarious and
Craven.
Your age: 20.
Attributes
HP: 2
Armor: 1
STR: 12
DEX: 3
WIL: 13
Equipment (8)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Torch (3 uses)
Serrated Knife (d6)
Boiled Leather (1 Armor)
Heartroot Salve (1 uses)
Wych Elm (d6, bulky)
Journal
Gold: 3
Bonds
Journal: You inherited an old Journal, bound in bark. Each evening, its pages are filled with the events of the day, crassly from the journal’s perspective. The writing is crude, but accurate.
Omens
The moon turns a deep crimson, bathing the night in an eerie, blood-red light. Some say it heralds a time of chaos and strife, as the boundaries between the Wood and the mortal realm grow thin.
Your Past
How did you earn your bow?
Training. If you are the first to attack, melee attacks against you are impaired until you take STR damage.
What kind of wood is your bow made from?
Wych Elm (d6, bulky). Protects the bearer from poisons and toxins, so long as they are holding it.