An odd birthmark, a strange smell: somehow, the touch of elsewhere still lingers. Wherever you are, you have trouble fitting in. Roll on the Omens table (even if you're not the youngest player), but keep the results private for now.
You have a Flabby Physique,
Soft Skin,
and Frizzy
Hair. Your Face is
Chiseled, your
Speech Droning. You have
Foreign Clothing. You are
Disciplined and
Nervous.
Your age: 40.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 6
Armor: 2
STR: 5
DEX: 6
WIL: 18
🙛 Equipment (8)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Torch (3 uses)
Salt pouch
Heirloom amulet (petty)
Sling (d6)
Dagger (d6)
Smith's Apron (petty)
Oft-mended Chain Mail (2 Armor, bulky)
Pipeweed (6 uses)
Blood-Red Flower (petty)
Gold: 7
🙛 Bonds
Blood-Red Flower: The Dawn Brigade did your family a service, giving you a dried Blood-Red Flower (petty) as proof. When the flower turns white, it means the favor is owed.
🙛 Omens
The night sky grows dimmer each evening, as if stars are disappearing one by one. Rumors of hellish creatures capturing farmers and pulling them into the Roots are spreading like wildfire. Village elders believe the two are connected.
🙛 Your Past
Who took you in?
A gruff blacksmith from a sleepy river town. You were always kept at arm's length. Now the forge is cold, and you've moved on. Take a Smith's Apron (petty) and a set of Oft-mended Chain Mail (2 Armor, bulky).
What keeps bad tidings at bay?
Pipeweed: Your good luck charm. Conversations tend to flow more easily after a smoke. 6 uses.