You walk the line between healer and harrower, knowing the frailty of the flesh but also the secrets that lie within. With the right tools, life and death are merely words.
You have a Towering Physique,
Oily Skin,
and Luxurious
Hair. Your Face is
Broken, your
Speech Formal. You have
Elegant Clothing. You are
Cautious and
Bitter.
Your age: 29.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 1
Armor: 0
STR: 11
DEX: 12
WIL: 6
🙛 Equipment (7)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Torch (3 uses)
Bonesaw (d6)
Bandages (3 uses)
Leech (3 uses)
Stained medical finery (petty)
Graftgrub (1 uses)
Single Gem
Gold: 16
🙛 Bonds
Single Gem: You inherited a Single Gem (500gp, cold and brittle) from a long-dead relative. It arrived with a warning: squander your newfound riches, and a debt long thought forgotten would be called.
🙛 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
How have you 'improved' yourself?
You have a replacement eye that can magnify objects, act as a telescope, and provide minimal night vision. You cannot wear anything metal on your head, and the presence of strong magnets make you deprived.
What rare tool is essential to your work?
Graftgrub: A small worm that can fuse inanimate objects with parts of the body. 1 use.