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 Rugged Physique,
Scarred Skin,
and Oily
Hair. Your Face is
Chiseled, your
Speech Cryptic. You have
Bloody Clothing. You are
Ambitious and
Nervous.
Your age: 42.
Attributes
HP: 1
Armor: 2
STR: 17
DEX: 8
WIL: 14
Equipment (9)
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)
Stink Jar (1 uses)
Miniature Lute
Gold: 13
Bonds
Miniature Lute: An entertainer once visited your home, filling it with story and song. He left one day without a word, leaving behind only A Miniature Lute. Something rattles inside.
Omens
The constellations have slowly started shifting in the night sky, forming unfamiliar patterns that have stargazers and sages perplexed. Even the animals seem disturbed.
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?
Stink Jar: Shattering this jar releases an odor so foul all nearby must make a STR save or immediately vomit. 1 use.