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 Statuesque Physique,
Marked Skin,
and Wavy
Hair. Your Face is
Rakish, your
Speech Gravelly. You have
Livery Clothing. You are
Cautious and
Lazy.
Your age: 47.
π Attributes
HP: 2
Armor: 0
STR: 6
DEX: 17
WIL: 11
π Equipment (7)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Torch (3 uses)
Bonesaw (d6)
Bandages (3 uses)
Leech (3 uses)
Stained medical finery (petty)
Oil Can (6 uses)
Woundwax (2 uses)
Whistle (petty)
Gold: 5
π Bonds
Whistle: You carved a Whistle (petty) from an Oak Lordβs branch. Your act did not go unnoticed. You cannot seem to rid yourself of the whistle either.
π 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.
π Your Past
How have you 'improved' yourself?
One foot is mostly metal (kick, d6), and you treat some tough terrain as Easy. Carry an Oil Can (6 uses). Without a daily application, you are deprived and noisy.
What rare tool is essential to your work?
Woundwax: Heals wounds from fire or chemicals (restoring full STR) but nothing else. 2 uses.