You are a shepherd to the departed. You listen to the final whispers of the dead as they descend into the cold, unyielding earth. You know that to fully celebrate the gift of life, we must honor its finale as well.
You have a Statuesque Physique,
Weathered Skin,
and Luxurious
Hair. Your Face is
Rakish, your
Speech Precise. You have
Frumpy Clothing. You are
Humble and
Greedy.
Your age: 43.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 5
Armor: 0
STR: 7
DEX: 12
WIL: 17
🙛 Equipment (8)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Stake (d6)
Chains (10ft)
Blood Pail (bulky)
Sponge
Blood-Red Flower (petty)
Gold: 13
🙛 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 local fauna is behaving oddly, displaying heightened aggression, or fleeing the area entirely. Hunters talk of a shadowy figure that roams the Wood, calling to the animals.
🙛 Your Past
What did you take from the dead?
A Blood Pail (bulky) from a local death-cult. Empty it to raise a servant built from whatever is buried below, with 6 HP, 1 Armor, 13 STR, 11 DEX, 4 WIL, and shard fists (d8+d8). Only one servant can be raised at a time. If destroyed, you permanently lose 1d4 STR. Recharge: Fill with the blood of a dying warrior.
What tool was invaluable in your work?
Sponge. Supposedly made from the remains of a rare sea creature. It never seems to dry out.