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 Stout Physique,
Tanned Skin,
and Curly
Hair. Your Face is
Sunken, your
Speech Droning. You have
Foreign Clothing. You are
Tolerant and
Lazy.
Your age: 46.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 1
Armor: 1
STR: 16
DEX: 14
WIL: 15
🙛 Equipment (9)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Torch (3 uses)
Salt pouch
Heirloom amulet (petty)
Sling (d6)
Dagger (d6)
Weathered Longbow (d8, bulky)
Leather Jerkin (1 Armor)
Pipeweed (6 uses)
Letter (petty)
Gold: 13
🙛 Bonds
Letter: During your travels, you met a dying hunter who asked you to deliver a message to their loved ones. Take a Letter (petty), sealed with tree sap. It is addressed only to the Lord Of Winter.
🙛 Omens
Hunters talk of a curse that befalls any who kill a beast with a streak of white fur: soon after, they are found dead in their homes. Each day, there are fewer and fewer creatures to hunt.
🙛 Your Past
Who took you in?
An old hunter. You were both quite happy, until it all ended. Take a Weathered Longbow (d8, bulky) and a Leather Jerkin (1 Armor).
What keeps bad tidings at bay?
Pipeweed: Your good luck charm. Conversations tend to flow more easily after a smoke. 6 uses.