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,
Scarred Skin,
and Oily
Hair. Your Face is
Chiseled, your
Speech Cryptic. You have
Rancid Clothing. You are
Gregarious and
Craven.
Your age: 40.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 6
Armor: 0
STR: 17
DEX: 14
WIL: 15
🙛 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)
Graftgrub (1 uses)
Twig (petty)
Gold: 18
🙛 Bonds
Twig: A white crow appeared to you in a dream, holding a twig in its mouth. You awoke the next morning with The Twig (petty) in your hand. You believe it brings you luck. It smells faintly of sulfur.
🙛 Omens
Swarming pests gnaw away at the edges of dreams, and farmers speak of a loud buzzing sound emanating from deep within the Wood. They also say that the sound is getting closer.
🙛 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?
Graftgrub: A small worm that can fuse inanimate objects with parts of the body. 1 use.