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 Towering Physique,
Tanned Skin,
and Wispy
Hair. Your Face is
Sharp, your
Speech Blunt. You have
Elegant Clothing. You are
Merciful and
Rude.
Your age: 19.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 2
Armor: 0
STR: 17
DEX: 8
WIL: 7
🙛 Equipment (7)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Stake (d6)
Chains (10ft)
Incense
Mischievous Spirit
Gold: 9
🙛 Bonds
Mischievous Spirit: You consumed a Mischievous Spirit that wreaks havoc on your insides, demanding to be taken home, deep in the Wood. It occupies one slot but absorbs one Fatigue each day. It wants you alive (for now).
🙛 Omens
Strange cracks have appeared in the night sky, revealing a swirling vortex of light and color. Some say that the divide between realms is at its weakest in centuries, and fear what may emerge from the other side.
🙛 Your Past
What did you take from the dead?
A mortal wound from a freed revenant. You were healed, but the disfigurement has made you a pariah. You require neither air nor sustenance but are still subject to pain and death. Trapped between worlds, the dead see you as one of their own.
What tool was invaluable in your work?
Incense. Perfect for rituals or to keep the flies at bay. Cools the blood.