You strike from afar, but that does not make you a coward. You are a musician, the song of your bowstring nought but a warning, singing the silent promise of a quick death.
You have a Flabby Physique,
Tanned Skin,
and Braided
Hair. Your Face is
Sunken, your
Speech Whispery. You have
Antique Clothing. You are
Disciplined and
Lazy.
Your age: 26.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 3
Armor: 2
STR: 11
DEX: 4
WIL: 18
🙛 Equipment (8)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Torch (3 uses)
Serrated Knife (d6)
Boiled Leather (1 Armor)
Heartroot Salve (1 uses)
White Ash (+1 Armor, d6, bulky)
Miniature Lute
Gold: 16
🙛 Bonds
Miniature Lute: An entertainer once visited your home, filling it with story and song. He left one day without a word, leaving behind only A Miniature Lute. Something rattles inside.
🙛 Omens
Swarms of insects are fleeing from the Wood in droves, destroying any wooden structures they come across. The sound of their wings hum a familiar tune as they pass overhead, like a forgotten nursery rhyme.
🙛 Your Past
How did you earn your bow?
War. If you are first to attack, your bow gains the blast property for the first round.
What kind of wood is your bow made from?
White Ash (d6, bulky). Can be used in place of a shield in melee combat (+1 Armor).