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 Short Physique,
Webbed Skin,
and Bald
Hair. Your Face is
Square, your
Speech Booming. You have
Antique Clothing. You are
Serene and
Lazy.
Your age: 41.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 4
Armor: 0
STR: 13
DEX: 9
WIL: 9
🙛 Equipment (8)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Stake (d6)
Chains (10ft)
Plague Doctor's Mask
Crowbar (d6)
Mischievous Spirit
Gold: 6
🙛 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 plague doctor's mask, after its owner succumbed to the disease that wiped out everyone you once knew. They should have kept it on.
What tool was invaluable in your work?
Crowbar. d6 damage. Sometimes you just need to get the damn thing open!