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 Stout Physique,
Marked Skin,
and Frizzy
Hair. Your Face is
Sharp, your
Speech Gravelly. You have
Rancid Clothing. You are
Ambitious and
Craven.
Your age: 18.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 4
Armor: 0
STR: 17
DEX: 5
WIL: 13
🙛 Equipment (6)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Stake (d6)
Chains (10ft)
Crowbar (d6)
Blood-Red Flower (petty)
Gold: 7
🙛 Bonds
Blood-Red Flower: The Dawn Brigade did your family a service, giving you a dried Blood-Red Flower (petty) as proof. When the flower turns white, it means the favor is owed.
🙛 Omens
A night-blooming flower once thought extinct is sprouting up throughout the Wood. Its scent is intoxicating, but also causes vivid nightmares.
🙛 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?
Crowbar. d6 damage. Sometimes you just need to get the damn thing open!