An odd birthmark, a strange smell: somehow, the touch of elsewhere still lingers. Wherever you are, you have trouble fitting in. Roll on the Omens table (even if you're not the youngest player), but keep the results private for now.
You have a Statuesque Physique,
Tattooed Skin,
and Luxurious
Hair. Your Face is
Square, your
Speech Gravelly. You have
Foreign Clothing. You are
Serene and
Lazy.
Your age: 19.
Attributes
HP: 2
Armor: 0
STR: 17
DEX: 14
WIL: 18
Equipment (8)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Torch (3 uses)
Salt pouch
Heirloom amulet (petty)
Sling (d6)
Dagger (d6)
Gnarled Staff (d8)
Stink Jar (1 uses)
Ornate Compass
Gold: 23
Bonds
Ornate Compass: A distant cousin left you a small inheritance. Take 20gp, and a strange Compass that always points towards something deep in the Wood.
Omens
The moon turns a deep crimson, bathing the night in an eerie, blood-red light. Some say it heralds a time of chaos and strife, as the boundaries between the Wood and the mortal realm grow thin.
Your Past
Who took you in?
A druid, who taught you the language of trees. When it came time to leave, you took with you only a Gnarled Staff (d8) and left a promise that one day you would return.
What keeps bad tidings at bay?
Stink Jar: Shattering this jar releases an odor so foul all nearby must make a STR save or immediately vomit. 1 use.