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 Lanky Physique,
Tanned Skin,
and Bald
Hair. Your Face is
Sharp, your
Speech Precise. You have
Foreign Clothing. You are
Serene and
Rude.
Your age: 39.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 5
Armor: 0
STR: 9
DEX: 8
WIL: 4
🙛 Equipment (6)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Stake (d6)
Chains (10ft)
Crowbar (d6)
Twig (petty)
Gold: 18
🙛 Bonds
Twig: A white crow appeared to you in a dream, holding a twig in its mouth. You awoke the next morning with The Twig (petty) in your hand. You believe it brings you luck. It smells faintly of sulfur.
🙛 Omens
The local fauna is behaving oddly, displaying heightened aggression, or fleeing the area entirely. Hunters talk of a shadowy figure that roams the Wood, calling to the animals.
🙛 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!