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 Lanky Physique,
Webbed Skin,
and Curly
Hair. Your Face is
Sunken, your
Speech Gravelly. You have
Antique Clothing. You are
Cautious and
Nervous.
Your age: 26.
π Attributes
HP: 3
Armor: 1
STR: 15
DEX: 9
WIL: 4
π Equipment (8)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Torch (3 uses)
Serrated Knife (d6)
Boiled Leather (1 Armor)
Heartroot Salve (1 uses)
Western Yew (d6, bulky)
Journal
Gold: 12
π Bonds
Journal: You inherited an old Journal, bound in bark. Each evening, its pages are filled with the events of the day, crassly from the journalβs perspective. The writing is crude, but accurate.
π Omens
Strange, tear-shaped stones have been found throughout the region, sparking a 'gold rush' of sorts for jewelers and thieves alike. The locals believe they are the tears of the earth itself, weeping for a great tragedy yet to come.
π 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?
Western Yew (d6, bulky). Can be wielded as a blunt weapon (d6). Noisy.