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,
Webbed Skin,
and Frizzy
Hair. Your Face is
Elongated, your
Speech Booming. You have
Livery Clothing. You are
Gregarious and
Vengeful.
Your age: 33.
π Attributes
HP: 3
Armor: 0
STR: 9
DEX: 3
WIL: 4
π Equipment (6)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Stake (d6)
Chains (10ft)
Repellent (3 uses)
Whistle (petty)
Gold: 10
π Bonds
Whistle: You carved a Whistle (petty) from an Oak Lordβs branch. Your act did not go unnoticed. You cannot seem to rid yourself of the whistle either.
π Omens
An ancient tree at the heart of a sleepy village has suddenly withered and died, despite showing no signs of disease. After its trunk was cut, a bloody hand was found in its core.
π 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?
Repellent. Powerful stuff. Its faded label makes it unclear what it is actually meant to repel, though. Perhaps everything. 3 uses.