You are a mere digit on the unerring hand of justice. You go where others fear to tread, unyielding and unbroken.
You have a Brawny Physique,
Scarred Skin,
and Long
Hair. Your Face is
Sunken, your
Speech Blunt. You have
Rancid Clothing. You are
Tolerant and
Aggressive.
Your age: 46.
π Attributes
HP: 3
Armor: 2
STR: 12
DEX: 13
WIL: 16
π Equipment (9)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Torch (3 uses)
Vestments of the Order (petty)
Blessed Tinctures
Silver Knife (d6)
Crossbow (d8, bulky)
Short sword (d8)
Chainmail (2 Armor, bulky)
Whistle (petty)
Gold: 18
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
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.
π Your Past
To which order do you belong?
Order of the Glass Sigil. Take a short sword (d8) and chainmail (2 Armor, bulky). You have contacts in most towns (the more rural, the better) willing to provide aid, food, or even weapons.
What was your vow?
Valor. The first time you inflict Critical Damage, you receive +d4 HP, returning to the previous limit at the end of combat. If your vow is broken, you die.