You walk the line between healer and harrower, knowing the frailty of the flesh but also the secrets that lie within. With the right tools, life and death are merely words.
You have a Lanky Physique,
Oily Skin,
and Filthy
Hair. Your Face is
Pale, your
Speech Cryptic. You have
Antique Clothing. You are
Cautious and
Deceitful.
Your age: 26.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 6
Armor: 0
STR: 16
DEX: 17
WIL: 11
🙛 Equipment (8)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Torch (3 uses)
Bonesaw (d6)
Bandages (3 uses)
Leech (3 uses)
Stained medical finery (petty)
Oil Can (6 uses)
Woundwax (2 uses)
Single Gem
Gold: 12
🙛 Bonds
Single Gem: You inherited a Single Gem (500gp, cold and brittle) from a long-dead relative. It arrived with a warning: squander your newfound riches, and a debt long thought forgotten would be called.
🙛 Omens
Local livestock have grown increasingly agitated and unmanageable as of late. An old shephard says it is due to an unsettling howl that emanates from the Wood each full moon.
🙛 Your Past
How have you 'improved' yourself?
One foot is mostly metal (kick, d6), and you treat some tough terrain as Easy. Carry an Oil Can (6 uses). Without a daily application, you are deprived and noisy.
What rare tool is essential to your work?
Woundwax: Heals wounds from fire or chemicals (restoring full STR) but nothing else. 2 uses.