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 Towering Physique,
Marked Skin,
and Curly
Hair. Your Face is
Square, your
Speech Droning. You have
Bloody Clothing. You are
Humble and
Bitter.
Your age: 44.
Attributes
HP: 2
Armor: 0
STR: 16
DEX: 17
WIL: 7
Equipment (6)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Stake (d6)
Chains (10ft)
Repellent (3 uses)
Gold: 11
Bonds
One of your ancestors wronged a Moss Witch, who cursed their bloodline. Your visage causes mirrors to shatter. You’ve noticed that the shards can sometimes reveal illusions.
Omens
Statues have been weeping blood for months on end, and the wombs of the village have lain barren since they began to fall. A single child has been the only exception, taken by elders overcome with fear and dread.
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.