An odd birthmark, a strange smell: somehow, the touch of elsewhere still lingers. Wherever you are, you have trouble fitting in. Roll on the Omens table (even if you're not the youngest player), but keep the results private for now.
You have a Rugged Physique,
Rosy Skin,
and Braided
Hair. Your Face is
Sunken, your
Speech Precise. You have
Frayed Clothing. You are
Merciful and
Lazy.
Your age: 14.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 4
Armor: 0
STR: 6
DEX: 9
WIL: 12
🙛 Equipment (7)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Torch (3 uses)
Salt pouch
Heirloom amulet (petty)
Sling (d6)
Dagger (d6)
Healing Unguent (1 uses)
Ivy Worm
Letter (petty)
Gold: 3
🙛 Bonds
Letter: You received a Letter (petty) detailing incontrovertible proof that your true parentage is that of Fae nobility. The note also indicates a date and location where you are to meet them, deep in the the Wood.
🙛 Omens
Folks say that a faint laughter can be heard echoing out of wells all over the city. At night, they say the echoes change to sobs.
🙛 Your Past
Who took you in?
A wizened apothecary, who taught you the healing arts but maintained a clinical detachment. Take a Healing Unguent (restores d4 STR).
What keeps bad tidings at bay?
Ivy Worm: A green worm often mistaken for a weed. Swallowed whole, it absorbs any toxins or rot in the body before exiting through the usual way.