You follow the whisperings of the deep earth, the rhythmic pulse of the mycelium forest that grows beneath the surface. The dark holds no terror for you. Also, you really love mushrooms.
You have a Rugged Physique,
Oily Skin,
and Oily
Hair. Your Face is
Chiseled, your
Speech Whispery. You have
Frumpy Clothing. You are
Serene and
Rude.
Your age: 45.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 5
Armor: 1
STR: 18
DEX: 4
WIL: 16
🙛 Equipment (7)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Sharpened Trowel (d6)
Candle Helmet (+1 Armor, 6 uses)
Rope (25ft)
Metal Pail
Sproutcup (1 uses)
Miner's Grease (3 uses)
Letter (petty)
Gold: 5
🙛 Bonds
Letter: During your travels, you met a dying hunter who asked you to deliver a message to their loved ones. Take a Letter (petty), sealed with tree sap. It is addressed only to the Lord Of Winter.
🙛 Omens
The moon turns a deep crimson, bathing the night in an eerie, blood-red light. Some say it heralds a time of chaos and strife, as the boundaries between the Wood and the mortal realm grow thin.
🙛 Your Past
What strange fungus did you discover?
Sproutcup. Ingest to shrink down to the size of a mouse. (Your belongings stay the same size.) You return to normal size within the hour, often in fits and starts. 1 use.
What keeps you sane, even in utter darkness?
Miner's Grease. Great for dislodging a gem, tool, or limb from a tight crack. Highly explosive. 3 uses.