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 Rugged Physique,
Weathered Skin,
and Long
Hair. Your Face is
Chiseled, your
Speech Droning. You have
Frumpy Clothing. You are
Disciplined and
Deceitful.
Your age: 42.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 2
Armor: 0
STR: 10
DEX: 7
WIL: 8
🙛 Equipment (7)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Torch (3 uses)
Bonesaw (d6)
Bandages (3 uses)
Leech (3 uses)
Stained medical finery (petty)
Woundwax (2 uses)
Miniature Lute
Gold: 12
🙛 Bonds
Miniature Lute: An entertainer once visited your home, filling it with story and song. He left one day without a word, leaving behind only A Miniature Lute. Something rattles inside.
🙛 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.
🙛 Your Past
How have you 'improved' yourself?
You have a replacement eye that can magnify objects, act as a telescope, and provide minimal night vision. You cannot wear anything metal on your head, and the presence of strong magnets make you deprived.
What rare tool is essential to your work?
Woundwax: Heals wounds from fire or chemicals (restoring full STR) but nothing else. 2 uses.