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 Lanky Physique,
Tattooed Skin,
and Braided
Hair. Your Face is
Sunken, your
Speech Precise. You have
Rancid Clothing. You are
Merciful and
Bitter.
Your age: 28.
π Attributes
HP: 5
Armor: 0
STR: 14
DEX: 11
WIL: 17
π Equipment (8)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Stake (d6)
Chains (10ft)
Spellbook (Detect Magic)
Crowbar (d6)
Journal
Gold: 6
π Bonds
Journal: You inherited an old Journal, bound in bark. Each evening, its pages are filled with the events of the day, crassly from the journalβs perspective. The writing is crude, but accurate.
π Omens
The night sky grows dimmer each evening, as if stars are disappearing one by one. Rumors of hellish creatures capturing farmers and pulling them into the Roots are spreading like wildfire. Village elders believe the two are connected.
π Your Past
What did you take from the dead?
The Detect Magic spellbook, stolen from an ancient library. Your family worked in service to an obscure underworld deity, but you lost your faith. Though exiled, you continue to serve, even as an apostate.
What tool was invaluable in your work?
Crowbar. d6 damage. Sometimes you just need to get the damn thing open!