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 Flabby Physique,
Tattooed Skin,
and Luxurious
Hair. Your Face is
Sharp, your
Speech Droning. You have
Bloody Clothing. You are
Disciplined and
Craven.
Your age: 38.
π Attributes
HP: 3
Armor: 0
STR: 11
DEX: 11
WIL: 13
π Equipment (6)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Stake (d6)
Chains (10ft)
Crowbar (d6)
Gold: 7
π Bonds
You found a wounded beast in the forest, but chose to ignore it. You see it everywhere now, but only when youβre alone. It looks sad, but not angry. You cannot become panicked when acting alone.
π Omens
There is a village known far and wide for its impressive 'mother tree', said to shelter the townβs secrets in its boughs. Recently, it has begun bleeding red sap, worrying the elders.
π 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?
Crowbar. d6 damage. Sometimes you just need to get the damn thing open!