You strike from afar, but that does not make you a coward. You are a musician, the song of your bowstring nought but a warning, singing the silent promise of a quick death.
You have a Stout Physique, Tattooed Skin, and Long Hair. Your Face is Sunken, your Speech Cryptic. You have Frayed Clothing. You are Humble and Lazy.
Your age: 27.
Attributes
HP: 5
Armor: 1
STR: 14
DEX: 5
WIL: 4
Equipment (7)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Torch (3 uses)
Serrated Knife (d6)
Boiled Leather (1 Armor)
Heartroot Salve (1 uses)
Sessile Oak (d8, bulky)
Letter (petty)
Gold: 15
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
A thick, unnatural fog has begun encroaching upon an ancient and holy grove. It is said to be the work of a great forest spirit, angered by nearby deforestation.
Your Past
How did you earn your bow?
Falconry. You keep a falcon [3 hp, 5 STR, 16 DEX, 4 WIL, claws (d6+d6), bite (d8)]. It only eats live game.
What kind of wood is your bow made from?
Sessile Oak (d8, bulky). Slams into targets. On Critical Damage something is torn off.