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 Scrawny Physique,
Weathered Skin,
and Wavy
Hair. Your Face is
Pale, your
Speech Formal. You have
Foreign Clothing. You are
Honorable and
Deceitful.
Your age: 33.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 4
Armor: 0
STR: 13
DEX: 11
WIL: 15
🙛 Equipment (6)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Stake (d6)
Chains (10ft)
Sponge
Rolled-Up Map (petty)
Gold: 17
🙛 Bonds
Rolled-Up Map: A roaming storyteller once spun you tales of great treasure hidden deep in the Wood. You thought it naught but fancy, till they gave you A Rolled-Up Map (petty) marked with an X.
🙛 Omens
Folks say that a faint laughter can be heard echoing out of wells all over the city. At night, they say the echoes change to sobs.
🙛 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?
Sponge. Supposedly made from the remains of a rare sea creature. It never seems to dry out.