An odd birthmark, a strange smell: somehow, the touch of elsewhere still lingers. Wherever you are, you have trouble fitting in. Roll on the Omens table (even if you're not the youngest player), but keep the results private for now.
You have a Stout Physique,
Tanned Skin,
and Bald
Hair. Your Face is
Broken, your
Speech Booming. You have
Filthy Clothing. You are
Serene and
Rude.
Your age: 43.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 1
Armor: 0
STR: 17
DEX: 15
WIL: 3
🙛 Equipment (8)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Torch (3 uses)
Salt pouch
Heirloom amulet (petty)
Sling (d6)
Dagger (d6)
Monk's Habit (petty)
Spellbook (Control Plants)
Stink Jar (1 uses)
Single Gem
Gold: 9
🙛 Bonds
Single Gem: You inherited a Single Gem (500gp, cold and brittle) from a long-dead relative. It arrived with a warning: squander your newfound riches, and a debt long thought forgotten would be called.
🙛 Omens
The songbirds of the Wood have fallen eerily silent as of late. Hunters claim that a spectral figure has been spotted wandering the forest, gazing longingly at anyone it encounters.
🙛 Your Past
Who took you in?
The monks of a secluded forest monastery. When their rules became too strict, and you snuck away. Take a Monk's Habit (warm, petty) and a Spellbook of Control Plants.
What keeps bad tidings at bay?
Stink Jar: Shattering this jar releases an odor so foul all nearby must make a STR save or immediately vomit. 1 use.