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 Towering Physique,
Scarred Skin,
and Luxurious
Hair. Your Face is
Broken, your
Speech Blunt. You have
Rancid Clothing. You are
Tolerant and
Rude.
Your age: 42.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 6
Armor: 0
STR: 4
DEX: 7
WIL: 4
🙛 Equipment (7)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Torch (3 uses)
Salt pouch
Heirloom amulet (petty)
Sling (d6)
Dagger (d6)
Monk's Habit (petty)
Spellbook (Control Plants)
Ivy Worm
Twig (petty)
Gold: 8
🙛 Bonds
Twig: A white crow appeared to you in a dream, holding a twig in its mouth. You awoke the next morning with The Twig (petty) in your hand. You believe it brings you luck. It smells faintly of sulfur.
🙛 Omens
Swarms of insects are fleeing from the Wood in droves, destroying any wooden structures they come across. The sound of their wings hum a familiar tune as they pass overhead, like a forgotten nursery rhyme.
🙛 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?
Ivy Worm: A green worm often mistaken for a weed. Swallowed whole, it absorbs any toxins or rot in the body before exiting through the usual way.