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 Statuesque Physique,
Weathered Skin,
and Filthy
Hair. Your Face is
Square, your
Speech Precise. You have
Antique Clothing. You are
Honorable and
Rude.
Your age: 39.
π Attributes
HP: 6
Armor: 2
STR: 18
DEX: 8
WIL: 8
π Equipment (8)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Torch (3 uses)
Salt pouch
Heirloom amulet (petty)
Sling (d6)
Dagger (d6)
Smith's Apron (petty)
Oft-mended Chain Mail (2 Armor, bulky)
Drowning Rod
Silver Moss (petty)
Gold: 11
π Bonds
Silver Moss: You once freed a Naiad from a choked stream. In return, it gave you some Silver Moss (petty). Swallow it near water and the creature will come, once, to repay its debt.
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
Who took you in?
A gruff blacksmith from a sleepy river town. You were always kept at arm's length. Now the forge is cold, and you've moved on. Take a Smith's Apron (petty) and a set of Oft-mended Chain Mail (2 Armor, bulky).
What keeps bad tidings at bay?
Drowning Rod: A finger-sized wooden stick that doubles in size each time it is fully submerged in water. It does not shrink down again.