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 Stout Physique,
Birthmarked Skin,
and Luxurious
Hair. Your Face is
Sunken, your
Speech Stuttering. You have
Filthy Clothing. You are
Ambitious and
Nervous.
Your age: 48.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 3
Armor: 0
STR: 7
DEX: 11
WIL: 13
🙛 Equipment (6)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Stake (d6)
Chains (10ft)
Sponge
Bracelet (petty)
Gold: 4
🙛 Bonds
Bracelet: You promised a childhood friend that you’d bring them back a rare gift, something unique in all the world. Take a Bracelet (petty) woven from twine and wildflowers.
🙛 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
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.