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,
Tanned Skin,
and Bald
Hair. Your Face is
Bony, your
Speech Booming. You have
Rancid Clothing. You are
Tolerant and
Nervous.
Your age: 23.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 2
Armor: 0
STR: 12
DEX: 17
WIL: 17
🙛 Equipment (7)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Stake (d6)
Chains (10ft)
Sponge
Mischievous Spirit
Gold: 12
🙛 Special
Burial Wagon (6
slots)
Donkey (4
slots)
🙛 Bonds
Mischievous Spirit: You consumed a Mischievous Spirit that wreaks havoc on your insides, demanding to be taken home, deep in the Wood. It occupies one slot but absorbs one Fatigue each day. It wants you alive (for now).
🙛 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 burial wagon (+6 slots, slow) from your last job. It came with a stubborn old donkey (+4 slots, only +2 slots if pulling wagon).
What tool was invaluable in your work?
Sponge. Supposedly made from the remains of a rare sea creature. It never seems to dry out.