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 Towering Physique,
Rosy Skin,
and Wispy
Hair. Your Face is
Rakish, your
Speech Whispery. You have
Elegant Clothing. You are
Courageous and
Bitter.
Your age: 30.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 2
Armor: 0
STR: 15
DEX: 8
WIL: 5
🙛 Equipment (7)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Stake (d6)
Chains (10ft)
Plague Doctor's Mask
Pulley
Twig (petty)
Gold: 5
🙛 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
The night sky grows dimmer each evening, as if stars are disappearing one by one. Rumors of hellish creatures capturing farmers and pulling them into the Roots are spreading like wildfire. Village elders believe the two are connected.
🙛 Your Past
What did you take from the dead?
A plague doctor's mask, after its owner succumbed to the disease that wiped out everyone you once knew. They should have kept it on.
What tool was invaluable in your work?
Pulley. Great for moving gravestones, rocks, or even bodies.