Notes

Premise

You remember the first time you died. And the second. And the third. You remember because Death fucking hurts, and the unavoidable process of coming back from the Dry Lands is a bastard's illegitimate bitch of a fuck.

With one foot in the land of the living and one in the land of the dead, you have seen what lies on the other side.

And you know what is coming.

Seven generations have passed among the sons of men since the miasma struck the elven people with its crippling madness. Seven generations since the elven nations invaded the Hall of the Mountain king during the Dwarven Clanclave and slaughtered every soul born of stone. Seven generations since the Mountain King himself collapsed the seven Gates to his kingdom trapping the murderers of his people in earth and stone.

In all those generations, not a whisper had drifted down from those barrow hills.

Until now.

Trappers from the high crags report a blight spreading through the greensward, black and red pustules corrupting bark and bough. In the lowlands shepherds report seeing tall shadowy figures like men made of smoke and mist sweeping down the mountainside in the first gloaming of the night.

On the roads of the kingdom a lone dwarf walks, axe on his shoulder, hiding his face and speaking to no one.

Human

Adaptable

Kindred

Low Light Vision +1 Parry/reflexes Pace +2 Shunned - Most Kindred pass just fine among humans, but if they are discovered, the populace at large will cease to be helpful and friendly.

Wildling

Leaper Claws [str + 1d4] Climbing at normal Pace

Size/Toughness penalty Outsider (minor)