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 fair folk 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 before they themselves were buried in a vast tomb of earth and iron when the magic of that place collapsed gates forever.

In the generations that followed, folk began to forget, and many have ceased to believe that the fair folk or the dwarves ever existed at all. Not so much as a whisper has drifted down from those barrow hills in all the days from that til this.

Until now.

Now, trappers from the high crags report a blight spreading through the greensward, corrupting bark and bough, while shepherds on the foothills report strange, shifting mists filled with the shadowy figures of men in the early gloaming of the night.

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)