You Are A Failure

You have no home.

You have no job.

You have no friends.

You have no family.

You have no prospects.

Graphic: A woman in tattered jester’s garb kneels on the ground, holding an arm in front of her face and glaring at someone out of frame. Black tar and white feathers cling to her back, and an arrow shoft protrudes from her thigh. Her free hand reaches towards a dagger lying on the ground in front of her.

What you do have are a particular set of skills — the kind that make respectable folks avoid you — a handful of pennies, and a suitably blithe disregard for your own life.

Out there, beyond civilization, lies danger: monsters and magic and ancient ruins pregnant with treasure. Death is likely, but what did you have to live for anyway? At least out there is the chance to make something of yourself, and maybe even get back at those who wronged you.

Surely, this is no life for decent folk. But you are not decent folk. You are an

Errant.