This adventurer collects curses the way some people collect tattoos.
It's not hard to tell that they've been Marked, even with the cloak on. But once they've removed it and draped it over the chair at the tavern table, it's clear that the markings cover them far more than expected. "Hexes, cursed runes, black scrawls," they explain. "Just one takes hold of you, and you bear its mark." Their flesh is etched and branded on almost every visible inch of skin. They start pointing at various parts of their body. "That one's hereditary, it doesn't take effect until I sire a child, which I won't. That one came from an earring that I can't remove until it's blessed, but I like the way it looks and it just makes my footsteps louder anyway. The one on the back of my neck is a death curse..." They look at your worried face. "Not that kind of death curse. All this one does is guarantees that my death is by a specific means, and it's not hard to avoid it anyway."
The one part of their face that is not somehow inscribed is a blank spot on their forehead, directly between the eyes. "That's the one I won't let them touch," they tell you. "The crown. The one that goes there is special. You get a curse written on that, it'd better be something really cool."