You are an artisan of the arcane, a smith of subtle forces. In the crucible of your workshop, the laws that govern this world are warped to suit your needs.
You have a Towering Physique,
Tattooed Skin,
and Frizzy
Hair. Your Face is
Sharp, your
Speech Precise. You have
Livery Clothing. You are
Merciful and
Vain.
Your age: 32.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 6
Armor: 0
STR: 5
DEX: 5
WIL: 10
🙛 Equipment (7)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Needle-Knife (d6)
Protective Gloves (petty)
Tin of Snuff (6 uses)
Blast Sphere (d12, blast, bulky, 1 uses)
Twig (petty)
Gold: 11
🙛 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 went horribly wrong?
There was an explosion, and you lost your sense of smell. Well, almost: you can sniff out gold as a pig does truffles. Take a Tin of Snuff to dampen the impact. Use it every day or become deprived.
What alchemical marvel is the product of your latest ingenuity?
Blast Sphere: A head-sized iron ball filled with explosive powder that detonates on impact.