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 Flabby Physique,
Webbed Skin,
and Filthy
Hair. Your Face is
Elongated, your
Speech Droning. You have
Frayed Clothing. You are
Humble and
Greedy.
Your age: 31.
π Attributes
HP: 5
Armor: 0
STR: 11
DEX: 9
WIL: 12
π Equipment (8)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Needle-Knife (d6)
Protective Gloves (petty)
Blunderbuss (d12, blast, bulky)
Homunculus
Ornate Compass
Gold: 38
π Bonds
Ornate Compass: A distant cousin left you a small inheritance. Take 20gp, and a strange Compass that always points towards something deep in the Wood.
π Omens
There is a village known far and wide for its impressive 'mother tree', said to shelter the townβs secrets in its boughs. Recently, it has begun bleeding red sap, worrying the elders.
π Your Past
What went horribly wrong?
Your alchemical recipe worked, but a rival stole the blueprint before your claims could be proven. Take a prototype Blunderbuss that takes one round to reload, and a thirst for revenge.
What alchemical marvel is the product of your latest ingenuity?
Homunculus: A miniature clay replica of yourself that follows your every command. It hates being enthralled to you and complains bitterly whenever possible. Any damage done to the homunculus is also done to you. 3 HP, 4 STR, 13 DEX, 5 WIL.