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 Brawny Physique,
Tanned Skin,
and Bald
Hair. Your Face is
Broken, your
Speech Squeaky. You have
Elegant Clothing. You are
Merciful and
Craven.
Your age: 49.
π Attributes
HP: 1
Armor: 0
STR: 11
DEX: 12
WIL: 6
π Equipment (7)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Needle-Knife (d6)
Protective Gloves (petty)
Blunderbuss (d12, blast, bulky)
Pyrophoric Gel
Whistle (petty)
Gold: 15
π Bonds
Whistle: You carved a Whistle (petty) from an Oak Lordβs branch. Your act did not go unnoticed. You cannot seem to rid yourself of the whistle either.
π Omens
Border towns have become riotous in recent weeks, after multiple claims of a red-robed figure appearing in their children's dreams, uttering the same warning: A fire is coming, and it will consume them all.
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?
Pyrophoric Gel: A sticky green fluid that catches fire when exposed to air. It lasts for 8 hours and cannot be extinguished.