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 Statuesque Physique,
Tattooed Skin,
and Wavy
Hair. Your Face is
Elongated, your
Speech Whispery. You have
Antique Clothing. You are
Honorable and
Nervous.
Your age: 37.
π Attributes
HP: 2
Armor: 0
STR: 3
DEX: 9
WIL: 12
π Equipment (6)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Needle-Knife (d6)
Protective Gloves (petty)
Universal Solvent (2 uses)
Mimic Stone
Whistle (petty)
Gold: 10
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
Swarms of insects are fleeing from the Wood in droves, destroying any wooden structures they come across. The sound of their wings hum a familiar tune as they pass overhead, like a forgotten nursery rhyme.
π Your Past
What went horribly wrong?
Ridiculed for discovering how to turn gold into lead, you were a laughing stock. Take a bottle of Universal Solvent that dissolves anything it touches into its constituent parts.
What alchemical marvel is the product of your latest ingenuity?
Mimic Stone: Records a short phrase that can later be played back.