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,
Marked Skin,
and Filthy
Hair. Your Face is
Broken, your
Speech Stuttering. You have
Soiled Clothing. You are
Courageous and
Nervous.
Your age: 47.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 1
Armor: 0
STR: 12
DEX: 4
WIL: 3
🙛 Equipment (6)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Needle-Knife (d6)
Protective Gloves (petty)
Blast Sphere (d12, blast, bulky, 1 uses)
Signet Ring (petty)
Gold: 6
🙛 Bonds
Signet Ring: You owe a great debt to a member of the nobility, and carry their Signet Ring (petty), which serves as proof of their protection as well as your obligation.
🙛 Omens
It feels like winter has arrived too quickly this year, frost and snows making their appearance much earlier than expected. There is talk of a pattern to the frost found in windows, ponds, and cracks in the ground. It almost looks like a map.
🙛 Your Past
What went horribly wrong?
You dematerialized a beloved pet. Now it follows you around, invisible but always present. Although it cannot interact with the physical realm, you are able to share its senses. (Add a Fatigue each time.) It follows basic commands.
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.