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 Stout Physique,
Scarred Skin,
and Curly
Hair. Your Face is
Chiseled, your
Speech Gravelly. You have
Frayed Clothing. You are
Gregarious and
Lazy.
Your age: 25.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 6
Armor: 0
STR: 7
DEX: 8
WIL: 16
🙛 Equipment (8)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Needle-Knife (d6)
Protective Gloves (petty)
Metal Ingot
Gold Powder (3 uses)
Mimic Stone
Single Gem
Gold: 8
🙛 Bonds
Single Gem: You inherited a Single Gem (500gp, cold and brittle) from a long-dead relative. It arrived with a warning: squander your newfound riches, and a debt long thought forgotten would be called.
🙛 Omens
The moon turns a deep crimson, bathing the night in an eerie, blood-red light. Some say it heralds a time of chaos and strife, as the boundaries between the Wood and the mortal realm grow thin.
🙛 Your Past
What went horribly wrong?
You were adept at creating fake gold, which is almost as good. Eventually, your ruse was discovered, and you had to make a hasty retreat. Take a heavy Metal Ingot and Gold Powder.
What alchemical marvel is the product of your latest ingenuity?
Mimic Stone: Records a short phrase that can later be played back.