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,
Webbed Skin,
and Luxurious
Hair. Your Face is
Perfect, your
Speech Droning. You have
Bloody Clothing. You are
Disciplined and
Rude.
Your age: 29.
π Attributes
HP: 4
Armor: 0
STR: 3
DEX: 11
WIL: 12
π Equipment (8)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Needle-Knife (d6)
Protective Gloves (petty)
Tin of Snuff (6 uses)
Blast Sphere (d12, blast, bulky, 1 uses)
Miniature Lute
Gold: 7
π Bonds
Miniature Lute: An entertainer once visited your home, filling it with story and song. He left one day without a word, leaving behind only A Miniature Lute. Something rattles inside.
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?
There was an explosion, and you lost your sense of smell. Well, almost: you can sniff out gold as a pig does truffles. Take a Tin of Snuff to dampen the impact. Use it every day or become deprived.
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.