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,
Oily Skin,
and Curly
Hair. Your Face is
Broken, your
Speech Formal. You have
Frayed Clothing. You are
Disciplined and
Aggressive.
Your age: 24.
π Attributes
HP: 1
Armor: 0
STR: 3
DEX: 18
WIL: 13
π Equipment (5)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Needle-Knife (d6)
Protective Gloves (petty)
Mimic Stone
Twig (petty)
Gold: 17
π Bonds
Twig: A white crow appeared to you in a dream, holding a twig in its mouth. You awoke the next morning with The Twig (petty) in your hand. You believe it brings you luck. It smells faintly of sulfur.
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?
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?
Mimic Stone: Records a short phrase that can later be played back.