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,
Webbed Skin,
and Oily
Hair. Your Face is
Chiseled, your
Speech Stuttering. You have
Filthy Clothing. You are
Cautious and
Greedy.
Your age: 16.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 1
Armor: 0
STR: 13
DEX: 18
WIL: 12
🙛 Equipment (5)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Needle-Knife (d6)
Protective Gloves (petty)
Homunculus
Twig (petty)
Gold: 6
🙛 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.
🙛 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 were exposed to a long-acting truth serum whose effects have yet to wear off. The disorder has its advantages: you cannot repeat lies you've heard, either.
What alchemical marvel is the product of your latest ingenuity?
Homunculus: A miniature clay replica of yourself that follows your every command. It hates being enthralled to you and complains bitterly whenever possible. Any damage done to the homunculus is also done to you. 3 HP, 4 STR, 13 DEX, 5 WIL.