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,
Soft Skin,
and Frizzy
Hair. Your Face is
Rakish, your
Speech Stuttering. You have
Rancid Clothing. You are
Ambitious and
Vain.
Your age: 26.
π Attributes
HP: 1
Armor: 0
STR: 9
DEX: 17
WIL: 10
π Equipment (8)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Needle-Knife (d6)
Protective Gloves (petty)
Metal Ingot
Gold Powder (3 uses)
Pyrophoric Gel
Journal
Gold: 17
π Bonds
Journal: You inherited an old Journal, bound in bark. Each evening, its pages are filled with the events of the day, crassly from the journalβs perspective. The writing is crude, but accurate.
π 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.
π 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?
Pyrophoric Gel: A sticky green fluid that catches fire when exposed to air. It lasts for 8 hours and cannot be extinguished.