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 Towering Physique,
Scarred Skin,
and Luxurious
Hair. Your Face is
Chiseled, your
Speech Cryptic. You have
Frayed Clothing. You are
Disciplined and
Craven.
Your age: 23.
🙛 Attributes
HP: 2
Armor: 0
STR: 9
DEX: 6
WIL: 9
🙛 Equipment (5)
Items:
Rations (3 uses)
Lantern
Oil Can (6 uses)
Needle-Knife (d6)
Protective Gloves (petty)
Mimic Stone
Bracelet (petty)
Gold: 13
🙛 Bonds
Bracelet: You promised a childhood friend that you’d bring them back a rare gift, something unique in all the world. Take a Bracelet (petty) woven from twine and wildflowers.
🙛 Omens
Swarms of insects are fleeing from the Wood in droves, destroying any wooden structures they come across. The sound of their wings hum a familiar tune as they pass overhead, like a forgotten nursery rhyme.
🙛 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?
Mimic Stone: Records a short phrase that can later be played back.