Wik

Small gobber with teal skin, wearing alchemist leathers and a gasmask.

Description:

Standing about 3 feet tall, with pockets full to bursting with alchemical reagents. The gobber in front of you is skinny and graceful in its movements.

The gasmask prevents you from ascertaining its gender, and the voice emitting from the protection of the leather and glass mask is distorted beyond using that as a tell.

It scampers around with what looks like the forearm of a laborjack strapped to its back… from what you see, it stores even more alchemical items inside the hollowed out shell.

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Bio:

Wikka’Walu’Dar’Vi

Dear imaginary person living in this little blank book:

My human-letters teacher tells me I must write to you every day because it is good practice. She says human girls actually enjoy writing to their imaginary book people, and it makes them feel better about life.

Let me just say that human girls are weird. Human letters are hard. And writing to you makes me feel stupid, not better.

So why am I writing to you? Good question, imaginary book person! Well, that is a bit of a story. . .

It all started with me and Oz, biting of more than we could chew, so to speak. Now, usually we keep our heads down, as you know. Dead Rabbits are not all that powerful in the fingers. We are not even much of a presence on Hospice Island, if I am telling the whole truth. There are only a few dozen of us, but we have our pride, just the same. So when we spot some of the big folk beating on poor old Elder ’Kahn, we could not just let it happen. The good news is that Elder ’Kahn was alright in the end. The bad part is that he was only alright because me and Oz took his beating for him. As a bonus, the man tells us we have to go steal something for him or more beatings would follow.

I was actually kind of proud of us. We never stole a thing in our lives before then, but we pulled it off like breathing. Next thing I know, though, I am waking upwith a giant knot on the back of my aching head, the loot is gone, and some very angry humans are holding me and Oz accountable for the value. 30,000 gold!

So what does this have to do with me learning human letters by writing to imaginary book people? Money. Humans are where the gold is, and if I want to sell my concoctions to humans, I have to get an edge over the other alchemists out there. I have to be the best. I will be the best.

See, I have big plans. I want Oz to have his yard, so he can stay happy. I want my apothecary to be the biggest and the best. I want the Dead Rabbits to be safe and sound, and I want enough power to keep it all the way I want it.

Wik

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