| Full Name |
Nog |
| Race |
Goblin |
| Classes/Levels |
Alchemist/1 |
| Gender |
Male |
| Size |
Small |
| Age |
17 |
| Special Abilities |
Irongut Goblin/Rough Rider/Quick Bomber/Chirurgeon |
| Alignment |
CG |
| Deity |
Calistria |
| Languages |
Common, Goblin, Orcish, Elven, Fey, Dwarven |
| Occupation |
Tinker |
| Strength |
10 |
| Dexterity |
13 |
| Constitution |
11 |
| Intelligence |
14 |
| Wisdom |
10 |
| Charisma |
11 |
About patrickbdunlap
Smelling of burnt fur, rotting food (from a suspicious, greasy pouch on his belt), wearing goggles, gauntlets, and pieced together armor, pack, and a bandolier of various cloudy glass and ceramic grenades, it's obvious that this diminutive goblin creature is an alchemists of some sort. That's when you notice him at all as he seems to slip into the shadows and under foot of the larger creatures, scurrying around, typically with his head in a garbage heap.
Either in a tavern or in battle, his taunts, laughter, goblin "poetry" and songs ring out.
And typically accompanied by what can only be described as a "junkyard dog", if it were not actually a wolf, with as many scars and burns as its goblin companion. Mostly you see both of them, their heads both in a garbage pile, looking for a meal, both curled up together sleeping. Both with flees (although Nog typically pick them off both and eats them).
