Mer Fuhgoad D'Got
Name
Mer (pronounced "Mare") Fuhgoad D'Got
Race
Dwarf
Gender
Female
Age
73
Appearance
Mer cuts a striking figure, the way a boulder might block one's path. Embodying the stockiness of a Dwarf, Mer's thick arms and squat frame belie a hidden bulk. She stands 4'3" tall, and weighs about 140 lbs. Her hair is fashioned in two long braids of stock white. Her rugged skin is surprisingly smooth around her face. She wears a simple dress and apron, with a belt around her middle. With her overcoat, which had a heavy tuft of wool about her shoulders, and her oversized gloves, she stands prepared for harsher climates, with ample room to store vials and bottles within.
Personality
Mer comes off as cold, initially. She's spent years serving villages as a wandering witch, doling out cures and salves--for a price. Her better demons prevail often as she answers the call of 'mercy' in the form of poisons to those victims who call her in their hours of need. Mer's left a string of bodies behind by proximity, enabling others to deal with their own problems, even if it cost them more than they knew. Mer's cost is often "the first thing you see when you get home," as it's served so many in her line of work through the ages. She can be calculating and kind--or kindness as she sees it--and has come to the ultimate philosophical conclusion that everything is fleeting and nothing lasts as long as stone! Even that will waste away some day. It's not beneath her to administer 'mercy' to the dying if they are past the point of her potions to cure. "I'm you're angel, deary," she'd say, poison in hand.
Background
Mer, as most Dwarven childen, was raised underground in her formative years. Her family was a large one, and being the youngest of her family, Mer set off in search of her own fortune at a young age. Letters home were infrequent, but kept her in touch with her clan.
She found herself honest work as a mushroom gatherer in a town by the sea, within the King's realm. One day, upon delivering a bundle of ingredients to one gnarled home, Mer stumbled into the abode of a folk-witch at work at her cauldron. Upon her entrance, the 'witch', simply pointed to where she ought to drop her package: an altar full of ingredients and an open tome denoting all sorts of recipes for brews both curative and malicious. It was like reading a language she had long forgotten, and its draw was too great for the young and greedy Dwarf.
Mer stole the book, and swiftly took her leave of the hut. That day saw the beginning of her study as an alchemist. The book was a helpful starter, but Mer has since memorized the recipes from cover to cover, and she pursued more knowledge of the like, leading to the thievery of more books from other practitioners. Admittedly, her interest veered toward the sinister: poisoned benign objects like spinning wheels and apples, for instance drew mirth to her face.
She lived many of her years traveling from town to village and back, dispensing with cures and quells as she saw fit. She gained a reputation, and a body count, as there were mysterious deaths that followed her arrival; a beater of woman would die in his porridge, an abuser of children from the local temple would pass in the night after his tipple.
The trail of bodies through the years numbered in the hundreds, and a few officials of the crown began sniffing around when she traveled South. She relished the attention, truth be told, and her exploits grew in stature.
The Viscount Winthrop Ashton, who presided over a modest portion of the Southern fief of the Westerlands, suffered particular ire at her presence. As the result of a nasty bargain with a barmaid, Mer had poisoned the very groundwater in the area which grew the kingdom's barley. The Viscount dubbed her a scourge and set a bounty on her head of ten thousand coin. That's when things got really interesting.
The Viscount's army mobilized to a nearby hill, on top of which the alchemist had set her camp. The Viscount himself stood a safe distance away, in a full knight's suit of armor atop a steed, his naive standard bearer waiving his crest proudly. He would not miss the opportunity to bring to heel such a thorn.
Just when the army had surrounded her encampment, the alchemist imbibed an elixir which transformed her into a terrifying dragon covered in iron scales, and a belly full of molten fire. As the men ran fearing for their lives, Mer spread her volcanic breath in all directions, then leapt into the air, and thanks to that proudly waiving standard, landed squarely on the Viscount and his horse, crushing him to oblivion before uttering a roar which sent every bird aflight and every beast afeared.
The elixir which was the method of her revenge was also the measure of her undoing, however, and thanks to a miscalculation, the draught's power subsided suddenly. Mer found herself a Dwarf once again, standing in the middle of the bloody, unrecognizable mess which was the Viscount. It didn't take long for a second in command to rally the army and surround the alchemist with polearms. The Maw awaited.
Talents
Mer is an Alchemist. She can brew most any potion to heal or kill, to sap or save, to transform or transfix. She's got a strong frame and a keen eye for chucking her concoctions at a range of twenty feet. Why, she even hit an annoyingly cheerful blue bird once, transforming it into stone!
Flaws
The laws of Alchemy are uncertain and inherently unstable. It's more of an art than a science! Sometimes her cocktails have a different affect than intended.
As per her character is concerned, she's quick to judge and long to loathe. Pragmatic only to a degree, the Dwarven stubbornness is strong in Mer.
Equipment
She has the clothes on her back, several empty vials and ampules, and the ingredients on her person lashed to her belt and in the pockets of her long coat. She also carries a walking stick.
Miscellaneous
Mer's writing her own book of potions and poisons: D'Got's Guide to Alchemy. Most of what she's memorized through the years has been penned, but she's still finalizing the section on transmogrification.
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