Name
Name's Kristoph Metzger, though most call me Kris. Ain't a soul alive allowed to call me "K", not since I left the South.
Age
25
Gender
I'm a man.
Species
I'm what most would call a human, though that's just because "Pa Dutch" ain't a species.
Skills
I'm probably one of the best damn butchers in Bluffington that don't have some kind of ritual reason to be doin' the cutting. Not to say those in the town sacrificin' goats or humans or what have you ain't good at the craft, mind; I just have a more monetary goal in mind for the most part. Aside from that, I make bone golems out of the bones left by customers to help around the shop. Always better to have more hands around, Pa used to say. 'Course, I doubt he meant having something made entirely out of hands rolling around was best, but that's how I take it to mean. I'm a bit of an alchemist on the side, too. Nothin' as crazy as hunting down immortality or turning lead to gold, just minor golems and some folk cures from back home. Transmutation's always been a bit lost on me, unfortunately; that's why I took up butchering. Gotta pay the bills, y'know?
Sexuality
I've always been a fan of the women, tell you the truth. Most women ain't so much a fan of me, though. Guess being covered to your elbows in blood is a bit of a turnoff for most ladies out there.
Goals
I'd like to expand my little shop to handle something online, like shipping out smoked meat or something like that. Maybe one day stumble on immortality by accident, or finally get the hang of transmutin' stuff. That'd be nice.
History
I grew up in the south, near the Alabama-Georgia-Florida border. Not quite the panhandle, not quite Georgia proper, and definitely not Alabama. Family came down from up in Pennsylvania a few years before I was born, though I don't quite know why they chose where they chose considering what I learned about Dutch Country from them. Lord knows they raised me up proper Dutchy though. Pa was a butcher, Ma was a seamstress, both taught me a fair bit of alchemy in their own way. After I turned eighteen, they both took ill and passed, something blood-borne from work, I think it was. Didn't discourage me from taking up the knife myself though. I ran the shop pretty well by myself for about four or five years, then I had a bit of a run in with the law. Tried to squeeze on me for more cash for "protection", they said. "Don't wanna see your pappy's shop shut down. Pillar of the community and all that." I didn't have the cash, but I worked out a deal with 'em where I'd give up some prime cuts once a month. That lasted just fine, 'till the preacher rolled around to have a chat. Evidently the men of the cloth look down on little skittering creatures made of ribs offering bourbon. It's a shame too; that was some good bourbon. I left town not long after that, wandered the country a bit until I found Bluffington. Got myself set up there with a little shop, and there ain't a soul who jumps out of their skin at a few little golems sweeping up or delivering things 'round the shop here.
Miscellaneous
My southern accent is a bit more refined than the people I grew with. Ma didn't want me to sound like some sort of ignorant buffoon when I go about my alchemy and all. Other than that I guess here's where I'd mention my love of cigars, or the scar running down my left calf. Neither is particularly interesting, though. Cigars and bourbon have been my vices for as long as I've been able to get my hands on them. The scar's from my first attempt at raising a golem. Told it to slice up the leg of lamb on the table for me and I suppose it got a bit carried away. Bled like a stuck pig till I could get a proper poultice on it. I haven't told a golem to slice meat up since that.