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Backstory

I was raised in the "City of Forever Night," amidst the choking soot of the Malleator forges and the violet static of the Cyclone. While the Highspire elite theorize in their sunlit towers, I grew up in the humid dark of the underbelly, learning the first law of the Belowless: the abyss does not negotiate; only the lashings do. As a methodical observer of structural decay, I’ve seen firsthand that a loose bolt in a noble’s manor and a cracked pipe in a laborer’s slum both lead to the same long fall—a reality that made me a chronic over-striver. To me, "near-perfect" is just another word for "catastrophe," and I refuse to let my work be the cause of the next "Night" that blots out the sun. My sanctuary is The Whistleforge, where I serve as an apprentice to Thomas Smith and a friend to his daughter, often helping her with the intricate trinkets she sells at the door. Though Thomas tells me I am not yet ready for my own smithing tools, my hands are never idle. I have turned my eyes toward the Adventurer’s Guild, seeking a place among them to scavenge the rare materials and lost designs needed to prove my worth and forge the powerful equipment we need to survive the storm.