Community Defender, Combat Prowess, Trained Trained: Climbing

in Armor
Hestar the Mute Song
Inabilities: Crafting, Scavenging and
Aggression (2M) Understanding Numenera
No Need for Weapons
Uncanny Valley: Positive interaction hindered by
Shell, Limited Recovery, Mechanics, Not
Dangreri Glaive two steps
Medicines, Machine Vulnerabilities and
Invulnerabilities, Uncanny Valley

Mercenary Training
Is Sworn to the Contract
Seal of Service

16

16
1 5

Two synthsteel broadswords, shield, brigandine,

15 explorer's pack, mercenary uniform, clothes

2 3
15
1

2
Glass injector with a number of tiny steel levers 13
(Organ Factory (Heart) 1)

Bulky synth crossbow with a wide nozzle 13

attached to a long hose and large tanks with a
harness (Stealth Thrower 7) 0
Oddity: Mummified fish with feathered wings you
keep in a wooden box.
Fists of Synthsteel: Immediate range, 5 damage
Synthsteel Broadsword: Immediate range, 6
1 1 0 damage

0
 Hestar the Mute Song

Mercenary wanderer from an athletically

dedicated society of post-human symbiotic
powersuits without masters. The Dalgreri
otherwise follow the notions of societal formation
in high mimickry. Agitatingly immediate
survivalists as they are, adventure came readily,
alongside contest, revelry, and deep mourning
when death did strike the immortal hollow men.

Hestar's passion was mute zen, a brutal cardiac

thrum of internals as they acted in revelrous
silence. The life of a mercenary was simple
enough, from climbing high mounts, and brawling
in contest with clansmen spanning the continents,
to the zealous mute mastery of war. War, an
adventure, war, a boredom sater. War, as they
learned, a losing game, war, as they saw, a brutal
trade. War, as what they'd been cast across the
world by strange scouts for. War. When they fell,
a loser. War, when they returned to the material
world, split open, and sewn together with
ironwood fiber across the carapace. War, when
their friend waved them off, little Odvi, the tinker.
Misery, when the Hullthang, the meet of clans,
was done. Misery, when upon striding apart
home, company aside and gathered, Odvi's
shodden home had been eaten by the cold wind
of the older worlds. Stoic pain, when focus
cracks, at the little kindnesses lost. Duty, when
the memories from birth, to eternal life are stained
by the strand weight in the boots, and false
bravado. Concern, when it all boils and rises from
the pulse of intent, to the thrum of fear.
Uncertainty, when the future draws ever closer.