Crash

a 9 ft 5 in, 850lbs warforged obsessed with clock making

Description:

Crash is a 9’ 5" 850lb adamantine hulk, that strikes an imposing figure to those that do not know him. For those that do he is more an oddity, he takes everything at face value and is literal to a fault for He lacks any sense of subtlety or innuendo.In the party’s attempts to teach Crash the nuances of interactions with non-mechanoids he has begun compiling a list of Rules for Crash.

Bio:

Back Story

It all started with a dream, tiny little flashes of something seen through a cloudy lens; chaos, twisted metal, flames, bitter cold, blood, screaming… oh the screams. Then a muffled voice, the sensation of movement, clouds floating above, feet dragging below. A cluttered room filled with cogs, wheels, tools… junk. A man bent over a bench, a man picking up a tool, and man sweeping the floor, a man talking, talking to himself… no talking to someone. This… This dream seemed an eternity compressed into a single moment in time and then…

There we go…

…snap

That should just about…

…hsss

Do it…

…click

Clarity, like a sharp intake of air, an aged face filling my vision. Smiling down like a father at a newborn child, full of wonder and pride. Good morning he said. I knew it was worth making the trip back there he said. His name was Fillius he said. What is your name he said. My name? Name? What is a name? A long conversation later it was revealed that if I had a name I had no idea what it was, or where I came from, or just about anything for that matter. In the end he decided to call me Crash, as I had knocked a good many things over while we were talking.

Fillius lived in a house, well by house it was a workshop in which one closet held a cot, on the edge of a scrap yard. This scrap yard was on the outskirts of the city of New Cyre. He bought sold and fixed little wonderful treasures called junk.

Just prior to my first visit into town to pick up some new junk Fillius explained to me about the Day of Mourning and how many held the Warforged to blame, well at least partially to blame for the loss of their homeland. Although I didn’t really understand how I fit into this since I had nothing to do with it so why would these people yell and throw garbage at me. So I mostly just stayed at the workshop.

Then one day Fillius asked me to go pick something up in town it was large so he couldn’t go get it and he really needed to finish up a piece he was working on. On the way there a group of small people (children as Fillius had once tried to explain to me) were especially harassing, throwing rotten food and rocks. But as usually my lack of reaction soon led them to get bored and wonder off.

When I arrived at my location I was filled with a sense of overflowing. What I had been sent to pick up was a Capison-38, perhaps the most amazing piece of junk I had ever seen. As instructed I had the man some soft scraps of metal and picked up the piece to carry back to the shop. But on the way out of town my foot caught on something and I fell crushing the engine beneath me.

An emptiness grew inside me when I looked at the wrinkled mass beneath me, then I noticed the chain. At one end attached to a building the other end held by a group of children laughing and pointing at me. Roaring as I stood, the children began to scattered everything began to blur as I charge. After a moment thing began to clarify and the children were gone, well all but one laying in a crumpled heap at my feet. Get up I said as I nudged it with my toe. It wouldn’t get up, so tossing it over my shoulder I went and picked up the Capison and headed home. Maybe Fillius could fix both of them.

When Fillius laid eyes on the child he somehow changed his color, from that
sickly pinkish to a nice ash grey, he just began raving; what have you done, what have you done? I explained that I was sorry that I broke the engine and explained what happened and that he just needed to fix them both. He kept claiming that he couldn’t fix the boy, that you can’t fix the dead. And he just starting pushing me towards the door saying you need to leave, you need to get out of here. They’ll come looking for you. Who? He just started saying really mean things yelling at me to go and that I was a monster that he never should have gone back there. The things he said brought back the emptiness and so I walked away, not far just away. Away to the nearby woods and sat until dark came.

I sat until shouting slowly began to grow in the distance. Growing towards the shop. I watched a large crowd of people surround the building. I watched them yell things, throw things. I watched Fillius come out. I watched them grab and string him up a lamp post. I watched them ransack and set fire to the shop. I watched them spread into the scrap yard and set it also afire. I watched them leave. I watched the sun rise and the fires die.

After a while I got up and walked back to the shop. It was ash and slag. Nothing left except my smithing hammer, and Fillius special tools, the ones he used on his gyros gears. I walked to where Fillius was hanging. He didn’t move, they broke him and I didn’t know how to fix it. Gripped in his hand was the watch he spent all his time on. It still didn’t work. If I couldn’t fix Fillius then maybe I could fix that. Now what did he say… Go away… go away to where. I still didn’t know where here was how I could go somewhere else. Where could I even go? I know. I understand. I will go to Mournland. Where I was found. Where all the really good junk was.

Crash

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