Sigsxhatl of Clan Xee Watcah

Character Name: Sigsxhatl of Clan Xee Watcah

Race: Goblin

Age: 14

Gender: male

Character Description: Sigsxhatl stands at a rough 3’7ft tall, a little on the shorter side compared to your average goblin. Aside from the average goblin, Sig’s form contains a presently unique trait of possessing ashen grey skin and cracked and almost stone-like skin, resulting from repetitive generational use of producing chemicals even before the pact war. Born with Maroon eyes and sharpened canines, they’d resemble a gargoyle in some respects. They'd be wrapped up in various leathers, preferring the comfort of layers thanks to their odd features.

Character Occupation: Alchemist, Pyrotechnician, growing historian of goblin history

Character Personality/Traits: Sigsxhatl follows a strict pattern in their line of work. Preferring to get things done when requested or as quickly as possible. When it comes to conversation and attitude, they’re always set with a neutral expression and tone, tending to become more emotional in support of their kin. They are very patriotic on their own, having heard tales of the world that was and what their people could be; the very thought covered by the years of war and heartache has allowed this trait to deepen itself, which could be seen as.

They’re fans of rules, finding that setting dogmatic principles in parts of their daily lives is a keystone to maintaining their goals. Sigxhatl’s ideals also tend to keep them very farsighted and hopeful of the future, and they tend to find themselves lost in moments within the present. Lastly, a quirk they’re more actively aware of is biting their nails in moments of stress or deep thought, with it usually working to relax them.

(At least one to two paragraphs describing their personality traits and quirks.)

Character Biography:

History with Sigsxhatl begins with their clan, Clan Xee Watcah, also known in common as Clan Soot Burned. The name’s origins begin before the Pact War, under one of the various past institutes that worked within the line of craftsmen and women. Their lineage has always worked within the business of explosives, whether creating and managing controlled explosives for mining purposes or working towards various poisons and chemicals for hunters and warriors, the clan itself acting as a helping hand working to keep the community they were a part of safe and connected. Safety itself didn’t mean the clan was surviving; with food turning scarce water sources losing their luster from continued works and refuse, the first cracks etched into the Soot-burned line. The Great Swamp of Fagorum was slowly weeping, with the lifeblood of the swamp turning into a deep pitch of pollution and plague. Aspects of the clan attempted to try and cure this, applying what alchemical knowledge they could before finding that the swamp’s rot had festered too deep for them to handle. It wouldn’t be till they heard the call from the remaining villagers of an orcish warrior asking for a rise to claim better lands. Some were conscientious of the choice to leave their home; the fear burned into them that simply abandoning their home would lead to the downfall of another, while those along with the elder deemed this new ground a fresh start for their kin and a way to learn from the past itself.

So began the Pact War, a time of strife amongst the clan as the brutal battlegrounds amongst the land of Saphriel acted as a blender, shredding the weak apart and forcing those to dig their heels into the ground. It wouldn't be till six months when Clan Xee Watcah found their purchase; the elder’s son worked with a few remaining alchemists to form explosives to compensate for the armored humans. Launched from troll arms, these almost anchor-weight barrels slammed into fortifications and bases, causing a smoking flame to purge its way out, weakening wooden fortifications and causing the metal on their armor to burn against their skin. This first act allowed the Clan to slide further into the backlines of the Pact’s war.

This desire for safety was prevalent amongst the members of the clan, as the horrors of war itself became a present mental scar. The age of the traditionalist faction within the clan had been brushed away, leaving those who had desired to seek a stronger foundation to hold charge. The clan’s metamorphosis turned the once kind and caring into power-hungry cretins. Thievery amongst the other goblinoid clans became commonplace as the desire to stay on the top of the food chain led to acts most would consider irredeemable. Other clans fell, took the blame, and lost their leaders, causing ‘accidents’ that led to them becoming vanguards with every unending horde. Those of Clan Soot-Burned simply had the pleasure of living what they could consider comfortable lives as they became a molded note towards the various other clans.

From here, the clan worked to the bone to provide for the war efforts, maintaining black powder farms using the corpses of their enemies and fallen allies. They took materials such as iron and silver from the mines and what could be scrounged up and placed them in clay jars along with the powder. During one of the later aspects of the war, as the Pact was heading out of the forest and the clan was assisting in moving their material, they could feel the air still before whistling came forward. Arrows bombarded parts of the camp as an ambush was sprung. The trees that were once still came back, reaching out and clawing against the various forces. The orcs, goblins, and trolls tried their best to handle it, clawing and throwing bits of powder around, forcing small explosions around the camp's outer perimeter. Though one person was lost every few moments, then another, every breath felt tighter and more challenging to handle. The clan members decided to risk it, pouring the various contents into one of their larger containers and mixing it into a massive concussion explosive. Two strapped themselves to the troll, one forcing them to take it while the other held the light. With a heavy thrust forward, the giant barrel spun towards one of the tree’s roots. The explosion was thunderous, the sound acting as a beacon warning of the attack. The ambushers continued to fire arrows for a few moments until the remaining forces, a minority of their numbers, ran out of the trap with the tree’s roots slowly reconstructing themselves.

From there, the Clan of Xee Watcah, which already had low numbers due to the aftermath of Thonduhm and their acts in Silvernmir, disassociated and fractured to break off into small groups or to join with any other Clan unaware of their deed. Once the war ended, two of the many goblins came together, had children, and from two more came Sigxhatl.

Sigxhatl found themselves born in a time in peace, one unbound by the same trauma of twenty years ago. With their brothers and sisters, they were taught in their family’s ways of alchemy, their history, and the nature of the unknown. Unlike the others who found their work content, following the family business, Sig poured more of their time into history. Realizing how fractured the history of his kin was, with tales from the older generation barely going back 80 years, the hole of their history became prevalent. While some believed the past wasn’t needed, learning of how they got to where they are now, the whys and hows became more critical with each added question. What of the knowledge of the past along the world of Havareth and the once homeland of his people? All the questions helped fuel their ambitions, pushing their inquisitive nature further.

By age 8, Sigxhatl had been making money doing small forms of work around the city; bundled up in their bandages and cloak, the goblin worked tirelessly towards making small forms of coin, adding up each copper piece, hoping to one day purchase tools to begin his trek. He’d heard tales of the Tock Shop before, of the leader of the tinkerers being a goblin themselves. The tales of such were a small whisper amongst the clan members, leaving some sparks of hope that most had brushed aside to continue their day-to-day. Upon their 12th birthday, they tended to do small-time apprenticeships at various oddball jobs, hoping to scrounge more coin as metals and finish production upon their first bomb with all the fingers to show. They took their brothers and sisters out into the woods with it, proudly showing it off before letting them all work towards lighting it and throwing it out with a sling. They all celebrated the heavy boom of progress and spent most of the day simply enjoying nature before having to get home.

It wouldn't be till their 14th year when they decided to separate from the parent's nest finally; though illogical to some for leaving the clan's den, the man had heard enough stories and tales of heroes and warriors filled with magic and felt maybe now it was time for them to follow suit. With all the money from their years of work, they'd have their rusty blade to their side and see what the world outside of Barkhamsted had to hold.

Other/Extra: goblin accepted traits: Sharper canines, ashen grey tones, and a stone-cracked skin texture. Username: TornTakahe (No magic, muhahaha)