Fizzlenock moves like a spark—quick, twitchy, with an almost imperceptible jitter in his limbs, as if his body hums with electricity. His small frame is bundled in a patchwork coat of oilskin and oily sails, layered with belts and pouches stuffed full of odds and ends. His eyes constantly flicker toward nearby shadows and corners, scanning them as if expecting hidden dangers. Despite his burly, weathered hands, Fizzlenock's fingers tap and twist with mechanical precision. A surprising element is his shimmering, bioluminescent tattoo that snakes from his neck down his left arm, glowing faintly in deep shadows—an old experimental trap-component fused into his skin and never fully removed.