Boroavé Cole
Fighter, Battle Master
Boroavé Cole
Species
Human
Appearance
Boroavé Cole is a broad-shouldered human man whose presence seems to widen every doorway he enters. Soot has settled permanently into the fine lines around his eyes and across his knuckles, while furnace dust powders the dark curls of his close-cropped hair. He moves with the careful economy of someone accustomed to slick gantries and buckling floors, placing each boot as though the ground might betray him. His hands are huge and heavily callused, yet he handles ration tokens and frightened children with astonishing delicacy. The unexpected thing is his immaculate left sleeve, always washed and neatly rolled, a small island of pale linen amid leather, iron, and ash. He smells of hot metal, bitter coffee, and the lavender soap used by his late sister.
“A low, carrying voice with a rough furnace rasp beneath it. He speaks slowly when giving instructions, rapidly when workers are in danger, and with almost ceremonial care when naming the dead.”
Ability Scores
Alignment
Distinguishing Features
An immaculate linen sleeve on his left arm, maintained amid otherwise soot-dark workwear.
A habit of rubbing that sleeve's seam whenever he is worried.
A deep, resonant laugh that makes nearby metal cups tremble.
A pipe wrench whose handle is stamped with the names of eleven dead workers.
He unconsciously positions himself between strangers and doors, stairs, or exposed machinery.
Voice
“A broad, resonant baritone, weathered by smoke and raised voices, with warmth that surfaces unexpectedly when he speaks to children or exhausted workers.”
Clothing
Reinforced chainmail beneath layered leather furnace aprons, a smoke-gray work shirt, heavy slag-proof boots, copper-riveted gloves, and a single immaculate linen sleeve on his left arm. His belt carries chalk, ration seals, a folding ledger, and a massive iron pipe wrench.
Body Language
He occupies space like a barricade, feet planted wide and shoulders angled toward the most vulnerable person present. His thumb repeatedly rubs the clean seam of his left sleeve. When angry, he removes his gloves finger by finger and lays them parallel on the nearest surface.
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