Ignathor Scale-Weld
Artificer, Armorer, level 12
Ignathor Scale-Weld
Species
Aethelgard Half-Dragon, Gold Draconic Ancestry
Appearance
Ignathor Scale-Weld is a broad, gold-scaled half-dragon whose polished hide catches furnace light in hard yellow flashes, though every ridge and joint carries a veil of metallic soot. He moves with a measured, slightly forward-leaning gait, favoring his left side because the right half of his armor houses a humming pressure regulator. At a glance, he seems built like a siege engine, yet his hands are remarkably delicate, with long careful claws that test a blade's temper by tapping it near the hilt. His most unexpected feature is his smile, small, private, and almost boyish, appearing whenever a mechanism works exactly as intended. The smile vanishes before anyone can decide whether it was kindness or calculation. He occupies more space than he seems aware of, making clerks flatten themselves against walls when he passes. Hot copper, mineral dust, and bitter resin cling to him wherever he goes.
“Low, clipped, and rhythmically precise, with a faint rasp like a file drawn across iron. He pauses before important nouns, as if weighing them for structural weakness.”
Ability Scores
Alignment
Distinguishing Features
A pressure regulator in his right shoulder emits a soft rhythmic hiss every seven seconds.
His gold scales are polished at the throat and knuckles but permanently darkened around the elbows by metallic soot.
He carries a copper-headed casting hammer whose face is engraved with the names of workers rescued during the Furnace Collapse.
He unconsciously counts steps in groups of eight, then taps one claw against his thigh.
His smile appears only when a machine, not a person, exceeds expectations.
Voice
“A furnace-deep baritone with a dry metallic rasp, capable of flattening into a whisper that makes nearby workers stop talking.”
Clothing
Heat-insulated, lead-lined apron layered over reinforced plate mail, with ceramic scale guards across the ribs and copper conduits running from the spine to the forearms. His belt carries inspection seals, graphite chalk, calipers, folded production manifests, and a small tin cup for testing molten samples.
Body Language
Ignathor stands with his shoulders squared and his head slightly lowered, as though listening to the floor through his boots. He keeps his casting hammer close to his thigh and touches its copper head before making difficult decisions. In anger, his tail coils around the nearest heavy object, usually a table leg or an iron post, while his nostrils release thin threads of heat.
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