Skitch Flue-Pry
Rogue, Scout
Skitch Flue-Pry
Species
Cinderclaw, Tunnel-Runner
Appearance
Skitch Flue-Pry is a compact cinderclaw with ochre scales powdered in pale cliff-ash, as though he has been carved from kiln dust and left beneath a watchtower for years. His body is narrow and spring-loaded, built for ledges, chimneys, and maintenance shafts rather than open ground. He moves in quick, economical angles, placing each claw with the care of a locksmith. His hands are the first thing people notice. The pads of his fingers are darkened and glossy from years of handling soot, brass, and heated signal housings, while the claws have been filed blunt at the tips so they will not catch on optical rigging. He wears three magnifying lenses over one eye when working, yet in conversation he leans close enough to make strangers step back. For all his precision, he has an unexpectedly gentle habit of cradling injured birds and hatchlings inside his harness.
“His voice is dry, low, and quick, with the clipped rhythm of someone speaking over wind and machinery. He rarely uses more words than necessary, but his descriptions become startlingly precise when discussing distance, motion, or danger.”
Ability Scores
Alignment
Distinguishing Features
Three small brass lenses hang beside his left cheek and clink softly whenever he turns his head.
His fingertips are polished dark from soot, oil, and years of handling heated optical mechanisms.
The membranes beneath his arms are marked with tiny white calibration lines used to judge wind direction.
He carries a strand of red thread tied around one wrist, replacing it every year on the anniversary of his brother's death.
His tail makes a faint metronomic tap whenever he is counting movement.
Voice
“A rasping tenor with a faint whistle beneath certain consonants, like air passing through a cracked brass pipe”
Clothing
An insulated leather harness reinforced with overlapping brass plates, ash-gray wraps around his forearms, soft-soled climbing boots, a weatherproof hood, and a belt crowded with signal whistles, lens caps, chalk, wire, and folded observation charts
Body Language
Skitch rarely stands squarely. He angles his torso toward exits, keeps one heel raised, and continually adjusts the brass lenses hanging from his harness. When listening, he tilts his head until the small scales along his jaw lift like reeds in wind. Around officers, he makes himself physically smaller. Around frightened workers, he occupies the center of the space and lets his tail tap a steady rhythm against the floor.
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