Whirl

Whirl was a scribe for the forges in her home clan. She Kept spreadsheets of production schedules and quota percentages and all the other minutia a forge needs to sell the products her neighbors made every day. Her clan was all business, all bottoms lines and profit margins and stretching a dollar. They had never wanted for anything themselves. Whirl was just a pencil pushing accountant herself.

When she heard the hand her family had in the debacle at the rebuke, she felt herself disconnect from them. Her dinner table split between those who knew, those who approved, and those that felt for the workers occupying the new island. The only one on the latter side was her and a cousin that left for a more hands on job in Cinderslag. She felt isolated and without purpose. Her job now felt more than meaningless. Filling out those charts had begun to feel like an act of violence she was committing.

On the night she met Nergal in the local tavern she had not gone to work for a week. She had been numb. She had been hiding from her bosses who were also her parents.

His words seemed to be breathing life back into her. His tales of whispers and battles and young gods invigorated her. He gave her a purpose where once she had had nothing. When he left the next morning she left with him, taking only some notebooks and her automaton assistant.