Bombus

Named after the most genus name ever for bumblebees. You can't top Bombus.

Fun fact: most species of bee make their nests underground, some bumblebees included.

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What was mistaken as myths of an industrious patron spirit turned out to be a bitter dragon in the flesh. The tellings of this mythical figure were perhaps too generous in describing how she was benevolent. Far too old to even remember her first name. Bombus takes her current name from the descriptions of bees she's read about from surface dweller books. Half the time though does she even heed the call of it. Her will is set to one track and refuses to budge from the path calculated in her head.

Bombus remains by the books and takes a strongly academic, old-fashioned stance on engineering. Most of her internalized merit comes from a place of meeting set expectations. The ever-changing nature of Sornieth's issues today confuses her.

There is not a day she doesn't butt heads with the other engineer in the vicinity. It was convenient enough the clan already had a subterranean hideout to fit her demands, but it also came with the cost of rivalry. There was no way Raide would be ousted from her position. The other residents seem to treat the Ridgeback with high regard and detest the idea of anyone else but her mainly running the facility. Bombus cannot stand one iota of that.

Throwing out the tried and true old ways of mechanics, no sprint schedules, not a lick of proper method put together by Raide... at least according to Bombus. She wonders how such a surface dweller as her is allowed to be making the shots. In Bombus' time, this kind of spontaneity and movement in engineering was unheard of. She always observes on standby, scrutinizing the motley and foreign manner in which Raide does maintenance on all these strange automatons. There may be some method in that Ridgeback's madness, but she is yet to figure out how her traditional way is not always the right one. While separated by elemental blood and and bickering, there is an unlikely kinship between the two.

The touch of the Stormcatcher still thrums in their bones— a spark that compels their arms to move, their claws to turn and twist among mechanisms. A schematic to them is not a maze; the mind can picture the ins and outs of wires, cables, supports, pistons, rods, engines... pathways, tunnels, joints, junctions, nearly anything the fancy of an engineer.

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