Pitkin Twistrocket

"Nothing was ever accomplished through abstinence."
While not quite as well-known in the tinkering world, Pitkin has made a very big name for herself in the underground blackmarkets of the Eastern Kingdoms. If you ever come across someone throwing around shoe grenades or shooting twisting rockets at you or walking around with a belt buckle crossbow, then you can be sure that those weapons were all sold to them by Pitkin Twistrocket herself.

On a side note: no refunds.

=Personality=

Unlike most Gnomes, Pitkin is usually doomy and gloomy; from her style of dress, to the way she speaks and even the inventions that she creates, Pitkin can be a bit dark at times. Just from taking a look at her long list of inventions, examples being rockets, lasers and spider mines, one can tell Pitkin is a lover of destruction and explosions. While she may be just a bit grim at times, she does not consider herself evil. Sure, she may do whatever she deems necessary to accomplish her goals, but she still has ethics, which she will always list out when someone asks about them.

Onward to what she is like in conversation: Pitkin can be very rude to people that she does not know and remains mostly apathetic to the things that do not interest her. For the most part, she has a thick skin and only ever gets bothered or annoyed when someone makes fun of her inventions. She hardly ever lets people get close to her and often pushes them away even if she does not mean to.

Deep down, she really just wants some love.

=Description=

Heart shaped would be how you would describe the shape of Pitkin's face. Her delicate cheeks are plump enough to pinch and are temptingly so. They trail down her soft jawline to her slender chin. Her nose is a bit dainty, tilting upwards a little near the tip. Her lips are a bit thin and pouty, but are angelic in shape. There are just a few freckles on her face and most of them are scattered below her pale-blue eyes. She has a few piercings on her face, ranging from a lip ring, a nose ring, a few eyebrow studs on her right brow and two simple earrings. Her raven coloured hair is lazily styled; cut short and left to a night of sleeping to be shaped for the next day.

Being 4'1, Pitkin is actually quite tall for a Gnome, being a full foot taller than the average person of her race. She was already pretty tall before all the fel corruption, but thanks to that, she now stands at the height of a short, Human teenager. For the most part, the fel has not done too much to disfigure her. Most of her pale skin is still smooth and milky, but they do hold their fair bit of scarring; mostly from burns and small cuts. Both of her arms have tattoos on them, starting at her shoulders and ending halfway along her forearms. They're inked with a myriad of colours, each one detailing an invention she was particularly proud of.

While her robes may hide it from most people, Pitkin's body is quite thin and lithe, with only bare minimal amounts of muscle and fat. She is skinny, to the point that you can easily see her collarbone and if she were to arch her back, you would be able to see the faint outline of her ribs. Her breasts are rather modest, making her more so flat-chested than anything else. If one were to see her without her clothes on, you would be able to see that she had both of her nipples and her belly button pierced.

She is not the most high-maintenance person ever as she only ever bathes in the morning and the evening. Throughout the day, she almost always accumulates a scent that consists of fel, black oil, soot, dust and cigarette smoke. The first four scents are usually faint whilst the most obvious smell coming off of her would be the smoke from the cigarettes that she smokes. Most of the people she is friends with have already gotten use to her scent and she is usually surprised whenever someone comments on it.

=Armor=

The robes she wears appear to be made of high-quality material. Just from glancing at her, you would be able to tell that she splurged a crap ton of money to comission for it. The mjority of her robe is made up of extravagant, purple and grey cloth, whilst the rest are a mishmash of thick strips of grey leather and metal buttons. The leather strips on her robes are engraved with runes that help to absorb magic damage, which helps to make up for her robes lack of protection. Along with protection runes, she also has a rune engraved on to the palm of each glove, which grants her a slight boon when it comes to channeling her magic.

On her waist is her trusty tool belt. The tools on her belt range from her gyromatic micro-adjustor, her arclight spanner, to her Gnomish army knife. She also has a pouch where she keeps two dozen soulshards and her soulstone in. Also on her belt is a slot for a small carton of cigarettes. Out of sight, on the back of her belt, hidden underneath her cloak, is a secret pouch where she keeps her homemade cigars in. She only ever smokes them on very special occasions.

=Arms=

Tied to her hip is what appears to be a dagger. Small, even for a Gnome, it appears to have been made with spell warding materials, making it a spellblade. The hilt is wrapped in dark-purple cloth and there also appears to be a soulshard socketed into the base of the blade. The blade itself is curved elegantly, with runes engraved on to the flats of the blade. Judging by the lack of wear and tear on it, it can be assumed that Pitkin has hardly ever had to use it in a physical confrontation. The true use of this small, unassuming weapon is to simply absorb weaker spells. She lovingly refers to her spellblade as her toothpick.

Not that she actually uses it as a toothpick. =History=

Born in to an engineering family, Pitkin excelled in the art, creating various clever gadgets and devices at a very young age. She got most, if not all, of her engineering talent from her mother, whom she loved dearly. Whilst her mother was the pillar in her life, her father was not. Egotistical, selfish and petty; her father absolutely hated her mother. It was only Pitkin that kept them together, as despite their differences, they both at least had the morals required to stay together and raised her, even if they hated every second of it.

It was during the fall of Gnomeregan that the conflict between Pitkin’s mother and father hit its bursting point. During the confusion of the initial evacuation, whilst they were still in their home, Pitkin’s father bludgeoned her mother to death with a hammer before quickly moving on to Pitkin herself. Managing to fend off her father long enough for him to give up on killing her and run away, Pitkin followed as quickly as she could, her tear-clouded vision allowing her to avoid seeing the worst of what happened as she ran through Gnomeregan with a broken arm.

It took every ounce of Pitkin's strength to break through the grief and shock she felt as she crawled her way out of Gnomeregan. Whilst she had escaped, she had exposed herself to dangerous levels of radiation and had further injured herself from deadly encounters with the invading troggs. It took hours for her to reach the elevators to Dun Morogh, and by that time, she was both severely injured and exhausted.

She had spotted her father when she had finally stepped foot on the snow-covered land of Dun Morogh. He was lining up with the other evacuees. She would have chased after him, perhaps even screamed for someone to kill him, but before that could happen, she collapsed and fell unconcious due to her injuries.

For a few months, she was settled in a refugee camp, spending the majority of that time recovering in one of the medical tents set up. It was not soon after she recovered that she was able to be taken to Ironforge, where she was placed into an orphanage. It was there, that she spent the remainder of her childhood; there, in Ironforge, where she developed a love for Dwarven drink and food, and also discovered her innate potential with magic.

Finding herself a mentor, Pitkin quickly picked up the practice of arcane magic and worked tirelessly in immersing herself in as much knowledge as possible. Whilst she was able to distract herself with her studies when she was awake, there was nothing there to stop the nightmares that haunted her whenever turned in for the night. They began slowly, only just faint images and glimpses from what had happened to her back in Gnomeregan, but it was as if they were festering wounds as they only worsened as time continued. For years they tormented her, to the point where she would spend days without sleeping, just so she could avoid having to relive old memories.

As the years continued on, Pitkin's growth in arcane magic began slowing down, to the point where she finally stagnated. Unsatisfied with this, Pitkin left her mentor behind to find a new source of magic from which she could pull enough power from to grant her father the slow and twisted death that she knew he deserved. The answer to her search was found in fel, of which she dived deeply into, pushed by her need for revenge and the fear of her father getting away from his heinous crime scot-free.

In the coven that she learned in, she met a myriad of different people whom she became friends with. Outside of the coven, they were strangers, but within those secret walls, they reveled together in their research of shadow and fel. It was then that Pitkin realized that whilst friendships with fellow warlocks were fun, they never lasted long. Whether it be from stupidity, callousness or pure arrogance, most of her fellow warlocks either ended up killing themselves, getting killed or going insane.

Having saved up over the years by taking the belongings from friends of hers that had passed, Pitkin moved to Stormwind and purchased a warehouse in the Dwarven District. There, she converted the majority of it into a workshop and the rest of it into a boring, living space. Within those four walls, she renewed her interest in tinkering, even making a few connections from a few shady individuals due to her growing reputation as a weapons manufacturer at the time. Whilst the steady flow of cash was good and all, it was never enough to make her forget about her goal.

Practicing her magic below the crypts of the Slaughtered Lamb and outside of Stormwind, Pitkin finally amassed the power that she deemed satisfactory in providing her father with that death she knew he deserved. The only problem left to solve was to find him.

Many adventurers came and partook in merry reveling at the many taverns within Stormwind. Those were the best places for her to spread the word on who she was looking for. It was on a fateful day, a day where she had made nearly no progress in tracking down her father, that she met someone. She was just about finished her second mug of ale when an unfamiliar face turned to look at her, prompting her to look back. An incredibly warm smile, something that Pitkin had not seen before was presented to her. The rest was history.

Not really though as a few months after meeting that special someone, Pitkin finally received news on her father's whereabouts. Finding him in some remote village, in a hut, surrounded by empty bottles of alcohol and prostitutes, Pitkin slew him violently before trapping his soul into a soulstone.

It was as if the clouds had opened up to her and the sun had begun shining down on her face. The nightmares, the ones that haunted her and forced her to wake up in the middle of some nights had finally faded away. There was relief and satisfaction in her deed, knowing that the world to her felt just a little bit more just.

Now able to focus on the other important parts of her life, like her loved one and her growing market in the illegal arms trade in the Eastern Kingdoms, Pitkin, at age fourty-six, was finally able to achieve the small bit of happiness that she had always wanted.

The rest was history.