Name
What would a man be nowadays without a name to set him apart from the crowd, old sport. But why do we use names for that? You could as well call it an ease. Something far more convenient to carve on a marble tombstone, and surely a lot more humble than a sequence of identification numbers, or other means of it. For the record, you can call me Grimm.
Gender
Your suggestive talk will make no difference between who gest to live and who doesn't, unless you are dedicated to keeping all the ladies for your own filthy pleasure, old sport. I am a man.
Age
Ah, a fancy set of gears on a traditional bow that fire arrows from a vertical angle, we simply call that crossbow. Keep your fancy weapons for yourself, big mouthed fella, weapons of accuracy are not proper tools for old men. Can't call a person at the age of forty seven good with shooting targets down.
Occupation
Well, you know my friend, I used to be a tinkerer once. Freelancer, would travel from town to town fixing up broken gear and rusted scrap, people would pay me handsomely for some clean polishing. Spent an entire life engineering their little clocks and works, three decades marked my experience as a master crafter of nuts and bolts. Then came the day I realised that there was bigger pay in the... filthy business of illegal acts, such as murder, assassination, thievery. Earned my keep picking locks for all sort of outcast scum. Just like your pathetic group of so called specialists.
Appearance
I look nothing more than what the years have made my shell be, but they say that images speak for themselves. Perhaps my rational six feet of height and my muscles are not good enough for your eyes? But aren't my washed-like pale brown eyes not good for your vision? And they say that a man fancying white hair, notably aged is the one that cannot see properly. My leather jacket is nothing more than a simple coat, protecting my body from physical harm.
Personality
Some call me a lunatic, but others call me a genius. Some say that I enjoy fixing things as much as I enjoy destroying them, which I do have to tell you is a habit of mine. What can be more satisfying if not for the magical feeling you get when you explore the interior of a new, complex piece of clockwork engine? I do have a lot of friends who would describe me as loyal and polite... but sanity, is a definition of a state of mind that can be controlled. So can I control mine. But sometimes, controlling yourself can be harder than controlling rustling gear, old sport. During these times, some people wished they didn't know me. But you don't have to worry about them nowadays. Most of them are dead.
Skills
Give me the gear and I make you the engine. Give me scraps and I make you wonders. I can do everything that requires the slight hand of a tinkerer - from repairing your gear to picking the most complicated locks to have been ever placed in this town, and from repairing your crossbow to modifying your dagger. After all, who doesn't like a ballistic knife? Don't have one? Then give me your knife, and let me do wonders on it. Of course, this skillset doesn't ship for free, but I heard you are paying good. So maybe I can gift you with some clockwork surprizes.
Background
A fancy life story to tell is, in truth what makes someone individual. Like I said, I am nothing more than what life makes a man. I was born in the countryside, many years ago. When I was young I spent every minute helping my family out in the crops of the Duke. Then I realised that the world I was engulfed in was boring... it had nothing of interest to serve me. So, I joined a guild of travelling tinkerers by the age of fourteen, abandoning my elders to their boring lives while being saluted to a completely new world. Got to see many places, and aquire even more skills than people met. Had some hard times here and there, but these are stories to tell in front of a fireplace with some good wine instead of this shack of yours. Spent thirty years fixing things and creating mechanical contraptions, 'till the time I found out that there was far bigger pay in stealing stuff rather than making it. But what seemed to be paying even more than that, was making stuff used to steal stuff. Sold keys and picks to people who wanted to lift the security measures I've made so far. Gave them the blueprints of locks securing wealth - and got a cut of it in return. Hell, I even made a bomb once. Found some guy who had aquired enough gunpowder to set an entire town on fire. And guess what, he did it. I was the one to make him the tool for it, though. And it was a damn brilliant deal. Four years ago I ended up here. You see, having spent no time to making locks in this town, I decided to hop into the... other side of the trade immediately. Within this time span I manufactured more clockwork weaponry than my entire collection of clocks, and sold them to the finest gentlemen of corruption that ruled the shades of the cityscape. And they last until this very day.
