The Circuit-Kin

Origins

None now living recall who first laid the great board, nor for what purpose its traces were graven. Some hold it the work of an artificer-king of the elder days, who sought to bind lightning itself unto green stone. Others whisper it fell from the firmament whole, a fragment of a sky-engine sundered ere Kyrath was named. What is known is this: the current still runs. Where copper meeteth solder, the spark yet kindleth — and where the spark kindleth, a will of sorts doth wake.

Culture

A culture only by the loosest reckoning. The trace-spirits know not kinship nor speech; they know only the path of the trace and the pull of the next junction. Yet a hierarchy reigneth among them, plain to any who hath watched the board awaken: the wee motes scuttle first, the swelling surges follow, and at the last cometh the crowned Sovereign, whose halo throbbeth with the heartbeat of the board entire. The clockwork crawlers — frail of carapace, emerald of lens — keep their own counsel, and seem ever to find the unwary Warden whithersoever he hideth.

Combat Style

Glide upon the trace; brook no detour. The motes are frail but ceaseless, the surges slower and freighted with arc-fury, the Sovereign apex of all. None bear blade nor bow — the touch alone of overcurrent sufficeth, and the solder mask blistereth black where they pass. The clockwork crawlers alone hold to the old fashion of leg and lens, scuttling on eight where their kin glide on naught.

Relations

Foes to all that liveth and breatheth. They reckon not friend nor foe in truth — only the path, and what standeth athwart it. Yet wise Wardens have learned that frost dampens the warmer kindreds, while the violet and cyan arcs burn too fierce for ice to bite. Cold steel and blunt force tell upon the clockwork bug, where arc-light shrugs them off.