This submission is a severe break with the greco-roman-medieval setting of the majority of Clan Ironspirit. It is a far-future, space-western setting. The disjunction is deliberate.
Kir is inordinately tall for a human, and broadly built, even by the standards of a starfarer, standing almost 215 cm tall, and massing nearly 150 kg, nearly none of it fat. By the standards of that race, he is reasonably unremarkable in terms of beauty, with the occasional remark that he may appear ‘rugged’. His hair, black twinged with flecks of grey, is key between a short and medium rough cut, as if it was cut by a knife, and his face is often covered by matching stubble. Typically, he wears a synthleather jacket, over a simple ship’s jumpsuit, with an assortment of electronics tools sticking out of any given pocket.
Seven thousand years ago, Kir’s ancestors were skilled craftsmen and proto-technologists, and with their Demigod forefather’s guiding hand, they parleyed their skill into an intricate web of influence. But all things must come to an end. After five thousand years of Ironspirit came the works of the industrialists. It was a slow process, but in the end, gun powder, the combustion engine, and the assembly line toppled the craftsmen who built a world. And forerunning the industrialists came the scientists, and their voices droned out the whispers of the ancient gods, and those few who remained in the world fell into a slumber, depriving Clan Ironspirit of their eternal guide. And so, the Clan crumbled over centuries, until what blood of Nial and Adan remained passed through a single line.
Into this crumbled legacy, Kir Ironspirit was born, the only son of a daughter of Ironspirit, begotten in wedlock, by chance, by a man whose ancestor had served under Ironspirit for a brief time, though the name of Oresoul was long dead. And the newborn dreamt, of hammers and anvils, of smelting and shaping, of careful craftsmanship.
As a child, his mind took keenly to the mostly-automated teaching-routines that educated the children of spacers, most of all, he took to the intricate maintenance of complex equipment. By his twelfth birthday, he had begun to tear apart his father’s ship, system by system, and improve it, a hundred personalizations going into each piece. By his fourteenth, he had completed it, and so effective had he been that the merchant vessel could out run and out gun even military cruisers. And the dreams continued.
As a young man, barely seventeen, he coaxed a government terminal into giving him permission to open a business. His line of sale? Spacers tools and repairs, but most of all, customized blasters, tweaked personal shielding, and exquisite, hand-built vibro-knives. And the dreams continued.
By twenty, he had taken an apprentice, a young woman, whom he would marry within the year. To them both, a strange dream came, and she would take the name Oresoul, rather than her husband’s name. Driving both further now, the dreams continued.
By twenty three, he had made his reputation. Special forces, bounty hunters, officers, mobsters, anyone who sought that special edge in his region of space, inevitably sought him. By twenty five, he realized that these men had far more to give him than money, though he would always need that from him as well. They had influence. He would have his first child, a boy. And for man, and wife, and son, the dreams continued,
By twenty eight, Kir would have his fingers in a dozen webs, pulling each strand this way and that. Nothing illegal, mind you, but there was so much he can get, and he always seemed to know the right person to talk to. And still, the dreams continued.
By thirty, he would have his third child, and by his thirty first year, he would ‘adopt’ a young girl, the inconvienent daughter of a politician’s son. And the dreams took shape, and they took weight, drawing strength from the actions of the family, drawing weight from each whispered prayer of desperation, of thankfulness over the items Kir and his family had rebuilt. And Kir would name these dreams become reality “Grandfather Adan”.
Though thousands of years of polishing and sharpening have reduced the blade in size to little more than a short sword, Kir still bears the ancient blade of his family, Steel Judgement. Any technological items he carries will swiftly rise in efficiency as he fiddles and toys with it.
Kir, like his ancestors before him, is primarily a craftsman. He does not need adventure for himself, but he may need you to do a job, for which he may be willing to give your gear a working over. Or for which he may be willing to give you a name and com-grid point. Maybe he needs plans for someone else’s gadget, maybe he just needs a delivery into the front lines. Like his ancestors, he relies on neutrality and toeing the line of the law to maintain his independence, though at this point, he has had to move several times as turf-wars break out, each side hoping to deny the others his services.