Appearance

Mentality

Personal history

In early Samhain, 252 P.S., Ulric von Spondoolick made the mistake that would kill him. It was not a sudden, violent mistake, like trying to stifle a sneeze while holding a live wire, but instead a small mistake, which, disguised as a success, insidiously tempts in other mistakes, slowly but carefully plotting a course towards certain death. Any other person would have spotted the path they were on, would have taken some measure to divert their route before the inevitable, but Ulric was not most people. He was crashingly inept, and his mistake was called Haakon.
 
Once a wandering adventurer, Ulric had retired to Stormspell to live his last days in comfort. He bought a small workshop on Mainspring Street, where he planned to spend his retirement selling clocks and other mechanical knickknacks, and where tax incentives prompted him to join the Clockmakers’ Guild. Five years after arriving in the city, Ulric was speaking at the 75th Annual Cogference when he was gently heckled by Clart Flanchley, a cheeky halfling who specialised in toy horses. The resulting furious outburst led to Ulric being booed off stage and, while furiously pacing his workshop later that night, von Spondoolick swore his revenge against the whole guild.
 
The first stage of his plan was to create a weapon to turn the tables against his foes. Though he had been a skilled fighter in his youth, Ulric’s retirement had seen him grow soft, so he set about making a new body, free from the limitations of the flesh, into which he could pour his soul. The mechanical muscles were simple enough, and he quickly created a shell that was both stronger and faster than even a human. He had more difficulty creating eyes and ears, but eventually succeeded in giving his creation senses that would put even an elf to shame. His greatest challenge was in creating a receptacle that could take a living soul, but even here, after countless sleepless nights and a fortune spent on arcane tomes, Ulric did it. The next morning, bounding down the stairs three at a time, Ulric felt as excited as a child on Yule morning who had been told they were getting a new body. As he busied himself with the final preparations, however, Ulric couldn’t help but feel as though he was being watched.
 
He had known despair before, but the waves of crushing disappointment that hit Ulric as he turned to face his creation threatened to finally reduce the gnome to a gibbering wreck. His feeling had been correct: the thing had turned its head and was looking at him. It was moving its big stupid limbs and, now, speaking actual words through its ridiculous mouth. Not his words, either; these were its own inane questions: Who was it? Where was it? Was Ulric its father? The godawful thing was alive and speaking to him! Desperately casting his mind back, Ulric couldn’t fathom what he’d done wrong, nor how he could fix it. He certainly couldn’t displace whatever soul was already in there, he had made sure that particular failsafe was working perfectly. Nor could he destroy the thing; he had been careful not to include any ‘Off’ switches or other easy ways an enemy could use to incapacitate him, and there was no way he could win that fight if he decided to disable it by force.
 
After days of sulking and cursing the long-dead wizards who had penned his reference material, Ulric realised he could tun this to his advantage. It had cost him everything, but he could always make a new body from the profits of his vendetta against the guild, and now that he thought about it, he had never been too keen on the idea of doing all those distasteful things himself anyway. Though not a natural teacher, Ulric set about preparing his creation for the task it would undertake. He taught it to pick pockets, and from the proceeds bought a selection of weaponry, as well as books on picking locks, fencing manuals and all the lurid true-crime fiction he could get his hands on. A swift learner, the creation absorbed every scrap of knowledge Ulric could throw at it. To Ulric’s disgust, however, alongside learning the mechanical tricks of its trade, his creation started forming a personality. It began to express opinions, display preferences and, worst of all, gave itself a name: Haakon, meaning “Favoured Son” in Gnomish. Though inwardly disturbed, Ulric played the role of doting father as well as he could manage until, after two long months, he decided Haakon was ready. Ulric sat him down one evening and explained his purpose. Then, he handed him two things: a piece of paper bearing Clart Flanchley’s address, and a dagger. Four hours later, Haakon appeared silently in Ulric’s bedroom doorway, Clart’s head in his outstretched hand. For the first time since arriving in Stormspell, possibly the first time in his life, Ulric laughed.
 
For the first few months of his career, the admiration Haakon had for his maker knew no bounds. With every new target came further confirmation of Ulric’s genius, and Haakon revelled vicariously in his master’s growing power. This admiration, however, was short-lived. Doubts first entered Haakon’s mind when he spotted Clart’s young daughter who, far from cowed and wretched as he had expected, was haggling furiously with a blacksmith as she turned her inheritance into a coat of mail and a very large hammer. These doubts were cemented when that same hammer came crashing through the door of Ulric’s workshop the next night, followed closely by a hand clad in a coat of mail and a voice bellowing bloody vengeance.
 
As the weeks went by, a pattern began to develop around Mainspring Street: well-armed visitors became more and more common, and impromptu doorstep theatre on the subject of murder and revenge was now a nightly occurrence. Both the blacksmithing and hired murdering industries of Stormspell saw a surge in business, while the local locksmiths were doing a roaring trade as Ulric’s mysterious apprentice came in almost every day to buy more and more extravagant models. The local butchers, too, found themselves receiving a glut of bacon and sausages as the pigs Ulric kept in his garden gorged themselves on hidden evidence. Late one night, deep in thought, Haakon recognised the kitchen boy of one of his previous victims among that evening’s fodder, and he began to question whether he could keep doing this. Not out of any moral qualm, but merely logistical: funds were running low, while Ulric’s supply of enemies seemingly grew unabated. Determined to take Ulric away, to somewhere beyond the reach of the widows and orphans of the clockmakers’ guild, Haakon confronted his master. However, with hubris running at an all-time high, Ulric did not take Haakon’s warnings seriously. The ship of Ulric’s ambition was sinking around him, and with its captain insisting it was still seaworthy, Haakon decided to take the last remaining lifeboat. The next evening, Haakon met the assassins who dropped through the bathroom window, regular as clockwork, and directed them to the panic room where Ulric could be found, before climbing out of that same window and disappearing into the city. Looking back years later, Haakon’s only regret was that he hadn’t stuck the dagger in himself.

Personality

Social

Birthplace

Stormspell

Current Residence

Bern