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a tale of what was...

xxxxxThe story of Henry Elias MacKay begins in Wick, Scotland in 1830. His father was a wealthy landowner, but he was the fifth of five children and the fourth of four boys. He had a better education than most of his contemporaries growing up and had a fascination for the new devices that were being invented as the Industrial Revolution chugged along. Being in the position of being the youngest, he wasn't set to inherit from his family and so something had to be done with him. When he was sixteen he was sent across the Atlantic to apprentice with his uncle, a black smith who had emigrated to America several years earlier to ply his trade in New England.

xxxxxHenry spent the next several years working for his uncle before becoming a partner in his business, and business was good. He was skilled at his trade, and even started working on the repair and maintenance of firearms as a sideline to keep people coming in. He was set to live what would be a good, but unremarkable life. He married and even had a couple of children of his own. But when the Civil War broke out in 1861 he volunteered to fight for the country that had become his home. He served for a year before it came to the battle of Antietam. There was no sign of him after the battle and he was listed as missing - presumed dead on official war records.

xxxxxNot that anyone would expect that lost soldier to have anything to do with Hank MacKay, other than being a possible ancestor.

xxxxxBut that's the truth, taken by the Gentry in the chaos of battle, it took more than a century of time passing in the mortal realm before he was able to free himself and return home. But how does a man a century and a half out of his time make a living, much the same way he did before. Thank god for hipsters and the push to go back to the old hand-made items. He can sell things now for more than he ever could before. Sure everyone he knew is long dead and buried, but sometimes you need to take what life throws and keep on rolling.

  • Changeling
    Well, he's obviously one of the Lost if you're the type that can see that sort of thing. He may be willing to talk to others, he may not, it's a gamble.
  • Dusk
    A member of the Glacial Axe, he's more likely to openly tolerate a member of his own court than just any changeling, but he's got that fatalism thing down to a science.
  • The Honorable Order of the Third Hour
    And he's one of the craftier types of Changelings, too. Don't let the ogre-ish appearance fool you.
  • Smithy
    It's what he does for a living. He specializes in custom pieces and restoring and maintaining older hand-made items. Weapons, firearms, cookware, he'll likely do it.
  • Scottish
    Just listen to him talk, it's obvious. Just don't get him started on a rant.
  • Out of Time
    Hank has been displaced in time. He's done a good job adapting and other than a few odd mannerisms he doesn't stand out too much. But there's people who've been around long enough that they might notice his more than passing resemblance to a man that lived in Fallcoast over 150 years ago. Go ahead, ask.

No logs have been posted yet.

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vital statistics
Full Name: Henry Elias MacKay
Birthdate: February 26
Apparent Age: Mid 30s
Occupation: Artisan Smith
Virtue: Patience
Vice: Apathy
Sphere: Changeling
Seeming: Ogre
Kith: Render/Inventor/Artist
Court: Dusk
Entitlement: The Honorable Order of the Third Hour
Keeper: Sultan of the Bazaar of Wonders
xxxxx“Why should a blacksmith put his hands in the fire if he has tongs?”
-Alexander Theroux
notable stats
Crafts ••••
xxxxx“Nothing splendid was ever created in cold blood. Heat is required to forge anything. Every great accomplishment is the story of a flaming heart.”
-Arnold H. Glasow
Brawl Fists
Crafts Metalworking
Crafts Weaponsmithing
Weaponry Hammers
xxxxx“ARMOR, n. The kind of clothing worn by a man whose tailor is a blacksmith.”
-Ambrose Bierce

Hellfire - Barns Courtney

Cold as a valley
Where I lay my head
Cold as a woman
In another man's bed
Down in the forest
With the devil in me
I'll remember the looks on their faces
Through the sycamore trees