Samuel’s body is wiry and veined, his skin covered in faint burn scars and soot stains that never fully wash off. His black tupay always sits slightly crooked, and the monocle he wears gleams with faint arcane symbols when light hits it. He goes shirtless not out of pride but practicality — he’s often covered in grease and soot, and half his torso bears faint rune-brandings from failed experiments. His cargo pants are stuffed with blueprints, loose gears, and the occasional lit fuse. 

 Chaotic, manic, and brilliant — Samuel lives for creation through destruction. He doesn’t build weapons to kill; he builds them to see how far invention can go before the world catches up. He has an unpredictable humor and a habit of laughing at his own explosions. Though many think he’s insane, those who listen closely realize he’s also deeply observant, able to read people like blueprints.

He doesn’t pick sides easily — whoever brings him rare materials or interesting challenges earns his loyalty for the day.