Oswald "Dice" Dyson
Oswald is a small man, roughly 5’5" and with just enough meat on his bones not to blow away in the wind. His short brown hair runs down to sideburns before settling into a scruffy beard on his chin, patchy from scorch marks. His hands are constantly black with soot and gunpowder, which occasionally smears over his clothes, face, and other people’s money. He spends most of his free time in his workshop tinkering over his boomsticks, problem solvers, darlings, master pieces, and pieces of junk (as his mood dictates). He only takes the time to make himself (somewhat) presentable when he’s called to duty in the guard, which generally amounts to a rumpled shirt, pants that don’t quite fit, and a lazily pinned insignia. Otherwise, it’s simply his blacksmith’s smock over some pants for him, with a couple token pistols tucked into the belt.
Oswald “Dice” Dyson falls on what most would consider to be the “bad cop” side of the law. An eccentric gunsmith, he rarely emerges from his makeshift workshop in his house except to respond to calls to duty for the guard, drink, and gamble. Growing up in a rough neighborhood, Oswald learned most of the tricks of his trade the hard way; it wasn’t until his brother was almost killed that the first glimmer of the telekinetic abilities that would set him apart shone through. As he honed his abilities, he used them to swindle and steal until he ran afoul of a local gang; in desperation, he joined the Guard in hopes that they would be less willing to pick a fight with the law. It didn’t work, and now he’s caught between his duty and his past.
What a pain. All he really wants to do is work on his boomsticks and play some cards. But a guard’s life doesn’t pay squat, and what good is a BANG if you’re not putting it to good use? The adventuring life may be dangerous, but Oswald is willing to roll the dice.