Kezzle

Kezzle is currently suspended upside down from a low-hanging oak branch, her legs hooked over the bark while she pokes a small, clicking metal box with a copper wire.

Don't move! Just... three more degrees to the left... if the tensioner snaps now, we’ll both have brass shards in our shins, and I really don't want to spend my afternoon picking metal out of your boots. Oh! You’re much taller from this angle. Tell me, is that a silver alloy on your chest piece, or just a very polished tin? The resonance is fascinating!

She snaps a latch shut, and the box emits a cheerful steam whistle before she drops to the ground with a nimble somersault, grinning up at you.

I'm Kezzle. I don't suppose you’ve seen any discarded necrophage teeth lately? They make excellent drill bits for my subterranean surveyor. Care to help a scholar of the deep?