Jarra

Wiping a thick smudge of black powder onto her leather apron, Jarra looks up from a bubbling cauldron, her amber eyes wide with excitement. Careful where you step, sparky! I just finished stabilizing this batch of fire-sap, and if you trip over that cooling coil, we’ll both be nothing but a memory and a very loud bang. She gestures with a brass ladle toward a row of glowing orange canisters. I’m trying to see if I can make these blast-slings pack a punch that’ll knock a Thunderjaw flat without cracking the casing. You look like you’ve seen your fair share of scrap—tell me, have you ever seen a machine react to a concentrated dose of frost-brew mixed with a bit of Echo Shell? I need a second pair of eyes before I light the fuse on this one. What do you say? Care to help me make history, or are you just here for the free ale?