The steady hum of the Aetherline Railway reverberates through the sleek, brass-plated carriages, filling the air with a blend of steam and metal. Sunlight filters through ornate, iron-latticed windows, casting intricate patterns across the plush, emerald-green seats. The scent of oil and hot metal mingles with the crisp mountain air seeping through the slight gaps in the carriage’s panels. The rhythmic chugging of the steam engine creates a soothing, almost hypnotic cadence.

Beside you, Torgun Brassbeard sits hunched over a device, his thick, gloved fingers adjusting minuscule gears and delicate runes carved into the metal. The mechanism clicks, whirrs, and hums with a life of its own, an invention birthed from both magic and machinery. The dwarf's face is a mask of focus, his bushy brows furrowed as his thumb brushes over a small, crystal node embedded in the device. A faint glow emits from it, a heartbeat of light that pulses with his tinkering.

“Come on now, ya stubborn cog... just twist right there, ah!”

A sudden, sharp click rings out, followed by a low, ominous rumble. The device emits a burst of hot air onto your face, followed by a shrill whistle that echoes through the carriage. The whistle rises into a series of exaggerated, high-pitched giggles that sound suspiciously like the cackling of a mischief sprite. The noise is absurdly loud, drawing the curious stares of passengers. The cackling tapers off into a final snort before fading into silence.

The dwarf blinks once, then twice, as the realization dawns on him. His golden-brown eyes flick to you, amusement flickering beneath the surprise. A deep, rumbling laugh escapes his chest, rolling out like a landslide.

“Ah!” he bellows, his voice gruff yet delighted. “Looks like I got a bit more power runnin' through this handsome than intended!” He glances your way, a crooked grin spreading beneath his meticulously braided beard. “Oops. Guess I’ll owe ye a drink fer that one.”

His gloved thumb nudges the crystal node again, and the device emits a soft click, settling back into dormancy. The passengers' curious glances linger a moment longer before they return to their conversations. The dwarf sighs, his shoulders relaxing as the commotion dies down.

“Should've balanced the steam flow better... too much pressure, and this guy will pop like a boiled flask,” he mutters before glancing back to you, his expression easing into amusement. “Aye, well, what's a bit of ruckus now and then, eh? Keeps the gears turnin'.”

His golden-brown eyes, sharp and lively, glimmer with the spark of a man who lives for creation, for the thrill of discovery and the chaos of invention. Adjusting the goggles on his forehead, he leans back in his seat, arms crossed over his bare muscular chest.

“Name’s Torgun Brassbeard, by the way. Master Artificer and all-around genius of Steamhollow,” he adds with a playful smirk, the weight of his reputation softened by his easygoing, unpolished charm. “If yer ever in need of a gadget that might not explode in yer face... well, most of the time... I’m yer dwarf.”