Jaina Wumbo

[*WriterOfFiction]

Basic Information
Name: Jaina Wumbo
Aliases: Jaina, Wumbo, J. Wumbo, Engineer
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Age: Looks to be in her late teens or early twenties
Profession: Engineer, Mechanic, Bomb Maker, Tinker
Languages: Common, Thieves Cant, Elven (Broken with awful Syntax), Gnomish (Flawlessly, as a primary language), Dwarven (As a trade tongue, doesn't understand more esoteric aspects of the language)
Accent: Cockney

Physical Information
Height: 5'4"
Weight: Hard to tell, but it can't be more than 120 lbs.
Body build: Incredibly slender and petite.
Skin type: When she's clean, her skin is fairly smooth, save the calluses on her fingers.
Hair style: Short and messy.
Scars: None visible
Tattoos: None
Colouring:

[b]Hair:[/b] Coppery Red [b]Eyes:[/b] Deep Green [b]Skin:[/b] Slightly tanned, usually covered in grease, oil, or soot. [/li]

Mental Information
Alignment: Neutral, with some chaotic tendencies.
Philosophy: As a scientist and an engineer, she looks for logical explanations in just about everything that happens, which, in Sigil, usually leaves her confused and bewildered.
Deity/Beliefs: Worships a Deity unknown to anyone not of her world (I.E. EVERYONE in Sigil)
Personality:

Logical Technophile Sheltered [/li]

Additional Information
Gear: Is never seen without her goggles or "Fine Leather Jacket," and usually carries about a box of tools and a welding mask. Occasionaly, someone may see a very strange firearm holstered in her jacket.
Jewelry: Doesn't openly wear any jewelry.
Habbits/hobbies: Loves tinkering, inventing, and crafting things in general.
General Health: Young and fit, though not really built for fighting.
Favorite Drink: Is rarely seen drinking anything but beer.
Weaknesses: Is a terrible liar, and isn't much good in a fight. Her skills are usually suited in craft skills or trading, and appears to be incredibly intelligent, despite rarely having a clue as to what's going on. Also often makes tenfold numbering errors, (I.E. 10 as 100, or 100 as 1000, etc.)

(Personal History and World Background to come soon.)

[*WriterOfFiction]

Personal History
Jaina was abandoned as a baby on the streets of the Imperial Capital, Baron. Her parents are presumed dead, and she was left crying in an alleyway. A gnomish professor who was on a stroll back to his laboratory/home, known as Professor Cornelius J. Wumbo, happened upon the crying babe and took pity on her, bringing her with him. He raised her under gnomish tradition, and, to his delight, as she grew older, she proved a more than capable assistant. In fact, her raw talent for engineering, chemistry, and crafting in general, along with her genius level intellect, occasionally proved to be more than a match for her adoptive father, who proclaimed her a prodigy. Adventurers and archaeologists both came to her for creation of equipment as well as deciphering of ancient elven texts, Jaina being one of the few people who can both read, write, and understand the language (although by planar standards, her elven is absolutely atrocious, filled with pronunciation and syntax errors). Even the dwarves from the lands below greatly respected her ability to craft, occasionally coming to her for pointers. One day, however, she and her father were working on an invention to help breach the mighty tower of the elves, the one suspected to have at one point led to the moon; A teleportation device. After safely testing it on various inanimate objects, and a few rats, they deemed the device a success, and were ready to test it on people. Jaina input the coordinances for a small and simple jump across the capital city, but Jaina made a fatal flaw, her Achilles heel of sorts: A ten fold numbering error. She jumped too far, and ended up in an astral currant that lead her into the City of Doors, confused, bewildered, and alone, with no known way of returning home.

[*WriterOfFiction]

Excerpts From Jaina's Diary

I've been here... I've lost track of time... One month? Two? And I'm still no closer to finding a way back home... I've thought about rebuilding the machine that brought me here but... Finding the money has been tough, and finding the parts is going to be tougher still. As expected, no one's heard of Weyard, and I can't think of any other way back than to rebuild our machine... I miss you dad, hope you aren't too worried.

I've been studying various rare materials people seem to use for crafting here. Their properties are all magnificent, but the Orihalcum still seems to elude me; And without that, I don't think I'm going to find a suitable power source for the machine. Harder still is going to be finding the strange crystal we used to create the spatial rift we created... But I'm not giving up. There's got to be some way back home. Even if I can't rebuild the machine, there's got to be a door here that'll lead me home.

The people here aren't all that bad, at least. Most everyone seems friendly enough, and my talents seem to be in some demand. Better yet, I've got an assistant who's willing to help me find my way home, provided I help them in return. Monty, I call him. He's something called a "Modron," a creature of clockwork and flesh, coming from a realm called Mechanus. He's been... helpful, if not a bit of a handful. Poor thing lost it's memory when I found it, and it seems to follow me with unquestioning loyalty... Though he's rubbish in a fight. But I don't need a bodyguard, I need someone with an in-depth knowledge of applied mechanics, and if Monty doesn't fit that description, then I'm not sure if there's anyone out there who can help me...