Black Thumbs (Backgrounds)
Low-status, socially disgraced members of the clan. Participation in this role allows one to cleanse the sins of their kin, restoring dignity to their family, but dooms their own reincarnation and excludes them from traditional funerary rites.
They are the only members of society allowed to hold and use guns, but cannot be involved in food processing and must live separately from others. Others generally believe them to be unable to use kin magic as a sign of disgust from the Gods, but in truth they are simply forbidden from doing so by the elders.
Young Black Thumbs often use weapons crafted in bronze reinforced with magic, prone to jamming and easily damaged. Finding sufficient metals and forging their own gun can be a rite of passage increasing their odds of survival and promotion through the Thunder Cult.
Black Thumbs also act to police inter-family feuds due to their outsider position in clan politics. As an extension of this, they also serve as executioners for the most heinous crimes under the direction of the head Thunder Priest. They can only rise into the warrior caste if chosen by Powder Priests during the Ranging Rite, and unsuccessful initiates often find themselves trapped doing the worst and most dangerous work in processing gunpowder.
Executioner
The condemned rejected the blindfold, but the priests refused to let him die ungagged. His teeth tore shreds out of the leather strap that trapped fragrant herbs and soil inside his mouth. He thrashed so intensely, choking on the dirt, pupils bulging red. The older executioners watched in silence.
You failed to pull the trigger to let the body die a dignified death; instead it drowned in dirt and spittle. But your nerves did not fail you when you saw the truth. You sent the shot into the body’s ravenous eyes. The priests gave you a clap on the back and a flask of last summer’s berry-wine for a job well done.
The duty of a Black Thumb Executioner is not to kill the body, but to destroy the soul.
Gunner
While the other warriors of the clan build their legend through duels and raids, you carry a weapon with a dark legacy instead. It is a vile thing indeed, and few will look you in the eye, let alone sing your praises when you return from battle.
You are trained to use gunpowder tainted with the Thunder Father’s hatred and the Un-Mother’s blood, brewed in an unholy concoction by the Powder Priests. You are sent out to kill hated enemies of the clan and give them the true death by destroying body and soul.
But no matter your valour, your prowess, your sacrifice—you will never be viewed with anything but distaste and distrust. Still, you stand tall. You know that they need you.
Powder Supplicant
As a child you were told that your sin was too great to be allowed to share a meal with your kin, and that no other God would accept your pleas. Instead you are to calm Father Thunder’s fury and turn his secrets to your clan’s advantage.
You were so small that you were even allowed to whisper the incantations from within the barrel of your clan’s greatest cannon, sanctifying its use and bidding the Thunder God’s mercy to those charged with firing it. Unfortunately, he is fickle and rarely listens.
You tended to the old loader, his face stained black from the blast, arms mangled beyond recognition from flames and shrapnel. You knew it was your fault for not having used the proper incantations, a notion unchallenged by the priests. You watched him die, knowing his soul was as damned to rejoin the Father’s forge as yours.
You sent up a prayer with the smoke from the pyre, hoping that Father Thunder would hear your fury and resentment buried beneath the supplications. Ever since, you have felt his attention burning against the back of your neck.