Knoggit
Ugnaught · Tech Specialist · Level 3
Identity
Ability scores
Saving throws
Skills
Weapons
| Name | Attack | Damage | Range |
|---|---|---|---|
| ●Blaster Pistol | +4 | 1d10 +1 Energy | 50 ft |
| ●Unarmed Strike | +2 | 1 bludgeoning | — |
Languages
Inventory
- Blaster Pistol · 1 kg
- Tool Kit · 1 kg
- Padded Utility Vest · 3 kg
- Medpac II×2 · 0.6 kg
- Comlink (Short-Range) · 0.1 kg
- Liquid Cable Dispenser · 0.2 kg
- Glow Rod · 1 kg
- Datapad (Basic) · 0.3 kg
- Computer Spike +2 · 1 kg
- Detonite · 0.1 kg
- Bedroll · 1 kg
Backstory
Knoggit was born in the smoke-stained underbelly of Gentes, where the industrial haze that chokes the lowland settlements smells of recycled coolant and burning ore. His people had supplied labor to offworld interests for generations — most infamously on Bespin, where Ugnaught crews worked the Cloud City tibanna platforms under Lando Calrissian's administration and, before it, under far crueler overseers. By the time Knoggit was old enough to hold a hydrospanner, the Empire had died at Endor and the old contracts were dissolving with it. For the first time, Ugnaught kin who had spent their lives serving others were asking, cautiously, what they might build for themselves. He was never going to answer that question with a blaster. He stands barely 1.4 meters, with the broad pink hands and thick-knuckled fingers of his kind — hands that sit far easier around a motivator housing than a trigger. What set him apart was the way his mind worked: methodical, hungry, compulsive in the way he'd strip a dead machine to its frame just to learn why it had died. His tribe's elders noticed, and at fourteen they sent him to Dorviss Naal, an aging Sullustan who had retired to Gentes after decades running salvage along the Rimma Trade Route. Naal taught him nothing about fighting and everything about systems — how power cells bleed, how droid logic branches, how a ship's computer talks to its own body like a nervous system. By eighteen he had outpaced his teacher. Knoggit reads and speaks Galactic Basic perfectly well — he simply prefers not to. A man of few words in any tongue, he'd sooner push one of his annotated datapads into your hands, diagrams and cramped shorthand and all, than explain out loud, and the finer technical arguments he saves for Ugnaught, where he finds the words more exact. Somewhere along the way he also picked up enough Jawa Trade to haggle, and enough Anzellan and Binary to talk shop with droids and small-species mechanics. When a New Republic reclamation crew came through Gentes cataloguing former Imperial labor sites for reparations, Knoggit attached himself to the operation without waiting to be asked. He fixed three pieces of their diagnostic gear before anyone noticed him standing there. They let him stay. He lost the eye on that crew, eight months in. They were stripping a decommissioned Imperial power relay the surveyors had flagged as cold — but Imperial hardware kept its own counsel, and a capacitor bank every readout swore was dead still had a charge to give. Knoggit saw the fault a half-second before it arced. The discharge took his left eye and a strip of his brow with it. Characteristically, he didn't scream so much as finish the job — logging the failure one-handed, blood on the datapad, so the next crew wouldn't trust the same reading he had. The New Republic couldn't spare much for a laborer's injury: just a basic optical unit, the plain sensory model that ships in a blister pack. So he did what he always does. He spent a week recalibrating it himself, tuning the color balance until it stopped lying to him and seating the nerve interface until the ghost-aches faded. The replacement sees a shade sharper than the eye he lost, and it never quite blinks in time — a flat, steady stare that unnerves people more than his silence does. He kept the burned-out capacitor. It sits on his workbench, disassembled to its last component, fully understood. These days Knoggit is exactly where a curious, methodical Ugnaught with a cybernetic eye and a bottomless patience for other people's broken machines ought to be: wherever the work is. He's no one's idea of a hero and has no interest in becoming one. But hand him a dead droid, a slagged console, or a ship that won't answer its own controls, and the little tech with the too-steady stare will find the fault everyone else missed — usually before you've finished explaining the problem.
Roleplaying notes
- Knoggit processes environmental details that others miss entirely — when the party enters a new location, have him be the first to visually assess power conduits, access panels, and structural weaknesses, communicating findings by pointing emphatically and thrusting annotated datapad entries at teammates. - Knoggit compulsively documents every new piece of technology he encounters on his datapad, adding small diagrams and observations in Ugnaught script — this is a consistent behavioral tic that should surface after encounters, during downtime, and especially when he encounters Imperial-era hardware. - Because Knoggit understands Basic perfectly but cannot reply in it, he often knows more about a room's politics than anyone suspects — play him as a careful listener who catches things allies miss, occasionally tapping a companion's arm and passing them a typed note mid-conversation. - Whether communicating in Ugnaught bursts, Binary chirps to nearby droids, or clipped datapad messages, Knoggit wastes no words — his typed communications are bullet points and labeled diagrams, never sentences longer than necessary, reflecting both his communication constraints and his engineer's preference for signal over noise.