Dwarf alchemist soldier, make sure you are on the right side of cover! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH
Admon happens to be the third child of a rich dwarf weapons dealer. While his other siblings grew up with the assurances of also being weapon dealers, Admon was always a little… different. The manipulation of money, the finesse of finance, would send his mind to wander about birds or bees or the trees . In fact, his father began to get frustrated in his youngest son’s lack of interest in any kind of life skills a young dwarf should know. Neither the heat of the forge or comforting sounds of the stone pick could hold Admon’s attention. It wasn’t until his mother, who doted on him shamelessly, bought the wandering child an alchemy set, did Admon’s true interest emerge. The child was left alone with to his own devices, Admon managed to not only melt the precious kit, but the table that it rested on, but the stone floor beneath it Admon’s parents were delighted to see him so animated and promptly (with some relief) sent him to the Alchemist guild.
Admon’s relationship with the guild started well, he learned about chemicals, and magic, and how the could go together. It soured quickly as his education progressed. The guild being stuck in its ways, while the dwarf showed surprising initiative and experimentation. He would bypass steps in alchemy when he felt like they were no longer needed. To the incense of his instructors and fellow students who happened to be near the results! After he graduated to full alchemist, the dwarf found employment with his father’s company. Protection supplies and patrolling with other members of the trading organization. From these humble beginnings, he branched out to more serious mercenary outfits and showed a remarkable aptitude for siege tactics and general explosive mayhem. He also learned the finer arts of alchemy use as field medicine and home brewing his own salves. His relationship with the guild continued to fester, as he sought “new and improved” ways to better alchemical reactions.
Despite his sorted history with his patrons, Admon was given a special assignment to cool his heels after a particularly bloody siege action at the Cygnar Military Academy. It was here the best and brightest of future Cygnar military officers were born and raised. Only the brightest were allowed entry, only those with the most potential to be become steadfast officers, could learn from the Academies vaulted halls. Admon hated it. He despised the spit and polish, the fluffy tradition, and recruits who he was forced to train the subtle arts of alchemical use on the modern battlefield. Not to say that all the recruits were bad. Admon always remembered the leader to be Rosaleen Bartley with fondness and respect. She would listen to his advice and even better, put it in to practice if she was able. It was fortunate that he made such an impression, for when Admon had a strong disagreement with traditional alchemy roles on the battlefield with the lead liaison between his guild and the Academy, a disagreement that led to Admon punching his esteemed colleague out, Rosaleen was there to reemploy him…. In her group of mercenaries.