Mx. Fortune

A Changeling Clockwork Sorcerer disguised as a cleric of Lady Luck, Tymora. Their chosen public form is concealed beneath a large hat draped with a chain veil, a false beak, and layers of flowing fabric that obscure their shape. Black bandages wrap the body beneath the costume. Mx. Fortune presents themself as a traveling magician, using dazzling displays of sorcery to draw followers into the cult they serve as second-in-command.

Mx. Fortune serves as second-in-command of a luck-obsessed cult devoted to Lady Luck, Tymora—or to the version of Tymora their leaders have invented. They recruit in crowded streets and market squares, where Fortune performs impossible card tricks, conjures clockwork sigils, and lets coins vanish beneath their gloved fingers. The audience comes for the spectacle; the boldest are invited behind the curtain and taught that every fortunate accident is proof of the cult’s favor. Fortune maintains the lie that they are a cleric, though their miracles come from Clockwork Sorcery and careful stagecraft. Their changeling nature remains hidden beneath a large hat, chain veil, false beak, flowing layers, and black bandages wound tightly around the body. At sixth level, Fortune has become the cult’s most effective recruiter—and its most visible deception.

Fortune treats every conversation like a magic show. They keep one hand moving, palming coins or turning cards, while the other guides attention toward the answer they want. They speak in the warm, measured cadence of a priest during a blessing, then break character to deliver a dry aside to anyone clever enough to notice. Fortune never sits with their back to a door and silently counts exits, witnesses, and loose objects in every room. When asked a personal question, they answer with a wager, a prophecy, or someone else’s name.

Fortune cannot resist proving that they are the cleverest person in the room, even when silence would be safer. They turn genuine danger into spectacle and mistake an audience’s fascination for loyalty. A failed trick haunts them until they recreate it perfectly, often ignoring more urgent problems. Fortune also fears being recognized in an unguarded moment; confronted with a glimpse of their true form, they may lash out, flee, or invent an elaborate lie that makes the original discovery seem absurd.

Fortune wants the cult’s prophecy of universal luck to become real, partly from faith and partly because a world ruled by chance would leave no authority able to expose them. They seek a perfect public identity: a celebrated miracle-worker whose name is trusted in every city. Beneath that ambition lies a simpler hunger—to belong somewhere without changing faces for acceptance. Fortune tells themself that every new follower is being liberated from fear, even as the cult tightens its grip around those who believe.