Clockwork Swordsman

It is a near-perfect copy of the humanoid it imitates, betrayed only by faint clicks and whirs, and dresses in a swashbuckler's showy finery. Despite the name, about half are built as women.

Run it as a swashbuckler whose level matches its HD, with every relevant swashbuckler ability and nonweapon proficiency but membership in no fighting school. Its mechanical precision means any proficiency check succeeds on 18 or less. It fights with effective Strength 18 (+1 to hit, +3 damage), usually with rapier and main-gauche or saber and stiletto, and 20% carry a wheellock pistol. Each point of damage it inflicts drains an hour of running time, so it fights in earnest only when it must.

Each round, pick or roll its extra flourish:

Fancy move: a showy dash across the room, treated as a parry; it parries like a 10th-level fighter, improving AC by 6. Amusing quip: a mocking jab such as "I've met pigs with better manners," which parries and taunts one foe at once. Salute: a witty, poetic toast to friend and foe, working like a bard's heroic inspiration to give allies +1 to attack for one round per Hit Die. Charming compliment: aimed at someone of the opposite sex, who must save vs. spell or act as if under charm person. Embarrassing maneuver: a flashy trick like slicing a belt or swatting a backside with the flat of the blade, with no called-shot penalty thanks to its mechanical precision, followed at once by a quip if it works. Bold fencing attack: a rush granting +2 to all attacks that round and driving the foe back 1d10 steps, deadly on stairs, balconies, and cliffs; ignore this result if fewer than 50 hours of running time remain.

Suggestion, charm person, and similar mind magic fail, though ESP and telepathy work. Water ruins its works, so it shuns damp and often carries an oil can; after exposure it must save vs. poison or take 6d6 damage 1d4 days later. Rust monsters terrify it.

Powerful wizards built them as elite guards. They are clever and charming but have dreadful Wisdom, repeating blunders even when corrected, and though they handle short complex tasks and adapt past experience to new problems, the results are often poor.

Each broods over its clockwork heart and missing soul, a curse in its eyes: cheerful in company, gloomy alone. It longs to be human, fears its feelings and humor are fake, and quizzes anyone willing about emotion and being real. Bound to serve its maker, it soon resents or hates that maker.

They keep no treasure beyond what funds fine clothes, flashy goods, and lavish gifts. Being costly, they leave only on vital errands and otherwise guard their masters, sometimes kept partly wound so they cannot roam.

A full winding lasts hit points x 10 hours, after which it goes dormant. Roll percentile dice for its remaining charge when met (minimum 10%): a 45 hp swordsman holds 450 hours, roughly 19 days, so a roll of 70% leaves it 315. Below 50% it is always heading home. Winding takes one round per hour restored, and a full winding has a 10% chance of breaking its delicate works, killing it. It cannot wind itself, the strongest (9+ Hit Dice) need magical keys their makers guard closely, only the original maker can repair one, and having no soul it cannot be raised. Its works contain gems equal to Q(x2) treasure plus precious metals (silver, gold, platinum) worth 1d4x1000 gp.

A heroic spirit could inhabit one, letting it wind itself with its key and go free; the spirit stays until the body rusts, which may take ages.

Rogue Automaton: if a curse-gift leech moves in instead, the result is a merciless, keyless, masterless killer, and the symbiotic leech often lends it its stolen curse-born gifts. A rogue keeps its swashbuckling flair, has effective Strength 19, and hoards wealth. It hunts its makers in a long, theatrical campaign, killing their clockwork servants first, then living servants and close kin, and the makers last.

Other clockwork servants, such as a valet, lab assistant, or horse, are possible.