Scanlan Shorthalt
The Vexing, Vexed, and Vexingly Heroic Gnome
Song, spells, and a smirk that could topple kingdoms. Let’s make this hurt.
You know the rumors: I talk too much, bed too many people, and run from fights until a solo seems like a good idea. True. I’ve drowned grief in limericks and built a life on flash and charm. But I’ve faced dragons with a wink and a dagger, loved a daughter fiercely even if I terrified her first, and found friends who see past the glitter. They’re the real trick—the oldest, cheapest magic there is: being known and still liked. My mother’s voice still haunts my ears; I sing louder to hear her over the noise.
What I'm Into: my mother’s old lute, vials of glitterdust, bets I can’t back out of, that one night in Westruun where I didn’t get stabbed, the look on Percy’s face when I ‘accidentally’ set his wig on fire
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