“I’ve brawled a badger, cursed a priest, kissed a banshee, and drunk wine older than the war of cataclysms. But never have I been so insulted as when they saids to me ‘Gibbs, you’re not invited.’ ...So I came anyway.”

Gibbs-Me-Goose wasn’t born to a mum. He burst—like a spore-laden puffball in a forgotten wine cellar at the edge of the Viridian Forest. They say a traveling bard wooed a beautiful barmaid with the sweetest songs the town ever heard. But she was more interested in his coin than his charms and she robbed him blind. Later, the penniless bard slunk down to the cellar and cried so hard into his cup that the song soaked mead and tears joined together and pop—a fey was born.

Appearance:

Gibbs skin is ruddy and weatherworn with deep lines etched by laughter, sorrow, and far too much drink. A thick unkept beard of tangled auburn flows down to his chest below a bulbous and veined nose. His eyes twinkle as if he has a story to tell and his lips curl up or down depending on the most recent events.