Lonan Debbledobble

Lonan is stout and broad-shouldered, with a dense, muscular build that most mistake for pudge at first glance. His thick beard, wild hair tied in a high tail, and colorful patchwork garb make him look more like a traveling jester or a drunk woodcutter than a serious threat. But beneath the layers of leather, wool, and noise, his body is finely tuned—lean muscle forged by years of mountain living, countless bar brawls, and the stubborn pride of a gnome who refuses to go down easy. He can carry more than you'd expect, fight longer than you'd guess, and recover faster than anyone with that much hair should be able to.   Despite the heavy gear and dramatic accessories—drum, tools, and oversized halberd—he moves with surprising agility. His brawling style is less polished technique and more chaotic momentum: a whirlwind of elbows, knees, and improvised weaponry delivered with the confidence of someone who thinks he’s the hero of the story… and might just be.

Born and raised in the insulated mountain village of Gildern Hollow, nestled in the base of the Zandari Mountains in Kamulos, Lonan Debbledobble was, by all appearances, a textbook gnome: curious, clever, and constantly fiddling with things that didn't need fixing. His people were known for their mechanical ingenuity and meticulous craftsmanship, proudly operating under the banner of the Gearwrights' Guild, a branch of the broader Tradesmen Consortium sanctioned by Kamulos’s Ministry of Industry.   Lonan apprenticed with the local tinkerers and proved a natural—if unconventional—talent. His contraptions worked, though not always in the way anyone expected. More than once a self-chopping firewood axe took off someone’s boot, or a self-sorting gear organizer sorted itself out the window. But it was his mouth, not his gadgets, that finally got him kicked out.   As a young journeyman, Lonan uncovered a scandal involving the local Guildmaster and a Kamulosi noble named Lord Tarvek Aldrow, who had been siphoning off rare metals meant for public works and redirecting them to his private smelting operations. When Lonan confronted him—loudly, during a feast commemorating the noble’s donation to the local school—he expected cheers. Instead, he got beaten within an inch of his life by the noble’s guards and branded a liar. The Guild cut ties immediately. His name was scrubbed from the registries, and he was exiled under threat of arrest if he returned.   With his tools repossessed and his reputation in shambles, Lonan wandered. Somewhere between rage and reinvention, he decided that if he couldn’t make things, he’d make stories. He reinvented himself as a bard—though his grasp of melody was suspect, his memory for verse patchy, and his idea of stage presence mostly involved yelling and brandishing imaginary swords.   Lonan now travels Tanaria peddling tales, many of them exaggerated (some wildly so), often finishing with him as the hero, the savior, the genius. These stories have a knack for getting him punched, challenged to duels, or tossed out of taverns. Thankfully, he’s discovered a surprising talent for brawling. Somewhere along the way, rage became his music, and smashing a chair over someone's head became his favorite refrain.   Still, in the quiet moments—usually while repairing something broken behind a tavern in exchange for a night’s shelter—he sometimes hums old guild songs under his breath, and wonders if anyone from Gildern Hollow remembers him not as the fool with the big stories, but as the gnome who dared speak the truth.