Tʜᴇ Fᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ Rᴇᴀʟᴍs [Fᴀɴ Vᴇʀsɪᴏɴ]

A squat halfling in a striped waistcoat stitched from joker cards and regret-signed contracts, Thimblegut’s skin is blotchy and rubber-like, painted in manic reds and blues. His mouth splits up to his ears, teeth sharp and glowing. Two oversized eyes blink independently from stalks that erupt from his forehead, and a living whistle writhes around his neck, occasionally screaming on its own.

Thimblegut is chaos incarnate, gleeful and shrill, with the attention span of a fired crossbow bolt. He's all teeth and pitch, flickering between welcoming cheer and frenzied panic in seconds. He loves tricking people into laughter, especially those who should know better. Beneath it all, there’s a sliver of fear—he doesn’t remember how long he’s been here, or if he ever had a name before.

Thimblegut was once a halfling carnival barker from Luskan, infamous for rigged shell games and soul-betting riddles. He found his way to the Abyss after winning a cursed whistle from a fiendish trickster who challenged him to “sell laughter to the unsmiling dead.” The whistle dragged him through realms of torment and ecstasy, ultimately depositing him in The Gleeforge. Instead of despairing, Thimblegut found his calling—he became the Game-Screamer, the carnival’s loudest and most frenzied announcer, calling players to impossible challenges with unholy zeal. His games are nightmares folded into riddles: ring tosses with living rings, races where the finish line moves, memory mazes with no start. He thrives on the moment players realize they're already playing—and have already lost something.