Isn't laughter supposed to be the best medicine? Who needs a healer when you can have comic relief and a wand of cure light wounds (well, at least as soon as we can afford one).
Give a big welcome to Filandoran Fibbleflare, the gnomish oracle of "If you can't think of any other way to stop it, set it on fire!"
Clearly I must apply with the Personality/Appearance trope ;-)
Filandoran is a smallish gnome with bright red skin and wild, flame-orange hair that sticks straight up on end making it look like his head is perpetually ablaze. Filandoran's eyes appear bright white from a distance, but when one gets close, tiny orange flames dance within the white of his eyes. He wears a pair of gold rings in each ear. A sash filled with tiny bottles is slung across the leather apron covered with tiny silver scowling efreet faces that covers his chest. He seems to be constantly in motion with barely contained energy - hand grasp, feet shuffle, head bobs.
Filandoran is a enthusiastic, nearly uncontainable gnome, who simply loves fire. Maybe even more than a goblin. He has yet to learn the sad truth that there are many creatures in the world that shrug off fire like most of us shrug off rain, so for now, it's the answer to everything. This is his first trip outside of Brastlewark, so he is fascinated by everything, though a little sad over Lorrimor's death and a little apprehensive over what people will be like in Ustalav.
Filandoran was born in Cheliax, in the gnomish enclave of Brastlewark. His gifts were obvious from birth, for while he shares the brightness of color and spirit of all gnomes, his kinship to flame was obvious from his hair, skin and especially eyes. Sure enough, while other young gnomes were speaking with dogs and cats, Filandoran was producing flame and bright flashes like fireworks from his hands.
Filandoran's talents were soon put to good use, as he was apprenticed to a gnomish alchmist in Brastlewark. But, Filandoran found that he quickly grew bored with the careful rote procedures that the alchemist masters required and he quickly drifted from one shop to another. All that changed one day when Professor Lorrimor came to visit his latest shop. Talking to the Professor about his travels and career of discovery, Filandoran knew that he had found a teacher far more suited to his needs than the various alchemy masters. Professor Lorrimor moved on, but Filandoran struck up a long-distance correspondence with him and found that the Professor had just the right answer each time he posed a question. Filandoran was just working up the nerve to ask Lorrimor if he could join him on future journeys when he got the terrible letter about the Professor's death.
Filandoran is a little nervous about journeying to Ustalav, knowing its dour reputation and the rumors that people fear anyone other than a fairly bland human, but he's convinced his good nature will win them over. Besides, he wouldn't dream of failing to see the Professor off properly.