”Aaaaaaahhhhhheeeeeem *cough* *COUGH*” An incredible amount of noise comes from the other side of the room, and all eyes turn. There appears to be a disembodied pair of comically oversized eyebrows and moustache embedded in a floating pile of books, cushions, alchemical vials and general clutter swathed in (and in some cases, hanging via ribbons and buttons) garishly bright fabric. Incredibly, a diminutive male gnome extricates himself from the hoard and nimbly lands on the ground. He is dressed (if it can even be called that) in a bright purple set of robes over a highly patterned emerald green vest studded in sequins, mustard yellow leather boots (complete with tiny silver spurs), and a brilliant crimson oversized turban that has been wrapped around a tall blue velvet top hat. Behind him, the collection of items tilts precariously and rocks to and fro, many of the items rolling off the sides. There appears to be some sort of ingenious system of strings however, and while the various hookahs, alembics, wine bottles, and vials clink against each other like a shaken off-tune wind chime, none hit the ground.
“I...am...THE...Fantastic Bombastic Ludicrously Phantasmagorical Whimsical Trimsical Flim-Flamsical Superbly Visionary Quixiotic Utopian AND Magnificent Montesquieu!!!” The gnome produces an amazing amount of noise, his shrill voice practically echoing off the walls of the study. He bows low and sweeps his hat-turban off his head, bald and polished to a mirror shine. Despite his prominent potbelly, he practically skips to Charlotte’s side planting a sloppy kiss on her hand and then leering up to just above his eye-height. Behind him, the jangling pile follows close behind, and starts to move of its own accord. Out of the fabric, a gnome-sized long-eared white donkey rat emerges (with much effort), who immediately begins to slowly and sarcastically clap. The gnome stops smooching Charlotte’s hand and turns to squint at the rat. “Oh yeah,” he mumbles, “and this is Dexter.”
He then turns his attention to the other two men, hiking up his robes to trot rapidly up to each in turn. “You may call me Magnificent Monty, if my full name is too chimerical for your limited cognitive faculties.” He emphasizes this while looking at the big Kellid man’s knees. Finding that his hat keeps falling off while trying to inspect the giant, he grabs on to the many straps of the floating pile and heaves himself up. Now eye level with Rivik’s chest, he attempts to examine the barbarian again. ”You will do nicely. I nominate you for the tenticular task of standing in front of me, for which you are woefully and wonderfully under-qualified in understanding, but surely have the necessary brawn. Just keep all of those comments about magic items to yourself, capiche? If there are any rat skulls that need finding, then I will...I...will......” Slowly the import of Rivik’s words dawn on the gnome and he gapes at the kellid in horror. He quickly looks down at Dexter and then rapidly back to Rivik, and then waves his hands back and forth frantically. With an arcane word, he jabs the rat with a finger, and with a shrill squeak, Dexter disappears. Monty hops off his floating platform again and begins to slowly back away to the far corner of the room...the obvious void that is Dexter squeaking loudly the whole time.
