The Tragedy of Tirath
3'1" gnome. Nose like a small, squashed bell pepper; sharp, moss green eyes; lime green hair which sticks out in shocks from underneath his fez-like hat; skin the color of harvested grain.
Felston became a brewmaster as a joke. As the latest generation in a long line of sorcerers, he hopes to one day brew potions. When he expressed this ambition to a friend while sharing a flagon, the friend replied, “Brewing potions? Shit! How ‘bout you start by brewing ale? Can’t be any worse than THIS piss!” For the insult, the barkeep had the pair thrown out on their ass.
Felston then went to work brewing his first ever batch of beer. Once finished, he and his friend took turns pissing in the specially marked barrel and snuck it in with the tavern’s next ale delivery. When the barrel was served up, the two found it quite humorous when the customers remarked at how much better the ale was than their usual fare.
Felston brewed up another small, piss-free batch, tasted it, and was surprised. It wasn’t as high quality as a dwarven stout, but for those who preferred a lighter ale, it was definitely passable. Seeing ale brewing as preparation for potion brewing, Felston refined his craft and came up with a clever business plan.
He bought a large wagon and fixed it with a huge copper kettle sticking out the bottom in order to heat it from underneath. The kettle nestles in a large porcelain ring which keeps the heated metal from burning the wooden wagon. Thus, Felston’s Floating Fermentery was born.
Pulled by his four mules- Eeney, Meany, Miney, and Moe (no, it doesn’t literally float…yet), Felston’s Floating Fermentery travels across the land, brewing drink in one town and then using the travel time to the next town to ferment it. Then upon arrival in the next town, he sells his stock and brews another batch from ingredients available in that town. In this way, he can accommodate the various tastes of various regional palates that otherwise may not have access to them. He knows the people of Paltor prefer a maltiness made of rye from Wigg. The people of Lohm prefer a dry cider made from the apples of Paltor. The people of Quora prefer a brew made from the citrusy hops of Lohm. And so on.
While he enjoys his work, the fermentery requires much care, which hasn’t allowed him to progress much as a sorcerer, which he needs to do in order to brew potions and craft other magical items. He is finding it increasingly difficult to justify the economically safe choice of remaining a brewmaster to the mercurial and adventuresome nature typical of gnomes.
Felston shares his race’s predilection for hats and will always pop into a milliner’s shop if time allows. Sometimes even if time doesn’t allow.
His favorite exclamation is “Hell’s bonnet!”
He will always refer to any color as a shade of brown. For example, if something is orange, he’ll call it “orange-ish brown.” If it’s blue, he’ll call it “bluish brown.” He does this not because he’s color blind, but because compared to the colors of the fey realm, the colors of this realm ARE brown. Not that he’s ever been to the fey realm, of course.
Felston is terrified of any fish or fish-like creature that isn’t fileted and fried. He absolutely will not go into any water where he can’t see the bottom. He’ll cross it on a boat or a raft or other dry means, but will be white-knuckling it the whole way. This fear comes from witnessing the drowning of his favorite uncle, Belfer, who foolishly tried to noodle a huge catfish.