Mystical amnesiac and roguish victim of own avarice.


Appearance: Gnome. Older. Gaunt. Bold. Darker skin. Sunken features. Forked beard. Bucket-top boots in which he carries a rapier.
Temperament: Frazzled. Cursed?
Flaw: Easily provoked
Age: 207
Weight: 37 lbs
Height: 3’9”
Last Seen: Swiftly traveling northwesterly due north of Fonhenge.
Saving Throw Proficiencies: Dexterity, Intelligence
Skill Proficiencies: acrobatics; Deception; Sleight of Hand; Stealth
Feats: Mobile: spd +10; dash over difficult terrain does not cost extra movement.
Expertise: Melee attacks do not provoke opportunity attacks.
Languages: Common. Can also communicate with small animals and use thieves’ cant.
Tool Proficiencies: Light Armor; Simple Weapons; Hand Crossbows; Longswords; Rapiers; Shortswords; Thieves’ tools
Trinket: A vest with one hundred tiny pockets made of felt
Known alias: Delphast Gildeywomb


Meandering through wispy vines, and floating to the surface,
Yarles Yankins blazed his lines, with quick, determined purpose.
Constant travel, always moving, always look behind you,
There must be reason, must be something, which this all amounts to.

Weathered focus, honed and sharp, with rapier in boot,
When Yarles Yankins needs to, that gnome can really scoot.
Super nimble, always agile, wit of razor’s edge,
He climbs up all the vertical, then dives into a hedge.

His thoughts are humble and his intention decent,
Raised with stomach grumble, ‘bout one tragic event.
Couldn’t get past it, won’t slip his mind,
When he was young a magic thug stole his lucky shrine.

“Hey there give that back!” the words fallen on deaf ears,
Antagonist with magic fists left Yarles with arrears.
His totem was totemic, nifty knickknack gnarliest,
That mean spellcaster stole, to Yarles, what was always his.

“How dare that doofus trick me, that’s really not fair!”
Should have seen the clues but, was fooled by scoundrel’s flair.
Couldn’t react fast enough, the thief was simply bigger,
Plus the guy swung lightning-punch with twitchy trigger-finger.

Yarles was quite devastated, borderline debilitated,
Raging civil war in brain, acceptance: non-assimilated.
His favorite item gone. A set-in-stone known fact.
“That was my spirit stone, artifact with most impact.”

Dazzled glimmer glistened, edges beaming bright,
Luscious lodestone laden, with gems as dark as night.
It could light the path, it could even provide reason,
When it glows to Yarles, it shapes what he does believe in.

“Anything to get it back, and whatever it may take,
I’ll keep on searching from summits to the deepest mountain lake.”
Poor fellow, that solid rock turned crumbled instantly,
His upbringing had taught him love, not harsh deceivery.

“Two can play at this game, he won one and that’s a fact,
But that rapscallion is tactical in defense and attack.
Perhaps I’ll need to need to spar him, with wit and zero delay,
When I catch up with that man, I’ll reverse his mean shady way.”

It took him quite a while, eventually the sacrifice,
Of ignoring his clansmen’s time while searching woods for magic guys,
Paid off bounty (very nice) when in front of his weary eyes,
He spotted passed out jokester dude, both hands caught in a magic-vise.

Approached the scene quite cautiously,
Then bounded lightly tree to tree,
“Visual assessment of all factors now surrounding me.”

Was reward worth the risk? Could this be tempting trap?
Sometimes sweetest nectar can turn quickly into sap.
Evaluating all decisions, all outcomes for all the what-ifs,
“Snively little gnome will I be if I don’t pursue this.”

Creeping tip-top tip-toeing,
Heirloom tools and big key ring.
Preparedness had gained him much,
He spotted lodestone in thief’s clutch.

Double-checking everything, with hefty safety margin,
He sauntered up to magic nap with confident hardcharging.
One last glance around the scene before taking his property,
He fixated upon the stone, then darted metacarpal bone.

Glowing dim but determined, the lodestone pulsed with life,
At that time Yarles received a blackened bolt of light.
His spinal cord, as records show, grew ever by the slightest,
Accompanied by a new mean of solving fight or flight test.

This fateful event just-occurred, and Yarles is sent soaring,
Hyperbolic paraboloid, inverted fountain pouring.
The stone, too, flew, with conic jets, of pure phantasmal hue,
It somehow knew just what Yarles had needed it to do.

Directions of the stone and gnome when launched were quite dictated,
By principles of force and mass and how they’re both related.
The gnomish, blurred trajectory, careened with shock northwesterly,
While lodestone sought south eastern sea, a streak of dark and dastardly.

Yarles awoke on lake dock, with shattered brain and two soaked socks,
Lakeshore scenic beauty or not, the head of Yarles hurt a lot.
He knew, he thought, he could have sworn, from clasping grip his trinket torn,
Through failed verdict and court adjourned, he must keep searching through self-scorn.

Yarles had a spirit stone which was stolen by a magic user. After years of searching, he found the stone on the person of the trapped magic user, but upon grabbing the stone (after darting his hand towards the stone and presumably touching it), some kind of reaction or curse occurred (dark bolt of blacked light coursed through Yarles) and both Yarles and the stone were flung high into the air and launched on equal but opposite trajectories.

Yarles was launched to the lake northwest of Fonhenge, and the stone was seemingly heading in the direction of Fonhenge or perhaps past it entirely – unknown. Yarles comes to on a dock at the lake with a splitting headache and fuzzy memory about much of his past.


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