A small goblin with sharp green features, quick amber eyes, and a mop of dark hair that never stays combed. Bucket dresses like a practical little scholar in travel-worn robes with hidden pockets for chalk, notes, and questionable pilfered odds and ends. He usually carries a spellbook tied shut with twine, a dagger at each hip, and the restless energy of someone who is always halfway into a sentence or a plan.

Bucket is earnest, bright-eyed, and perpetually amazed that the world has not yet arranged itself into neat, readable chapters. He treats information like treasure, kindness like a debt worth repaying, and violence like a regrettable but sometimes necessary footnote. Around strangers he can be suspiciously polite, but around friends he becomes talkative, dramatic, and just a little smug about obscure magical facts.

Bucket never knew the press of a goblin raid camp or the politics of a warren. Instead, he was raised from infancy by a hedge wizard whose weather-stained cottage sat at the edge of the woods. The old man gave him an absurdly long name, Bartholomew Ulysses Charlamagne Kinsington Edwards the Third, then shortened it to something more practical after the boy immediately forgot half of it. In that quiet house, Bucket learned letters before blades, candle smoke before camp smoke, and discovered that books were far more interesting than stolen trinkets. His intelligence showed early, and so did his curiosity, which made him a delight to the old wizard and a menace to any shelf left unguarded.