A compact rock gnome with copper-brown skin, a square little beard braided with blue thread, and bright hazel eyes that rarely stay focused on one person for long. He wears a patched burgundy waistcoat over a cream shirt, fitted leather armor beneath a travel cloak, and mismatched boots polished to a theatrical shine. His rapier is narrow and practical, while his battered fiddle is decorated with tiny brass gears and painted birds.

Ruz is brisk, nosy, theatrical, and relentlessly optimistic. He treats strangers as potential audiences, friends as unpaid stage partners, and every problem as a puzzle that can be solved with timing, misdirection, or a well-placed joke. Beneath the swagger, he is observant and deeply loyal, especially toward anyone who feels overlooked.

Ruz grew up in a crowded rock gnome workshop where every family member built something, repaired something, or loudly argued about how something ought to be built. He had steady hands and a good ear, but almost no instinct for silence. When his cousins made clocks, he played the springs and chimes. When the workshop bell broke, he turned its clanging rhythm into a song. His first audience was a room full of irritated inventors, but by the end of the evening even the oldest gnome was tapping a wrench against the table. He joined a traveling troupe after discovering that a bad joke could earn more attention than a flawless invention. Ruz became their fiddle player, comic duelist, stagehand, and occasional escape artist, learning to turn mistakes into punchlines and nervous crowds into willing accomplices. His voice is thin, his timing is excellent, and his confidence is entirely disproportionate to his singing ability. He now travels beyond the troupe's usual circuit, chasing stories worth performing and hoping to find the person who once left a mysterious mechanical bird in his instrument case.