Gully is a whirlwind of soot and sea salt. His skin is a patchwork of grease and grime from the Dock Ward rafters, but his hands are surprisingly clean and move with surgical precision. He moves with a jittery, bird like precision, often squatting on high ledges rather than sitting on chairs. His hair is a matted nest of chestnut curls that hides various small trinkets, pieces of twine, and sometimes a stolen silver spoon. He smells faintly of smoked kippers and old wet rope. Most striking are his eyes, which are a piercing, crystalline blue that seems far too sharp for a child, capturing everything they see with a cold, analytical weight.

Gully is aggressively helpful to those who have coin but turns invisible and mute when the City Watch is nearby. He maintains a facade of street hardened apathy while secretly feeding a colony of stray cats with the scraps he steals. He is quick to offer an insult to mask a compliment, fearing that any outward show of kindness makes him a target for the predators of the Dock Ward. He treats every secret like a precious gem, often obsessing over the details until he can turn them into profit.

Gully does not remember his parents, only the cold water of the harbor and the rough hands of a sailor who pulled him out during a storm. For years, he survived by realizing that no one in Waterdeep ever looks up. He claimed the rafters of the warehouses and the Barnacle's Grip tavern as his private kingdom. His life changed when he witnessed a secret exchange between a corrupt noble and a smuggler; the coin he earned for that secret fed him for a month. Since then, he has refined his craft, watching the ebb and flow of the Dock Ward from the shadows. Recently, his curiosity has become focused on a mysterious figure named Thalassa, whom he tracks with a strange, longing intensity he cannot explain.