Fizzwizzle stands just shy of three feet, his movements a fluid dance even when standing still. His curly copper hair flares wildly in every direction, as if energized by static electricity or the lingering echo of countless wild nights. His eyes, a shimmering emerald green, glint with mischief and warmth but occasionally flicker with a shadow of melancholy when alone. His beard is braided tightly on one side with tiny bits of party confetti and broken twigs stuck in the knots, the other side clean-shaven, creating an odd but memorable asymmetry. His gait bounces lightly, almost skipping, like he’s moving to a rhythm only he hears. Surprisingly, his armor is polished to a mirror shine but adorned with hand-painted bright swirls and confetti patterns that contrast wildly against the traditional sobriety of most paladins. On his left shoulder rests a brooch shaped like a teetering tankard, full of what seems to be perpetually fizzing ale.