Journal Entry 17: Fizzlefinger

As I drift off to sleep in my bedroll each night, my thoughts turn to my Uncle Fizzlefinger. After the party on my last night in Kezan, the ensuing attack and a hasty retreat from the island, I never saw where my uncle ended up. There was chaos, fighting and screaming everywhere. After our boat was sunk and we were marooned in the Lost Isles, I never saw him amongst the refugees, either. 

I've thought about Uncle Fizz every day since. I know he made it out of there. He may have been getting a bit older, but he's a fighter, that one. His whole life, he led everyone to believe he wasn't skilled with magic. But I've seen what he can do. He never truly chose the arcanist's ways as a path in his life, but he was nonetheless intrigued by the art. He knew those spells. He could wave his hands and let loose with some powerful stuff. I know he could have fought his way out of that chaos that night. 

When the Kirin Tor would send recruiters around, he would simply let his spells fizzle in his hands. He was never selected (Hence his nickname, by the way). I never understood why he did that, until now. He did it for me. When the recruiters started visiting Kezan in search of new talent, I was but a wee goblin. If Uncle Fizz had been selected, I would have been placed with a foster family. He continued his life as a tinkerer instead of following his heart. All for me. 

Well, Uncle Fizz, I hope you made it out of there. Wherever you are, I miss you. And thank you. Tink Out.

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