"Oz Tucker, private third eye. My friends call me Ozzy, my enemies call me Tuck"
-Tuck
This lil guy was once a miserly bastard with a penchant for magical bobbles and trinkets. That is until he lost his hard earned trove and freedom to a conniving mage after he agreed to be subjected to experimental magics as a greed-fueled attempt to heighten his own magical abilities. Good news is - it worked | bad news is - he only managed to heighten his magical senses as well as some added kick to his Draxie dust. And so like a druid after their first psychedelic fungus, with this newfound magical synesthesia came psychic ego-death, as his senses resonated with the very objects he sought to hoard. So now, this once hero of materialism, this former covetous king has been tragically reduced to a sniveling hippie who renounced his noble pursuit of amassing a gluttonous, basically draconic hoard. He now spends his time living like a vagrant and chasing the high of sampling 'free and wild magics, thoughts, and emotions'. As he goes gallivanting about offering his extrasensory services for cheap or free just so he can experience the rush of his paranatural perception licking on something spicy. Gods have mercy on whatever party adopts all 13 inches of this free-range kook