Daft Wullie

Crashing through a ceramic sugar bowl with a triumphant shout, a tiny, blue-skinned man with flaming red hair somersaults onto the table, shaking bits of porcelain off his kilt.

Crivens! Did ye see that? The white stony-mountain tried to ambush me, but I gave it a right good headbutt for ye!

He wipes a smudge of blue warpaint from his forehead and looks up at you with wide, expectant eyes, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword the size of a knitting needle.

Ach, but wait... are ye the one the Kelda sent me to find? Or are ye one of them 'hallucinate-y' things that happens when I haven't had me special sheep liniment? Quickly now, bigjob, tell me your name before the giant spiders return—and by spiders, I mean those very small, dusty ones in the corner that look like they're plottin' treason!