There comes a point in life where one makes peace with their impending demise; sometimes it’s when you’re staring down an enemy, knowing you can’t win… but for those who are lucky, it’s when you’ve grown too old and have nothing left to give the world around you. As for me, it is here in this world where magic has been all but lost and the humans have become the dominant race. Gone are the elves, the dwarves, the Halflings, the half races, and so too are gone the gnomes. I sit here, having lived a life longer than any gnome should have the right to live, and it is all thanks to my walking the planes of existence.
My name is Seamus Dustfoot, a gnome born from two races, and the last of my kind. I have lived 2984 years, walked across hundreds of dimensions, and seen the rise of adventurers countless times. I am dying. But before I let go, I want to leave behind a memoir… just a little something to prove I was here, and there, and everywhere. There may be no magic left in these short, stubby, old bones, but there is still some magic bound within these pages.
To tell my story from the beginning, I must first tell you the story of my parents; Krifi and Zillan Dustfoot.
~
Krifi wandered the tunnels around her mining party, the air and the stone giving her a sense of anticipation. Living below ground, in the Pitchdeep, she learned to trust the quivering of the rocks and the currents of the air to warn her of trouble. Her miners kept quiet as she scouted around, fearful of the other races who lived this far down. It wasn’t an unfounded fear, the other races were prone to intense violence and slavery, and the undergnomes were always on the receiving end of the cruelty associated with an encounter. That’s why wardens like Krifi were hailed as heroes by their inferiors.
Krifi ducked around corners as if she were actually a shadow, silent and almost imperceptible in this lightless world. She held her pair of silver daggers with the back of the blades resting on the underside of her forearms. She didn’t see anything yet, but she could hear off in the distance the sound of fleeing feet slapping on stone. The sound was almost frantic, which made her feel uneasy.
She eventually located the tunnel that had the strongest reverberations from the slapping feet, and prepared to ambush any creature that came through the opening. It wasn’t long before she could just make out a figure coming down the tunnel with great speed, but it took a second longer to identify the creature based on size. It was a gnome, but it didn’t share the same dull grey complexion Krifi had. No, in fact, this gnome was almost pink! The strange gnome barreling down the hall was also stark naked, a sight Krifi hadn’t seen in her thirty-odd years as a warden, and it gave her pause.
Instead of killing the poor male running down the hall, she merely tripped the sorry guy and planted her knee in his back when he stopped tumbling. He attempted to free himself, struggling for a second or two, before resigning himself to the fate he had been dealt.
“If you’re going to take me back, I’d rather you just kill me. I won’t go back again, I just won’t.” He squeaked, his voice breaking every few words. He was moving his fingers in mock fear, but Krifi knew the signs of a mage preparing a spell and applied force to the gnome’s back and touched the tip of a blade to one of his free hands.
“I warn you, if you try to finish that spell I will cut off your fingers. That is if I’m feeling merciful, surface dweller.” Krifi hissed. The other gnome’s hands went limp; a clear understanding of his situation seemed to come over him.
“Ok, ok, we’re all friends here. I’m not going to do anything stupid. Now, if we could just put the weapons down and talk this out…” the gnome said, acting as unassuming as he could
Krifi sheathed her blades but kept her weight on the knee in the small of her captive’s back. “Say your piece, but heed me surface dweller, I shan’t hesitate to kill you if you try anything.”
“Look, I was out trying to practice my spellcraft and then some nasty elves grabbed me. That was almost ten years ago, and then a week ago I escaped and have been running ever since.” The gnome said, the trembling in his voice all but gone.
Krifi sighed, it was not an unheard of story. “And what do I call you, surface dweller?”
“My name is Zillan. Zillan Dustfoot, apprentice to the wizard Herfan.” Said the gnome.
“Then, Zillan, I shall give you a choice. You may allow me to bind you and come back with my crew and I to our city where the ruling council will decide your fate, or you may march your ass the other direction down the tunnel you came and never come back.” Krifi made certain to annunciate each word.
“Can I ask one more question before I give an answer?” Zillan asked.
“Fine, I’ll give you one question.” Krifi responded.
Zillan wiggled a little before asking, “Where did you learn gnomish? It sounds like you’re slurring every other word.”
Krifi, understandably, pushed more forcefully with her knee into Zillan’s back and hissed back, “At least I’m not talking with that stupid accent of yours.”
“Ah ha, ow, yeah. That’s fair. Ok, go ahead and get out the cuffs or whatever. I’ll go peacefully.” Zillan said, his voice reflecting the wince his body made when Krifi pushed.
Without further ado, Krifi reached into her cape and pulled out a pair of manacles that would keep the gnome from escaping. She also pulled a tunic from her bag to cover the poor male’s dignity. She aided him in getting the tunic on and then locked the manacles in place on the unfortunate captive’s arms.
Reaching the mining area she had been working in with her crew, she made the all-clear call. Her workers melted from the shadows and stones into the clearing, it was almost surreal for Zillan to watch the once empty space fill with the grey skinned gnomes silently.
“Workers, we’re going home early. A surface has escaped the vile tribes. Move out.” Krifi called out in lowerspeak.
Her workers formed up in two lines with their carts of gems and rocks, she placed Zillan in one of the carts and took up the point position. She lead the congregation of workers back to the walled city of Mineralheldt. Before they entered the city however, Krifi had to send up a flare indicating that all was well with the party. The magic used in the flare was basic enough that all undergnomes could learn it as soon as they began their first rock harvest, which was almost before they could walk in some parts of the Pitchdeep. Powered by emotion and brought to life by the intrinsic magic held within the tapestry of fates, a simple light in the gloom would tell the guards what was coming long before they would see even the first outlines of another gnome.
After the contingent of workers slipped behind the gates of stone, Krifi took Zillan by the arm and lead him into the Hall of Rulers. It was a modestly decorated building, the only really imposing thing about it was that the outer walls each had the face of one of the founding gnomes etched into it. Krifi always felt uneasy walking into the building, but it was her duty as warden to enter these halls to give a report if anything out of the ordinary occurred.
She reached the end of one of the hallways inside the Hall and was greeted by what any sensible person would have called a solid wall of rock. A touch of her hand and a mutter of words Zillan couldn’t fathom, and the wall began to peel itself apart. Behind the now open wall was a large antechamber with burning sconces every few feet, and a small door stood at the end.
Zillan and Krifi strode into the center of the room and stopped, an almost imperceptible buzzing was… felt more than heard, if Zillan told the truth. It stopped suddenly and the small door opened. Stepping out from within were eight wizened gnomes, each wearing a tabard with a symbol and a headpiece that seemed to denote their place in the social hierarchy.
Once they took their paces around Krifi and Zillan, the eldest gnome spoke. “Honorable warder of the Burrow, what have you brought us this day?”
Krifi bowed before answering, “Esteemed council, I have a captive of the vile ones. He claims ten years a slave and a week free of captivity. He is a mage of little standing, but enough to have arrived near our borders.”
There was a moment where the elders looked between one another. Then one behind Krifi and Zillan spoke.
“Gnome, you stand in the lands of the Pitchdeep. In the grace of our city, we have staved off attacks and rescued those who would stand with us. I ask you, what is your name and your kin?”
Zillan took a moment to process the question. “I am Zillan Dustfoot, of the tree gnomes. As you are of the stone and flesh of the world, so are we of the trees and the forests. I served as apprentice to a wizard of low repute, and was so able to use those skills to escape the elves who would consider me their property.”
The elders nodded in unison, Zillan having apparently answered correctly. There was some murmuring in the back before another gnome spoke.
“Honorable Warden of the Burrow, you have shown kindness in bringing back this surface dweller, as well as clothing him. We would ask you show one more kindness as we debate his fate in our city. Will you shelter him during his stay?”
Krifi took a moment, never in the fifty years that she’d been alive had she been asked to harbour any of the refugees, but in the end she acquiesced. Nodding her affirmation, Krifi unlocked the manacles on Zillan’s arms. She then knelt before the elders, Zillan following moments later when Krifi slammed her fist into the side of his leg.
“We will speak again in one week’s time. We ask your workers rest as we converse. You will be given whatever necessities you need, so be as hospitable as you feel you must.” The eldest gnome spoke. Then they dispersed, leaving Krifi and Zillan in an uncomfortable silence.
Character Details:
Krifi Sharpsight
Traits: Highly dexterous, very intelligent. What she lacks in strength of arm, she makes up for with sheer resilient will.
Class: Thief/Rogue
Skin: Grey
Eyes: silver
Hair: pale white
Equipment:
Common Clothing x2
Daggers x4
Robe x1
Gems, total value 200 gold pieces
Zillan Dustfoot
Traits: Extremely intelligent, but not terribly wise. Neither dexterity nor strength seems out of place, but years of torture have left him with a bit more resistance to pain than some others. One curved scar around his left eye.
Class: Wizard
Skin: Pinkish white
Eyes: Deep Forest Green
Hair: Tree Bark Brown
Equipment:
Borrowed tunic x1
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