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Here are the stories that were sent to me for the bio content. Please pm me with your votes!
The last hope of Dunmanifestin
The muted swish of robes travelled along the winding passage far below the surface of the world. All around sped shades of blue dotted with the occasional spot of watery red where something had perhaps nested, or slithered along the rough hewn rock, leaving behind a patchwork smattering of body heat. In other times these would have called for hesitancy, now however, the signs went unheeded for the need of expediency was great. How long had the silent one travelled? How far from home had his feet carried him? He was not possessed of the same curiosity that had, throughout the long and secretive history of his people, occasionally led one of his kin to leave the caves of their birth seeking out answers to questions such as “What really is out there?”. All Giovanni knew was that the only thing he needed was his home and the peace to fulfil his contemplations. A sudden tremor, barely even noticeable, brought the gnome back to his senses, he had to press on, there was nothing else he could do for there would be no home, and no peace if he failed. That the cavern of Dunmanifestin was barely even a cavern at all mattered not, the small series of adjoining caves housed no more than one hundred and eighty Svirfneblin. The kin who made this their home were a simple folk, they held no great plans and conducted their business discreetly and with reserved stoicism, but now the wicked ones had come.
How they had found the small cave village was worrying, perhaps Urdlen had lured the wicked ones to his home so as to sow havoc upon the peaceful settlement, another tremor now, this one closer than the last had been. The gnome reached deep, finding the reserves to press himself harder. A mad dash fuelled by desperation, uncertainty, and fear. There were other villages out here, even cities, festooned with light, a multitude of candles which reflected the luster of gems innumerable. They had heard the stories of Freman Derpadoo, the only Derpadoo to ever leave the village and actually find his way back had spoken of nothing else. He had returned to much surprise bearing the arms and armour of a brotherhood he called “The Wardens of the Webspinners”. Unsurprisingly he was met with furtive glances and hushed whispers of his outlandish dress and manner. He had returned to defend the village but had found himself unwelcome, ostracised to the point of outright repulsion by kin he swore to protect, and so he had retreated into the darkness to watch over an unreceptive community knowing that he had sacrificed his ties to do what had been the 'right thing' to do.
The parallel was obvious to Giovanni, even now he could imagine his return to Dunmanifestin. The rallied forces of unknown gnomes with him, together they would press back the wicked ones, the village would be saved but would he too be sent away to the dark? The gnome consoled himself that this might not be too bad of a thing, he would certainly gain a limitless supply of the peace he so desired, though he supposed he would miss his home. These thoughts of social isolation for doing the 'right thing' helped keep the gnawing fear at bay, the realisation that, even now, it might already be too late. The wicked ones were known for their brutality, even in a place as remote as Dunmanifestin stories were shared of how they treated even their own kind with debased treachery and malignancy.
Had Giovanni been focused, and had his thoughts not been turned inward, consuming themselves in a spiral of fearful repetition, he may have noticed his light headedness. Instead this minor warning was devoured as a symptom of his own nagging doubt. He might have noticed the steadily rising tones of warmth that had been building, for some time now, within the tunnel walls around him, or indeed his highly acute sense of hearing could have picked up on the 'tap, tap' coming from the rock just ahead. If that had happened the Gnome might have vanished into a side tunnel and this story would, quite possibly, find a very different ending.
“One last blow aught tae do it ah reckon.”
Golarg Shalefist nodded his head in satisfaction, the two other dwarves behind him nodded sagely in agreement. It had been a gamble, no other shaft had been driven quite this deep but the signs in the strata above had been too promising to simply ignore for fear of cave-ins or lurking beasts.
“Here we go then.”
The weighty pick swung back over his head and with the force and precision, crafted from over a hundred years as foreman, struck the centre of the wall; taking everyone present by surprise as it passed through a much thinner than anticipated rock face and exploded inwards with debris and Golarg's flailing limbs. The disruption of air and the shock wave created by the unexpected event caused a tiny canary, carried in a small brass cage by one of the, now astonished miners, to flap manically and cry out in a high pitched tweet of alarm.
The next moments slipped by in what felt like an eternity of slow motion, one moment Giovanni was absorbed in a battle with his inner fears, the next a shower of rock shards were cascading around him, a cloud of dust mixed with the still air of the tunnel he was travelling, clogging his mouth and nostrils bringing forth a torrent of coughing and no small amount of confusion. Suddenly the solid form of a dwarven mining helmet appeared from the depths of the cloud attached to the stocky frame of a bewildered, and panic stricken Golarg smashing the unsuspecting gnome in the face. Both dwarf and gnome toppled backwards and landed with a meaty 'thud' several feet further down the tunnel. The last thing the gnome saw before becoming flattened by the heavy dwarf was a brief glimpse of something small and yellow speeding past the fallen pair, screeching and disappearing back down the tunnel in a dwindling flurry of hot red activity, it's manically pumping heart forcing red hot blood through it's tiny body. Then everything became still and silent as the force of the blow sent the little gnome spiralling into unconsciousness.
“Well how was I tae bloody know?”
Words swam together with piercing light in a montage of blurred remembrance, fragments barely recalled and completely alien to the deep dweller, a feeling of movement, a texture of something rough. Giovanni let it all happen and welcomed the embrace of deep slumber as he slipped back into the depths of dreamless sleep.
The dwarves carried the limp body back with them as they closed off the breach in the tunnel wall and posted stout guardians to make certain that nothing else followed. Far above and completely unknowing the gnome passed from a world of absolute darkness into a world beset on all sides by light, both natural and mortal made.
“Ah could nae just leave it down thar!”
The words meant nothing to Giovanni, the heated debate that raged across his little body as it lay upon a cot in the sanctuary of Bristlebeards hollow, sounded harsh and unfamiliar.
“Argh! Yer suppose tae use yer head fer more than nuttin' little black men Golarg! Tek it away, an put it tae tha cold, we've trouble enough tae go around we'out another mouth tae feed!”
That night an old dwarf carried an unusual gnome down the ice blasted trails of an unforgiving mountain, a dwarf that could not find it in his heart to cast an unfortunate victim to the wilds and would, instead, help nurse the terrified creature back to health. It would be many long and difficult months before the dwarf had even managed to dent the barrier between the pair, a barrier of both deep, generations born, racial suspicion and of language. By the time the gnome would finally be healthy and sure enough to part ways, Giovanni would be armed with the basics of a common language, the blossoming understanding that everything he had known was but a mere pebble of the truth to the world, and a dimly flickering hope that here, in this place, he may have stumbled upon a people that might save Dunmanifestin. All he needed to do was make the daunting journey to something called a 'floating city' where great and mighty warriors, standing against injustice, would rally to his call and free his people from the wicked ones. All would be restored to how it should be. Bracing himself to the task ahead he cast one final thought back to Freman Derpadoo, considering how fantastical his tales of other Gnomish towns and cities had been, could anyone ever believe the things he had already seen up here in this place called “Sundren”?
The muted swish of robes travelled along the winding passage far below the surface of the world. All around sped shades of blue dotted with the occasional spot of watery red where something had perhaps nested, or slithered along the rough hewn rock, leaving behind a patchwork smattering of body heat. In other times these would have called for hesitancy, now however, the signs went unheeded for the need of expediency was great. How long had the silent one travelled? How far from home had his feet carried him? He was not possessed of the same curiosity that had, throughout the long and secretive history of his people, occasionally led one of his kin to leave the caves of their birth seeking out answers to questions such as “What really is out there?”. All Giovanni knew was that the only thing he needed was his home and the peace to fulfil his contemplations. A sudden tremor, barely even noticeable, brought the gnome back to his senses, he had to press on, there was nothing else he could do for there would be no home, and no peace if he failed. That the cavern of Dunmanifestin was barely even a cavern at all mattered not, the small series of adjoining caves housed no more than one hundred and eighty Svirfneblin. The kin who made this their home were a simple folk, they held no great plans and conducted their business discreetly and with reserved stoicism, but now the wicked ones had come.
How they had found the small cave village was worrying, perhaps Urdlen had lured the wicked ones to his home so as to sow havoc upon the peaceful settlement, another tremor now, this one closer than the last had been. The gnome reached deep, finding the reserves to press himself harder. A mad dash fuelled by desperation, uncertainty, and fear. There were other villages out here, even cities, festooned with light, a multitude of candles which reflected the luster of gems innumerable. They had heard the stories of Freman Derpadoo, the only Derpadoo to ever leave the village and actually find his way back had spoken of nothing else. He had returned to much surprise bearing the arms and armour of a brotherhood he called “The Wardens of the Webspinners”. Unsurprisingly he was met with furtive glances and hushed whispers of his outlandish dress and manner. He had returned to defend the village but had found himself unwelcome, ostracised to the point of outright repulsion by kin he swore to protect, and so he had retreated into the darkness to watch over an unreceptive community knowing that he had sacrificed his ties to do what had been the 'right thing' to do.
The parallel was obvious to Giovanni, even now he could imagine his return to Dunmanifestin. The rallied forces of unknown gnomes with him, together they would press back the wicked ones, the village would be saved but would he too be sent away to the dark? The gnome consoled himself that this might not be too bad of a thing, he would certainly gain a limitless supply of the peace he so desired, though he supposed he would miss his home. These thoughts of social isolation for doing the 'right thing' helped keep the gnawing fear at bay, the realisation that, even now, it might already be too late. The wicked ones were known for their brutality, even in a place as remote as Dunmanifestin stories were shared of how they treated even their own kind with debased treachery and malignancy.
Had Giovanni been focused, and had his thoughts not been turned inward, consuming themselves in a spiral of fearful repetition, he may have noticed his light headedness. Instead this minor warning was devoured as a symptom of his own nagging doubt. He might have noticed the steadily rising tones of warmth that had been building, for some time now, within the tunnel walls around him, or indeed his highly acute sense of hearing could have picked up on the 'tap, tap' coming from the rock just ahead. If that had happened the Gnome might have vanished into a side tunnel and this story would, quite possibly, find a very different ending.
“One last blow aught tae do it ah reckon.”
Golarg Shalefist nodded his head in satisfaction, the two other dwarves behind him nodded sagely in agreement. It had been a gamble, no other shaft had been driven quite this deep but the signs in the strata above had been too promising to simply ignore for fear of cave-ins or lurking beasts.
“Here we go then.”
The weighty pick swung back over his head and with the force and precision, crafted from over a hundred years as foreman, struck the centre of the wall; taking everyone present by surprise as it passed through a much thinner than anticipated rock face and exploded inwards with debris and Golarg's flailing limbs. The disruption of air and the shock wave created by the unexpected event caused a tiny canary, carried in a small brass cage by one of the, now astonished miners, to flap manically and cry out in a high pitched tweet of alarm.
The next moments slipped by in what felt like an eternity of slow motion, one moment Giovanni was absorbed in a battle with his inner fears, the next a shower of rock shards were cascading around him, a cloud of dust mixed with the still air of the tunnel he was travelling, clogging his mouth and nostrils bringing forth a torrent of coughing and no small amount of confusion. Suddenly the solid form of a dwarven mining helmet appeared from the depths of the cloud attached to the stocky frame of a bewildered, and panic stricken Golarg smashing the unsuspecting gnome in the face. Both dwarf and gnome toppled backwards and landed with a meaty 'thud' several feet further down the tunnel. The last thing the gnome saw before becoming flattened by the heavy dwarf was a brief glimpse of something small and yellow speeding past the fallen pair, screeching and disappearing back down the tunnel in a dwindling flurry of hot red activity, it's manically pumping heart forcing red hot blood through it's tiny body. Then everything became still and silent as the force of the blow sent the little gnome spiralling into unconsciousness.
“Well how was I tae bloody know?”
Words swam together with piercing light in a montage of blurred remembrance, fragments barely recalled and completely alien to the deep dweller, a feeling of movement, a texture of something rough. Giovanni let it all happen and welcomed the embrace of deep slumber as he slipped back into the depths of dreamless sleep.
The dwarves carried the limp body back with them as they closed off the breach in the tunnel wall and posted stout guardians to make certain that nothing else followed. Far above and completely unknowing the gnome passed from a world of absolute darkness into a world beset on all sides by light, both natural and mortal made.
“Ah could nae just leave it down thar!”
The words meant nothing to Giovanni, the heated debate that raged across his little body as it lay upon a cot in the sanctuary of Bristlebeards hollow, sounded harsh and unfamiliar.
“Argh! Yer suppose tae use yer head fer more than nuttin' little black men Golarg! Tek it away, an put it tae tha cold, we've trouble enough tae go around we'out another mouth tae feed!”
That night an old dwarf carried an unusual gnome down the ice blasted trails of an unforgiving mountain, a dwarf that could not find it in his heart to cast an unfortunate victim to the wilds and would, instead, help nurse the terrified creature back to health. It would be many long and difficult months before the dwarf had even managed to dent the barrier between the pair, a barrier of both deep, generations born, racial suspicion and of language. By the time the gnome would finally be healthy and sure enough to part ways, Giovanni would be armed with the basics of a common language, the blossoming understanding that everything he had known was but a mere pebble of the truth to the world, and a dimly flickering hope that here, in this place, he may have stumbled upon a people that might save Dunmanifestin. All he needed to do was make the daunting journey to something called a 'floating city' where great and mighty warriors, standing against injustice, would rally to his call and free his people from the wicked ones. All would be restored to how it should be. Bracing himself to the task ahead he cast one final thought back to Freman Derpadoo, considering how fantastical his tales of other Gnomish towns and cities had been, could anyone ever believe the things he had already seen up here in this place called “Sundren”?
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