There comes a time in every gnome's life (the respectable ones, anyway) when he must quit the wider world and settle down and tend to his own garden. There is no race more wistful of eye and loose of tongue when the conversation turns to the cultivation of cabbages or the maintenance of a vineyard. To the dwarves belong the things beneath the earth, to the elves and the men, the things above it, but the gnomes forever inherit what lies between: the soil and its produce.You have come to your own property a little earlier than others, perhaps even too early, for you are still in what they call your "gnomadic years", the time of wild roving and adventure. The plot of land, 3 acres in all, falls on the outskirts of a great town of men. It was formerly a part of the usual ponderous estate of some petty lord or another, which he had wagered and lost on a game of chance. Your uncle, a gnome of considerable wealth, and an occasional coordinator of such games (often serving as the bank when liquid tender had run dry) acquired the land in the course of his business, and, having no personal use for it nor being completely unsympathetic to your fatherless existence, sent you a dispatch to the effect that it was yours unconditionally and he would not hear another word about it.To leave a field fallow is about as conscionable as trampling upon another gnome's cap, and so, you made the journey (a regrettably uneventful one) to your new property, to see what might be made of it. Having been vacant for many years, it is in poor condition. Stones, detritus, weeds of all manner cover the grounds; dandelions, pigweed, thistle, foxtail. A lonely wooden shack overlooks the magnificent mess from a small hill, its thatch roof littered with unsightly gashes from which birds flit in and out. The plot is bordered west and north by a great foreboding wood, which crawls its way up to a distant misty peak. Some other farms lie to the east, and to the south wends the road to town.It is a far cry from the warm hearth of the gnomestead in which you grew your beard. Yet, it is not altogether an unpleasant prospect. The only thing a gnommish youth loves more than liberty, after all, is a wheel on which to put his shoulder. You will not lack for either here. >Take a closer look at the shack, you'd like to see if it's safe to sleep in, or can be made as much before nightfall.>Wander over to the adjoining farms, meet and greet the neighbors, see if they have any advice or tools to lend.>Begin clearing the land near the shack. The weather is fair enough that you can probably sleep out under the stars tonight.>Write-in
>>6106779>Take a closer look at the shack, you'd like to see if it's safe to sleep in, or can be made as much before nightfall.This sounds like a interesting idea for a quest. Count me in.Fix our shack before anything else sounds like the best first step. Who knows, It could have tools we could use stored there.
>>6106779>>Take a closer look at the shack, you'd like to see if it's safe to sleep in, or can be made as much before nightfall.You don't gnome me. But you can get to gnome me.
>>6106779Wow so it's specifically GARDEN gnomes? I love that! Great idea!>>Take a closer look at the shack, you'd like to see if it's safe to sleep in, or can be made as much before nightfall.
>>6106779>Take a closer look at the shack, you'd like to see if it's safe to sleep in, or can be made as much before nightfall.This seems fun
>>6106779>>Wander over to the adjoining farms, meet and greet the neighbors, see if they have any advice or tools to lend.I can dig it
>>6106779You had me at>gnomadic & gnomesteadLet's start off with>Begin clearing the land>
>>6106817The gnome puns are definitely a selling point for me too
>>6106779>Begin clearing the land near the shack. The weather is fair enough that you can probably sleep out under the stars tonight.Im intrigued by this quest and hope we get gnome silliness to deal with
>>6106779>Take a closer look at the shack, you'd like to see if it's safe to sleep in, or can be made as much before nightfall.
>>6106779>Take a closer look at the shack, you'd like to see if it's safe to sleep in, or can be made as much before nightfall.Interesting hook
>>6106779>Wander over to the adjoining farms, meet and greet the neighbors, see if they have any advice or tools to lend.
>>6106779>Wander over to the adjoining farmsWe must go meet our gnombres
>>6106944> G N O M B R E S
>>6106779You head toward the shack on the remains of a stone footpath, now little more than scattered pebbles. The shack was obviously built for the habitation of men. It possesses their ostentatious character, standing like a proud monument above the earth instead of being nestled within its cozy bosom, as gnommish dwellings are. The log walls are weathered but sturdy. Only the disfigured roof prevents it from providing shelter. You walk the perimeter a few times, measuring the extent of the damage. Far from unsalvageable, but beyond the work of a single day. You have a mallet in your pack and some iron spikes, which will serve well enough in the place of a legget and thatching pins, but the key ingredient---the thatch itself---you'll have to buy or barter from somewhere else.Well, you have your spade too. You could just as well begin digging into the base of the hill to make a proper gnomicile. The log walls could be dismantled and the lumber repurposed for supports and beams; the thatch for bedding and wadding. You venture inside the shack to see if there's anything else you can use. Despite the slices of light streaming through the roof, it is quite dark. There is an awful smell, not only of the fowl living in the rafters, but of the dung and waste of an animal. Indeed, you nearly step on something small and hairy curled up near the entrance. Roused by your unceremonious entry, it recoils with a shriek, scrambling out from under a grubby old quilt and revealing itself to be a human child, a little girl---though one so wild and feral you can hardly believe it to be a member of its race. It begins shouting at you in a language entirely unfamiliar to you (and you are rather well-versed in the cants of the world, having made rigorous study of the science of gnomenclature to earn your cap). You try to respond in all the tongues you know, first the local dialects, then some more distant, then gnommish, then even some high elvish (which at least gives her pause before she begins shouting again) but nothing seems to work. Her message is clear enough by her gestures besides: she points doggedly toward the door, a demand for your immediate departing from her pitiful lair. A few times she looks behind her protectively, and, once your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can make out a cloth bundle---a sack pleasantly protruding with victuals. Noticing the fall of your gaze on her stores, she redoubles her effort. Her fists are balled and she seems ready for violence, whatever the outcome, wholly undeterred by her lack of weapons and strength.>Give her some space and try to make peace with an offering of the last of your travel rations.>Grab her by the scruff of her neck and throw her bodiily out of the shack. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, after all, and force is the remaining tenth.>Menfolk have reeves and bailiffs to deal with such matters. You'll go fetch one and let them handle it.>Write-in
>gnomenclaturehehe>Give her some space and try to make peace with an offering of the last of your travel rations.I think it's best to be friendly with the girl, I got a feeling she's either a feral child or cursed (assuming this is a fantasy world with high magic). Either way, the girl is afraid since we're the invaders to her eyes. I hope the peace offering will work. Question QM. Do we know any marital arts or a method/equipments to defend ourselves?
>>6107081>>Give her some space and try to make peace with an offering of the last of your travel rations.
>>6107081>Give her some space and try to make peace with an offering of the last of your travel rations.A new Gnomefriend
>>6107081>Give her some space and try to make peace with an offering of the last of your travel rations.
>Give her some space and try to make peace with an offering of the last of your travel rations.gnombres. be kind and offer her a scrumptious trail mix
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=YpL-nBFGm-g&pp=ygUQaHlwZXJib3JlYW4gbGlmdA%3D%3D
>>6107081>>Give her some space and try to make peace with an offering of the last of your travel rations.Let's give her something to gnom on.
>>6107081>Give her some space and try to make peace with an offering of the last of your travel rations.How tall are we by the way? Are we around d&d gnome size, or like garden gnome statue size?
>>6107106>Do we know any marital arts or a method/equipments to defend ourselves?All gnomes (the respectable ones, anyway) recieve rudimentary instruction in the gnommish martial way (Gnobudo). Practitioners of Gnobudo learn to use the long staff, the crutch, the three pronged short blade, and, of course, the deadly gnomchaku (reserved only for those who pursue the art to its highest levels). You are wielding a sturdy walking staff which is an adequate substitute for the formal long staff should you need to defend yourself against a real threat. Against a defenseless child, of course, all of this would be overkill. >>6107369Gnomes are comparable in height and build to dwarves (albeit not so stocky), ranging from 3-4' tall, with an average of 3'8" (112cm). Of course, with their cap (and no respectable gnome would be caught dead without one, once they've earned it) they gain another foot in height.
>>6107081>>Give her some space and try to make peace with an offering of the last of your travel rations.probably too late, but I would say we should cook something outside in an attempt to draw her out.
>>6107081You raise your hands in a placating gesture and back away towards the door. The girl slowly unclenches her fists. When she turns her head, a shaft of light falls on her face, briefly illuminating pale, fragile features. Her eyes are a very dark green, almost slate, and her hair black as crow-feathers, except for the places where leaves or bits of straw have settled in it. She wears a thin dress with very fine embroidery and lace, soiled now with dirt, and torn in several places. It seems out-of-place here, a dress more befitting the ballrooms of ancient kings in their proud palaces, than this ramshackle cabin. The discordance inspires your pity, and, before you leave, you rummage through your pack for your last bit of rations---a seedcake drizzled with honey, which you had been saving all this while to munch on at the conclusion of your journey, and which even now you hesitate to relinquish entirely. But a gift half-given is no gift at all, and you hold out the whole thing, wrapped in some waxed cloth, for her to take. There is no creature on earth that can resist a warm seedcake fresh from the oven, but even cold, the aroma of honey and the earthy tones of caraway and sesame are irresistible. The girl puts up a mighty struggle, but folds the moment the scent touches her. She moves forward cautiously, like a fox toward a baited trap, and then snatches the cake from your hand, retreating to a corner with her body tensed and her eyes narrowed in case you should try something. You leave her to it, and step out into the noon sun. What should you do now? You still need some place to hang your cap tonight. The shack is obviously no longer an option, though if you're being honest it probably never was. No gnome could ever feel at home living beneath a roof that wasn't the soil. This hill is of the perfect size and shape, but to dig out a proper gnomicile by yourself will take weeks. You rifle through your pockets. A handful of silver pieces, with one or two gold ones shimmering among them, the remains of your life savings after all the preparations for the journey here. You look down at your new boots, remembering how much fuss the cordwainer had made over them because he so seldom had a chance to fashion something that would see "living use". They had cost you a pretty penny, yet you cannot help but look admiringly on them. You only wish you had enough left over to restore your cap. You would never dream of replacing it, of course, it is the only thing you have of your father's, but it could do with some mending.Well, you think, putting your coins back in your pocket, you have enough to pay for a room at the inn in town, enough at least for a few nights, perhaps two weeks if you can strike a deal with the keeper. And the weather tonight should be fair. You can always pitch your tent and sleep out beneath the stars if you wish. 1/2
>>6108015As you ponder what to do, you notice two small figures approaching from the east. Their tall caps give them away at once as fellow gnomes. Your stomach sinks. You are in no position to entertain guests, what with the state of the shack and the squatter living in it, but neither can you turn them away without the greatest breach of propriety.Your raise your cap in greeting as they draw near, hoping against hope that they will simply return the gesture and pass you by. No such luck. Even worse, one of the gnomes is beardless, that is to say, a gname, a female. By the long beard and heavy brow of the other, you'd guess she is his daughter or ward. You quickly climb down the hill to meet them. "They said one of ours had come to take the place, but I didn't believe it," the bearded gnome says, briefly popping the long pipe from his mouth, his eyes sharp as flint as he surveys your little plot. "Neddle Hawthorne," he says, raising his cap ever so slightly. "Groundskeeper and gardener of the hortus, the hortus conclusus, and so forth, of Lord Cornelius Reginald the Third." He jabs his pipe toward his daughter. "Poppy Hawthorne, my daughter." The daughter is far less patronizing than her father, taking off her cap entirely and bowing so low that her two long pigtails fall over her shoulders and hang like pretty ropes in the air. "Basil Oakley," you stutter out. "But everyone I know calls me Bud.""Oakley!" says Neddle. "I knew an Oakley. Good-for-nothing layabouts, the lot of them. Too much time spent gadding about on the soil instead of tending it." He leers at you, inviting you challenge him.>Don't take the bait. You're an orphan, after all, and never knew your kin. There's just your uncle, but he's a Rosewood.>Admit that Oakley's do have a reputation for gnoming, but that you're here to settle down for more agricultural pursuits>Retort that for your part, you've never even heard of Hawthornes. That should put him in his place. >Write-in
>>6108021>>Don't take the bait. You're an orphan, after all, and never knew your kin. There's just your uncle, but he's a Rosewood.That wasn't very gentlegnomely of him!
>>6108021>Don't take the bait. You're an orphan, after all, and never knew your kin. There's just your uncle, but he's a Rosewood.
>>6108021>Don't take the bait. You're an orphan, after all, and never knew your kin. There's just your uncle, but he's a Rosewood.Talk about bad manners. He knew one guy in the family and thinks the worse of all of them. Let's not lower Basil to his level.
>>6108021>Gname>Gnoming>GentlegnomelyThis is why I love this Qst>RETORTHe's likely taking out his frustrations at being beneath humans on a day to day basis on us.
>Don't take the bait. You're an orphan, after all, and never knew your kin. There's just your uncle, but he's a Rosewood.Totally not worth the fighting, use our actions to show we're better.
>>6108021>>Don't take the bait. You're an orphan, after all, and never knew your kin. There's just your uncle, but he's a Rosewood.
>>6108021You decide not to tell Neddle that you've never even heard of the Hawthornes. Something tells you that such an admission would wound his pride, and that he is the sort of gnome to remember such slights to end of time."I'm an orphan, sir," you reply. "I never knew my kin, except my uncle, but he's a Rosewood, on my mother's side."Neddle falls into a coughing fit. "Not Oleander Rosewood?""The very same. You know him, sir?"Neddle's manner changes entirely once he's recovered. He's suddenly more reserved. "You're that Oleander's nephew?" he mutters. He clears his throat loudly. "Yes, well, I suppose not all apples fall close to the tree, as the saying goes. You're here to make something respectable of the land, after all---" He raises his brow in question. You nod in the affirmative. "Then, you're most welcome, Oakley. There are only so many of us here---gnomes, I mean---one bad apple...as the saying goes.""Far be it from me to stir up trouble, sir," you say.At that moment, the girl in the shack decides to peek her head out of the door, wondering who else has dared to encroach on her lair. Neddle's eyes are closed in mute pleasure as he puffs on his pipe, but his daughter doesn't miss a thing. She tugs on his sleeve and points toward the shack."What?" Neddle asks, then he sees her, and his cap nearly falls off in surprise. "Why that's the thief that's been stealing my apples! You! Orchard thief! Hold there!" And gripping his belt in one hand, Neddle sprints forward, displaying astonishing speed for someone his age. But the girl's feet are lighter than a jackrabbit's. She's already half-way to the woods by the time Neddle has even crested the hill. In another moment, she's gone, and Neddle, clutching his knees, must give up the chase.His daughter, Poppy, runs to tend to him, and you follow close behind. In between coughing and sucking on his pipe, he manages to ask you why you were "harboring a known fugitive". >Reply that you didn't know she was a thief, she was squatting in the shack when you arrived.>So what if you were? Is he going to call the bailiff on a fellow gnome? Test him to see where his loyalties lie.>Surely the menfolk aren't so ruthless as to regard a little girl like her a criminal? Who is she anyway?>Write-inAlso: Will you show Neddle the girl's store of food?>Yes, it's probably his stolen apples and will clear you of any suspicion.>No, the girl may be a nuisance, but you like her (or pity her) more than you like Neddle.
>>6109023>>Reply that you didn't know she was a thief, she was squatting in the shack when you arrived.>No, the girl may be a nuisance, but you like her (or pity her) more than you like Neddle.
>>6109023>Reply that you didn't know she was a thief, she was squatting in the shack when you arrived.>No, the girl may be a nuisance, but you like her (or pity her) more than you like Neddle.Suck a fat one, old man
>>6109023>Surely the menfolk aren't so ruthless as to regard a little girl like her a criminal? Who is she anyway?>No, the girl may be a nuisance, but you like her (or pity her) more than you like Neddle.
>For insulting our family & then heaping a false accusation upon our name, challenge him to a game of riddles, which have been gnown to end in DEATH>No
>>6109023>Reply that you didn't know she was a thief, she was squatting in the shack when you arrived.>No, the girl may be a nuisance, but you like her (or pity her) more than you like Neddle.
>>6109023>Reply that you didn't know she was a thief, she was squatting in the shack when you arrived.>Yes, it's probably his stolen apples and will clear you of any suspicionWe've had one interaction with her and she threatened us with violence. Even if we feel some sympathy with her situation, it's far too early for us to be unambiguously on her side.
>>6109023>Reply that you didn't know she was a thief, she was squatting in the shack when you arrived.>No, the girl may be a nuisance, but you like her (or pity her) more than you like Neddle.>>6109175She's a homeless girl with no parent or guardian and having to resort to stealing to survive. By Needles reaction, I doubt she has been shown kindness by anyone around here, so she being agressive to a stranger is a understandable reaction in my opinion.
>>6109023>Reply that you didn't know she was a thief, she was squatting in the shack when you arrived.>Yes, it's probably his stolen apples and will clear you of any suspicion.
>>6109023>>Reply that you didn't know she was a thief, she was squatting in the shack when you arrived.>>Yes, it's probably his stolen apples and will clear you of any suspicion
>>6109023>Reply that you didn't know she was a thief, she was squatting in the shack when you arrived.>Yes, it's probably his stolen apples and will clear you of any suspicion.I feel we have a duty to return his apples if they are in the food stash, once we have our own garden we can show the girl all the kindness we want.
>>6109023You resent the accusation of abettor, but as before you don't escalate matters. "I didn't know she was a thief," you say. "I only just found her squatting in my shack."The old gnome harumphs, not entirely convinced. "Well, if she returns be sure to call for the bailiff. She steals from everyone, you know. Just ask your neighbors. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if she's hid some of her plunder--"Here you block access to the shack with your body, for Neddle was moving to open its door. "I'll be sure to keep an eye out," you say. "Thank you for your concern. Now, if you don't mind, it's been a long journey, and I have some things to get settled before night comes." Though you've no doubt that he's right, and the sack you spied earlier is filled partially (if not entirely) with his precious apples, in the calculus of favor between Neddle and the girl, the girl wins out (if only from the investment of your seedcake). Perhaps when your own garden has been established she won't need to steal anymore, but until that day, let her keep her loot hidden, at least from the likes of Neddle.Neddle carefully empties the ash from his pipe before tucking it away beneath his cap. He turns and leaves without another word seemingly peeved, but his daughter, Poppy, stays behind to invite you to their house for supper, once you've settled in. And should you need any tools or help or advice, you're more than welcome to take them from Neddle's stores. "My father has a prickly manner," she says, cheerfully, "but he's a generous gnome at heart."You don't disclose to her your doubts of this generosity, but you thank her all the same.At last, you have some peace and quiet. You've dallied long enough, it's time for action.>Begin disassembling the shack for materials, the girl will have to find another place to squat.>Take out your spade and begin digging an entrance on the base of the hill.>Trek back to town for a hot meal and spend the night at the inn, spending the few silvers you have remaining.>Write-in
>>6109878>>Take out your spade and begin digging an entrance on the base of the hill.We'll discuss with the girl the matter of unshacking for Gnhome purposes.I'd say she's welcome on the land as long as she pull her fair share of work and stop thieving.
>>6109878>Take out your spade and begin digging an entrance on the base of the hill.
>>6109882>>6109909+1, can you dig it?
>>6109878>>Write-in>Hide the apples/change their form (slurry, cider or chutney) in order to get rid of the evidence.
>>6109878>>Take out your spade and begin digging an entrance on the base of the hill.
>>6109882+1We are an orphan ourselves, I suppose there is a certain soft place for her in our heart.
Apologies Gnombres, bit swamped with a work presentation. Will post update sometime tomorrow.
>>6110803no worries QM, keep up the good work gnomer
>>6110803np man it happens. Is there anything ancillary that would like us to vote on during these downtimes e.g. what colour to make the door etc.
>>6110936Hmm, good idea. Instead of a vote, it would be good to get a sense of what kind of garden anons are going for: practical with fruits and veggies, decorative/flower, medicinal, or a mix. Obviously there will be some fantastical elements involved but whats the overall bent/theme?Another thing that might be fun is to flesh out some more backstory for Bud. For my sake, lets do this by having each participant submit a single sentence describing a significant event in Bud's life. I'll incorporate these into the quest as we go.Thanks everyone for your patience!
>>6110951>>6110951>it would be good to get a sense of what kind of garden anons are going for: practical with fruits and veggies, decorative/flower, medicinal, or a mix. Obviously there will be some fantastical elements involved but whats the overall bent/theme?It would be nice to make a garden that has night blooming flowers/centred around phorphorescence could even be a moth attractor as opposed to a butterfly garden. Otherwise it would be cool to minmax just one product and get supernaturally good at it such as carrots. But from those options I think I would love a rare flower garden, prioritising aesthetics over practicality and gradually gaining respect through it.>For my sake, lets do this by having each participant submit a single sentence describing a significant event in Bud's life.Bud remembers feeding nectar to lightning bugs with his grandfather and being told that although there will always be more darkness than light in this world, there used to be no light at all and it is our job to make sure that the light can endure. (Bud later finds out that his grandfather was quoting Gnome Chomsky)
>For my sake, lets do this by having each participant submit a single sentence describing a significant event in Bud's life.Bud made his first coins among Gnomekind by working as a beekeeper. He knows how to build hives, catch swarms, extract honey without killing a whole colony as is usually done to the honey fly.
>>6111072I really do like the idea of Bud being an apiarist.
>>6110951>it would be good to get a sense of what kind of garden anons are going for: practical with fruits and veggies, decorative/flower, medicinal, or a mix. Obviously there will be some fantastical elements involved but whats the overall bent/theme? It would be cool if we do some alcohol brewing on the side, not the main focus of our garden but have a few plants to turn into mead or wine or something.>For my sake, lets do this by having each participant submit a single sentence describing a significant event in Bud's life. I'll incorporate these into the quest as we go.Bud once got his beard entangled on a bush on the back of a treant, the creature walked for three days before taking a rest and Bud could slip away.
>>6110951>For my sake, lets do this by having each participant submit a single sentence describing a significant event in Bud's life. I'll incorporate these into the quest as we go.Just before the death of his mother, Bud was taken in by a Gnunnery, and raised there until he left early into the gnomadic life.
>>6111092>>6111072>>6110998Combining these elements seems delightful to me. Honey is a food product that growing flowers would be especially helpful towards.
Was worried I wouldn't any gnice responses, but you guys knocked it out of the park. Love all of these. Will trickle in the backstory elements going forward (taking some QM liberties of course). And for now, it seems like Bud is going for aesthetics over practicality with respect to his gardn (which may cause you to eventually butt heads with Lord Reginald's current groundskeeper if/when your garden starts to get notice) with some dabbling in adjacent gnomains (bee-keeping and mead brewing).Also, sorry I couldn't update yesterday (just absolutely exhausted). But there will be an update later today.
>>6111945Wouhou.Is there a way to have some magical firefly bees in the setting?
>>6111945You're doing great man! Rest up. Can't wait for the update!
>>6111953Night bees would be based
>>6109878You finally unshoulder your pack and set it down on the ground, near the base of the hill. The spade is clasped to the bottom of the pack by two leather straps; you unhook them, and slide it out. You also take off your cap, not wishing to soil it in the course of your labors, and tuck it behind the main straps of your pack so that it will not fly away from the wind. You perform a quick survey of the mound, patting the hillside wall until you find a soft spot that is easily pierced by your shovel. This is where you will begin.It's hard labor all the way through, and of the simplest kind. But, having grown up among gnomastics, you have perhaps a greater appreciation for the purifying quality of manual labor than other gnomes your age. It was not always this way. When you had first arrived at the Gnunnery, you were a wild beast. You fumed with mad rage towards everything, towards the father who had abandoned you for the gnomadic life he could never seem to outgrow, by which he would eventually perish, towards the mother who had died before you had even drawn your first breath, towards the nuns, with their infinite patience and placid immovability, towards the universe for its numerous injustices, but most of all towards yourself, for being so utterly powerless to prevent or change any of it.The sisters endured your tantrums for two whole seasons. Then, one day in autumn, the Superior, having returned from her retreat, took one look at you, and sentenced you to hard labor. You were to chop wood from dawn till dusk to earn your dinner. A certain quota was to be met daily, checked by Sister Marigold (the most austere of the sisters), and failure meant going hungry for the night. The gnovices subsisted on plain fare, of course, being in training, but no one could deny that the food for the orphans was of exceptional quality. One of the nuns had been a cook for the Gnomarch himself and ruled the kitchen. It was one of the few things that you actually liked about the place, and so, you exerted the greatest effort to preserve it.1/3
>>6112148It was all futile, of course. The numbers had been carefully set so that it was impossible to chop enough wood to meet the quota. Even a gnome fully grown, in the prime of his strength, would have found it difficult, let alone a scrawny young good-for-nothing like yourself. At first, you refused entirely the offerings of cold porridge that the sisters ate every morning (for they could not let you starve). Hunger would soon disabuse you of your pride, though not before you had destroyed the precious bed of purple passion-flowers in the garden, uprooting them in a fit of rage from the very earth and trampling on them until they were nothing more than scatted petals and paste. The flowers, it was said, were planted by the Superior herself when she was only a girl, and which she alone had maintained without assistance or interference for over seventy years. The act was so grievous a violation that the gnovices wanted immediately to expel you. "Let him be the bondsman of some catchpole or chapman, we shall have no peace with him here," they said. It was only by the direct command of the Superior, enforced by Sister Marigold (whose allegiance was to no other) that you were permitted to remain. All this, you would come to know later. At the time, only a nominal punishment was given: more chores, forced solitude. And your rage became now a hatred fully directed at the Superior. And it fueled a relentless diligence toward your task. You wanted to achieve the impossible, to humiliate the Superior, the sisters, the gnovices, to embarrass the universe in its estimation of you. When the other orphans teased you about your cold porrdige, you endured it. You endured even more the sympathy of those kinder, older orphans who snuck food out for you---custard tarts with cinnamon, savory pieces of roast swan dripping with fat, bowls of hot pike stew---all of which you politely and adamantly refused. Winter came. The snow buried the grass and swallowed all color and margins from the world. The woodpile you had so painstakingly amassed was now being consumed in the common rooms and the halls and the kitchens. The orphans were now forbidden to remain outside for any extended time, even for chores. Your sentence was lifted, yet you refused to quit the task that was appointed you.The Superior allowed it. And when you inevitably fell sick, it was the Superior, against all the rules of propriety and the protestations of the gnovices, who wrung the washcloth, who placed it upon your forehead and waited with you through the night. 2/3
>>6112150When the fever finally broke, a few hours before the dawn, and you woke up to the sight of the Superior changing the rushlight, you were mortified to realize that they had brought you into the Superior's own personal chambers, and then surprised by its severe economy. Part of you had always harbored an unfounded, unspoken charge of hypocrisy toward the gnomastics, especially the Superior. The claims of her having having attained the highest levels of gnomenclature, of being able to summon lightning and fire and darkness by the mere utterance of their true names, and above this, the final goal of the training: the achievement of gnosis, to have learned the most important true name of all---her own---and by that to have undone herself, to have gone beyond, gone far beyond, the mortal coil. All that was hogwash, you thought, and in secret they all ate butter and slept on feather beds. The reality was that the bed you were lying on had been brought in. There was no other furniture in the room, saving a chair set beside the bed---which must have also been brought in, for the Superior seemed entirely unused to it. She sat down and in her expression and her gaze, there was no surface. It was as if you were looking into a clear pond or lake, of unfathomable depth, yet perfectly transparent. Then, overwhelmed by the privacy, the gentleness of her ministrations, and that surfaceless gaze, you began to weep. You wept as you had never wept before or since, and a great weight was lifted.A few months later, the Superior had gone back on retreat, this time never to return. Sister Marigold took over the Gnunnery, and you remained there a few more years until your own gnomadic period was upon you (which you have not left just yet). The present exertion of your now powerful body returns you to that time and summons small tears, which you quickly brush away. Night has fallen. You've made good progress on the hill. The hole is now deep enough to serve as the crudest form of shelter, but you'll need better instruments to bore through the solid rock that now bars your away. An iron pick, wedges, a sledgehammer, and of course beams for supports to prevent collapse. A dwarf would be the best counsel in such matters. There might be one in town you can meet with tomorrow.In the meantime, your ears pick up the light patter of feet above you. It seems the girl has returned. You listen to her enter the cabin, then a moment later she appears in front of your new cave, with an armful of small ripe apples. Perhaps an offering for having been her accomplice against Neddle.>Take the apples as a gesture of goodwill and eat them together with her.>Do not take the apples. You're happy to help her but you don't want to incriminate yourself further.>Take one of the apples, so as not to offend her, then let her return to the cabin.>Write-in
>>6112151>Take the apples as a gesture of goodwill and eat them together with her.
>>6112151>>Take one of the apples, so as not to offend her, then let her return to the cabin.I can see this going south quite soon and unexpectedly. So let's just show her appreciation without being marked with collusion.
>>6112151>Do not take the apples. You're happy to help her but you don't want to incriminate yourself further.Just because Neddle is rude does not mean a reasonable person could not see even one apple in our WIP domicile and assume the worst. This little girl does not know how much harm taking even a single apple could cause us.
>>6112151>Take one of the apples, so as not to offend her, then let her return to the cabin.Yeah, if we are seen with her, eating stolen apples, our reputation will be on the curb
>>6112151>Take one of the apples, so as not to offend her, then let her return to the cabin.>Warn her that she should stop stealing apples, it will get her into even bigger trouble.
>>6112151>gnosisamazing>Do not take the apples. You're happy to help her but you don't want to incriminate yourself further.
>>6112151>>Take the apples as a gesture of goodwill and eat them together with her.Loving the Gnome puns.
>>6112151>>Take one of the apples, so as not to offend her, then let her return to the cabin.
Such a shame if this has Gnone away.
>>6106779
>>6116475Is it gnomver?
It's so gnover.
It's SO gnover>>6117036Very gnice
This board is slow, and this thread will be hear for a while, so I'll hold out hope OP will return eventually. Gno man left behind
"For me?" you ask, pointing at yourself. She nods.You stroke your beard. Neddle would probably throw a fit if he was privy to this scene. Nonetheless, you take one of the apples and bite into it. To Neddle's credit, it is delicious, just the right concentration of tartness, sweetness, and crunch. It is gone all too quickly (you were perhaps hungrier than you first imagined), but you do not take another when it is offered. You must not forget that these are illicit goods. Once is a gift, but twice constitutes collusion. The girl---whom you've begun to call "Lorna" in your mind, for her paleness, and for a lack of a better appellation---seems disquieted by refusal, and finally she trudges back toward her hovel, her eyes downcast. You sit meditatively in your cave, looking out into the moonlit expanse which now belongs to you. One decision you have already made: your garden will not lack for beauty. All this emptiness will be populated by peonies, hydrangeas, pansies, delphiniums, and the center-piece shall be something which you have thought upon often, though you've no idea how it will be done. As you unfurl your bedding, you muse on the possibility, however remote, of descending miles into darkness and facing terror and inscrutable danger for the sake of that irreplaceable center-piece (for it can be no other and for you cannot entrust it to anyone else). You cannot quell that pulse of thrill which surges through your veins, the combined inheritance from your father, from your race, and from your youth. Despite your exhaustion, you remain awake and dreaming until you are startled by the phosphorescent semaphore of the Lampyris xylokoponus, the glowing carpenter beetle, more commonly called the "lightning bee". There must be a hive somewhere in the forest nearby, and the thought of honey, and the more sedate labor of its extraction and distillation into spirit, seems to check your foolish blood, and you soon fall fast asleep to half-remembered tastes of melomel and metheglin.In the morning, after a hearty breakfast of air and the last dregs of your waterskin, you set out for town. The kindly peasant children on the street lead you to the house and smithy of the resident dwarf. They wait in the fringes in bated expectation, as though a meeting of the diminutive races were some guarantee of wonder and adventure. 1/2
>>6118278The dwarf himself, who goes by the name of Flint "among men and strangers", is polite enough as far as dwarves go. He busies himself with his forge and his bellows all throughout your introduction, and it is not until you mention the construction and the digging that he pauses in his labors and gives you full ears. He begins to tug severely on his magnificent sideburns, a gesture of barely restrained excitement (or so it seems to you), as you describe the degree of excavation which will be necessary. Does he have the tools? Indeed he does (or can fashion them readily enough) and it is all he can do to keep himself from blurting out his desire to involve himself, to whatever extent, in the digging and construction. But on the point of tools, he is firm. "Coin up front." And your meager pocket change will not suffice. You must find work in town, or else work for Flint himself, or you must borrow from Neddle and see if you can make good on his daughter's offer of aid.>Work for Flint to earn the tools>Find a job in town>Borrow tools from Neddle
>>6118279GNIT'S GNOT GNOVER! GNIT'S GNEVER GNOVER!>Work for Flint to earn the toolsHe's the one giving us the tools, so we'll work for him to pay it off.
>>6118279>Work for Flint to earn the toolsWelcome back GnOP!
>>6118279We're so Gnomin' back.>Work for Flint to earn the tools
>>6118279It aint gnover tills its gnover, welcome back>Find a job in townI wanna see more of the town, What secret jobs might we find if we cast a wide net?
>Borrow tools from Neddle
>>6118279>Work for Flint to earn the toolsI want to to have our own tools. Also befriend our dwarf boss.
>>6118279>Work for Flint to earn the toolsWhen in a Human town, Dwarfs and Gnomes must stick together.
No update today. Too tired. Also, apologizes for the recent radio silence, just needed to sort some things out irl. I'll try to be more consistent in updates/letting you guys know if I'm not updating, going forward.
>>6118841I hope the dreaded hydra of real life is not too harsh on you QM
>>6118279>Work for Flint to earn the toolsSo glad that you are back! Incredible update!>>6118841>Also, apologizes for the recent radio silence, just needed to sort some things out irl. I'll try to be more consistent in updates/letting you guys know if I'm not updating, going forward.Don't sweat it too much man. I let a quest of mine die because I woke up from a coma. Shit happens.
>>6118279As you would rather avoid calling upon the favor of Neddle and as it seems wise to pursue repayment close the source of your debts, you offer your services as an apprentice to Flint. Flint refuses at first, on the grounds that he has no need for an assistant (indeed his shop has gone unmolested the whole time that you've been here). However, you are able to convince him by reference to your common stature which should, if nothing else, make it easy to handle the specially sized tools and equipment he has fashioned for his own use. "There are no other dwarves in the town, after all," you conclude, more as a question. Flint grunts in the affirmative, but the reminder of it seems to touch a sore wound. "You ever work a forge?" he finally mumbles."I can learn," you cheerfully reply.He returns again to his work, raising his hammer and speaking in the pauses between the tremendous blows, beating the very words into the iron. "Morning. Six bells. Sort the tools. Sweep the ash." He points with the hammer. "Coal there. Water here. Wash. Light. Sharpen." "All shall be done to your utmost satisfaction," you reply.He mumbles something in dwarvish (a language regrettably not in your wheelhouse) and then, as though he had not spoken at all, "If you last the week, we'll call it a month more for the tools.""And for services rendered?" you ask."Gratis," he replies, and seeing your expression he adds, "Well, I've got to make sure I get my tools back in one piece, don't I? So, of course, I'll go where they go.""And you're familiar with that sort of work?"He arrests his hammer in mid-swing. "Familiar? Secret palaces have been dug out to my designs. Across the vaulted ceilings of their vast halls I have wrought constellations in zultanite, in ammolite, in larimar, and in sphene. I made falls and fountains of the mountain's burning blood." Then, suddenly ashamed of this outburst of eloquence, he adds more demurely, almost sadly, "A gnommish hole is no work at all." And that said, he turns his back to you, indicating he will speak no more.---
>>6119371The next morning you arrive at the shop just as the sixth bell tolls. Flint is already there, for he sleeps not ten paces from his forge, his home adjoining the shop. He seems surprised to see you standing there in the quiet fog, as though he had already forgotten the conversation from yesterday (or had merely imagined it). At last, he nods to a broom leaning against the sharpening wheel, and, once you've got it in your possession, the two of you fall to your separate tasks.You quickly learn to mimic Flint's severe retience whenever dealing with him. He is allergic to speech, preferring to make himself understood through grunts and gestures, resorting to a carefully selected word only in the face of unavoidable ambiguity. This often loses him business. Haggling he cannot stand at all, a practice he deems so far beneath him that the slightest hint of it will force out of him the fatal words "go see Morley Smithson, then", Morley Smithson being the resident blacksmith of the castle, employed in official, martial, capacity by Lord Reginald the Third, but in these peaceable times, a mender of horseshoes, hinges, wagon axles, and cookpots. Despite Flint's frequent referrals, he seems to regard Morley as a kind of sewer or drain, whose only utility is to collect the prattling undesirables he sends so speedily down his way.But, in your humble opinion, business is already too slow to support such prejudices. Of the dwarf's skill there is no doubt. Where Morley might improperly or insufficiently weld the joints of a cookpot's handle, so that it would snap after a month or two of service, or overheat the iron, or fail to thoroughly clean the break before binding it, thereby introducing dirt or grease that would weaken the metal and inevitably bring the hapless peasant back to Morley's, often with a ruined vessel beyond his skill to repair--instead of such blunders, Flint would carefully remake whatever passed through his hands in his own obstinate image. That cookpot which was brought to him would never again be seen in his forge or any other, but pass through generations unaltered. Those who understood this, who had experienced the miracle of a kitchen knife that did not need repair or even sharpening after four years of brutal use, rendered unto the "stingy dwarf" the high price he demanded, and endured his frigidity, with all the coolness of a saint. The rest went to Morley. Regrettably, they were far more numerous.>Grease the wheels of the proud dwarf's business by acting as a go-between with his customers>Focus instead on absorbing as much as you can of the dwarf's trade and technique, it might be valuable in the future>Do not involve yourself in matters that do not concern you, but focus on your work, even if tedious, and its prize, even if distant>Write-in
>>6119372>Focus instead on absorbing as much as you can of the dwarf's trade and technique, it might be valuable in the futureIf ever we need some money or an enlarged home, we can go back and do the former option.
>>6119372>>Grease the wheels of the proud dwarf's business by acting as a go-between with his customersWe can't hope to learn blacksmithing in a month.Make Flint business flourish, however... That we can.
>>6119372>Grease the wheels of the proud dwarf's business by acting as a go-between with his customersHe just needs someone as a Gno-between so that the masses realise the Dwarf is worth the extra price.
>>6119372>Grease the wheels of the proud dwarf's business by acting as a go-between with his customersWe're gardeners, not blacksmith. I think it's best to help this guy with his costumes.
>>6119372>>Grease the wheels of the proud dwarf's business by acting as a go-between with his customersHoping that this ingratiates ourselves to him and not to the contrary.
>>6119372>Focus instead on absorbing as much as you can of the dwarf's trade and technique, it might be valuable in the future
OP here. Sadly more irl stuff... next update uncertain.
>>6120121Thanks for telling us.
>>6120121Hope everything will be fine. The only thing I can do is offer the attentive ear of an internet stranger
>>6120121Good luck OP.I will be thinking of you and your quest and praying for gnome-ore stress on your side of things.
>>6120496HAHGnice
please come back op
