within the Pitt.
As they disappeared into shadows, her dragon eyes
picked out details: Tagg and Minna hand in hand, their
hair blowing around them; old Gandy flailing his mop
handle as he tried to maintain his balance at great speed;
Clout busily swatting rats and gathering up their corpses;
and the Highbulp – Glitch I was rolling, tumbling
downward, a flailing tangle of arms, legs and whipping
beard, and his panicked voice rose above the others.
“Make way!” he shouted. “Get outta way! Highbulp
on a roll!”
Somehow, even disappearing into the depths and the
shadows – and the unsuspected horrors – of the ancient,
lost city that was his destination and his destiny, Glitch I,
Highbulp by Persuasion and Lord Protector of Lots of
Places – including, now, the Promised Place – still
managed to sound arrogant.
Clockwork Hero
Jeff Grubb
This is a Gnome Story. Such stories turn up now and
again, around hearths and over cups of mulled wine. The
talespinner of a proper Gnome Story should always state
at the outset that his is a story of the gnomish type, so that
the listeners are not surprised by that which follows. The
Lower Planes hold no fury compared to that of an intent
and dutiful audience that suddenly discovers they are
trapped in a Gnome Story, with no escape other than the
bodily expulsion of the talespinner. Heads have been
broken, families split asunder, empires uprooted, and all
because of an unannounced Gnome Story.
This is a Gnome Story then, and that in itself is
considered fair and proper warning. And it is a Gnome
Story because it deals with, to a great degree, gnomes.
Gnomes, you see, have the boundless curiosity of men,
but lack the limitation of sense, the directness of thought,
or the wisdom to control this curiosity. This disposition
makes gnomes a vital part of talespinning, as much as the
country fool who proves to be the wisest person of the
party, or the holy man who arrives at the last minute to
resolve all the characters’ problems. In a similar fashion,
gnomes – with their insatiable curiosity, their gleeful
cleverness, and their perseverance through frequent (and
dramatic) failure – serve as a guiding light, a beacon for
other races. In holding up their failings, their ramshackle
inventions and plots, we see more than a little of
ourselves, and consider ourselves cautioned against their
excesses. So gnomes have an important place in the
universe (at least fictionally), such that if gnomes did not
exist, they would demand to be invented, and nothing
short of another gnome could invent such a concept.
Fortunately for all, they do exist.
This, then, is a Gnome Story, with all of its vantages,
AD and DIS. It is an odd tale, in that it tells the story of a
gnome who succeeds, a gnome who creates a most
wondrous thing. But that is getting ahead of the tale.
Gnome Stories usually begin with the talespinner
speaking of some outsider stumbling onto the hidden land
of the gnomes. The idea of a hidden land of the gnomes is
usually an artistic “cheat,” a stretching of the imagination,
since there are very few places more noisy, smoky,
smelly, and downright noticeable than a gnome
community. Incontinent volcanos or a week-long reunion
of gully dwarves would run a close second or third, and,
like a cluster of volcanoes or gaggle of gully dwarves, a
gnome community is generally well-noted by its neighbors
and left alone. It is, therefore, remote from the rest of
civilization, but at civilization’s behest.
This particular gnome community – this talespinner
must assure you – was an extremely noisy place,
resounding with the clang of hammers, the hiss of
escaping steam, and the occasional explosion. The louder
the gnomes, the more remote their home, and this was a
most remote location indeed. So remote that the events of
the outside world – the return of dragons, the coming of
the Highlords and heroes, the war and all manner of
destruction – passed this place by. In short, it was the
perfect place to be an outsider, since there was much more
outside than inside.
The outsider in question was not the standard singular