Ник О'Донохью - Kender, Gully Dwarves, and Gnomes

Bending down, the woman kissed Dougan on his cheek. The dwarf’s face flamed red as his hammer.

“Go along with you now!” he said gruffly.

Arms linked around each other’s waists, the women ran, laughing merrily, from the room, and the brothers soon heard their joyful voices outside the castle walls.

“As for you—” Dougan turned upon the black-robed wizard.

“Don’t scold me!” begged Lord Gargath meekly. “I’ve learned my lesson. Truly. I will never have anything to do with gems as long as I live. You can believe me!” he said, glancing up at the empty ceiling with a shudder.

“And we’ll expect to see you at the Conclave,” said Palin severely, retrieving the Staff of Magius. “You’ll be a renegade no longer?”

“I’m looking forward to the next meeting!” Lord Gargath said eagerly. “Is there anything I can bring? A cake, perhaps? I make a marvelous devil’s food ...”

Dougan and the brothers returned to the gnome ship without incident. In fact, the warriors were so happy to have their women back with them, their families once more reunited, that they returned the armor and their swords. (The chief had decided the armor was too hot anyway, and he thought the sword a primitive weapon compared to a spear.)

The gnomes had repaired the damage to the ship. Indeed, they discovered that having one end smashed in improved the steering immeasurably, and they were quite excited at the prospect of returning home to Mount Nevermind and smashing in the prows (or stems) of the remainder of the gnomish fleet.

One small incident marred an otherwise idyllic cruise (not counting constantly ducking the sail, being hit by falling fish, and wondering whether or not they were going to sink before they reached land, due to the leaking of the smashed-in prow ... or stem ...).

Dougan was lounging on the deck one night, contemplating the stars (the constellation, Reorx, was missing) when suddenly he was accosted by the three brothers.

“Sturm, get his arms!” Tanin ordered, leaping on the dwarf from behind. “Palin, if his beard so much as twitches, send him to sleep!”

“What is this outrage! How dare you?” Dougan roared, struggling in Sturm’s strong grasp.

“We risked our lives for that rock,” Tanin said grimly, glaring down at the red-faced dwarf. “And I want to see it.”

“You’ve been putting us off for days,” added Palin, standing beside his brother. “We at least want a look at it before you take it back to your forge or wherever.”

“Let me loose!” Dougan swore an oath. “Or you’ll see nothing ever again 1”

“Do you agree to show it to us?”

“I promise!” muttered the dwarf.

Sturm, at a nod from Tanin, let go of the dwarfs arms. Dougan glanced around at them uncomfortably.

“The Graygem?” the brothers said, gathering around.

“Well, now, lads.” The dwarf appeared highly uncomfortable. “That’s going to be a bit of a problem.”

“What do you mean?” Palin asked nervously, not liking the expression on the dwarf’s face. “Is it so powerful that we can’t look at it?”

“Nooo ...” said Dougan slowly, his face flushing in the red light of Lunitari. “That’s not it, exactly ...”

“Well, then, let’s see it!” Tanin demanded.

“The ... uh ... the fact is, lads,” stammered Dougan, winding his black beard around his finger, “that I’ve ... I’ve misplaced it ...”

“Misplaced it!” Sturm said in amazement.

“The Graygem?” Palin glanced around the boat in alarm, fearing to see its gray light beaming out at them.

“Perhaps, ‘misplaced’ isn’t quite the word,” the dwarf mumbled. “You see, I got into this bone game, the night before we left the island and ...” His voice trailed off miserably.

“You lost it!” Tanin groaned.

Palin and Sturm stared at the dwarf, too stunned to speak.

“Aye, lad.” Dougan sighed heavily. “It was a sure thing, too ...”

“So the Graygem’s loose in the world again,” Palin murmured.

“I’m afraid so. After all, I did lose the original wager, if you will remember. But don’t worry, laddie,” said the dwarf, laying his hand on Palin’s arm. “We’ll get it back! Someday, we’ll get it back!”

“What do you mean we?” Tanin growled.

“I swear by Paladine and by Gilean and by the Dark Queen and by all the gods in the heavens that if I ever in my life see you even looking my direction, dwarf, I will turn around and walk—no, run—the opposite way!” Sturm vowed devoutly.

“The same goes for me,” said Palin.

“And me!” said Tanin.

Dougan looked at them, downcast for a moment. Then, a grin split the dwarf’s face. His beady eyes glittered.

“Wanna bet?”

The recent publication of the book Leaves from the Inn of the Last Home should still, for the moment, all other argument among the distinguished members of the Philosophers Guild; once again, we are united, and the ongoing quarrel between the eminent Doctor Sicfatusdeindecomantemandrogeigaleam [2] With all due respect to the distinguished professors involved in the dispute touched upon above, the editors have insisted that I use abbreviated names in order to condense the present document from its unwieldy (but certainly more courteous) length of approximately 3,000 pages. and the equally eminent Doctor Vitaquecumgemitufugitindignatasubumbras—a dispute as to whether long abandoned armor still retains the thoughts and words of those who have worn it, and whether we would want to listen to it anyway—has been suspended in the interest of patriotism [3] Details of the present state of the discussion may be found by the interested reader in Philosophika Gnomikon MMXVII (323 A.C.), pp. 675,328—682,465. I have my own opinion, but shall not give it here, for I am equally patriotic. .

For again the dignity of this Guild—indeed, the dignity of gnomes everywhere—has been insulted by outsiders. A Gnomish philosopher once said (and in saying it, could rest assured that somewhere, some human would claim the saying as his own and nobody would know otherwise),

“The history of a war is written by the victors.” Not all of the victors, mind you, but only those who escape the war with the least carnage and the most coinage, a most unfortunate circumstance for Gnomish philosophers, writers, and artists, only recently righted by last month’s publication of Volume I of the Philosophika Gnomikon , an eminent journal which I hope will soon publish this article in its entirety.

Surely the first two thousand or so volumes of the Philosophika have already filled considerable blanks in the recorded history of Krynn, and surely they will continue to do so, barring censorship or organized neglect on the part of others I could name ... but I digress from the issue at hand, from that most ungracious insult that is our present concern.

The recent War of the Lance has inspired endless commentary, memoirs, speculations, and apologies, but how many of these documents have thrown light upon the Gnomish contribution to the deliverance of Krynn from the hands of the enemy and the domination of the Dragon Highlord?

None [4] None, that is, except for those contained in the Philosophika Gnomikon , from which the author would be grateful to hear of any advance payment and royalty arrangements that might be involved in publishing this article in full—untouched, as the saying goes, by human hand. ! Ours, it seems, is a marginal people, footnoted in history as a race of toymakers and tinkers. For again one of our foremost poets, visionaries, and military heroes is overlooked, drowned in a flood of self-serving ink.