Umbrandin

There's No Place Like Gnome

2nd Freschar, 175 BSR (By Solarian Reckoning)
I’m definitely beginning to feel my age. I know, I’m not old yet, only just 140, but in a few more years I shan’t be able to muster the strength to go chasing after those cursed owlbears, and there’s none gnome enough about this hamlet to accompany me in one last hunt. You’d think that with all of them owlbears’ marauding about, snatching kids from the flock and making travel near impossible, folk might be a little more disposed to doing something ‘bout it. But not likely, all I get whenever I bring up the topic is “now Maester Flanien, don’t you be going on worrying about those bearfolk, we have them well in hand.”
In hand! Really? Weren’t but a fortnight ago that Missus Reasa was very nearly eaten whole, outhouse and all, when taking her early morning “jog.” Amusing as that might have been to see, her Mister says she aint been since, whether day or night, to frightened to go out her door she is. And a week before that they and their feathery hides were seen by the wharf, in daylight no less, picking through old crates, smashing whatever they got in their feathery claws, making a fearful mess. I tell you they’re getting bolder and pretty soon we won’t be so lucky. In hand indeed!
If it weren’t for all the pits and traps Otterby and I have set over the years, all there’d be left of Garrar is just a heap of well-picked bones and a flock of portly owlbears roaming up and down the hillside. I know we’ve got the mines cleared now, and that has been an accomplishment to be sure, but gnome-folk weren’t meant to be spending all their time beneath the ground. We need to stretch our backs from time to time, walk an occasional springtime meadow and feel the sun on the back of our necks. This digging and delving is well and good for a dwarf, but all work and no play makes even Jack a dull nain*.
But what’s this? Otterby says there’s some religious folk in town, inquiring to do some charity work… for a price of course. He says they’re a motley bunch but look up to some trouble. Well, maybe I’ll give them a little preview of what might be in store and see what gods they pray to…

Fenein the Lucky

Notes:

  • Nain – a young male gnome.
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Mendicants Leave

6th Freschar, 175 BSR
The Owlbears have been dispersed and the mendicants from Westernesse have made leave through the mine workings and on to the Priory of Ende. I hope they make their journey in safety. The folke of Garrgar are certainly sorry to see them leave. They have managed a task which hath evaded us for some time, and should be proud for it. That, and they have made a hero of my dear servant Otterby. I can’t really call him a servant any longer! I think he has finally found the strength within himself at last (and in his throwing arm). I imagine there’ll be no stopping him now except for an occasional pint or two maybe. That said, here’s a drink to them, may Gods speed and a warm bed be a waiting for them.

Fenein the Lucky

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A funeral ballad for a lost friend
by Cecile Meadows

Fringul the Brave

In the service of Indrig the Loyal
He came to us, Fringul the Hard.
To tell of he, I will now toil
Through the eyes of this lowly bard.

Intent upon death and betrayal,
Fringul followed his liege.
But his mighty sword proved disloyal
For he ne’er to his companions laid siege.

Rather he joined the party
In battle ’gainst ogres and orcs.
He brought us glorious victory
And dispatched the minions, corpse after corpse!

Yet tragedy struck on the edge of Midgemoor,
Ogres assailed the camp.
The darkness swallowed the forest floor,
No time to light a lamp!

A war cry sprung from his throat, and he took his sword in hand.
Brave and sure, he ran to attack!
Swiftly he wielded the brand!
In defense of his friends, he parried whack! thwack!

The monster he fought, a colossus
Brought its hammer down on Fringul the Brave.
Death in its eyes, ’twas merciless
And sent our dear comrade to his grave.

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