Gnome-body Gnomes, the Troubles I've Seen
Feb 6, 2015 17:04:27 GMT -5
Post by Thorlah on Feb 6, 2015 17:04:27 GMT -5
I saw that Humans and Demons had shared tales of their past, and their history with this land.
Well I tell you what, I thought it was unfair there was not a single trace of a Gnomish perspective!
So I'm gonna fix that!
-Gnome-nonymous
Back in the era of the Returning Gods, our (meaning Gnomes) people were separated into three locales: Ta Quir Priw, home of the Grandest Tree, Priw Gnomo Andralo, the Village Nestled in the Maze, and Dylandra, the closest landing to Arposandra, the Haven Beneath the Land.
How it pains my heart to know their fates.
I pray to the despondent and dead gods for a better fate for our kind, for most have either been killed, lost, or forced to hide under the dirt once more, fearful that the once supposedly eternal protection by the Anima Mundi was doomed to fail.
Burned into my eyes...
We lost so many in the war. So many.
Guthix was our savior, our protector.
With his death, so too did those that loved and cherished his wisdom. Our fates were forever sealed.
Many look upon me with a look of confusion, or pity, thinking I am senile for saying Dwarves are more than myth, more than mere fiction.
The Gnomes of Arposandra were the first to disappear, with all contact being lost once the Serenists became fearful of their deity's safety and retreated (mostly).
Then fell Priw Gnomo Andralo, besieged by the fool-hardy monger of death Khazard from the north, Zamorakian mages from the west, and traces of the main conflicts of the east threatening the shores of the east. The poor souls felt they could withstand, so long as Yanille did not succumb to any threat.
But fall it did, and with its silence, smoke and flames filled the air. Gliders, shot out of the sky, brought to the ground and crushing any occupant on board, War Tortoises 'decorated' with weapons and crudely crafted spears, and Gnomes of all genders and ages, crying and screaming in terror.
They called to the Anima Mundi for an escape, attempting to call upon the Spirit Tree magics of old.
Silence.
When no soothing voice allayed their fears, no roots appeared to whisk them to safety, and the Spirit Tree surrounded by flames and Khazard with his forces, all Gnomes in the village stopped in place, and said a silent farewell to those of the past, begging for forgiveness for their end.
I...I still remember the haunting scream of agony as Khazard plunged his claymore into the tree. All vegetation nearby rotted away, and the air became thin. Hope, peace, love, honor...all that Guthix gave us...gone.
I survived solely due to hiding in the Saradominist Church a ways north. I have never ran so far, so quickly before nor will I ever again.
As for our pride and joy, Ta Quir Priw, it is said the Gnomes there saw these disasters that far north, and in desperation somehow channeled some of the last traces of Guthix into the land, allowing the forrest to shield them completely, and once safe, retreated into obscurity.
I've made several fly-bys, but there has not been a sign of gnomish life in the thick forrest.
What remains of our race, I hardly know, aside from those that left and explored the world. Those of us that were expert gliders fled towards the Elves, wishing their continued hospitality would grant us time for healing, and a means for escape.
My group, the ones that live within the lands near the World Gate, were gnomes that came to realize that our one way to survive was to find a group willing to take us in, and stay with them. Safety in numbers and all that.
I apologize if the tale is rather informal in tone. I may be a lover of history, but I've yet to completely grasp the concept of writing words in the common tongue.
Perhaps I should've listened to Glough and taken the language classes.
Well I tell you what, I thought it was unfair there was not a single trace of a Gnomish perspective!
So I'm gonna fix that!
-Gnome-nonymous
Back in the era of the Returning Gods, our (meaning Gnomes) people were separated into three locales: Ta Quir Priw, home of the Grandest Tree, Priw Gnomo Andralo, the Village Nestled in the Maze, and Dylandra, the closest landing to Arposandra, the Haven Beneath the Land.
How it pains my heart to know their fates.
I pray to the despondent and dead gods for a better fate for our kind, for most have either been killed, lost, or forced to hide under the dirt once more, fearful that the once supposedly eternal protection by the Anima Mundi was doomed to fail.
Burned into my eyes...
We lost so many in the war. So many.
Guthix was our savior, our protector.
With his death, so too did those that loved and cherished his wisdom. Our fates were forever sealed.
Many look upon me with a look of confusion, or pity, thinking I am senile for saying Dwarves are more than myth, more than mere fiction.
The Gnomes of Arposandra were the first to disappear, with all contact being lost once the Serenists became fearful of their deity's safety and retreated (mostly).
Then fell Priw Gnomo Andralo, besieged by the fool-hardy monger of death Khazard from the north, Zamorakian mages from the west, and traces of the main conflicts of the east threatening the shores of the east. The poor souls felt they could withstand, so long as Yanille did not succumb to any threat.
But fall it did, and with its silence, smoke and flames filled the air. Gliders, shot out of the sky, brought to the ground and crushing any occupant on board, War Tortoises 'decorated' with weapons and crudely crafted spears, and Gnomes of all genders and ages, crying and screaming in terror.
They called to the Anima Mundi for an escape, attempting to call upon the Spirit Tree magics of old.
Silence.
When no soothing voice allayed their fears, no roots appeared to whisk them to safety, and the Spirit Tree surrounded by flames and Khazard with his forces, all Gnomes in the village stopped in place, and said a silent farewell to those of the past, begging for forgiveness for their end.
I...I still remember the haunting scream of agony as Khazard plunged his claymore into the tree. All vegetation nearby rotted away, and the air became thin. Hope, peace, love, honor...all that Guthix gave us...gone.
I survived solely due to hiding in the Saradominist Church a ways north. I have never ran so far, so quickly before nor will I ever again.
As for our pride and joy, Ta Quir Priw, it is said the Gnomes there saw these disasters that far north, and in desperation somehow channeled some of the last traces of Guthix into the land, allowing the forrest to shield them completely, and once safe, retreated into obscurity.
I've made several fly-bys, but there has not been a sign of gnomish life in the thick forrest.
What remains of our race, I hardly know, aside from those that left and explored the world. Those of us that were expert gliders fled towards the Elves, wishing their continued hospitality would grant us time for healing, and a means for escape.
My group, the ones that live within the lands near the World Gate, were gnomes that came to realize that our one way to survive was to find a group willing to take us in, and stay with them. Safety in numbers and all that.
I apologize if the tale is rather informal in tone. I may be a lover of history, but I've yet to completely grasp the concept of writing words in the common tongue.
Perhaps I should've listened to Glough and taken the language classes.
