Born a Monster

399 299 – Gnomes to Othello

Gnomes, always explained to me as the woodkin version of dwarves, are nothing at all like that.

For one thing, they are between one and three apples tall, about the size of one half to one and a half windlings, if that helps give you an impression of size. The Grapeberry family was in the smaller part of that range, but no less attuned to the Earth and Nature elements for that.

Honestly, it surprised me that Thorngrim hadn’t just whipped up his own healing potion for Hermance.

But, as it turns out, the Grapeberrys were in need of both spare healing potions, one to help with a sewing accident, and the other to knock a day off the healing of a bird’s broken wing.

It is said that smaller gnomes live inside mushrooms, and so far as it goes that is true. However, these are not the mushrooms you pick to flavor your soup. Their scale is such that you could hide a small human child inside one easily, or a family of five gnomes. Three such mushrooms were occupied, with a fourth under work because... well, much like any other male-female biology.

It was to this purpose that the Grapeberries put my service. I hadn’t forgotten quite as much from my days of scouting out broken toys in alleys as I thought. I might not have had the points to unlock the woodsong, but I knew how to carve wood down with tools, how to meld it with Nature mana. That, and the ability to move entire pieces of furniture from attics in through the windows of the new home saved large amounts of time.

All told, it was a pleasant two days... for me, at least.

The children, mine and theirs, got along well. Probably because my siblings didn’t realize that they were being saddled and harnessed and used as beasts of burden. I may have ground my teeth when I first saw it.

“Oh, I warned you, Thorngrim. The big one doesn’t like that.” his wife told him.

.....

“Well, as the elder of the tribe, I should probably see to it.” he said back.

“It’s okay.” I said. “They seem to actually be happy to do it. Probably mistaking themselves for deer.”

“You...” said Butterfly.

“You speak Gaelic? All this time?” Thorngrim asked.

“What? Of course not.” I said. “I had to have my System analyze it, and then pay the points to unlock it. Just like any other language.”

“Wife?” Thorngrim asked.

“He’s too much of a knucklehead to be lying, not about this, and then nothing else.” she told him.

“But...” he said to me, “Systems are known to not work that way. Only the legendary weapons... oh. Right. Well, I’m going to sit down in this chair and smoke a pipe.”

“Don’t you worry none.” Butterfly said. “He does that when life upends itself. Give him his pipe and a thimble full of wine, and he’ll be right as rain. HEY. ARE THOSE BOOKCASES READY, YET?”

And no, of course they weren’t. I had to carry them carefully, one hand cupped over the front, moving bookshelves with the books still in them.

Thorngrim may not have been ‘right as rain’, but he was at least talkative. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, which of the legendary weapons do you have? Is that the Legendary Sword?”

“I’m afraid not.” I said, pulling it from its sheathe. “Heart’s Protector is just a shortsword, made harder and more durable through magic.”

“That’s pretty clumsy magic.” Applebourgh said. “Dwarves could do better.”

“Apple!” snapped Butterfly. “Apologize at once.”

“I’ll do no such thing. Have you ever seen dwarven magic, young one?”

“I’ll admit that. If I’ve ever seen dwarven magic, it has never been so identified to me.” I said.

“Well, from what Thorngrim speaks of it, you were headed right for them.” he said, ignoring gestures from both Thorngrim and Butterfly. “You might just let them take a look at your blade, see if they can do you one better.”

I blinked. “I thought the Maze of Othello...”

Applebourgh nodded. “Is just above the mines of Kazadah, sometimes called the Mines of Othello by the ignorant.”

The Mines of...

Crap on gods and their stupid knowing of everything! Or, close enough.

“I think I may just do that.” I said.

“Oh, young but talented one.” a diminutive woman waved.

“Er, yes?” I asked.

“I, um, I’m so terribly sorry, but I’ve decided to keep my bathtub after all. You being so large and all, it couldn’t take you more than a day to carve a new one, would it?”

“Miss Fatonion!” Butterfly snapped. And then, “I am sorry, but yes, that would be ideal.”

“Well, two bathtubs would be ideal, if memory serves.” Thorngrim said.

“Husband.” Butterfly said, rounding on him. “You are NOT getting your own private bathing tub out of this!”

“Who wants a private tub?” he asked. “How much extra effort is a doubly wide tub, say for a man and his wife to share?”

I scratched my chin, getting loose a piece of skin that Hermance had missed. “Let’s find out.” I said.

In the end, I only ended up doing the rough hewing and carving, with the details supplied by the more agile and detailed gnomes.

All told, we were there five days and six nights.

I bundled up one, two, three fuzzy turtle things, sporting shells of their favorite colors. Unlike me, they seemed to enjoy rolling around on their backs, armored bellies exposed to the air. Little freaks.

The gnomes were well informed on the timing of the ogre’s patrols, and we managed to avoid them. Up, halfway down, all the way back up...

And THAT was not on any of my maps.

The final mountain range had been half carved away, rubbed all but smooth, the low points made into walls about one and a half cyclops tall (judging by the cyclopses patrolling atop it). It was built impossibly sturdy and thick, to support their weight.

Long spears adorned their backs, held in place by straps of hide, themselves on an impractical scale. For a span in which four city blocks could be fit, there was no wall, steps on either side marking where a gate could have been built, but had not.

said Blue.

said Pink.

Violet asked.

It was the first time one of them had formed a rational thought, and I missed it until later.

I said, walking openly down the mountain, headed straight for the gate. When they seemed not to see me, I began singing out the parts I remembered from Kathani love ballads that Kismet had seemed to know by heart. Not shouting, but also not trying to be quiet.

From the expressions of the cyclopses, it wasn’t entirely successful in putting them at ease, but neither of them had picked up a rock about as large as I was and chunked it at me, either.

I pulled out the forgery the gnomes had made for me, papers they assured me would get me through the gate as a trader.

“And?” the nearer cyclops asked, in slow but understandable Achean.

I presented two tree stumps, which came up to my chest, a sharpened triangular fin extending from each double that size. “I bring as offering this pair of palm-knives, for the picking of food from between your teeth, and the grime from under your fingernails.”

With delicate care, the cyclops took them from me, handed one to his fellow. “Letter openers.” he said.

“What are you waiting for, merchant?” the other said. “Get out there and come back with a right proper haul of goods and gold.”

I bowed, and made my way through the gate before either could decide Kick-the-Rhishisikk might be a funny game to play.

And THAT wasn’t on my map, either.

A curved wall, about two Rhishisikks in height, bristling with all kinds of metal points and blades. Clad in a mix of steel, bronze, and raw arrogance, large and muscular minotaurs patrolled the smaller wall, made of dull granite that appeared to have been smelted smooth, and runes carved over every exposed inch.

Well, nobody had said anything about this second wall, but I wasn’t entirely unprepared.

“We want no goods from any cyclops.” one of their guards said.

“Oh, more for me, then.” I said, reaching into a large sack at my waist, pulling forth several green packages.

“Sweetgrass?” the guard asked. “Wrapped around what, exactly?”

“Fender’s mushroom caps.” I said. “Soaked in the juices of raspberries and strawberries, and then wrapped in sweetgrass to dry.”

I kept my own mouth from watering. I’d tried some, and the siblings enjoyed them as well.

The guard broke out laughing. “Treats for children! What are you expecting to get for those?”

“Whatever I can get, of course.” I said.

And my apologies for repeating the statements of others to that effect.

Books, magic, sugar, and alchohol. These seemed to form the common loves of at least the Grapeberry clan.

No, of course those did NOT fit in inventory. And they caught on branches, or rotated in ways that threatened to pull out my lower back... But, a cart would have cost me extra, and raised questions about why I needed one.