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Some call the gnome an unwelcome guest.
Who could think that the tall ones know best?
I take, but I give in unequal
degree:
Always two for the host, and one for me.
--Withycombe doggerel
When
Sjandor Withycombe was a child, no one predicted he was destined
for greatness. Many, including his parents, believed he was
destined for an early grave. As a curious toddler, he would
find his way into a den of hibernating bears or to the center
of half-frozen pond. A nearsighted and frail child, he found
himself unsuited for participation in archery competitions
and the other games that taught young gnomes the ways of the
forest. Instead, he spent his time studying the way of things,
and looking for ways to improve them. Sometimes his inventions
showed signs of genius. After observing the mating behavior
of a certain fish, for instance, he redirected a stream down
a graduated falls he built with some friends. As the fish
tired of leaping the steps, the gnomes were able to grab them
at will with bare hands. Other schemes were less successful,
however. In one infamous episode, he actually strapped himself
to a kite with the intention of dropping stones on a herd
of grazing elk. He was a young gnome, and he healed quickly.
"More quickly than is strictly speaking good for him,”
his father liked to say.
So it was that when young Sjandor Withycombe stood before
the gathered bloodlines and proposed an urban life for the
gnomes, those who knew him best were persuaded least. Lacking
the character and rhetorical gifts of his cousin Doneagil
Basingtoke, Withycombe knew that he would persuade--if at
all--on the merits of his proposal alone. He well understood
that what he proposed was more than mere transplantation--that
it would require a complete transformation of the race, as
the gnomes adjusted in body, mind, and spirit to an urban
environment. Withycombe did not harangue his listeners, but
merely outlined the pros and cons as he saw them and allowed
each gnome to judge the proposal on its merits. This respect
for individual judgment persuaded many that Sjandor Withycombe
was the right gnome at the right time.
Thrust from obscurity to the forefront of history, Sjandor
Withycombe led nearly a third of his much-diminished race
out of the forests in the direction of the nearest human settlement.
His regret at leaving kith and kin mingled with curiosity
and a strong determination to realize his dream as Withycombe
spent the days and weeks of travel formulating a more specific
plan. He knew from scouting reports that the humans were fearful
of strangers. Even those who accepted individuals of other
races were unlikely to welcome an entire tribe of wayfaring
gnomes, a race of which the humans had little or no previous
knowledge, looking for food and shelter. He knew that the
gnomes could infiltrate the city and pilfer what they needed,
but this would be no permanent solution. Eventually the humans
would discover such parasites, and dire consequences would
follow. He needed a plan under which the gnomes would be physically
present within the human city, but not a recognized part of
its population; under which they could take what they needed
to survive and yet ensure that the humans would disregard
their pilferage; and under which they could learn from the
humans a variety of skills that would make the change of habitat
worthwhile.
Late in Eoantos of -125, the gnomes approached the town
of Tamzyrr. Not yet an imperial capitol, Tamzyrr had a large
population, an agricultural surplus, and a wide selection
of professional guilds and artisans’ workshops; most
importantly for Withycombe’s plan, it was built over
deep topsoil. From the shelter of a densely wooded copse,
the gnomes began to dig a tunnel toward the city walls, lining
their subterranean road with brick as they moved beneath fallow
fields and the wooden palisade surrounding the city. The gnomes
tunneled with great vigor and speed. Reaching the city itself,
they built brick-lined apartments underneath human neighborhoods,
and beneath business districts they built their workshops.
In short order, they mirrored the human city with a complete
underworld town of their own. On the first anniversary of
their arrival, the gnomes gathered in Sjandor Withycombe’s
personal compound, which was built beneath the Tamzyrr City
Hall (a building that would later be torn down to make way
for an imperial palace). In those grand chambers, still some
of the finest examples of burghal gnome architectural design,
Sjandor Withycombe delivered his first address as head of
a new race:
“This is all the welcome you’re ever likely
to receive. In the sky-lit world above lies adventure, knowledge,
and wealth, but also certain death for any of you careless
enough to be seen. Remember our purpose. We will learn from
our hosts, and then help them in whatever small ways we
can. Of the value that we add to human endeavors, take one-third:
no more and no less. Then our hosts will be glad of our
presence, whether they are consciously aware of it or not.
Seek out every means of improving our lot. I will serve
as your leader for one more year, after which we shall meet
again. At that time, let the one who has done the most for
our race be chosen head gnome for the year to follow.”
Accepting Withycombe's plan with unanimous acclaim, the
gnomes set about their tasks with the energy and enthusiasm
that were to become characteristic of their race.
They began by studying human agriculture. The size and stealth
of the gnomes gave them every opportunity to observe the process
of clearing, plowing, seeding, and reaping the crops. They
watched as vermin and disease attacked the plants, diminishing
the yield. Using the knowledge of plants and animals they
imported from the forest, the gnomes improved irrigation and
drainage, they trapped marauding birds and small mammals,
they imported worms to aerate soil and bees to pollinate,
and they spread fertilizing and insecticide potions over the
plants. When, in short order, the quality improved and the
yield increased, the gnomes began to break into the store
rooms and liberate a share of the food, thinking of themselves
not as burglars but as co-workers due a living wage.
The gnomes knew they could not take all that was needed
to feed the race directly from the fields and barns. Instead,
each gnome was responsible for providing for his own needs
and the needs of his infant children. Some stole food from
the fields, but others stole from homes and workplace pantries.
As a result, the pilferage was slow and steady and never significant
enough to cause a hue and cry. Another result of this odd
method of procurement can be seen to this day in the fondness
of Withycombe gnomes for stew. In most burghal gnome compounds,
the cook will maintain a kettle of hodge-porridge slowly stewing
day and night. Whatever food comes into the household goes
into the common stewpot, so that today’s flavor always
owes something to the taste of yesterday.
In addition to fields and barns, the gnomes also infiltrated
human homes. They observed housekeeping and the maintenance
of lawns and gardens. Some gnomes adopted deserving families
as their special hosts, and they performed small tasks on
their behalf. A window left open to the cold might be closed
in the night, or shoes left muddy might be found clean in
the morning. Gardens tended by gnomes became the envy of human
neighborhoods, and many a person credited with a green thumb
found herself receiving unjust blame for not sharing lawn
maintenance secrets with the neighbors.
The gnomes also studied the humans at work. From places
of hiding in shops and guild halls, they learned every skill
known to their hosts. Individual gnomes adopted particular
craftsmen, always seeking out the most worthy persons for
their special attentions. They performed small housekeeping
tasks, making sure that the shop or workshop was clean and
inviting for customers, but more importantly they sought out
subtle ways to improve the quality of goods and services.
A gnome working with a tailor, for instance, might tighten
the seams or elaborate on the embroidery of clothing, earning
the craftsman a better reputation and increased custom. As
the shop prospered, the gnome would exact her share of the
increased profits, sometimes in the form of goods but eventually
also in the form of silver coin. The gnomes eventually discovered
another form of exchange in colorful faceted stones, and the
love affair between burghal gnomes and gems began. To this
day, burghal gnomes prefer to do business with gems rather
than the bulkier and heavier silver coin; rarely will a burghal
gnome leave home without a few gems for daily purchases. Withycombe
gnomes are expert and innovative gem cutters, and the hallmark
of their jewelry is the simple setting that shows off the
sparkle of the gem (the quality they value most).
The burghal gnomes acknowledged that the humans, with their
advantages in size and strength, could perform certain tasks
with far greater ease than the gnomes could ever hope to duplicate.
They sought every means to compensate for their physical limitations,
and innovation and experimentation became characteristic of
their race. In their workshops, they harnessed every available
form of power: they tapped the power of earthnodes to experiment
with various forms of magic; they directed underground streams
through pipes into their homes and workshops for necessary
use but also to turn grinding wheels; they tapped boiling
springs as sources of heat, but also as a source of steam
power for their machines. The gnomes learned to multiply and
direct mechanical forces, first with simple machines like
the lever and the pulley, and then with mechanisms of increasing
complexity. They built practical machines like the clock and
artistic machines like the mobile, but in time the purest
expression of their love for engineering and design would
appear in wondrous toys, puzzles, and games.
The workshop of a burghal gnome is a place of great noise
and industry, with the whirr of spinning wheels, the hiss
of steam, and the crackle of harnessed lightning. Burghal
gnomes are notoriously casual in their dress, especially in
the grip of a particularly vexing project, when a splash of
grease or oil might go unnoticed for days or weeks at a time.
Between projects, however, their persons and their workshops
are meticulously clean. Unfortunately, it’s only the
rarest occasion when a burghal gnome is between projects.
As their culture increasingly focused on the workplace and
home workshop, the gnomes began to experience a radical change
in their personal lives. Nowhere is this more visible than
in marriage. Over the centuries, Withycombe gnomes have come
to look at marriage as an extension of work, as a task they
undertake for the good of the race rather than for personal
satisfaction. In their marriage vows, they promise not to
love and to cherish the positive qualities of their mates,
but to fix specific faults in their partners. They spend their
marriage tinkering with each others’ habits and personalities,
in the hope of making each other better gnomes. As a consequence
of this unique arrangement, burghal gnomes of bloodline Withycombe
almost never divorce. Their differences are seen signs of
the strength of the coupling, and some Withycombe gnomes go
so far as to choose their partners on the basis of their incompatibility.
(It is important for outsiders to note that Withycombe gnomes
do love their mates, even though the basis for their love
might be different from your own.)
Withycombe childrearing is also inextricably tied to the
cultural focus on craft. At a very early age, children are
apprenticed outside the home, as the emotions between parent
and child are considered a deterrent to workshop discipline.
As a parting gift from the opposite-sex parent, the young
gnome receives a leather tool belt branded with the family
and bloodline name; the same-sex parent provides the child
with a tool etched with the surname of the new apprentice.
As the child gains knowledge and skill in a craft, the master
makes additional gifts in recognition of significant achievement.
When adolescence turns to young adulthood, most gnomes have
filled their belts with the tools of their trade and they
stand ready for the arvyad’gno, or the “venture
of fate.” In this coming of age trial, each gnome is
left alone in a room empty but for a burlap bag. Using the
tools in their belt and their native wit, the gnomes must
assemble something from the parts and pieces found within
in the bag. Some rumors suggest that each master creates her
own task item, while others insist that every burghal gnome
since the days of Sjandor Withycombe has assembled the same
item. The Withycombe gnomes hold secret the exact description
of this artifact, but many have revealed that words etched
on the metal pieces serve as a clue to the order of assembly
as they come together to form an aphorism or short parable
of Withycombe wisdom.
Gnomes who successfully complete the arvyad’gno receive
the title of journeyman, and they are free to pursue their
craft independently. Journeymen typically work for some dozens
of years, until they have accumulated the experience and capital
necessary to buy out a retiring master (and his or her workshop).
Gnomes who fail to complete the arvyad’gno in the allotted
time bear the stigma for all of their days. They rarely rise
to positions of authority, and they usually perform only menial
tasks within the burghal gnome community. At the conclusion
of the ceremony, both successful and unsuccessful applicants
are marked with their own blood as a sign of adult membership
in the bloodline. Withycombe gnomes, many of whom choose to
tattoo the bloodmark into their skin, bear a sign of two straight
lines with a diamond at either side.
The centrality of the workshop also manifests in the religious
life of the Withycombe gnomes. Eonak the craftsman has many
adherents, as does Tonis the fleetfooted, patron of thieves.
Many Basingstoke gnomes also worship Lumnis and Fash’lo’nae
for their connection to the search for knowledge. Like their
Basingstoke relations, the Withycombe gnomes celebrate their
most important holiday as Founder’s Day, which for the
Withycombe marks the anniversary of Sjandor Withycombe’s
first speech to the burghal gnomes in Tamzyrr. On Founder’s
Day, the burghal gnomes clean themselves up and leave their
workshops to visit with family and friends. Presents are exchanged
in honor of the gods, and to showcase the work that’s
been done over the previous year.
It is on Founder’s Day that the Withycombe select
a head gnome for the year to follow. The burghal gnomes have
long been settled in their cultural ways, and the criteria
for head gnome have changed subtly over time. The gnome who
does the most to improve the lot of the race is now seen as
the gnome who produces the most ingenious device, whether
practical or whimsical in nature. The role of head gnome is
largely ceremonial. He (or, rarely, she) visits workshops
of master craftsmen to kibbutz on their designs. The input
of the head gnome is tolerated, but rarely welcome, as many
gnomes give in to an excess of pride after winning the competition
for the title. The only serious business of the head gnome
comes when a particular city’s population reaches excess,
and a pioneering group applies for permission to establish
a colony in a new human city or town. For day-to-day business,
the burghal gnomes are governed by family elders, who in most
cases are also workshop masters.
Withycombe lives end with very little ceremony. After a
brief visitation of family and friends, corpses are wrapped
in anonymous shrouds and deposited in brick-lined vaults deep
beneath the city. There the bodies lie, unmarked and unacknowledged,
until even the bones turn to dust. In the course of time,
as space for new bodies becomes scarce, the gnomes sweep the
remains of the eldest generation from the crypt and spread
them into the winds that course through the night in the skylit
world up above. Only then is a funeral held, and the gnomes
recount the major accomplishments of the lost generation.
It is believed that this system provides for historical objectivity,
which might be threatened should the immediate relatives of
the dead be called upon to judge their work.
Withycombe gnomes have little in their culture that might
be called art. While they mimic the artisan skills of the
humans, their production tends to be derivative at best. Some
of their fancy-dress clothing, however, bears a unique style
of embroidery design consisting of interlocking geometric
shapes. Basingstoke gnomes also favor the mechanical reproduction
of nature, in items like the bejeweled metal songbirds sold
on the Dhu Gillywack. For the Basingstoke gnomes, such feats
of design and construction represent the very height of aesthetic
achievement. The Withycombe gnomes are also excessively fond
of poetry; but where the forest gnomes favor the imagistic
lyric, the burghal gnomes value only rhyme, often at grave
cost to meter and sense.
Burghal gnomes of Bloodline Withycombe have infiltrated
most of the major cities and towns of the human empire, as
well as select smaller outposts on the fringes of civilization.
It is far more likely for burghal gnomes to live openly in
these smaller towns, where the prejudicial human laws are
not as strictly enforced.
HOME
When
Sjandor Withycombe was a child, no one predicted he was destined
for greatness. Many, including his parents, believed he was
destined for an early grave. As a curious toddler, he would
find his way into a den of hibernating bears or to the center
of half-frozen pond. A nearsighted and frail child, he found
himself unsuited for participation in archery competitions
and the other games that taught young gnomes the ways of the
forest. Instead, he spent his time studying the way of things,
and looking for ways to improve them. Sometimes his inventions
showed signs of genius. After observing the mating behavior
of a certain fish, for instance, he redirected a stream down
a graduated falls he built with some friends. As the fish
tired of leaping the steps, the gnomes were able to grab them
at will with bare hands. Other schemes were less successful,
however. In one infamous episode, he actually strapped himself
to a kite with the intention of dropping stones on a herd
of grazing elk. He was a young gnome, and he healed quickly.
"More quickly than is strictly speaking good for him,”
his father liked to say.