bimblesnip

"What became of the man of those stories?" A gnome would ponder, deliberating upon words passed down by his late father. "That Victor, I have ne’er seen him. Perhaps he was but a tale after all?" Yet the name lingered in the damp air of the burrow for some time as he thought. "Victor…" He repeated it now. A curious thing, how oft it surfaced within that long abandoned home, spoken with a significance that Bimtar, son of Bimble, never truly understood. No two tellings were ever alike, and all seemed steeped in excessive hyperbole. His father spoke the name sparingly in his later years, as though wary of dwelling upon it. Yet in earlier days, after long eves and heavy cups, the aged gnome had let slip the occasional remark or anecdote. Now there remained only questions. Had Victor been a man? A wanderer? A fabrication borne of hazy memory and excessive mushrooms? The gnome would not know. "Perhaps some day I shall search for this Victor… see if he can tell me of my father.” Thus murmured the half-man unto his grotto, peering through a narrow gap amidst the roots beyond.

I remember the gates; vast arches of stone beneath an ashen sky, looming in silent watch. At their feet I found myself, sitting upon the warped cobblestones. Soon thereafter came the memory of the ride, a friend in tow as we traversed the ashlands. Then, I remember the man, if so he was one. Brazen digits wrapped around my torso, hoisting me aloft as I watched the pale mist bleed from my core, flowing into that bastard of fate. A hammer was placed on my forehead, raised and held there for a moment. He looked at me, much like one might a disobedient child. Then, the hammer came down upon my brow - my hat cast unto the ashen stone. I awoke Knowing not how, I awoke in foreign fields - much like the ashlands, but much different. The ground fractured, revealing chasms of bubbling magma. The surroundings were flat, eerily so. For some miles they spread so, until the sight of mountains broke the view. A host of mountains, all interlocked, formed the edge of a massive basin, in which I stood unknowing. Above all, I felt that they watched me, judged me, attempted to ascertain my worth. I turned, searching for something familiar, but the horizon bent strangely in the distance as though the world itself curved wrong. Mountains now floated upside down above me. Rivers of magma now climbed upward into the heavens. Shadows now moved where no living thing stood. “Little keeper” A voice - from where, I knew not. Again I would turn back to where I originally faced. This time, a mausoleum of sorts faced me, some ten paces away. “Little keeper” The voice would repeat, beckoning me. As bid, I began to move forth, my boots pressing into the arid dust. After ten paces, I had not yet arrived. The grand scale of the mausoleum had rendered me naive. Nonetheless, I walked. And thus, did I eventually arrive. Two stone pillars twisted up. At their apex, the image of a dragon wrapped around was present. At their feet, the image of a flame engulfed the pillar. I walked deeper. From outside, the doorway revealed no secrets. It was cast in tenebrous shadow, and I was naive to the fact’s abnormality. As I passed the precipice, the darkness opened. A tunnel breathing out a dim embered glow. I turned. My head cast a glance over my left shoulder. Nothing. The grand opening was no more. No light shone behind me. Indeed, I was not sure if there was truly anything behind me. So, I moved further. I descended down, guided by the effervescent glow of unwavering firelight, hoisted sconces posted every ten paces. I descended for days, it felt. Though, in sooth, I had no time. Though, I did not tire. My gaze remained affixed forwards, my pace constant. I was being tested, it would seem. Tested of what, I was not sure. My perseverance perhaps? No, otherwise I would not have been granted the untireable legs. My trust. Thus far, I had merely heard four words - the same two cast twice upon my ears. And yet, I had sunken down that tunnel for however long, trusting in whatever lay at its end. So, I was glad to see those familiar torches halt. The tunnel opened up - a grand hall was revealed before me, wider and taller than any I had seen before. It could fit cities within, I would imagine. Empty - it would seem. I paced forth, A rumble soon befell my ears, a guttural chant - the voice once more. Its voice, gentle but grand; its great treble vibrating my core. “Little keeper” It would say once more. I swivelled around one heel, my knees bending as I sought to ‘catch’ whatever had hidden their presence thus far. I turned but I did somehow not. My rear now became the front. I turned to face back towards the tunnel, but it was not there. The hall was, and the tunnel was still to my rear. This time, however, it was not empty. A colossal skeleton filled the hall - the ribs forming grand archways as the spine led into the tail. The entire thing was curled up, as if in perpetual slumber. Within a socket, vibrant amber shone - fading into yellow as the whole thing was bisected by a serpentine pupil. The eye was affixed on me. Soon, their gaze dropped, to my midsection perhaps. At some point, the egg had made its way into my hands, and now, I cradled it. She regarded us for a long time, and I stood still, regarding it. “You hear it too.” She would say, her long-dead chest rising and falling as she spoke, though her jaw remained still. I tried to speak, but my throat refused. The air itself felt too heavy to breathe. Her form unravelled, the dark ash from the floor rose up, like filings around a magnet. They covered her, clothed her, before falling away. What remained was no skeleton. What remained was a dragon. She began circling me slowly, bare feet gliding across the black sands without sound. Wherever she stepped, embers bloomed in her wake before fading moments later. “You are afraid?” She murmured, though it was not much of a question. “I…” My voice cracked painfully - too arid, it would seem. “What is this place?” “A dream.” She tilted her head, slowing her canter for but a moment. “A memory.” Another step. “A possibility.” The hall began to tremble, it began to warp. The ground opened up. Cracks propagated through that once sand. From within them, molten aurum began to flow. Each step she took sent embers spiralling upwards, her scales shifted strangely beneath the dim glow, black at one moment, crimson at the next, and verdant green at the next. Yet no colour remained constant upon her for long. Soon, did the egg begin to stir. The weight inside began to shift. Not violently Not fearfully Like recognition. The dragon’s gaze lowered towards it once more. Then to me. “You carried it through fear.” Her voice no longer seemed to come from her, but instead reverberated through my very being. “You bled for it, you crossed the threshold willingly.” Her head lowered unto mine. Though her size was beyond reason, her movements were imbued with grace. Heat rolled in waves from her nostrils, casting over me like a veil. I could see myself in her eye. Small, Fragile, Mortal. “What are you?” I forced myself to ask. A low rumble escaped her - not quite laughter, yet nor far from it. For the first time, she seemed amused. “I am but a dream, I have told you so.” A pause, as the dragon set in motion once more, swirling around me, feet no longer bound to the ground as it seemed to glide. “I am-” The word warped as it was received, resolving a low harmonic rumble where the name should have been. Only when the word subsided did hearing return. “I am ash. As are you.” The hall darkened. The molten cracks brightened. Far above, beyond the unseen ceiling, I heard thousands of wings, all floating in tandem. Their beats shook dust from the walls, dust from the ceilings. The words would have frightened me, yet they did not. For within her gaze there was no cruelty. Only certainty. The egg pulsed suddenly with warmth. A crack spread faintly across its verdant shell. The wings ceased, and so too did the voice. Silence befell all things. Then, a sound. Small. Weak. A heartbeat. The dragon closed her eyes - recognition “When the child emerges,” she whispered, “Your path shall close forever behind you.” Another crack spread across the shell. “What path?” I asked. But the world had already begun to unravel. The sanctum began to collapse. The dragon’s skin began to fall off once more, returning to powdered ash. Yet, her piercing eye of amber remained, watching even as she faded. Then came her final words. “Wake, little keeper.” The eye closed. Darkness swallowed all things - only the beats remaining. And I awoke, gasping hoarsely.

[ A missive found its way across the continent, nailed to various tavern-posts and scattered on sparsely-trodden roads. ] Hearken ye, kindred of Azuras. In the damp beneath cobbled streets, where above the lanterns of Man flicker, stirs a tale both curious and grave. I, a humble son of Oblazeki blood, do set quill to parchment to herald hope and inquiry both. Within my keeping has fallen a thing most peculiar - an egg, clad in the verdant greens of the tropics; vibrant crimson freckles litter its surface not unlike the sparks of a smith’s hammer nor the gloam of a falling sun. It hums with warmth and a true vigour - reflective, I gather, of the creature it cradles - and well-travelled between many hands from the distant shores of The Nightmarket. Word, accompanying that which entrusted me with its nurturing, told of claims it was the spawn of some lesser dragonkin - a flame yet unlit. Such, I was instructed, befitted no less than the potent breath of magma to stir its essence into being. Thusly, do I declare that I shall see it hatched. Let it not be said that the Gnomish folk are mere footnotes in the grand tapestries of this world, constrained to quiver beneath the bustling prides of men. Alike the acorn, we are small - but so, once, were you. Blades will not meet this child of flame - rather patience, and care - for I suspect even the mightiest of dragons began as something small, and terribly alone. Beneath a gnarled tree, nestled in the forest’s heart where roots entangle bones buried in the dirt, I dwell, and seek comrades. There do I prepare for a journey - a trek through fire, and to whatever destiny awaits within this shell. I know not of what a dragon demands, save that it shall undeniably include flesh. Should anybody possess exotic and nutritious meats, I would request word to myself, Bimtar Snailsnip Thimblewhim, that I might see to suitable reward. Too would the embers of a seasoned smith serve well the cause, for I have a few ideas in mind.

-Rest now, little one.- -The road is long behind you- -And the weight you carried is no more- The cold evening roads harked not with the songs of chirping birds, nor the rustle of wind through the grasses. Bimble Snailsnip Thimblewhim, the humble cart-bound merchant trundled along Empire roads with naught but the creaking of wood and the continuous cadence of soft hoofclops keeping him company. To the gnome, this was the norm, a life alone was the life of a gnome after all. Thus, when harked by the stranger, Bimble did not hesitate in lowering a hand to aid the man onto his rickety vehicle. “To Norland, if it please.” They had asked, and Bimble, ever gentle of heart, ever foolish, had smiled. “Aye, I know the roads.” The pair: man and gnome spoke little on the journey. Upon their passage northward, the air grew ever colder, yet no wind stirred the silence which loomed, long and heavy. Still, the innocent Bimble said nothing. He simply held the reins, eyes forward while humming fragments of an Oblazeki tune to fill the void. The song only stopped as the gnome’s breath drew still. Small fingers clawed at an iron grip now poised about his throat. A choked grasp was all that escaped the gnome before his body fell limp at the seat of his cart, his horse slowing to a halt as the tension in the reins fell slack. No cry escaped his mouth, only a desperate wriggle, boots scraping against uneven wood, his pipe falling from his lips, bounding floorwards before nestling in the dirt. For the gnome, the world had dimmed. Yet a quick death was not granted No. The gnome was not given such mercies. As his breath fled him, so too did his warmth - fangs found flesh, and the life within him was taken. As was done not in rage, haste or desperation, but with slow, deliberate hunger. Bimble’s small form trembled, then weakened, then stilled… yet still they fed. Such was not ample - the wineskin had not yet run dry - for soon, another was beckoned. “Come” The first had said. And so they came, two shadows looming over a fading light. There was no final word, no grand sacrifice, no restful end. Only the quiet of the woods, echoing the hollow stillness of a gnome who had given all he had, even unto those who would take from him his very being. The cart sat abandoned by the roadside come sunup - a pipe half-lodged in the dirt, it’s once plentiful smoke now absent - the world unchanged, as if he had never been there at all. But he was. Bimble Snailsnip Thimblewhim was here. His leave would not be noticed immediately, as such was merely the nature of the traveller, but eventually, after days of absence, his departure would be realised. Though his body would not be found, he would not be forgotten, until eventually, he was.