PREVIOUSLY in Chasing Gnomes... [in the voice of Benchmark the Blacksmith]

Seems my old friend Rozlyn's found herself so deep in shit, she'll end up with a permanent tan. Of course, she'd never admit that to me, just like she won't confess she enjoyed walking 'round with two giant turtle habitats on her chest and a codpiece dancing about like she put a tail on backwards. My apprentice is fixing her armour, but I'm pretty sure she'll miss the old shape. Rumour has it, she tried to rob our local crime bosses, the Bass Brothers. of a prized possession. That's what's known in these parts as committing suicide - like walking into a tavern and announcing 'I'm the hardest fighter alive!' I hope she doesn't get killed too quickly - she still hasn't paid her tab.

[in the voice of Olaf the Barkeep]

Right now, she's sitting at my least dirty table, trying to drink without touching her tankard. Can't say I blame her - I'd want a drink in her shoes, and nobody knows what that taste is on the rims of all the tankards. Seems she's meeting her old crew, and that doesn't bode well for me, even if they can help her out of a tight spot. I'd best be preparing - when that lot gets together, a fight's never far away. I just hope they wait until I've turned a profit for the day!

AND NOW, in Chasing Gnomes...


------


The Dragon's Tail bustled with furtive activity, the air thrumming with the smell of spicy parsnips and the kind of language that makes mercenaries pause and say 'oh come on, that's a bit much!' I blanked it all out while I went through my options. Oh, what am I saying? I ran out of options about the same time I put my locksmith in my bra and threw him down a toilet pipe. I needed to make some major cash, do some heinous jobs for even more heinous taskmasters, or turn into a one-woman wrecking machine and kill everyone I owed money to.

It says something about my state of mind that the last option seemed the most appealing.

Meeting my old crew was a calculated risk. I'd not seen any of them since we agreed to disperse and for all I knew, they were doing better without me. Still, they'd all agreed to meet - at least, that's what the local commseer told me. Pennylast was full of swindlers and fakes but I'd been using Aerial for a long time and she seemed to be the genuine article. Commseers frequented most population centres and were hired to travel with the richer merchants. With luck and a following wind, they could provide both location and communications services by linking minds with other commseers. Aerial was a ragged, filthy resident of the alley behind Pennylast's town hall. She was nuttier than schizophrenic squirrel poo, but her messages usually got through.

It took me a moment to realise Little-John had joined me. If not for a few tufts of his dark hair sticking up above the lip across the table, he'd be completely invisible.

"Congratulations," I said, shoving the second beer across to him. "First to arrive gets a free pint - and it's the only one I'm buying today."

"Have you got that armour with you?" His voice came at me from under the table, which was very unnerving. I resisted the urge to conduct a conversation with my privates. "Only, I could do with a booster cushion."

I decided not to answer that, and instead helped him stack two benches, meaning he sat with his little feet dangling at about table top height, but it was better than the disembodied voice.

"So, who are we meeting?" he asked as I sat opposite his knees.

"Well, we've got Harry - the dwarf without a beard. He was our getaway carter and a menace to kneecaps with his axe. Then there's Terence, the muscles. Does what he's told - sometimes to a fault. And finally, there's Lindon. He's an elf, and our wizard, and talks so much I already want him to shut up."

Little-John's face scrunched up in thought. "I thought dwarves were born with beards, and all elves are quiet and thoughtful."

"And all mercenaries are men, right? And everyone treats women with respect? I never said we weren't misfits. Just remember to take everything Lindon says with a bucket of salt. He'll tell you he's bedded every woman in the realm, and, especially for an elf, he's got an enormous-"

"How do you do!" said a voice from right behind me.

I saw Little-John's mouth drop open in shock at the vision of elfness over my shoulder. "Lindon, I swear, it's been so long since I saw you, I can't remember your face, but I can feel your erection through the back of this solid chair. Sit down, you daft bugger - let's have a look at you."

He laughed and the sound brought a sense of home with it - not that I'd ever tell him that. Reversing a chair, he straddled it to sit between me and my gobbit friend. If I asked why, he'd tell me there was no choice but to sit with his legs apart and a good size gap to dangle his package through. So I didn't ask. Lindon might have been a stereotype elf if he didn't chase women (and by women, I mean anything with lips and a pulse), wear a nose stud and five dangly earrings, bathe regularly and swear like a sailor with his pubes caught in a clock mechanism ... Okay, so he's not a stereotype elf at all. He's skinny, wears the brightest colours known to trade, and is sometimes useful in a pickle.

He drew breath to unleash words but Elljay cut him off. "Why are you sitting on the chair backwards?"

I sighed, blanking out his inevitable reply, and turned to survey the common room. I didn't see any more companions, but instead caught sight of Olaf delivering a tray of parsnips and ale. The parsnips were all shaped bizarrely and sprinkled with spices. Olaf prided himself on growing the most ridiculous vegetables this side of the Unknown Ocean. If root veg had personalities, the tray he carried sported a motley collection of lunatics fit for any mad mercenary crew.

I turned back to the table as he arrived to dish out food and drink, and almost jumped out of my skin. The chair to my left had grown a head of curly ginger hair and a wrinkled forehead.

"I swear, Harry, you should not be able to sneak up on people when you wear boots made of solid iron."

The forehead grew wrinklier. "Och is tha' reet, lass? Ye know we dwarves can move freely. We has a natural aff ... affni ... connection with the land."

"And mountains have boobs," chimed in Lindon, "and gold is the lifeblood of the bedrock."

The wrinkled forehead developed a decidedly red hue. "Ye daft bugger! I barely draw breath and tha two o' ye are already taking tha piss. Are we here fer a plan or a piss taking contest?" He stood up on his chair so he could glare at us and everything went still (I swear - the tavern went silent and everything). He must have seen the looks on our faces. "What?"

"Our Harry grew up," I said.

Little-John looked between me and Lindon, his adorable face the picture definition of baffled.

"Well, shit on me," said Lindon.

Harry sported one of the biggest, hairiest, bushiest examples of man-beard I'd ever seen. "How did that happen?" I asked, pointing.

"Och," he said, burying fingers in his face fluff. "I stayed with Harry een Harry fer a wheel, and their wee lad Harry. Harry, their local witch, werked her wonders."

Some explanation may be required here.

There are many languages spoken across the lands - Elven, Dwarfish, Giant, Madman (that one comes with a slur and a tendency to hang out around the town well) - but most folk commit to speaking the 'Common' tongue. It's an awkward, inconsistent mish-mash of a language but at least we can almost communicate with it. Of course, any coming together of languages results in some anomalies. Dwarves, for example, have more than a hundred words for 'gold' and half again for 'beard.' It will give you an insight into their naming conventions when I tell you that, as a result - in common parlance - all Dwarves are called Harry.

"Congratulations!" I said. "Now, sit down before we get drowned in short ladies wanting to swing from it."

He chuckled and did as I asked, taking a generous slug from his ale. "What brings us here, lass? Other than beer and fine company, of course." He gestured at EllJay. "And who's this wee streak o' piss?"

Little-John sipped his beer and waved. "I make locks open for Miss Rozzy."

"You mean I'm not here just for my smile?" That was Lindon - you'll get used to him.

Apparently feeling as though he needed to prove something, Little-John chose that moment to pipe up with, "We're here about the ring-piece."

There was a brief silence while all the immediate retorts Lindon thought of throbbed unspoken in the air. He looked fit to burst with all the hilarious comebacks he'd thought of. Harry, now once again a forehead, grew wrinkly before sighing and standing up to re-join the conversation.

"He's talking about Hexapussy," I said, hands held up to try and head off the comments of my companions. "I almost had her for a client but she was snatched from my grasp. Since Terence hasn't seen fit to turn up, I might as well explain."

Lindon was turning the colour of an angry tomato. "Hexapussy? What, a woman with six ... And you ... Bloody hell!"

I felt the flush filling my face and gave him a good kick under the table. "No, Lindon, I haven't changed my profession or indulged in anything you're currently visualising. She's a piece of jewellery, as I'm sure you know from the legends. Hexapussy - the Dragon's Ring-Piece. A ruby surrounded by six emeralds, set in a studded gold band, said to have something to do with unlocking the Dragon Dance. She's worth more than this wretched town in its wretched entirety. I was commissioned to steal her and EllJay was helping."

"From who?" asked Harry, his face furrowed and serious.

"Well, that's the bit you won't like. She was being stored here by the Bass family for a few days until she could be taken north. I kind of annoyed one of the Bass boys - to be honest, I'm still not sure if it was Billy or Bariston - but we didn't get her. There's no way they'll keep her here now - the Bass's will have taken her north early and I need to get after him." I'd been gesturing but noticed my hand was shaking, so I grabbed a parsnip around the shaft and slid an end between my lips. In the corner of my vision, Lindon almost fainted. I extracted the vegetable with a loud sucking noise. "That's when I decided to call the old band back together. I need more than a gobbit and a sharp tongue for this job."

Harry's face was now so creased, he looked like a fleshy mountain range. "Sorry, lass, but I got te ask. For who?"

I closed my eyes briefly. "I have a few modest gambling debts or I'd never have taken this on ... It's for BJJJ - also known as The Bee Triple Jay. And Lindon, no - it's not a guy with three dotdotdots and I didn't dotdotdot him, okay?"

"What kind ee name is BJJJ?" said Harry, beard bristling.

"Billy-John Jingle-Jangles," whispered Little-John, taking a large slug from his beer. "He trades in untradeable goods and kills his enemies with perversion."

"Can I just clarify something?" said Lindon. "Does he kill those of his enemies who have perversions, kill them using a sword or somesuch he's named 'Perversion' or kill them by utilising the perversions themselves?"

Little-John looked straight into Lindon's face while he drank some more from his tankard, his expression the picture of seriousness despite swaying slightly. "Yes," he said.

"Soooo," grumbled Harry, fiddling idly with a three-pronged parsnip. "We need to get ourselves a wagon, chase down another wagon, and take the Dragon's Ringpiece from a guy who's either a psycho or a charming champion swordsman - possibly two of them."

I nodded. "That's about the long and short of it - shut up, Lindon."

"Well, I didne grow the beard fer nothing. By the dirt below, I'm in."

Little-John nodded at me from his vantage point, and I turned to the over-sexed elf. "Are you in, Lindon? I'll even let you make knob jokes without kicking you."

"I can't argue with that, fair Roz. I have only one request - can we start now?" He indicated a huge guy behind him on the next table. "I'll do anything to get away from Haddock-breath, here."

I sighed as the flesh mountain erupted from his chair. "Who you calling Haddock-breath?" he roared.

I tried to glare my companion into silence but it was too late. "Well you, obviously," he said, getting up and turning. "I didn't know Olaf's mother was even on the menu."

"Oy!" said a distant voice from the bar area.

The giant guy turned his gaze to me. "You better tell your friend flat-nose here to apologise, or I'm gonna tear him a new arsehole."

"Oh, please don't," I said, standing up with an elongated parsnip brandished in each hand. "He talks enough as it is."

"Besides," said Lindon, an offended expression crawling across his face, "I don't have a fl-"

A fist the size of my head slammed into the elf's face, sending him sprawling across our table like a comatose starfish. A furious cheer erupted across the common room and the air filled with profanity, tankards, and the dull thunks of fists striking faces. I saw Olaf grab his more expensive bottles from the shelves behind the bar and hunker down out of sight, unstopping one as he went. It was for the greater good, he'd claim later (I've heard the tale many times). The giant guy was moving towards me so I did what any sensible girl would - I waved two spicy parsnip nutters in his face. When he blinked and leaned his head back, I rammed one up each nostril and head-butted him.

"Exit strategy!" I roared, old instincts kicking into play.

Harry curled a fist in Lindon's hair and dragged the unconscious elf from the table. Seeing Little-John's confused, decidedly drunk expression, I leaned across the table, grabbed him by the shirt front, and hurled him on the floor. "No time for questions - crawl for the exit!" I threw myself down and started moving.

With our newly-bearded dwarf leading the way, we found a route between legs and cascades of beer and blood. I followed Lindon's feet and Little-John, swaying somewhat but getting the idea, followed me, the occasional small yelp coming from his frame.

"Are you okay, Elljay?" I shouted over my shoulder at one point.

"Yesh," piped up his voice. "Ish jush your outfit'sh a lil, li'le short and ... yesh, nevmind."

Our merry bunch of outlaws figured out many years ago that tavern brawls - fun as they were - represented far too large a risk when your income relies on your ability to move and - occasionally - fight. With a dwarf in the team and one of us usually unconscious (it's a fair bet we've had a hand in starting any given situation), there was only one sensible exit route - go low. Adding a gobbit to the team only made it more sensible. Terence - our bulky barbarian warrior - never joined in, but when you're born with the constitution of a rock pillar, brawls aren't so dangerous.

I couldn't help noticing Harry seemed to be picking his route so as to cause as many knocks and incidental stains on his elven passenger as possible. I dodged a blood-stained glove as it squelched to the floor and smiled as my gobbit companion yelped again behind me - either due to debris or another accidental flash of my rear. The light of the exit loomed ahead.

Damn, it felt good to be back!

Author Notes

I hope you enjoyed the read. UK English - Fantasy Comedy CHARACTERS Rozlyn - Mercenary, human, currently down on her luck, taking any job to pay the bills. She's telling us the story, so don't be alarmed if she occasionally talks to you! Little-John (LJ) - Gobbit (the tragic lovechild of a gnome and a hobbit) - skinny and cute, particularly small. He's a master lockpick and only looks like a child. Lindon - Elf, wizard (allegedly) - oversexed and generally very pleased with himself. Harry - Dwarf, recently bearded, and Rozlyn's oldest friend. Benchmark - the only blacksmith in Pennylast. Has a habit of allowing his teenage apprentice to make armour and may or may not be a swindler. Olaf - Proprietor of The Dragon's Tale tavern - owner of the dirtiest apron found outside a pig's whorehouse, and purveyor of weird parsnips. Bariston / Billy Bass - Charming young crime boss brothers, hard to tell apart - one famously charming, the other famously psychotic ... or is that both of them...?

PREVIOUSLY in Chasing Gnomes... [in the voice of Lindon the Elf wizard]

So, we got the old gang back together. It's been a long time since I matched wits with Rozlyn and Harry, but I don't think much has changed. She's still in more trouble than a nun in a brothel, and that tongue is sharper than shredded diamond. Harry's grown himself a beard, it seems, but he's still sporting that exaggerated accent. I'm not sure about this Little-John fellow yet. I've never met a gobbit before - I just hope it was a gnome father and not the other way round, or his mother will've had a sore time of it. Ew, why did I let my brain go there?

Anyway, we need to get a famous piece of jewellery - a ring named Hexapussy - from the clutches of a local crime lord called Billy Bass (or his brother Bariston). Roz tried to steal it from their house but got caught and now they've apparently taken it North, so we need to chase them. If we're lucky, Roz's debts will be paid and we might even have some cash left over to get paid. Interesting that we all seem to just follow her without question. I hope I don't have to do too much magic - it's not good for my complexion.

Anyway, I couldn't keep my mouth shut and started a tavern brawl in which I got instantly knocked out. The others are currently doing their best to extract me from the ensuing chaos without any additional injury. It's good to be back!

AND NOW, in Chasing Gnomes...


-----


We emerged into blinding daylight and a pair of ankles so big and gnarled, they belonged in the Ent Mr Woodiverse contest. A hand reached down and hooked into the unconscious Lindon's collar, plucking him into the air. I followed his dangling form as I got to my feet, looking up and up until he was flung over a shoulder the size of a castle battlement. Next to the gaudily-dressed elf was a broad, grinning face with stubble better described as chin-nails, framed by pale grey hair that could have been woven from steel.

"Terence, ya bastard!" shouted Harry, head-butting a solid thigh with merry enthusiasm. "Och, bugger. Yer built like a brick shite-house!"

I chuckled. "Glad you decided to join the party, old friend." Hailing from a barbarian tribe where, he swore, he was the runt of the litter, Terence stood seven feet tall and almost as wide. He was also wearing the traditional attire of his people - which is to say, very little. I stared into the cleft between his pecs and realised I should have kept hold of my armour. An idea popped into my head as noise from the Dragon's Tail got louder. "Could you pop the gobbit on your spare shoulder? We need to move quickly."

He smiled and reached down. With a faint whimper from Little-John, he was perched neatly opposite Lindon.

I lead the way round the side of the tavern for a bit of seclusion. From down the street, I could see a group of toughs approaching. They looked like the kind of guys who'd pull bits off you and do dirty things to them while you watched, then go home and tell their wives it was a good day at work. To a man, they were dressed in purple leather. Only one local gang wore that colour and didn't even get laughed at for it. It seemed BJJJ wanted his price extracted from me, and he'd found out I let Hexapussy slip away. Well, that's just suspicious timing.

I ushered the others further down the alleyway beside the Dragon's Tail, hoping the toughs hadn't seen me yet. "Okay, fellas. We need a wagon and we need to head North, and we need to do it fast, before my head gets used as a suppository. Terence, I'm assuming you're in?" He shrugged and smiled, which was as close as I was likely to get to conversation, and pointed towards the back of the tavern.

"Why is it always North?" moaned Harry as we followed Terence's gesture - it wasn't like we had another route to try.

"Because," I said, "it's always North - you know that. Everything dangerous or mysterious - it's always to the North."

"Not an answer," he muttered, and I pretended not to hear.

"Let me think about where we can try," I said. "Good quality wagons don't just materialise out of thin air."

We reached the back of the tavern and stopped at the sight in front of us. "It's a miracle," said Little-John.

It was a wagon, four horses tethered and ready to go, with a reinforced door, armoured wheels and arrow slits. If asked what vehicle I'd choose to head North into certain peril and tangle with a famous crime family, I couldn't have come up with anything better.

Glancing around hopefully, I cleared my throat. "Sacks of unmarked, untraceable gold don't just materialise out of thin air."

"Hehe, nice try, lass," said Harry, chuckling.

"I find this awfully convenient," I said.

Terence shrugged, drawing a squeak from his gobbit passenger. "Thought we'd need a wagon."

"And you just - what - found it?"

"Yup."

I winced. "And there was nobody driving it when you found it?"

"There was a man on it."

"Where is this man now?"

Terence shrugged again. "He isn't on it anymore."

"And the back," I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Is it unlocked?"

"It is now."

"Ken we git going, lass?" said Harry. "Ye'll nee get any more out o' him."

"Fine," I said, shooing everyone into the wagon. "But if we get arrested for heinous crimes against wagons and their drivers, I'm writing to the tribes to ask if I can return my barbarian. Harry, you know what to do."

The dwarf clambered into the driving seat. "Where to, lass?"

"The North Road," I shouted from the back, feeling a grin spreading across my face. "To profit!"

*****

"But I've got a headache," Lindon whimpered, clutching a kerchief to his head. "I can't do it when I've got a headache."

"You sound like my ex." I sighed. "Look, we've been at this road split way too long. The Bass kid's slipping away and we don't know which path he took."

Little-John's ears perked up. "All roads lead to profit," he quoted.

I snorted. "Well, then I've been walking backwards all my life." I kicked Lindon's foot and he moaned. "Come on, Elf. We're a team - at least we used to be. I didn't ask you here so you could pester tavern wenches and boast and/or complain. You're the only Touched on the team." I stroked his foot with mine affectionately and gave him a wink. "So do some touching."

"I wish you wouldn't call it Touched," he said, a small smile sliding across his face. "It makes me sound like a pervert. Very well." He tucked the hanky into a pocket. "I shall drop into a trance state and float free of my body so I can scout ahead."

He closed his eyes and I pulled a handful of prepared small cloth wads from my pouch, handing them around. Terence took two without question and crammed them up his nose while I did the same. Little-John gave me his cutest baffled expression.

"Trust me," I said, shaking two in his face and gasping in several deep breaths through my mouth. He accepted hesitantly.

A low rumble spread from Lindon through the carriage. Terence grinned and I smiled in return, being careful to keep my lips sealed.

"The seat's vibrating," said our gobbit. "Oh." He coughed. "Oh my!" I'd never seen anyone put things in their nose so quickly. "It's in my mouth!" He wailed, closely followed by, "argh - I shouldn't speak!"

The sound of retching came to us from a pile of sacking at the front of the carriage, making me realise we hadn't searched it in our hurry to leave Pennylast. I angled my head towards the shifting heap and Terence whipped away the top layer, his free fist brandished.

Two dwarves huddled on the floor, hands held up in surrender. "We yield - just spare us the chemical warfare. We don't mean ye any- DIRT BELOW, IT'S SO DISGUSTING!"

Judging them harmless (at least while a barbarian twice their height was sitting over them), I took mercy and offered them nose plugs. We spent a while communicating with glances and glares until Little-John broke the silence.

"I ate poo," he whispered.

I turned to the dwarves. "Okay, spill the beans. Why are you hiding on our wagon?"

"Your wagon?" started up the slightly slimmer one but the other one shushed them.

"Well met, lass. We're merchants, transporting our wares, and ye are honoured guests." He (I was pretty sure it was a he) rocked to his feet and swept an arm across the wagon. "My wife and I are please te have ye aboard."

There was a commotion up front and Harry (our one) opened the hatch behind the driver's seat so he could look in. "Dwarves?" He said. "Roz, we canne steal from other dwarves - ye'll give 'em back the wagon, o' course." He turned his beard to the two new beards. "Peace be with ye! What are ye families? I'm Harry Raven of Raven's Deep."

The merchants stood up and the male dwarf spoke. "We hail from Heron's Deep. My father was a successful merchant, name of Harry. He founded our business and now I carry on in his name." I couldn't help grinning at Terence's confused face and Little-John's twisted up expression of concentration.

"And your name, good sir?" I asked, plucking my nose plugs from my nostrils and putting them away. Terence offered me his, complete with enough snot to block a small city's sewer system, but I shook my head vehemently until they went away.

The male dwarf was smiling. "I am proud to bear the name Harry Heron, first of his name. This," he indicated his wife who, even through the beard, looked supremely embarrassed, "is Harry."

I held out my hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintances, though for the sake of sanity, I'm going to assign you the names Merchant Harry and Female Harry. I can't, however, offer your wagon back just yet. We need it so I can retrieve a stolen item before I fall foul of the Jingle-Jangles."

"It was stolen?" asked Little-John.

I smiled. "It will be stolen when I return it to Pennylast."

Lindon chose that moment to burst awake again. "Usually I have better aim!" he shouted, and looked immediately uncomfortable. "Ugh, who farted?" He cast a gaze round the faces in the wagon. "Harry, do you have something to confess?"

"Hmm?" said three voices in perfectly accented unison.

I snapped my fingers to get everyone's attention. "The Harrys will fill you in later. My dear unintended hosts, may we borrow your wagon for the duration of our most pressing mission? I promise to return it afterwards."

The merchants eyed Terence warily. "O' course. It'll be our pleasure."

Harry scowled at me through the hatch but I ignored him. "Lindon, which way should we be going?"

"Take the left fork," he said, waggling his eyebrows at female Harry. "They're not moving very fast. Looks like a couple of guards, a driver and just the one ponce. Oh, and there's a patrol following us from Pennylast. They don't seem friendly."

"Well that's just great. Harry! Take us left and be quick about it."

A horse whinnied and the wheels rumbled into motion. This was going to be a long and tiresome day.

Author Notes

I hope you enjoyed the read. UK English - Fantasy Comedy CHARACTERS Rozlyn - Mercenary, human, currently down on her luck, taking any job to pay the bills. She's telling us the story, so don't be alarmed if she occasionally talks to you! Little-John (LJ) - Gobbit (the tragic lovechild of a gnome and a hobbit) - skinny and cute, particularly small. He's a master lockpick and only looks like a child. Lindon - Elf, wizard (allegedly) - oversexed and generally very pleased with himself. Harry - Dwarf, recently bearded, and Rozlyn's oldest friend. Benchmark - the only blacksmith in Pennylast. Has a habit of allowing his teenage apprentice to make armour and may or may not be a swindler. Olaf - Proprietor of The Dragon's Tale tavern - owner of the dirtiest apron found outside a pig's whorehouse, and purveyor of weird parsnips. Bariston / Billy Bass - Charming young crime boss brothers, hard to tell apart - one famously charming, the other famously psychotic ... or is that both of them...? BJJJ - aka Billy-John Jingle-Jangles - Scary loan shark in Pennylast with a crew of henchmen so scary, they wear purple outfits and nobody takes the pee out of them.

Chapter 6
Chasing Gnomes Ch.6 - Support

By Fleedleflump

PREVIOUSLY in Chasing Gnomes... [in the voice of Terence the Barbarian]

The Lady Boss is in trouble. She needs to pay money to people, or get them a Hexapussy. Not sure what that is. If if don't work, I'll kill everyone she owes money to. Problem solved, but that might upset people. Bad men took the Hexapussy North, so I got us a wagon to chase them. I met the others coming out of The Dragon's Tail and we started chasing the bad men.

I like the gobbit because he looks funny on my shoulder like a bird I saw on a pirate once. Also, there are three little people called Harry and that makes my head hurt. If I'm good, Ladyboss might let me kill two of them to make things simpler.

I like the Lady Boss. She tells me what to do.

AND NOW, in Chasing Gnomes...


-----


A jolt and a cracking sound woke me up. My cheek was so stuck to the bench I was laying on, I felt like I'd fallen asleep on Olaf's bar back at The Dragon's Tail (yes, it's happened - a girl's allowed the occasional binge, okay?). I opened my eyes to confirm that wasn't an accurate thought. Unfortunately, I was still in the back of a wagon with two dwarves, an elf, a barbarian and a gobbit. I felt sure there was a joke in there somewhere.

"So, what is the nature of good?" Lindon was saying. "I'm serious - how does one know if one's course of action is the morally right one?"

"If I mek a deal," said Merchant Harry, "and it results in profit, then it wes the right thing ta do."

Little-John raised his hand. "But what if, to make your profit, you cause someone else to lose money? It's not right for them."

The merchant looked genuinely baffled. "What's that got ta do wi' me?" I smiled to myself but stayed quiet.

"He means greater good," boomed Terence.

"Och, then perhaps you ken explain it ta me."

The barbarian shrugged. "Nope. But the elf will."

"Okay," said Lindon. "Let's try a more obvious example. Say, you're about to make a deal with another travelling merchant whose path you've crossed. You see a really beautiful she-Dwarf being attacked." Female Harry's eyebrows raised so far, they merged with her fringe. "Or, perhaps she's a helpless young dwarf. A plain one who wears glasses and falls over a lot. And, err, has a really un-bushy beard. Anyway, she's in trouble and you're the only person who can stop her from being badly beaten, but doing so will mean you lose the chance at your trade."

Merchant Harry was nodding along but gave no indication of answering. When Lindon didn't continue, he eventually responded. "I ken visualise, lad. What's the question?"

"It's a conundrum. Do you make the trade and leave her to her fate, or forsake the profit and rescue her?"

"Uh don't understand."

Female Harry elbowed him in the ribs. "Ye great idiot. He means which should ye do?"

Lindon nodded and held his hands out - obviously!

The merchant shrugged. "That depends. Ken she pay me?"

Terence let out a belly laugh that shook the air and Little-John's mouth dropped open. Lindon looked ready to explode.

"It sounds to me," I said to the elf, sitting up, "like you're wrestling with something and you need us to soothe your conscience."

His face coloured up until he looked like a bashful strawberry. "I don't know what you mean."

Another crack sounded and the wagon shuddered. I did my best not to enjoy the sensation.

"He's going too fast," Female Harry said.

I gestured towards the front of the wagon. "What can I say? He's a getaway carter. He goes fast or I slap him round the head. What's the problem?"

"The wheels were, erm ... well, we bought them a little on the cheap."

"It wees a bargain, wumman!" said Merchant Harry, tutting. "Ye canne turn yer beard away from a bargain."

Lindon snorted. "What are they going to do - fall off?"

I started to reply but Harry interrupted by opening the hatch. Behind his gingery head, scenery bounced in an exaggerated fashion. "Erm ... one of the wheels mee have fallen off."

"What makes you say that?"

He smiled nervously. "It's rolling along the road ahead of us."

Little-John's face screwed up in consternation. "Then why haven't we crashed?"

On cue, the wagon lurched sideways violently, flinging everyone but Terence across the enclosed space. A loud CRACK! Filled the air and the floor bucked, tilting beneath my feet like a tossing ship. In a flash, the wagon was on its side and we were in messy heaps.

"Everyone okay?" I asked and got a chorus of groans in reply.

A muffled "It's a miracle ... I think," emanated from a pile of Harry to one side of me. To the other, Terence was on his side, still in the sitting position he'd been in previously, looking mildly surprised. Looking down at myself, I found the final member of the team.

"Oh my," I said, "I seem to have gained myself a new bra in the crash. It bears a remarkable resemblance to two cupped hands."

A slim body wiggled behind me. "I was concerned for you in the confusion, Roz - I thought I should offer some support."

"The confusion appears to be over now, Lindon."

There was a pause. "I could, in fact, remove my hands at this juncture, then?"

"Yes indeed, you could."

"Uhuh."

There was another pause and an additional wriggle. I shrugged. "Actually, I quite like the stylings of this new bra and it fits better than my last armour. The only problem is the elf with a spike attached to it. Terence, would you mind detaching said hands from said elf?"

Terence nodded and smiled, pulling a sword from his belt.

"Alright, okay, fair enough, I give up, I won't offer my support next time." Lindon managed to make himself sound like the injured party, but he did at least remove his hands.

We disembarked and met a dazed Harry.

"The horses are okay," he said. "But the wagon needs attention."

Terence grunted and walked round the crashed cart. Hooking a hand beneath the edge, he flipped it back upright with a crash and a clatter. The merchant Harries looked pained but were wise enough not to object.

"The light's failing," said Little-John. "We shouldn't stress the wagon until we fix it - we need somewhere to shelter."

I nodded and looked at Terence, who proffered a hand. Stepping into it, I hopped onto the top of the wagon with a small effort from the barbarian. I peered along the road ahead and felt my heart sink like a lead-wrapped brick. "There's a Jolly Jester."

Terence shrugged and the Harries all rubbed their hands together.

"There's always a Jolly Jester," muttered Lindon.

"What's a Jolly Jester?"

I sighed. "You'll learn, Elljay, and in advance, I apologise. Terence, be a good boy and play wheel until we get there. The rest of us - let's walk."

"Erm ... apologise for what?"

*****

"Ooh, Jolly good Punters!" hollered the jester, his mouth not quite reflecting its painted-on smile. He stood up from his perch outside the Jolly Jester tavern and approached us, doing a 'funny' walk. "Jolly good greetings!"

"What's the matter," I said. "Jolly well crapped yourself?"

Terence stood up beside the wagon and peered at the tavern sign. "Ffff ... faaaaa ... faaaast foooo ... d," he said, and beamed at his achievement.

"Yeah," said Lindon. "Real fast food - it only spends a few minutes in your body."

"We pride ourselves on fostering jolly japery," said the clown quietly, but the verve had drained out of him. We have that effect on people. I raised my eyebrows at him until he stood up straight and waved us past. "We have plenty of rooms for you, and a berth for your wagon and horses round back. Speak to Olaf behind the bar - he can sort you out."

A short negotiation and more money than I'd have liked later, we were bedding down in a gaudily decorated dorm. It looked like the inside of a candy cane designed by sugar pixies. As sleeping environments went, it was about as calming as divorce by mortal combat. It was at least warm, though.

As the candle went out and three dwarves snored, Lindon's voice floated to me though the darkness.

"If you're feeling the cold, Roz, I could ..."

I tutted. "Frankly my dear, I'd rather sit on a hedgehog commode seat."

Author Notes

I hope you enjoyed the read. UK English - Fantasy Comedy CHARACTERS MAIN PLAYERS Rozlyn - Mercenary, human, currently down on her luck, taking any job to pay the bills. She's telling us the story, so don't be alarmed if she occasionally talks to you! Little-John (LJ) - Gobbit (the tragic lovechild of a gnome and a hobbit) - skinny and cute, particularly small. He's a master lockpick and only looks like a child. Lindon - Elf, wizard (allegedly) - oversexed and generally very pleased with himself. Harry - Dwarf, recently bearded, and Rozlyn's oldest friend. Terence - barbarian warrior with pecs so big, we'd put a wig on and call him Dolly. Straight-talker, straight-fighter, challenged only by maths. And language, and history. Okay, academics in general, but don't challenge him to a fight! ADDITIONAL PLAYERS Benchmark - the only blacksmith in Pennylast. Has a habit of allowing his teenage apprentice to make armour and may or may not be a swindler. Olaf - Proprietor of The Dragon's Tale tavern - owner of the dirtiest apron found outside a pig's whorehouse, and purveyor of weird parsnips. Bariston / Billy Bass - Charming young crime boss brothers, hard to tell apart - one famously charming, the other famously psychotic - or is that both of them? BJJJ - aka Billy-John Jingle-Jangles - Scary loan shark in Pennylast with a crew of henchmen so scary, they wear purple outfits and nobody takes the pee out of them.

Chapter 7
Chasing Gnomes Ch.7 - Japery

By Fleedleflump

PREVIOUSLY in Chasing Gnomes... [in the voice of Harry the Dwarf (our one)]

Uh canny tell ye tha whole tale, folks! We're a bunch o' naughty boys led by a naughtier lady. Uh ken tell ye there's a jewel called Hexapussy, and we need ta get it or the wee lass Rozlyn's in fer a reet kickin' and probably more.

We're chasin' a wee gobshite called Billy Bass - a local crime lord headin' North with Hexapussy - but a wheel fell of the wagon and we had te stay tha neet in a Jolly Jester - tha chain tavern even paupers refuse to stay at.

There's also the small matter o' some hard types following us along the road. Mebee uh should jeest stee un beed. *Cough* Maybe, I should stay in bed.

AND NOW, in Chasing Gnomes...


-----


"What I want to know," said Little-John in his high-pitched voice, his fingers clutching a roughly etched menu "is how, when there are so many breakfast things in the lands we might eat, this place can distil it down into two options."

"You can always go out back and start fixing the wagon," I said, and he seemed immediately more interested in the menu.

A waitress approached, apparently chewing her tongue, wearing a tabard so red and white, she looked like a snowman with stab wounds. "What you want to eat?"

Lindon's head shot up. "What's on the menu, lovely lady?"

The look she gave him could have curdled milk in the udder. If sloths could look bored, her expression would still have beaten them in a boredom competition. "You can have wheybread with a red bit, or wheybread with a brown bit. Yellow bits cost extra. For drinks, we have Olaf's leaf tisane or boot beer."

"Uh think ye mean root beer, lass," said Harry.

She focused that look on the dwarf until he turned away. "No. I don't. I recommend the tisane."

I chuckled. "Tisanes all round and bring us a tray of red bits and brown bits - we'll figure the rest out." She waggled her eyebrows, flipped Lindon (who was staring at things other than her bored expression) a single finger salute, and shuffled away, mouth smacking as she resumed chewing her tongue.

Partly to distract Lindon from her departing posterior, I snapped my fingers. "Oy, Elf. Check up on that patrol from Pennylast, will you? We need to know if there's time to fix the wagon or whether we should be coming up with a new plan."

"Very well. I shall drop into a trance state and float free of my body."

As soon as his eyes closed, I passed around nose plugs. This time, nobody asked questions. We waited for the rumble and its aftermath to pass while Terence excavated his earholes and the Harrys waggled their beards amiably. Dwarves - a funny lot.

It was Merchant Harry who first braved opening his mouth to talk. "If ye don't mind me asking, lass, what property is it ye seek to acquire with this venture? Could ye not simply acquire it elsewhere?"

I briefly considered stonewalling him but there didn't seem much point. "It's Hexapussy - The Dragon's Ring-piece."

"Most dwarves consider her a myth," he said, his forehead furrowing. "It's said she reflects flames twice as bright as the fire itself and glistens even in the lowest light."

I tutted. "I'd lay money a poet came up with that one."

"If she's not a myth, she's likely more trouble than she's worth. Legends say those who have her will die soon after taking possession."

"Well, I won't possess her for long." I could feel myself deflating inside. "Unfortunately, there's only one of her that I know of, so this is my only play."

"Trust me," said Female Harry, "find another way - pay gold instead."

"What The Bee Triple-Jay wants, The Bee Triple-Jay gets," I sighed. "And what he wants is Hexapussy. My only other option, once he's added interest, is fifty thousand gold pennies."

"Fifty thou!" piped up Little-John. "How would you even deliver it? It'd take all of us just to lift it."

"He don't want the money," said Harry, his tone dark. "He wants the priceless Ring-piece."

Terence raised his eyebrows at me and waggled a bunched fist. He was either rolling dice, calling me something rude, or offering to solve my problem with violence.

"No gambling ... if it gets lonely enough ... and you're sweet but even you couldn't take out his small army of bodyguards." His confused expression was plaintive enough that I blew him a kiss to take the sting out of it.

Breakfast arrived and we all tucked in with steadily decreasing enthusiasm.

"I swallowed it all!" shouted Lindon, bursting awake. He blinked blearily. "I hope that's not breakfast I can smell, or do you all gang up to fart on me whenever I go into a trance?"

"One day," I said, chewing a mouthful of food that creaked, "I might tell you. Now tuck in and report - are we about to meet a terrible, violent end?"

He opted for a brown bit and, after a brief sniff, took a tentative nibble. "Actually, I couldn't find the patrol. They've either turned back or moved off the road. Perhaps they weren't after us. The Bass boy is ahead of us but not by too much. We can still catch him with good roads and - you know - four wheels attached." He took another sniff at his breakfast, a grimace radiating across his face like disturbed water from his mouth.

"Is there something you'd rather be eating?" I asked mildly.

"Many, many things. My only left leg, for example, or possibly a testicle."

Little-John swallowed with a visible effort. "Suddenly, repairing a wagon feels like a great prospect."

I dropped what was left of my breakfast and it put a crack in the table. "Let's get on with it, then. Every minute spent not chasing Hexapussy costs me a few gold in interest."

"There's a cheery thought to start the day," mumbled Harry.

*****

"It can't be that difficult to change a wheel," I said, watching all my companions huddled round the bare axle. "Where are the instructions?"

"Here," said Merchant Harry, emerging from the back of the wagon waving a piece of paper smaller than his hand. "I found them under some sacking."

"Give," I said, waggling a hand. "Instructions are a woman's demesne."

"My demesne don't look much like instruction manuals," said Lindon.

"Yeah. Good," I replied as I unfolded the instructions. Then again, and again, and again ...

"They look more like naked, red-skinned gobbits with sly smiles and wicked tails"

... and again, and again ...

"And full, lusty lips"

... and once more. Oh, and again ...

"And big, luscious, bouncing breasts!"

Several minutes later, Harry, Terence, Harry, Little-John, me and Harry held up between us a sheet of paper the size of the wagon itself.

"Blimey," I said. "I never realised there were so many languages in the world!"

Merchant Harry was poring over the fold-defined panels. "There's Dwarfish, Elfish, Cuttlefish, Goblin, Troll, French [there is always French], Legal [I felt a shudder run through me] ... and Teenager. That one will be out of date."

"What's the one that just looks like a drawing of a hand with the middle finger sticking up?"

"Easy - that's Orcish."

"You know your languages, friend Harry," said our Harry.

Merchant Harry nodded sagely. "I'm a merchant. I have to be able to fleece customers anywhere, whatever language they speak. That's equal opportunities."

"Well, equal for you, anyway," observed Little-John.

"The best kind!" said the Dwarf merchant, beaming.

"Aha!" I said, arriving at a destination with my finger. "I've finally found the Human section. LINDON!!!"

"Hmm?" said the Elf. "Bouncing breasts. What? Eh? Oh, sorry."

The stare I gave him would have sobered an Irish lottery winner. I've been practising them for years.

"Don't look at me like that!" he shouted. "I'm an Elf. This is less, well, carnal than our favoured type of exercise."

I put my head on one side. "I'm not sure the Council of Elven Ancestors would entirely agree with that assessment, sir Elf."

Lindon sniffed - a very un-elflike mannerism. "Just tell me what to do."

"Okay," I said, having folded (with the help of the others) the enormous instruction leaflet into a more manageable size. "Recommended tools: A large hammer, an axe, and two friendly trolls. Is there such a thing?"

"Yes," said Lindon, with a master's poker face. "Axes are quite common in the modern era."

I ignored that. "We'll just have to make do with Terence and three sets of Dwarven walking boots. Now, lift the wagon slightly off the ground with your trolls." Lindon held up his hands in submission, and Terence obliged.

"Good. Now, offer the wheel to the axle." I couldn't resist a snigger.

On cue, Lindon bent down to the underside of the wagon, fixed his grin on the poking axle, and said, "Excuse me, old chap, would you care for a wheel?"

Harry turned to our merchant captives/escorts. "This may tek some time."

Author Notes

I hope you enjoyed the read. UK English - Fantasy Comedy CHARACTERS MAIN PLAYERS Rozlyn - Mercenary, human, currently down on her luck, taking any job to pay the bills. She's telling us the story, so don't be alarmed if she occasionally talks to you! Little-John (LJ) - Gobbit (the tragic lovechild of a gnome and a hobbit) - skinny and cute, particularly small. He's a master lockpick and only looks like a child. Lindon - Elf, wizard (allegedly) - oversexed and generally very pleased with himself. Harry - Dwarf, recently bearded, and Rozlyn's oldest friend. Terence - barbarian warrior with pecs so big, we'd put a wig on and call him Dolly. Straight-talker, straight-fighter, challenged only by maths. And language, and history. Okay, academics in general, but don't challenge him to a fight! ADDITIONAL PLAYERS Benchmark - the only blacksmith in Pennylast. Has a habit of allowing his teenage apprentice to make armour and may or may not be a swindler. Olaf - Proprietor of The Dragon's Tale tavern - owner of the dirtiest apron found outside a pig's whorehouse, and purveyor of weird parsnips. Bariston / Billy Bass - Charming young crime boss brothers, hard to tell apart - one famously charming, the other famously psychotic - or is that both of them? BJJJ - aka Billy-John Jingle-Jangles - Scary loan shark in Pennylast with a crew of henchmen so scary, they wear purple outfits and nobody takes the pee out of them.

Chapter 8
Chasing Gnomes Ch.8 - Boding

By Fleedleflump

PREVIOUSLY in Chasing Gnomes... [in the voice of Rozlyn, our protagonist]

Okay, I think I'll take charge of the catch-up this time. Hi there! I'm Rozlyn. I'd call myself a mercenary, but I haven't had a proper gig in ages, so I'm now on an impossible mission to pay off my loan shark before he finds inventive uses for my body parts. He wants me to retrieve a famous jewel called Hexapussy from a charming crime lord who's currently heading North with it.

I met up with my old crew, whose usefulness varies by the day and the mood I find myself in, and we borrowed a merchant wagon to give chase. We suffered a case of SWD (Sudden Wheel Deprivation) and spent the night at a tavern so dirty, the bed bugs get stuck in the wet patches. Now, we're ready to resume the chase. There's also the mystery of a patrol that seemed to be following us from town, but has now disappeared.

As boding goes, this is well on the way to unwell.

AND NOW, in Chasing Gnomes...


-----


It was approaching lunch by the time the wheel was attached. We were so drenched with sweat, the wagon interior looked like a sauna. There was at least some peace and quiet - everyone was too hot and knackered to talk. We put our heads back and waited for Harry, who was in the tavern getting some jolly road drinks.

I found my thoughts wandering heavily to the jewellery I was tasked with stealing. It's not that I worry about doing the right thing all the time. I mean, I'm no murderer for hire but I'm certainly no hero either - I accept that. Still, something about this whole venture felt wrong. I certainly needed the money, and BJJJ was giving me little choice. Thing is, when I find out I have no choice but to do something, I'm always driven to do the exact opposite. I hate to be channelled... That sounds like a sex joke.

The wagon jolted me from my thoughts as we moved off. Harry opened the partition and handed back two skins full of cold tisane, which proved to be the tastiest thing we'd consumed during our stopover (this is not saying much). The Merchant Harries were dozing in the corner, their beards meshed together. Little-John was looking around amiably with an amiable smile on his amiable face. He nodded amiably when our gazes met. I quietly resolved to burn the 'A' section of the next dictionary I encountered. Lindon was looking melancholy and Terence was sniffing his fingers.

"We're heading into the forest," called Harry.

Lindon sighed. "Hate the forest."

"What's the matter?" I asked, slapping his knee with a chuckle. "Do all the tall, upstanding things make you feel inadequate?"

He nodded and looked at me with damp eyes. "How can a man compete?"

"Dragon's arses, I was joking!" I gave him a less friendly slap. "Who are you competing with? They're trees, you numpty."

"I knew you wouldn't understand." He sniffed and it sounded like a wet army marching up his nostrils.

Someone screamed in the distance.

"I don't like the forest either," said Little-John, patting Lindon's shoulder. "It makes me feel small."

I could feel the irritation growing in my stomach. "You are small."

"Forests have trees," said Terence.

"Look," I smacked my hand on the seat. "All I'm saying is, male inadequacy is a stupid reason to not like the forest. It doesn't make any sense."

"Trees have leaves."

Another scream sounded.

"Are you saying," muttered Little-John, "me being small is like Lindon's little willy?"

"Wait a minute, nobody said anything about my willy being small!"

"Which is a miracle in itself," I said.

Lindon sniffed again. "I open up and get ridiculed for it. There's no need to get your knickers in a twist, mon femme."

"Call me mon femme again," I growled, leaning forward, "and I'll have your neck in a twist."

"DIRT'S SAKE!" roared Female Harry, jumping to her feet. "Is ye all just gunney ignore the screaming?"

On cue, a third ghostly wail drifted through the ensuing silence.

The wagon came to a halt and Harry's beard intruded from the front. "Is ye all just gunney ignore the screaming?"

I swear, dwarves are too much alike.

"I thought it was my stomach," said Little-John.

Lindon looked at the rest of us plaintively. "Somebody's in trouble. They need our help!"

Terence shrugged.

"If we stop te intervene," said Harry quietly, "we might ne'er catch Bass. Are ye willing te risk the repercussions, lass?"

Everybody looked at me, and in that moment I truly regretted being the boss. Forego the prize and submit to likely torture and humiliation at the hands of a man with a very silly name, or ignore the screams and risk another stain on my soul? My back itched, reminding me of the stains I already carried - old wounds are bastards like that. They have impeccable timing. I could see the two merchants watching our conversation with nervous expressions.

I smiled at them. "If we all run off to fight, will you two still be here with the wagon when we return?"

Merchant Harry looked simultaneously desperate for the toilet and unable to go. His wife sighed and matched my smile. "We'd love te, lass. But," she shrugged expansively, hands held up. "What my husband wants te say is 'where be the profit in that?'"

"I could tie you up, you know."

She nodded. "But ye don't wanney."

In my peripheral vision, I could see Terence holding up a speculative fist. I chose not to acknowledge it. The sideways looks he was getting from the merchants said the effect wasn't lost on them.

"Very well," I said eventually. "I bid you good journey, and apologise for any inconveniences." I turned to the old band and the new gobbit. "What do you say, fellas - shall we do something good?"

"Aye."

"Okey dokey."

"I suppose so."

*Shrug.*

I blew a kiss to them all. "Tool up - shut up Lindon - and grab your bags. Shit's about to go North."

Author Notes

I hope you enjoyed the read. UK English - Fantasy Comedy CHARACTERS MAIN PLAYERS Rozlyn - Mercenary, human, currently down on her luck, taking any job to pay the bills. She's telling us the story, so don't be alarmed if she occasionally talks to you! Little-John (LJ) - Gobbit (the tragic lovechild of a gnome and a hobbit) - skinny and cute, particularly small. He's a master lockpick and only looks like a child. Lindon - Elf, wizard (allegedly) - oversexed and generally very pleased with himself. Harry - Dwarf, recently bearded, and Rozlyn's oldest friend. Terence - barbarian warrior with pecs so big, we'd put a wig on and call him Dolly. Straight-talker, straight-fighter, challenged only by maths. And language, and history. Okay, academics in general, but don't challenge him to a fight! ADDITIONAL PLAYERS Benchmark - the only blacksmith in Pennylast. Has a habit of allowing his teenage apprentice to make armour and may or may not be a swindler. Olaf - Proprietor of The Dragon's Tale tavern - owner of the dirtiest apron found outside a pig's whorehouse, and purveyor of weird parsnips. Bariston / Billy Bass - Charming young crime boss brothers, hard to tell apart - one famously charming, the other famously psychotic - or is that both of them? BJJJ - aka Billy-John Jingle-Jangles - Scary loan shark in Pennylast with a crew of henchmen so scary, they wear purple outfits and nobody takes the pee out of them.

Chapter 9
Chasing Gnomes Ch.9 - Chestnuts

By Fleedleflump

PREVIOUSLY in Chasing Gnomes... [in the voice of EllJay the gobbit]

So we've been trying to get hold of this jewel called Hexapussy. Apparently, she's the ultimate ring-piece, but people always laugh when I say that so I stopped. The lady boss - Rozlyn (she's my hero) - rounded up some peeps she used to do dodgy jobs with, and we all set off chasing this crime lord guy North, 'cause he's got Hexapussy. Oh, and we need it to pay off another dodgy crime guy so the lady boss doesn't become the dead boss.

Anyway, we was almost caught up with the target, when we heard some horrible screaming. Rozlyn made the call that we should go and help whoever is was, even though that meant losing our transport and maybe never getting hold of Hexapussy. She's so brave! I know I'm only little and everything, but I'm really excited to be helping rescue someone.

When I go to the rainbow in the sky, I want to have done something better than just picking locks.

AND NOW, in Chasing Gnomes...


-----


We surveyed the forest clearing from a small outcrop above the location, flat on our stomachs. I'd be tempted to say it was not a pretty scene but I've lived long enough to know there are people who can find anything pretty. Yes, even when 'anything' is a collection of small humanoids being beaten, tormented and cooked by a group of burly men over an open fire.

"Is it wrong that this is mekkin' me a beet hungry?" muttered Harry.

"Yes!" said Little-John. "What are those little people? I mean, I thought I was small but they make me feel monstrous."

"They're gnomes." Lindon shifted as though uncomfortable. "I'd have thought you'd know that, of all people! They are the only true, natural magic users."

I snorted. "Making you a decidedly unnatural magic user - I can go with that description."

"Elven magic still comes from gnomes." Lindon's face was flushed bright red. Other than risking a forest fire with his face, though, he didn't seem willing to elaborate.

EllJay sniffed. "I never met my dad. Mum said he disappeared in a puff of rainbow smoke after their dalliance. I just thought she'd been hitting the Hobbit Baccy a bit too hard."

"I want to hit things," mumbled Terence.

We shuffled back from the vantage point so we could talk without sounding like we were in a convent library.

"Okay." I used a stick to sketch out the scene below. "We have six humans which we can assume are from the patrol Lindon lost track of this morning. One of them is cooking, two are tormenting gnomes, one is standing watch, and the other two look like they're asleep. They have horses tethered at one side of the clearing and seven gnomes tied together at the other side. With one gnome over the fire in the middle and two being tortured, that makes ten victims. So," I cast my gaze around my companions. "What's our best play?"

Lindon had been nodding along. "We can probably still catch the wagon and the Harries, and continue our nice, safe-in-a-wagon journey North. I think that should be option one."

I silenced him with a glare. "Elljay, are you any good with a sling? There are plenty of pebbles for ammo."

The gobbit rolled his eyes. "You listen to too many fanciful ballads. Just because I'm a short person, I must be good with a sling. Harry's a dwarf, so I suppose he has an affinity with the ground and likes tunnels and gold. Terence is a big dumb barbarian, good for hitting stuff and not much else. And Lindon, he's ... well, he's Lindon, but yeah."

"And yet, in your entire diatribe of true and accurate statements, you still didn't answer my question."

"Yes," he said, sighing. "I'm pretty good with a sling."

"Good, because in a melee you'd be as much use as an ice cream sundial." I indicated him and Lindon. "You two attack from up here with sling and magic."

"Err," said Lindon. "I can't use magic with gnomes around. It's kind of bad form." He drew a short sword from his belt. "I'll have to make do with this."

I did a quick mental assessment of the arguments and explanations I'd have to endure if I asked for more details and settled on not bothering. Instead, I fixed my glare on his weapon. "That's a particularly small sword."

"Ah, but it's a Short Sword +1." He had a genuinely happy expression on his face.

"Plus one what?"

The 'happy' faded a little. "Just plus one, you know? Other people just have a sword. When they're in the middle of a fight and the sword's not enough, they're stuck. But mine's got that little bit extra."

"I just ... can't. You bought that from Benchmark in Pennylast, didn't you?"

"Yes - I thought I'd need some new hardware if we were teaming up again. I mentioned your name and he said he had something special for me."

Terence waved a broadsword in the air that must have been a foot wide and five times as long in the blade. "Broadsword of Bashing," he said. "Won it in the Barbarian's Fighting Contest."

I shared a despairing look with Harry, who winked and pointed to the axe on his belt.

I raised a fist in the air and waited until I had their attention. "Fine, sod the plan. We're here, they need us, and we're doing this. It's time to get some nuts!"

"Ahem," said Lindon, raising his hand sarcastically. "You're actually a girl, Roz. You don't have nuts."

I brought the raised fist down to tap it against my chest. "Mine are here." I heard what I was about to say but it was too late to change it. "I have Chest Nuts."

Terence looked down at himself and smiled. Before the others could rip the piss out of me, I carried on talking.

"Elljay, you stay here. If fighting starts, work on distraction. Hit anyone who looks like they have the drop on us. The rest of you, follow me. Let's see if we can win this the old fashioned way."

"Run away?" asked Lindon, a hopeful note in his voice.

"Talk," said Harry, and we left Little-John to prepare.

*****

"Halt!" The guy on watch moved to block our way as we approached the clearing. "This is private business. All of you move along." His words were confident but his gaze up at Terence's grinning mug was a little less so.

"What's going on here?" I asked, indicating the gnomes. "Did they have their way with your wives while you were off patrolling?"

"They stole from our employer, so they get hurt. If they don't fess up and tell us where they hid it, they get dead."

Harry growled. "That don't explain the cookin' fire, lad."

"We're gonna eat em. Heard there's good meat on a gnome."

I couldn't help laughing. "Where? They're so skinny, Terence could pick his teeth with them. Sorry, that metaphor was in poor taste. Oh no, I did it again!"

"Stop talking to them!" One of the others stopped dangling a gnome by one foot and, tossing it to the other tormentor, came to join the guard. This one had a lot more about him. "Who are you?"

I matched his gaze, leader to leader. "They call me Enigma."

"No they don't," said Lindon. "In all the time I've known you, nobody has ever called you Enigma."

"Don't undermine me when I'm in a battle of wills," I spat, keeping my eyes locked to the patrol leader's. "I'm trying to build a brand here."

"We're the Companions," said Harry with grim confidence.

The guy smirked. "Well, you're not our companions, so toddle off." He managed to make a walking gesture with his fingers look remarkably like something far ruder. "Or me and the boys'll make your corpses wish they weren't so pretty."

Nice. Tension saturated the air as we all brandished arms and the rest of the patrol drew swords. This pause often happens between threats and violence - at least, when alcohol isn't involved. It's the calm moment in which everybody there is realising there's no turning back but nobody wants to be the first to move. With everyone wound up tighter than a nun's whiskey bottle, the first person to attack usually gets it from all angles. It's in these moments, I reflected-

Terence stomped past me, breaking the calmness, and swung his huge broadsword down from over his head. The blade obliterated one side of the leader's face, sheared down through collarbone and ribs, and exited the opposite side at hip level. The once-confident patrol leader flopped in two, inner bits splashing on the floor like a cheap tavern breakfast.

The guard screamed but kept his wits, attacking Lindon with a manic swing of his sword. The elf's Short Sword +1 came up to meet it, and they danced away to one side. Terence stomped forwards with Broadsword of Bashing, roaring a battle cry as he moved. I was impressed when the two soldiers who'd been resting moved to engage him and nobody ran away - these guys hadn't come cheap.

"Aha!" shouted Harry, running at the guy holding two gnomes, his axe waggling around in the air.

That left me the wannabe chef, who was watching me approach with a steadily gripped sword and a deadly serious expression. I drew my dirks as I closed in, reminding myself to dodge more than usual. My armour - ridiculous as it was - had meant I could ignore certain strikes. Now, wearing only soft leather protection, I needed to be a dancer.

Or - you know - a shish kebab. The choice was mine.

"Why did you come here?" spat my intended. His face was a close toss-up between stubble and dirt, small eyes set beneath a greasy fringe. He was squat and muscled, clad in hard leather, and knew how to move.

I shrugged, holding my dirks out to my sides. "I guess we're just heroes."

A grin split his dark face in two. "Ain't no heroes, little lady. Just morons." With the last word, he launched forward, stabbing at my stomach. I swiped his blade aside with one weapon and swung at his face with the other. He skipped back nimbly, circling, and the dance was on.

Author Notes

I hope you enjoyed the read. UK English - Fantasy Comedy CHARACTERS MAIN PLAYERS Rozlyn - Mercenary, human, currently down on her luck, taking any job to pay the bills. She's telling us the story, so don't be alarmed if she occasionally talks to you! Little-John (LJ) - Gobbit (the tragic lovechild of a gnome and a hobbit) - skinny and cute, particularly small. He's a master lockpick and only looks like a child. Lindon - Elf, wizard (allegedly) - oversexed and generally very pleased with himself. Harry - Dwarf, recently bearded, and Rozlyn's oldest friend. Terence - barbarian warrior with pecs so big, we'd put a wig on and call him Dolly. Straight-talker, straight-fighter, challenged only by maths. And language, and history. Okay, academics in general, but don't challenge him to a fight! ADDITIONAL PLAYERS Benchmark - the only blacksmith in Pennylast. Has a habit of allowing his teenage apprentice to make armour and may or may not be a swindler. Olaf - Proprietor of The Dragon's Tale tavern - owner of the dirtiest apron found outside a pig's whorehouse, and purveyor of weird parsnips. Bariston / Billy Bass - Charming young crime boss brothers, hard to tell apart - one famously charming, the other famously psychotic - or is that both of them? BJJJ - aka Billy-John Jingle-Jangles - Scary loan shark in Pennylast with a crew of henchmen so scary, they wear purple outfits and nobody takes the pee out of them.

Chapter 10
Chasing Gnomes Ch.10 - Roasting

By Fleedleflump

PREVIOUSLY in Chasing Gnomes... [in the voice of Rozlyn, our protagonist]

No time to talk right now. We're fighting, and I need to concentrate or I'll end up more full of holes than a net curtain made of swiss cheese.

So, yeah ... I refer my honourable colleague to my previous answer!

AND NOW, in Chasing Gnomes...


-----


I noticed Harry fall to the floor as a hurled gnome took him in the beard. His opponent, still clutching another victim, turned and moved toward me. Before he got close enough to be lethal, a pebble twanged from the side of his head, sending him staggering. He let out a roar of frustration as I lost sight of him, turning to keep my opponent at bay. Now behind me, I could hear the guy shouting at the gnome in his fist to cast something helpful or die.

Horror darkest, demon dread.
Find the threat who hit his head.

The guy fighting me managed to turn his back to the fire, trying to impair my view of him. It meant I got a great look at the sooty clump congealing above the flames like a twisting, oily cloud. To my side, I heard Harry shouting dwarven insults between expelled breaths, meaning he was fighting once again. The other side of the fire, I saw Terence surrounded by his two foes, chopping away at the one in front of him but oblivious to the guy about to spear him in the back. I needn't have worried - as the barbarian reared back for an enormous overhead strike, he buried his blade in the guy's skull on the backswing. Apparently not realising, his shoulders bunched as, with an almighty roar, he still managed to swing his sword forward again, first victim's corpse flying over his shoulder. His other opponent, whose mouth dropped open in astonishment, took three feet of steel and a full-size soldier in the face, to horrific effect.

Acid seared into my side and a chuckle came at me. "No heroes," whispered my foe as he pulled his sword back again, my blood glistening on its blade in the firelight. Behind him, the sooty cloud coalesced into a black spider, easily four feet wide. It dropped onto the flames, shrieked, and skittled straight up the hill towards Little-John's hiding place.

Anger boomed in my stomach like a firework detonating. I was damned if I was going to die here, and damned if I'd lose any friends. "Suck my cock, piss-swiller!" I launched myself forwards, shoulder first. It's amazing how often this works. Realising I meant to push him on the fire, my target tried to dodge instead of stabbing me. As we impacted, I caught him to one side of the torso, spinning him away.

It was almost incidental that I'd slammed one dirk hilt-deep in his groin at the same time.

My foot tangled with his as he twisted to the ground, and I turned away from the fire, knowing I was heading into it no matter what. My back landed square in the centre of the pyre, fiery spines of wood digging through my soft armour. I pulled my hands into the centre of my chest to protect them, hoping my weight would knock out most of the fire's fervour.

To one side, I saw Harry finishing off his foe with an axe to the belly. From the other, I could hear Lindon.

"Roz, Roz! Shit a brick, guys, get her out of there!"

Pain blossomed in the back of my head but then I was being lifted and rolled across the clearing.

"Guys, guys, I'm okay." I sat up, putting a hand to the nape of my neck. "If a little balder than before. Seriously, that guy owes me a hair styling appointment."

The others had gone quiet, staring at my back. I realised my armour must have burned away.

"Old scars," rumbled Harry. "At least a year old."

"Is that?" started Lindon.

I sighed - no more hiding it now. "Yes, it's dragonburn. Yes, it's a long story. No, I'm not going to tell it now."

"What is scorched may never burn," quoted the elf.

"Yeah," I snorted. "I'm impervious to fire, but only from one very specific direction - real helpful."

An ear-splitting shriek pierced the air, sending shudders right to my core. My heart sank as I realised it was coming from the rocky outcrop.

"Call that thing off!" I yelled at the gnome who'd summoned it, who was standing with his mouth agape, staring at us. He blinked and nodded.

Horror darkest, demon dread.
Your job is done. Go back to bed.

We rushed up the hill to our fallen comrade but saw immediately there was no help for him. Little-John's small body was covered in holes and a grimy black residue. He was breathing in great shuddering heaves of air and fresh blood was bubbling from the holes in his chest.

"Shit on me!" spat Lindon. "I should have stayed with you, little man."

The gobbit shook his head. "I got to be a hero," he whispered.

I stroked his unbearably cute face and held his hand. "Is there anything we can do for you?"

His eyebrows raised and a half smile turned his lips. "Can ... could I see your boobs again, Miss Rozzy - just a quick peek before I die?"

I felt my head slump forward, caught between affront and amusement. "I just ... I just ... no, EllJay. You can't." A tear slipped from my eye and I loathed and loved it in equal measure.

His hairy fingers squeezed in my palm and his eyes widened, then stopped. "It's a miracle!" he croaked, and then he croaked.

"Uh didn't know him long," said Harry, "but he seemed a good lad."

Gobbit dead. Sorrow. We survive. Grateful.

I turned to see the nine surviving gnomes standing in a circle around us. They were about two feet tall and skinnier than beanpole supermodels. Each wore a black cloak and a bright floppy hat, which did nothing to hide that their tiny, soft faces looked like young children's.

"I'm sorry one of you got roasted," was all I could think to say. I was even sorrier that some of said gnome was probably smeared across my back.

We repay. How?

I snorted. "Well, if you could get us back to Pennylast, pay off my fifty thousand gold debt and tell me where to find Hexapussy, things would be just dandy."

Okay.

"I'm sorry, what? I was actually joking."

You save gnomes at great cost. Hexapussy unclear, but sense something North. We take. Other stuff, do we can. We wait. Gnome Train coming.

"The Gnome Train sounds unbearable," said Lindon, but without any enthusiasm.

While we waited, we buried our friend and lit an offering pyre. We each burned one of our possessions in tribute to Little-John and said a few words about our feelings for him. It didn't feel like enough, but it was the way we all wanted to be treated. The mercenary way.

"I hope you're picking locks in the gobbit afterlife," I muttered.

When a pop sounded in the clearing and a child size collection of carriages appeared from thin air, I felt like I should have been more shocked. Somehow, with the day we'd had, it just seemed par for the course. Each open-top carriage was big enough for one of us and Terence straddled one, his feet dangling either side. Sitting atop the front carriage, presumably driving, was a female gnome with long, bright silver hair.

Mother of Gnomes.

Lindon was the last hold-out. "I can't get on that. It's all cute and pretty and nice."

"It's the gnome way or a long walk," I said, and he relented.

With a choo-choo and another pop, we lurched forward into a tunnel of rainbows and glitter ... like my day hadn't been bonkers enough already.

Author Notes

I hope you enjoyed the read. UK English - Fantasy Comedy CHARACTERS MAIN PLAYERS Rozlyn - Mercenary, human, currently down on her luck, taking any job to pay the bills. She's telling us the story, so don't be alarmed if she occasionally talks to you! Little-John (LJ) - Gobbit (the tragic lovechild of a gnome and a hobbit) - skinny and cute, particularly small. He's a master lockpick and only looks like a child. Lindon - Elf, wizard (allegedly) - oversexed and generally very pleased with himself. Harry - Dwarf, recently bearded, and Rozlyn's oldest friend. Terence - barbarian warrior with pecs so big, we'd put a wig on and call him Dolly. Straight-talker, straight-fighter, challenged only by maths. And language, and history. Okay, academics in general, but don't challenge him to a fight! ADDITIONAL PLAYERS Benchmark - the only blacksmith in Pennylast. Has a habit of allowing his teenage apprentice to make armour and may or may not be a swindler. Olaf - Proprietor of The Dragon's Tale tavern - owner of the dirtiest apron found outside a pig's whorehouse, and purveyor of weird parsnips. Bariston / Billy Bass - Charming young crime boss brothers, hard to tell apart - one famously charming, the other famously psychotic - or is that both of them? BJJJ - aka Billy-John Jingle-Jangles - Scary loan shark in Pennylast with a crew of henchmen so scary, they wear purple outfits and nobody takes the pee out of them.

Chapter 11
Chasing Gnomes Ch.11 - Fishing

By Fleedleflump

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.

PREVIOUSLY in Chasing Gnomes... [in the voice of Terence the barbarian]

The boss lady had big money problems, and she said I couldn't just kill everyone to solve things. Instead, we had to steal a ring called Hexapussy or something from a bloke called Bass. We rescued some tiny people with big magic and I got to hit bad men. Boss lady fell in a fire but she seems okay.

Then, the tiny people took us on a tiny train so we could find the Bass man. If I'm lucky, I can fight some more, and the boss lady will be happy.

AND NOW, in Chasing Gnomes...


-----


There's one key rule to surviving as a female mercenary leader; never go into a fight blind. Oh, and make sure you trust your team, always get paid up front - at least half - and never trust other mercenary groups. Never show fear, even when it's eating your guts like a mutated tape worm with its arse on fire... And never put your codpiece on backwards.

Okay, so there are lots of rules, but the main one is definitely the thing about not going into a fight blind.

"Uh gots ta tell ye, lass, uh dunne like that we're headin' inta this blind," said Harry, his words whipping back to me from the carriage in front despite there being no discernible air to carry them.

We plunged from a cloud into a rainbow, the gnome train conveying us smoothly through a maelstrom of pastilles and blur - at least, that's the impression I had. There's no way to reliably describe a place with no light, sound or motion, but where you can hear everything, see where you are inside your head, and feel as though you're flying faster than a hawk with chronic wind.

Somewhere, Lindon was screaming.

I opened my mouth to respond to Harry - yes, we were going in blind. Yes, it was the stupidest idea since Benchmark inherited a bakery and tried to market 'edible armour.' Yes, it was mightily annoying that he felt the need to point out the obvious. Yes-

We burst into reality, my lungs inflating suddenly, agony ripping through my chest like heartburn with intent, and I realised wherever we'd been did not, in fact, include such facilities as 'air.' I felt solid ground press onto the undersides of my feet. The sounds of insects filled my ears, a heady aroma of pine and ... poo, I think, assaulted my nostrils, and blinding light flooded my vision.

Toot toot, went the gnome train while I blinked and tried to stand from the squatting position I'd been holding on the mini carriage. I fumbled to draw my weapons, a small pit of panic bouncing around in my stomach while my back and side screamed at me and lingering burns on my neck and bum cheeks smarted with nauseating pulses of pain.

"What the?" said a voice from somewhere up ahead. "Dirt's balls! Who invited the silver-haired midget, and whose toy train is that?" Bass, I'd have known that voice anywhere. Gnome words floated in my consciousness.

We wait. You deal.

The light was fading from my eyes, affording me blurry vision. We'd been deposited in a forest clearing, near to a campfire. Horses were tethered to trees at one edge, next to bags piled in a heap with guards sleeping around them. At the other side of the clearing (downwind, thankfully - these guys were experienced camp crafters), the same Bass brother I'd fought previously was squatting over a ditch, leather trousers round his ankles. He was staring at the semi-translucent gnome train with something akin to resignation in his eyes, and one arm was braced behind and down, mid-wipe.

Guards sleep. We ensure.

Bass matched gazes with me as I hobbled towards him with weapons poised and the others behind me. He didn't move a muscle. "We meet again, little lady, or should I call you Enigma?"

I almost stopped for applause. "Yes! You definitely should. And this time, I have you at a disadvantage. You know why..." I stopped, sighing. "Are you just going to squat there with your hand up your cleft while we talk?"

"Well, I don't know." He smiled slightly, that familiar glint in his eye, and I had to admire the man's confidence. "I'm guessing my guards aren't going to wake up any time soon." He glanced at the gnome train again, parked at the edge of the clearing. "I suppose your gnome friends are seeing to that. I'd like to be more shocked for you, but this is only the second or third weirdest thing that's happened today."

"Give us Hexapussy," said Lindon from behind me. "Or I'll turn whatever leaf you're wiping with into a stinging nettle." He drew in an audible breath. "I'm just about capable of that, you know."

"Good luck," said Bass. "I haven't felt anything back there for years. Daddy's punishments were ... inventive."

Harry stomped his feet - there's no mistaking the sound of dwarven toe caps. "Can uh jus' brain this little pissant, Roz? Uh canny listen te anymoor o' this shite."

"Bad choice of words, my friend," I said quietly. There was something I didn't like about Bass' smile.

"I don't have her," said the crime boss, shrugging with one arm. "The powers that be have taken possession. My only role now is as a decoy." He indicated the gnome train. "You know they had something too, right, until it was confiscated? The Dragon Dance isn't easy. There are several pieces to the puzzle."

I closed my eyes momentarily to block out the confusion. What was his play? When I opened them again, his smile had gone, and the friendly glint was made of steel. I made a show of squeezing my hands on the grips of my dirks. "It doesn't matter what you say. I need to be sure. Now, are you going to finish up and let us tie you to a tree, or do I have to-"

Bass flung his engaged hand forward, hurling a terrifying missile at my face. I threw myself to the side at the same time as he rolled, yanking his leggings up as he moved. Behind me, I heard Lindon screaming again as a wet slapping noise echoed round the clearing.

I stumbled to my feet, pain spearing through the burns on my neck and posterior, and fire flaring in the wound in my side. I was not in a good state to be fighting. Bass launched towards me, sword sliding into his hand, and between one breath and the next, we were toe to toe, him stabbing. I crossed both dirks to block his strike and angle his blade down, leaning in to headbutt him, but he swayed back and disengaged.

He danced from one foot to the other briefly, glancing behind me at the others. A sensible foe would surrender or run, but this guy was about as stable as a rusty bridge with a god complex. He wasn't about to surrender. I moved forward - time to end this. As my front foot started to take my weight, he dropped and twisted, spinning and flicking out a leg, crashing it into mine. My world went topsy turvy, feet flying up and shoulders crunching into the floor. As my ol' dad would have put it, I went arse over tit in the dust.

For a few moments, the world went into slow motion. I looked up to see a demonic grin, a rictus of hopeless insanity, framed by a halo of firelight. Above it, two hands clasped the hilt of a sword overhead, and they were already starting to swing down. Bass had me - I'd gone in blind, unprepared to fight, and sealed Enigma's fate forever. To put it another way, I was boned.

That was when something magical happened. From the side of my vision, a sheet of glinting metal hove into view, blocking the moon's glow, heading towards the vision of my death. I had a moment to admire just how literally barbarians took the term 'broadsword' and even enough time to wonder what was going through Bass's mind right now.

Then the world snapped back into full speed.

Metal rent flesh and bone with a vomit-inducing schink. Bass's sword danced away through the air, firelight glinting in startling flashes as it twirled, his hands still clinging to the hilt, leaving twin ribbons of blood in their wake. He dropped to his knees beside me, staring in disbelief at the spurting stumps where his hands used to be. I rolled away before he thought of stabbing me in the eye with a wrist bone ... Wait a minute, that means I just thought of that.

An eerie howl swept through the clearing and it took me a moment to realise it was coming from Bass. He was there, on his knees, tapping his stumps together as globules of dribble escaped his bottom lip, mingling with the blood mess below. He look up, straight at me, and burst into agonised laughter, coughing, spluttering and giggling.

There was an unpleasant sensation pressing down on my diaphragm - I think it might have been sympathy. Still holding Bass's gaze, I quietly said, "Terence."

With that word and an economical swing, the Broadsword of Bashing came down, cleaving Bass' head in two from above.

*****

A search of the clearing netted absolutely nothing. Whatever Bass might have meant by 'the powers that be,' he was right that Hexapussy was gone. I asked the gnomes what their torturers had been after, and only got the response that it was a priceless gnome artefact, now lost. We checked the sleeping guards had enough rations for a few days (we're not monsters) and, at the urging of the silver-haired gnome queen, perched ourselves once more on the tiny train.

With a puff and a lurching of the stomach, we were on our way home.

And this time, I remembered to take a deep breath first.

Author Notes

I hope you enjoyed the read. One more chapter to go in this tale! I'll be posting the last one today, too - so you may be able to read straight on if interested. UK English - Fantasy Comedy CHARACTERS MAIN PLAYERS Rozlyn - Mercenary, human, currently down on her luck, taking any job to pay the bills. She's telling us the story, so don't be alarmed if she occasionally talks to you! Little-John (LJ) - Gobbit (the tragic lovechild of a gnome and a hobbit) - skinny and cute, particularly small. He's a master lockpick and only looks like a child. Lindon - Elf, wizard (allegedly) - oversexed and generally very pleased with himself. Harry - Dwarf, recently bearded, and Rozlyn's oldest friend. Terence - barbarian warrior with pecs so big, we'd put a wig on and call him Dolly. Straight-talker, straight-fighter, challenged only by maths. And language, and history. Okay, academics in general, but don't challenge him to a fight! ADDITIONAL PLAYERS Benchmark - the only blacksmith in Pennylast. Has a habit of allowing his teenage apprentice to make armour and may or may not be a swindler. Olaf - Proprietor of The Dragon's Tale tavern - owner of the dirtiest apron found outside a pig's whorehouse, and purveyor of weird parsnips. Bariston / Billy Bass - Charming young crime boss brothers, hard to tell apart - one famously charming, the other famously psychotic - or is that both of them? BJJJ - aka Billy-John Jingle-Jangles - Scary loan shark in Pennylast with a crew of henchmen so scary, they wear purple outfits and nobody takes the pee out of them.

Chapter 12
Chasing Gnomes Ch.12 - Beginning

By Fleedleflump

So here's how it is. The gnomes took us back to Pennylast and made sure my debts were paid. As a bonus, they even settled my account with Benchmark. I didn't actually get to see any of this - I was deposited at the local apothecary to have my burns and stab wound treated - but I did get sealed letters confirming I was now in the black. It turns out, being burned by a dragon's fire and surviving is a pretty handy scenario (hey, maybe one day, you'll find out how it happened). Other than some nasty welts on my neck and, not to put too fine a point on it, my arse, the venture only cost me a haircut and a gobbit.

That last bit hurt more than expected.

"Te tha midget," said Harry, holding his tankard aloft. We all banged our drinks together and took a chug. "And it's nee often a Dwarf gets te say tha'."

"I feel a bit lacking," said Lindon.

I glanced down at the table, raising my eyebrows cheekily, knowing that wasn't what he meant. He threw me a half smile. When Lindon passes on an opportunity for a willy joke, you know he's in a sombre mood. I suspected he was still recovering from having a leaf-wrapped poo thrown in his face.

"Good fight." Terence was nursing an empty tankard - one gulp, the show off.

I let the Dragon's Tail atmosphere wash over us for a little while but soon felt dirty. As an anonymous meeting place, it served a good purpose, but as a venue for quiet reflection, it was about as much use as ...

"Spicy parsnips!" A plate crashed down into the middle of our table. Above it, Olaf's big face wore an expression I could only describe as worried. "You four look like you need some spicing up - desperately."

I smiled. "Thanks, Olaf. Hey, we encountered a namesake of yours running a Jolly Jester on the North Road."

The inn keep's face darkened. "That filthy bugger! He's the runt of the family." His smile emerged once again. "I bet my parsnips are better than his creaky gobdough, though."

"That, they are," I said, chuckling. "Here, how come you're being so nice? Last time you saw us, a riot kicked off."

The big man shrugged. "A bunch of gnomes paid me a visit. Couldn't get a straight sentence out of any of them, but it seems they searched your memories, and sought to settle all your debts. That included my muggins self, right here, as in me."

"They searched my memories?" My life played out like a flip book of weirdness and cringe-worthy scenes behind my eyes. "No wonder the poor buggers didn't stick around to say goodbye!"

With a salute, Olaf tottered off merrily.

"Ach, it all seems a little convenient," moaned Harry. "Like these gnomes stepped in at just tha right moment ta solve our woes."

I nodded and took a long slug of ale. "In my experience, nothing's that convenient. This is going to come back and bite us. I don't think we've seen the last of our gnome comrades. The mercs we fought clearly believed the gnomes had something they needed, and we know it wasn't Hexapussy. Not to mention, if they can summon a magic gnome train and its silver-haired driver whenever they want, there's no way they'd be caught easily unless something stronger than their magic was messing with them. Were the mercs just killing them for fun? No." I shook my head. "This whole thing's fishier than a mermaid's unmentionables."

Lindon's face screwed up in thought. "Do mermaids even have bits and pieces? I mean, they're great on the top half - I can vouch for that - but I've never seen the rest, even in drawings."

"O' course they dee," piped in Harry. "Where d'ye think wee babby mermaids come from?"

Terence held up a parsnip and wiggled it demonstratively.

"I've never seen pictures of baby mermaids either." Lindon picked up his own parsnip and fenced Terence with it.

"Okay, I think I have it," I said. "The mermaid coughs up an egg and she's like, 'oy, mate - you've had your fun with me, now you got to carry the kid.' So the guy, he does the necessary with the egg, then swallows it or puts it - you know - elsewhere within himself. Then it's him who gets to carry the results of his salty misadventures around until it's time to plop out a half-fish tot. It'd certainly explain the shape of some of the fellas frequenting this place."

I laughed as I finished but the table had gone deadly silent. A look around my merry crew revealed three horrified expressions. "What?"

Terence's face looked like he'd swallowed an angry goblin.

"Bloody disgustin' idea," said Harry.

Lindon was turning a funny colour. "So that's what she threw at me - I thought she just wanted me to leave!"

Harry exploded into laughter and I couldn't help joining in - partly at Lindon and partly at how Harry managed to laugh with an accent. Even Terence was chuckling - a rare sight indeed. For a few minutes, we drank and giggled and the years fell away. This was the old feeling - the crew, together and jolly, adventures on our minds.

"Come on, Roz." Lindon was looking at me intently. "I know you have something to ask us. No more procrastinating."

I sighed, feeling my shoulders slump. "It feels like I got everything I wanted out of this," I said eventually. "My problems are resolved - well, the money ones, anyway. Now it's all coming to an end and I've got nothing to keep you here."

"Sod that!" Shouted Harry. "Ye don't get te dump us tha' easy, lass."

Lindon smiled. "Damned right. This wasn't a 'one last adventure' kind of deal for me. This was a new beginning. Find us some more work, Roz - like the old days. If there are jobs to be done, we'll do them with you."

We all turned to look at Terence. The giant barbarian's face split into a huge grin and he held up a fresh tankard. "Companions!" he roared.

"Companions!" Our tankards clinked, our bond was re-forged, and a thousand new realities shrugged in unison and opened their doors.


*****


"You let her wriggle out of it." The voice was deeper than an ocean sinkhole, shuddering through the air with an undercurrent of fury. Bariston Bass felt that voice turning his insides to mush but he couldn't let it show.

He coughed to dispel the pressure in his throat. "She will pay, Father. I promise you. She'll pay for Billy's death and all the trouble she caused."

"I don't know if I can trust you to try again. You had every advantage - we had her in a position she could not deny. Even within the law, we had what we needed to compel her. And still, she eluded you."

"It was the gnomes, Father. We couldn't have predicted them. I will make them pay."

"And her escape from Pennylast the first time, in the unidentified wagon?"

Bariston took a deep breath. "That was the merchants. They-"

A laugh cut him off. "They will pay, is that what you were about to say, Son? Are they all going to pay - are you so determined?"

"Yes," he said, bunching his fists so hard, blood began to trickle.. "All of them. Everyone is going to pay."


THE END (ISH)

Author Notes

And so concludes our tale! I hope you enjoyed the read. The next story - A Penny for you Fought - is already in my portfolio. I'll be starting Part 3 - Dragon With a Capital D - soon. UK English - Fantasy Comedy CHARACTERS MAIN PLAYERS Rozlyn - Mercenary, human, currently down on her luck, taking any job to pay the bills. She's telling us the story, so don't be alarmed if she occasionally talks to you! Little-John (LJ) - Gobbit (the tragic lovechild of a gnome and a hobbit) - skinny and cute, particularly small. He's a master lockpick and only looks like a child. Lindon - Elf, wizard (allegedly) - oversexed and generally very pleased with himself. Harry - Dwarf, recently bearded, and Rozlyn's oldest friend. Terence - barbarian warrior with pecs so big, we'd put a wig on and call him Dolly. Straight-talker, straight-fighter, challenged only by maths. And language, and history. Okay, academics in general, but don't challenge him to a fight! ADDITIONAL PLAYERS Benchmark - the only blacksmith in Pennylast. Has a habit of allowing his teenage apprentice to make armour and may or may not be a swindler. Olaf - Proprietor of The Dragon's Tale tavern - owner of the dirtiest apron found outside a pig's whorehouse, and purveyor of weird parsnips. Bariston / Billy Bass - Charming young crime boss brothers, hard to tell apart - one famously charming, the other famously psychotic - or is that both of them? BJJJ - aka Billy-John Jingle-Jangles - Scary loan shark in Pennylast with a crew of henchmen so scary, they wear purple outfits and nobody takes the pee out of them.

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