The small horse drawn cart ambled ever up the mountain road. From Aerie Peak via Shindigger’s Camp, it now neared it’s destination. Chillwind Camp. Loaded down with basic supplies for the encampment, it was one of a few that dared make the journey every few days. As the small cart came to its rest just outside the quaint Inn the cart’s driver lean his head back over his should and announced his arrival. A pair of fluffy black pig-tails appeared near the back of the cart. They matched a head of black hair, to which they belonged, which bobbed back and forth. Without a word, a tiny sack that couldn’t have held more than a few coins flew in a gentle arch into the air at the cart man. Surprised, he turned sharply in his seat and captured the tiny sack in his arms.
As the small head of black hair dropped from the back of the cart, black fluffy pig-tails bobbing as if weightless, and made its way around toward the driver, the cart man fumbled to open the tiny sack and count the coin within. “Oh,” The man seemed embarrassed. “This is far too much for a simple ride, young miss. I couldn’t possibly…” He looked up into the kindest green eyes he’d ever seen and stammered. The small Gnome, scarf wrapped high over the lower half of her face, waved her hands defiantly.
Her hands began to flit and wiggle in the most peculiar manner. Though it was clear to the man that she was attempting to communicate with him, she quickly realized that the cart man had no idea what it was she was trying to say. As seamlessly as she could the little Gnome transitioned her hand gestures into a simple thumbs-up and smiled as brightly as her eyes would allow. She nodded her head Yes, offered another little wave Good-bye, then turned sharply on her heels and began walking away.
The cart man tried to protest again, but it was no use. The little Gnome girl was well on her way. Truthfully, she could hear the man just fine. Her hearing was quite keen in matter of fact. She just didn’t wish to prolong her journey with aimless attempts at communication all to try and convince the man to keep the coin. To him it may have seemed generous but to her, it was a trifle. If anything the extra bit of coin was an expression of gratitude for agreeing to bring her this far.
From Chillwind Camp the dark haired, pig-tailed, Gnome some knew as Ethel quietly made her way eastward toward Sorrow Hill and the Shrine of Uther. The air drew colder even as the trees pulled closer to the narrowing roadway. A shade fell over the road and lent a sense of foreboding to the way. As if the very light of day was reticent about going any further. Ethel pulled her scarf a bit higher over her ears and nose, and pushed onward. A building soon came into view that eventually revealed itself to be one in a series of old tombs. Tombstones also appeared along the way. One or two at first, before spreading as if grim wild flowers along the road. Ethel slowed her steps, now and then, to a near pause as she took in the sight of them all. So many headstones. So many names. Ethel drew her coat tighter and forced herself to move forward. Even as memories and emotions of that fateful day came flooding back to her.
Keep moving, Ethel. Just keep moving. The voice in her head (which may have been her own) kept repeating. At long last the road opened wider. The sea of headstones parted. Verdant grass and shrubbery availed itself of the warm light that had decided to join her. Ethel released the grip on her coat and pulled her scarf down just beneath her nose. To her right opened the way up to Uther’s tomb. Ethel deftly turned left and made her path northerly, away from that grand facade.
In the distance ahead of her came into view twin stone pillars, topped by blue triangular caps. One on either side of the roadway, a short low section of wall joined at the base of each to mark the end of Sorrow Hill and it’s cemetery, and the beginning of a bridge. A very large and old bridge with tall archway above the footing. It was, at one time, a grand design of the kingdom that once ruled these lands. An archway marking the entrance to a damned city beyond. An archway that would be etched into Ethel’s dreams. Burned into her nightmares. As she neared that large stone structure, pitted and neglected to the ravages of time, the elements, and unspeakable strife, Ethel felt her heart drop. It was as if she were stepping up to the gateway of the abyss, and just beyond awaited every dark and nasty thing that she’d tried so terribly her entire life to conquer… or forget. In the middle of the road at the food of that bridge, Ethel stopped. A cold wind picked up, carrying as though it were the howls and screams of the damned with it. The wind died, and a still silence surrounded her.
She’d felt the familiar presence long before she’d heard its voice. Low and hoarse, hollowed as it came from behind a thick bone mask. “Jarring. Isn’t it.” Ethel’s ears perked at the sound and she snapped her eyes to the side. From the darkness slowly stepped the small hunched form of another Gnome. Clad in dark robes, appointed with raven feathers. Head clad by a similarly feathered cowl, from beneath which extended a faceless bone mask, shaped with an avian likeness. She clasped hold of a dark gnarled staff for support. “To be here, again…” The hoarse woman’s voice drew a deep wheezing breath. “After so much time.”
The surprise in Ethel’s eyes faded. Replaced by a tender kindness. The bone mask turned from her as the figure neared, and cast its sightless gaze down the road and over the bridge. “I am not worthy of your pity, Sister.” The dark form wheezed another breath. “Though, I am grateful for it.” Ethel began to reach out to touch the hunched Gnome’s shoulder when she felt the pop behind and to the other side of her.
There is a distinct void of air that is produced when a mage casts a blink spell. Each mage’s spell-work is often as unique as the individual themselves, and often producing unique effects even when the spell-work’s purpose is cast successfully. Such it was with Tink, Ethel’s elder Sister. A gifted mage in her own right, Tink often produced a telltale void (or pocket) of air just mere moments before she blinked into that void and filled it. The filling of said pocket often produced a barely audible thud that isn’t so much heard as it is felt. The longer the distance she travels, quiet often, the more forceful the thud. Ethel sharply pulled her hand back and turned to meet Tink.
Tink, as she always does, lightly brushed down her fine robes. She looked up with her sparkly blue eyes and smiled at Ethel. Ethel’s eyes returned the warmth in kind. “Hello, sweet Ethel!” Tink exclaimed. She bound forward and threw her arms around the dark haired Gnome. “It’s so good to see you.” Tink peered over Ethel’s shoulder. All joy and kindness in her eyes and tone was replaced with cold indifference. “And you as well, Lilith.” The dark hunched form breathed a wheeze and offered a hoarse, “Tink” in response. As Tink pulled away from Ethel she turned to the bridge.
“It is…” Tink started a thought. Her voice caught with hesitation. “…quite a thing. Isn’t it. How such a place as this can hold so much meaning. Pain, and sorrow.” A quiet moment passed. The dark hunched figure took a step forward, lifting and moving her staff as she did. Tink spoke sharply, coldly. “Not another step, cur.” Tink remained facing the bridge as she continued. “You may be the eldest of us, but I’ll not endure your foul presence any longer than I must. You will wait until I am gone from here to say your peace.” The dark hunched form withdrew her step and stood silently. Her bone mask watched dispassionately.
With a grand gesture accompanying a muttered phrase Tink materialized a splendid wreath in her hands. With a snap of her fingers a simple wooden stand also appeared. There in the middle of the road, Tink stepped forward and placed the wreath on the stand. She took a few steps back to Ethel’s side. Tink quietly admitted, choking back tears. “I never quite know what to say.” Ethel gestured with her hands. [It doesn’t matter what we say. We will never forget. That is what matters most.] Tink nodded. “Never forget, and never forgotten.” The three Gnomes stood solemnly.
Tink turned to Ethel and spoke softly. “Can I drop you anywhere?” Ethel briefly glanced over toward Lilith before giving Tink a nod. She deftly gestured with one hand just as Tink placed her hand on Ethel’s shoulder, and the pair of them blinked out of existence.
The dark hunched Gnome’s reply was unheard but she spoke it anyway. “Love you too, little Sis.” The hunched Gnome stepped toward the splendid wreath and turned to one side. A quivering hand reached into her dark robes and pulled out a rather wilted red rose, worn from its travel within Lilith’s robes. Her shaky hand lowered it to the cobblestone street. Her strength gave way and the hunched Gnome fell to her knees. From behind the mask came soft wheezing gasps mixed with sobbing and two utterances. “Mother… Father.”