The Brave Little Gnome; or: the Sad Tale of Gutwrench, Formerly Known as Greg.

[Gutwrench Fizzlebottom]

The life of a gnome has never been an easy one.

From his childhood, Gregory Fizzlebottom was a troubled lad. Early on, other little gnomish children were constantly picking on him due to his rash nature and sheer unpredictability. As he grew older, however, they soon learned to fear rather than mock him. Not long into his life, Gregory began displaying strength unusual for most larger races - let alone a gnome. This strength, however, was not always wild and untempered. In fact, after he was long gone from his home village of Gobbledown (a town founded by the notoriously voracious Gorb Barrelgut) many who knew him would have described his strength of personality as at least as strong as his physical strength.

Not long before reaching maturity (typically around 40 years old) Gregory began displaying an intense interest in taking up a life of adventuring. His mother, who had always supported his endeavors in the past, was surprisingly resistant to the idea. Gregory had always imagined his mother would wish him to follow in the footsteps of his father, the great gnomish adventurer Bodrik Fizzlebottom, who had left home quietly when Gregory was about 25 years old. Being headstrong and unwilling to bow to anything but his own passions, Gregory insisted on this path. He convinced himself that his mother was only worried for his safety. His father had met his end at the jaws of mighty dragon, but had surely lived many adventurers and made his mark on the wide world. On his 40th name day, Gregory went forth into that wide world.

His first stop was the town of Greenest, a few days north of Gobbledown. Upon arrival, Gregory wasted no time in letting the town know exactly who he was and what he intended to do. The first night there he spent much of his gold (for surely more awaited just on the horizon) on buying rounds for the patrons of the local tavern. Once everyone was clapping him on the back, he got up the courage to climb upon the bar and proclaim, "My name is Gregory Fizzlebottom! I'm going to follow in my father's footsteps and bathe in gold and glory, but first I'm going to find and slay the cowardly dragon that killed him! Who's with me!?"

The silence that followed was deafening. The quiet chuckles that came after were even worse. From the back of the room, came a deep, hearty, bellowing laugh. "Who dares laugh at the name of my father, the great Bodrik Fizzlebottom!?"

A stocky dwarf came forward. "Great?" he spoke, "Have ye ever even met yer father? The man was a drunk! At the end of his first week here he thought he'd 'slay' the town welcome sign and wound up whoppin himself so hard he was knocked oot!"

Gregory's legs began to wobble.

"Come on down, lad and walk with me," said the dwarf, "and let me fill you in where ya won't make a fool of yerself"

Gregory was too dumbstruck to argue. They left the tavern and the dwarf, who introduced himself as Bossom Fellhammer, told him all he knew about his father. He had arrived in town many years ago and had genuinely impressed the villagers. He was strong, and sure of himself. Said he was striking out to fell the evil of the world to make it a better place for his son. He was waiting on a friend before they would continue on together. That was all the dwarf knew, almost. Before they parted ways, Bossom handed Gregory a book. "This is your father's, lad," spoke the dwarf, "I found it when I cleaned out his room at the inn. I'm a part owner there... you're welcome to a room for the night to find what secrets might be learned from your father's words. Rest assured, the last person to open it was him."

Gregory thanked him and did as he suggested. Sitting down at the cramped desk in a dim, flickering candlelight, Gregory read the first words he'd heard from his father in over 15 years. First, the words were very sentimental, speaking of how overcome he was with the task of rearing a child and the wanderlust he felt on a daily basis. Flipping through the pages, Gregory read about his father's aspirations to gain glory for the Fizzlebottom name. He had heard from an old friend after a long time and was going to meet him in Greenest to begin his life of adventure. With great pain, he had left his family behind.

However, once his father reached Greenest the writing became nearly illegible. He fell into a drunken stupor on a daily basis and scrawled nonsense into his journal. Gregory was fuming. He slammed the book shut and paced the room. How could his father have been such a failure? A laughingstock! He had set out to bring glory to the Fizzlebottom name, but had made a mockery of it. The young gnome was taken back to tales he had heard as a child... tales of the great troll warrior, Gutwrench Stomachturner.

And just like that, it hit him. Gregory would finish his father's task, but not as Gregory. As a new gnome, as the mighty Gutwrench Fizzlebottom. That was what was in his blood more so than his father's failure... with these thoughts, hecould practically feel the power surging through him. He forced himself back to the desk to finish the journal. Strangely, the candles seemed brighter now... Gregory - no, Gutwrench now - flung the book open to the final pages. They were simply more of the same until the very final page.

The final page was coherent again. And it was fillled with hatred. Whoever Bodrik was going to meet had evidently betrayed him, and had gotten the locals to prey on his appetite for alcohol. Once Bodrik was a laughing stock, he realized that his friend was never coming and that he'd have to carve his own way to greatness. He would go out on his own, and succeed or die trying. Gutwrench turned to the next page to find something rather disturbing. On this page was one name, scrawled across its breadth, over and over and over again. One name, scratched into the page so hard that the writer's fury was clearly visible.

One name.
Douven Staul.