Sir Wembley peeked from the corridor through the kitchen door at his son, his arm around the waist of Teasel, his wife. "Always wi' th' choppin' and stirrin'. Never wit' the fightin'. How's ee gonna fulfill 'is destiny to Rule if ee's naught but a baker or butcher."
Teasel looked up at the gnomish warchief with sympathetic eyes. "Wail, Brockett th' Butcher do sound intimidatin'!" Her husband snorted. And shook his head as the two befuddle parents strode off to the bedroom.
Back in the kitchen, the young, brown-skinned gnome continued to prepare his special wild-hare and cornflake casserole. A tall four feet, two inches with thoughtful gray eyes, Brockett was an enigma to his family, as he eschewed the martial arts for the culinary. But unbeknownst to them he was not without hidden power or ambition. For he was drawn to Nature from whence he gathered the ingredients of his Art, and already had learned some secrets of the druids of the wood. And, mayhap, he would find a way yet to conquer the known lands by serving extremely excellent pies.
The young gnome strolled down the streets of the town, hands in his pockets and whistling as he looked at the ground. Suddenly he came to a halt at a pair of steel sabatons. He looked up, at a waistline girt with an imposing looking swordbelt. He looked further up, at a shiny steel breastplate. Sighing, he looked all the way up, into the the broad grin of a roughly handsome human with flowing brown hair. Brocket squinted. "Ere now, what's this then?"
The human laughed deeply. "Brocket the Butcher!" The gnome shuddered at the nickname. "I am Captain Flammond! I served with your Father, gods rest his soul. I made him a solemn vow that I would watch your back for as long as I draw breath. Is it not a wonderful thing?" He boomed.
Brocket winced as the imposing soldier held out a guantleted hand. "Well met, my tiny friend! Never fear, for no harm will come to you now." The gnome gingerly shook the hand which squeezed his heartily.
Flammond noded solemnly. "Great indeed. Now stop wasting time here in the street and hurry off to fulfill your destiny!" Brocket smiled nervously.
"Er… ok?" And hurried off to find the nearest latrine.
Reflections On Your Mother
It was a point of pride with my father, the legendary but highly traditionalist Sir Wembley, that he brought home enough wealth that my mother could remain in the comfort of her home, attending to delicate wifely duties. It was a point of pride with the inestimable Teasel that her husband had no clue how very little time she spent there when he was out campaigning, or indeed that she kept a secret suit of armor in an alcove in the cellar that she donned in her role as Captain of the Village guard. Luckily gnomes enjoy putting one over on each other more than most races, and nobody ever breathed a word on account of it being such an amusing secret. She it was that taught me to value freedom above all else, and thus I shall pursue my destiny in my own way.
Fern! What a fittingly short and sweet name. Might she really notice me, this bewitching gnome at the Physician's stall? I saw her preparing the herbs for him, her long brown braids framing her lightly tanned face, her serious brown eyes and nose like a button mushroom of the forest. Did you she how she seemed to glide from spot to spot in the stall, a veritable spirit of nature! I shall have to be less careful, so that I require leechcraft as often as possible! Fern, I shall literally bleed for thee! And bring thee cake!.
Deity of Brockett
Apathatsclir manifests as a plump, wizened gnomish woman with large spectacles and wild hair. In the Beginning, the Creator set the heavenly bodies in their eternal spheres. Then the Goddess of Freedom, who was significantly mechanically inclined, designed the Laws that set them in motion. According to Apathatscliran theology, the Universe is woven of invisible, freely flowing particles called gnomons, and only the Goddess can know their location and momentum all at once.
Worship of Apathatsclir
She who guides the spheres, hear my prayer! I strive to show all peoples the path to Freedom. Thus like you, I must learn to lead while allowing all life to take its course unhindered. Wilt thou not send me a sign, that I may know I am in the path you have ordained? In the dreams of my youth you spoke to me of the sacred Pie that structures the Universe and I have endeavored to perfect the art of Pies. But how shall I deliver them unto the World?
House of Sorrows
The gnome taps his chin as he paces back and forth. "Th' message, methinks, is tha' we are all th' children o' the gods an' no mistake. Yer children wrestle wi' the Autism burden and their anxiety and fear but ye care fer them on yer own cause the human worl' has become isolating and focused on material things over th' bonds ye all share. I pity ye, fer the gnomes ha' not gone down this path."
Brockett stands quietly for a moment. "In yer isolation ye have worked a wonder, th' creation of this world, where ye can build th' ties that bind an' connect wit' other souls, wit' mature conversation an' common purpose. I hope I have heard all this aright. Nex' time I come, I will bake my best pie for ye and yon little ones."
We rest Brockett the Butcher to share wise words from way back when:
Today is: 18th June (GMT), in history on the 18th of June, 1915 AD the following event happened:
21st US Golf Open: John Travers shoots a 297 at Baltusrol Golf Club - New Jersey