Gnomes, Piepans and Floddywangers
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The air about Jiyyd has been thicker of late. Pungent to some, tear-inducing to those accustomed to more hygenic locales (like say, a morgue), the odor seems concentrated in the local bar, where Drudo pricks his nostrils in quiet dislike; and Chesty, whom all consider the most open-minded, the most outgoing, the wild and jiggling jewel of the Filthy Whore's staff, has for the first time ever actually deigned it appropriate to don modest clothing, seeming scandalized by the very air about her as she crosses her arms about her waist, pulling close the ends of a long, starchy, and obviously borrowed robe.
Why, many can be seen to think, why such reticence in the face of a smell so like sweaty onions and moldy garlic? Why such restraint at the course laughter coming from the rear corner, the spent and broken tankards littering the floor, and the pie dishes, brought straight from the Silver Valley, flung with a whoosh and a sharp clang accross the common room? Why put up with such a squat and rancid beast, filling the air with pollution so obscene to all the senses and civil sensibilities of an otherwise respectable bar and tavern?
The answer is simple: tonight the dirty gnome has coin.
Bub Bilmfrin, or Zesty Bub to those familiar with the gnomish fighting circuit, has just arrived in his surrogate home town of Jiyyd. Clad in black and gold trousers and vest (colors appropriated by the Black Sails, much to the chagrin of many Kelemvorites), Bub is celebrating his return with the local hin lasses and farm folk at the Whore, buying rounds for the house and more or less having his way with the place.
Usually only slightly more reserved in his revelry, Bub appears more and more erratic at each flagons' drain, goading those around him into playing ludicrous gnomish drinking games, all the while cheerleading and guffawing at each patron's failed turn at Blindman's Blunder or Guess What the Goat Left (both of which involve trying not to drink the mug with goat piss in it; really they're just about the same game, except for the addition of a blindfold in the former).
To those who might shoosh him in a half drunken stupor, saying that he really loudly be so shouldn't, Bub just waves a hand dismissively, saying that this is nothing compared to the ruckus he had just come from back home.
And just what could mark such an occassion for revelry? For those who might still care to know, our potent little porcupine has just come back from his little village of Smugmugger, a small folk's village in a backwater cleft of the Spine of the World, where they celebrate Fifth Floddywanger's Day. A joyous occasion, Fifth Floddywanger's Day is celebrated by the rock gnomes in honor of the gnomish deity Garl Glittergold's decisive victory in the lesser known (but duly observed) War On Pants Which Are Too Long For Right-Sized Folk To Wear Without Tripping Every Fifth Step. And what a proper Floddywanger it would have been, had Great Garl not uncovered the evil Kobold plot to add an extra eighteen inches to every pair of gnomish trousers in time.
By Garl's Fabulous Whoopee Cushion, what a time was had! Well-fit trousers were enjoyed by all in attendance (all, that is, but Old Master Brownbreeches, who for reasons which should be made clear by his nickname, preferred to go commando). After the mayor of Smugmugger handed out the last of Garl's proferred garments, the whole village made their way to the Venerable Portion of Shaggy Carpet, where young and old alike dragged their feet across the wide and thick expanse of course woolen rug, racing to be the first to send a spark of static electricty up the proud gnomish nose of their neighbor.
Only those who have ever participated in this time-honored rite could possibly know the cause for Bub's mirth, and his lust to share it with all who can tolerate him.
So for those of you who might care for a quiet drink with the missus, or the din of a more civilized locale, be warned that tonight the Whore is alive with the bacchanalian overflow of a faraway gnomish burg. Stay home, pull shut the blinds and plug fast the children's noses and ears.
Tonight the dirty gnome has coin.
