Erenville grumbled to himself as he brushed aside a lock of his sweat-matted hair for the tenth time today and ventured further into the dense jungle. His latest leve as a gleaner for the Sharlayan Forum was to retrieve a rare specimen known as a ‘kaftar’ – some bizarre ‘hyena on two legs’ which had been reportedly sighted in the southern reaches of Thavnair. After a particularly stomach-churning trip through the aetheryte, Erenville wasn’t exactly in the highest of spirits, and those spirits only sank further when he learned from the locals that said sighting had been deep within the inhospitable wilderness. As per usual, the Forum had either underestimated just how remote and taxing this venture would be or (as Erenville hypothesized) they had correctly estimated and simply chose not to mention it before sending him on his merry way.
You’d think with all the fauna they’ve had us collect, they could lend at least one of them for me to ride. The tired Viera cursed under his breath as he nearly tripped over an upturned root, making a mental note to watch where he was stepping from here on. Maybe I should have asked the Warrior of Light if I could rent from that ‘collection of mounts’ that they were boasting about…
Frustrated yet focused, Erenville endured the soreness in his legs and the aching of his feet as best as he could and pressed onwards – the sooner he was done with his ludicrous task, the sooner he could return to Labyrinthos, and while the Forum would undoubtedly have yet another ludicrous task scheduled for him as soon as he returned, at least its artificial sun didn’t seem as intent on baking him alive as the real one.
As if Nophica Herself sought to taunt him for spurning Her gifts, Erenville pushed aside yet another heavy rubbery leaf to reveal a gnarly thicket of cactbrush barring his path ahead. The gleaner was well familiar with the infamous flora and the thousands of needles running along its surface to safeguard its rich water-laced interior from wild animals. For a moment, Erenville considered the safe solution of simply walking along the crop’s length until he found a suitable opening. However, as another bead of sweat dripped down his fringe, it became clear that this infernal heat had melted away most of his remaining patience.
Erenville wiped away the sweat again and muttered an apology to Nophica ‘just in case’ before reaching for his botany hatchet, eager to forge ahead.
Thavnair is home to many creatures both fantastical and frightening, from the flail-tailed Vajrakumara to the whip-tongued Sphatika, so almost anybody would find it hard to believe that beings as insignificant and fragile as the Gnomes could possibly survive and prosper here.
Of course, this is purely hypothetical, as nobody knows of the Gnomes and they have been intent to keep it that way.
It was nothing short of a miracle that the Gnomes had survived into the Seventh Astral Era as while they were quite alike to humes in body and mind, their size left them barely distinguishable from a common midge or a mere gnat. Even some of the lowliest of insects and rodents towered above them in the food chain, while most creatures couldn’t even perceive something of such a small size in comparison. While the Gnomes’ nigh-invisible stature sometimes led them to an unfortunate end deep beneath the footsteps of the jungle’s colossal residents, it was also their saving grace in staying hidden and unseen from the monsters who might make a meal of the minuscule men.
In times long past, a great number of Gnomes had ventured afar in the hopes of finding safer pastures elsewhere, but one tribe had elected to remain and seclude themselves deep within the Thavnairian jungle at a promising site – ‘the field within the cactbrush.’ The village of Tozus was settled within the grove as the Gnomes had found no difficulty moving through its prickly perimeter, squeezing through the needled stems with ease thanks to their size. The tribe had since thrived within the safety of their ‘village walls’ as the cactbrush turned away any would-be predators roaming the jungle while also providing readily-available water for the Gnomes who pulled and plumed from its green veins. Their life in the miniature meadow was perhaps not the most eventful, but it was hidden from the prying eyes of the voracious monsters and the fabled ‘great giants’ of the world. With such safety, their huts amongst the grassblades could perhaps one day blossom into something far more prosperous and grand.
Of course, this is purely hypothetical, as nobody knows of the Gnomes and Erenville was about to keep it that way.
As durable and dangerous as cactbrush could be, botany hatchets and padded gloves had been invented for a reason and Erenville put both to good use as he hacked his way through the cacti. As he gently squeezed his way through the makeshift opening so as not to ruin his clothes (any more than the layers of sweat already had) he prayed that he was about to stumble upon the nest of his long-sought hopefully-not-just-a-prank kaftar.
Instead, the gleaner was rewarded with an otherwise unremarkable glade. There was nothing to see except shin-deep grass and a perfectly boring rock.
Well, at least it’s not a den of tigers. Erenville turned his head up, grateful to be met with the natural shade of thick palm leaves. Looks like the canopy around here is quite thick. I’m sure the sun won’t miss me if I’m gone for just a little while…
After taking a moment to peek his head around to ensure that he hadn’t been tailed by any deadly predators (or, even worse, any undercover members of the Forum who were going to spring a salary cut on him for his unsolicited break) Erenville stowed his hatchet and walked into the glade, convinced that he was well and truly alone.
The village of Tozus was no stranger to the occasional distant tremor or faraway noise, but these were just ordinary occurrences to the small folk. With their safety guaranteed by the natural spiny barrier, the Gnomes went about their day as per usual; some were working to build a new lodge from the wood of loose bramble and palm bark, some were tending to the sprouts and buds in their inch-wide farmlands, and some were simply enjoying a nap during yet another fantastically uneventful day. One Gnome in particular was lamenting that today, like many other days, was so boring that they wished something exciting would happen for once.
It was when the Gnomes could hear the sounds of cactbrush being torn asunder that they began to give pause.
One such Gnome had opted for water collection duty in the cactbrush today, etching away at one of the many looming trunk-like stems for what she had thought to be an uneventful job, only to become acutely aware of the approaching vibrations. She had only been allowed a brief moment of concern before the veritable maze of green walkways around her began to topple and collapse as though they were boulders in a rockslide. The Gnome shrieked and her legs moved at a pace that she wasn’t even aware they could until now, darting down the stem that she had been situated on as the ceiling of tangled cacti came crumbling down around her. As she sprinted down stem after stem before they could fall free or become flattened, she was only vaguely cognizant of the gigantic hatchet slicing through the world above her like the scythe of some titanic grim reaper.
One errant stumble amidst her panic caused the Gnome to lose her footing and bounce down the remaining stems like a loose pebble until she rolled down the slanted surface of one last stem to the ground below. The ungraceful descent had left her lungs emptied and the telltale sting of broken bone made itself painfully aware in her right leg, but she was alive and conscious.
This left her with the dubious honor of being the first Gnome to see the giant as he finished laying waste to the village’s perimeter and stepped through the capsized hole in the cactbrush wall.
Most of the Gnomes’ old songs and tall tales which sought to capture the utter enormity of ‘the titans from beyond the jungle’ had been exaggerated for effect, but now that there was one to look upon in the flesh, it became apparent that the stories still fell short of the terrifying reality. As the Gnome worker laid sprawled out of her back, her eyes were drawn to a pair of elongated ears stretching far above her at such a height that it made the towering heights of the cactbrush seem meager in comparison. The giant’s face was barely distinguishable as almost a blur from the sheer distance, but there was the telltale glow of two sharp yellow eyes that were fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on one’s perspective) gazing away into the distance rather than down at the puny speck in the dirt and detritus below them. Vast swathes of sage-green and bone-white cloth were tied down by leather belts and pouches – enough material that, were it spread out, it could probably blanket the entire village in a shroud of darkness.
In his hand, the giant clutched a hatchet that could carve canyons into the earth itself if he so chose, with pale green stains of freshly-chopped cactbrush staining its steel edge to illustrate that the ‘impenetrable walls’ of the village were but a trivial matter to a being so terrible and grand. The Gnome trembled with more fear than she had ever felt before as her eyes drew further down and finished at the colossal boots now standing beside her, larger than any building that she could fathom and so perilously close to her that, had the giant adjusted his step just a margin to the left, her life would have ended there and then beneath his mighty tread.
The Gnome barely clinged onto consciousness as she lay breathless on the soil, only to hear the earth groan and shudder as the enormous boot that had nearly erased her from existence rose up. The giant was heading towards the village, and while she was almost too shocked to move or parse her near-death experience, it was an experience that the other Gnomes were now sharing as they saw the colossus approaching on the proverbial horizon.
The sheer vastness of the giant was enough to make more than one of the villagers break down on the spot as they realized just how infinitesimal and inconsequential they truly were in this world, while another few chose instead to fall to their knees and incite prayer after prayer – for how could something of such size and power be anything less than a god in their eyes? The majority remained frozen, trying to reason with themselves that this had to be a nightmare (for there was no way something this gigantic could possibly be real) and they would simply wake up any moment now. However, the Viera-shaped shadow slowly swallowing their entire civilization with each approaching step was a statement – an undeniable affirmation that this giant was not just real, but that their entire existence was literally eclipsed by his enormity. In fact, as the Viera’s eyes never once looked down on them and instead out towards the ‘empty grove’ around them, it was made abundantly clear that they were so insignificant to the giant that he would not even deign to acknowledge them. Some of the villagers felt a surge of relief, believing that to be beneath his notice was a blessing, but when it became clear that the giant’s path was bringing him directly towards the village without care or consideration for the Gnomes below, that relief became short-lived.
The rhythmic thump with each of the Viera’s booming steps felt like a death march, signaling their approaching end. The tremors literally shook the villagers from their stupor and finally incited them into their overdue panic, the Gnomes now crying in terror and fleeing in any direction they could to try and escape from the colossal intruder. It was a fleeting moment until the giant’s strides brought him to the Gnomes, his pace unchanged and unrelenting as his right foot raised up into the air above the village. His boot sole, much like his dreaded handaxe, was splattered with compressed soil and plant matter. The same grassblades that enveloped the village could be seen wrung and wedged within its treads, with entire clumps of dirt and bits of root plummeting from the rubbery ceiling. One dirt clump in particular crashed into a hut like a comet, collapsing it down around the unfortunate individual inside. As it turns out, this may have been a kindness as it spared them from the far heavier fate awaiting their neighbors.
Indifferent to who or what would be beneath its tread, the giant’s footfall finished as the boot careened downwards onto the barely-discernible buildings below. No less than half a dozen Gnomes were unable to escape as an incalculable amount of leather and muscle fell upon them with all the ferocity and deadliness of the Final Days. Those who only narrowly avoided the life-threatening impact were instead thrown backwards from the thunderous force of the foot striking the earth like the hammer of a god, leaving them reeling in both body and mind from the tragedy that was now befalling them.
Of course, had Erenville known of the Gnomes’ presence, such devastation would never have been his intent. Perhaps if he had heard some signal or sought to search the earth below with a magnifying glass, his initial bewilderment with the minuscule Gnomes would have melted away into a gentle curiosity, and their savior would have practiced the utmost care in collecting these tiny treasures of Hydaelyn’s making, ensuring that no matter of harm could befall them so that they might thrive and prosper under his watchful shepherding in Labyrinthos.
It is a terrible shame then that Erenville was utterly oblivious to the several Gnomes that he had stepped on, and the survivors had very little time to spend contemplating the peaceful future that could have been when their terrifying reality was literally overshadowing them as Erenville began to take another step.
The enormous footwear lifted back up, leaving the shape of its rubbery sole as some grave testament to the Gnomes he had inadvertently buried deep into the ground. The cataclysmic footstep had molded the mud and soil in its wake, leaving the village grounds scarred with trenches in the shape of his bootprint as it soared above the grassblades to its next destination.
Even with the benefit of the prior footfalls’ warning, the giant’s utter size ensured that creatures as tiny as the Gnomes had very little say in whether they lived or died – a hundred steps to a Gnome was no greater than one to the Viera, and cold logic triumphed over blind faith as he continued to walk, his boots demolishing anything in their path; domiciles, gardens, campsites and Gnomes alike were all equal and all paltry to his uncaring strides. The undersides of the giant’s boots were now painted with a crunched and contorted memorial to the poor village that he was accidental annihilating one step at a time, and he was none the wiser.
Worse yet, the demolition of Tozus was far from over.
Erenville walked through the jungle glade, keeping his wits about him for anything unusual, although all that his ears could pick up was the distant sound of insects buzzing and the occasional toad croak, and that was enough to convince Erenville that he was in the clear now.
Unfortunately, while the Viera’s sense of hearing was satisfied that there was naught to worry about, the sense of warmth smothering his skin was far less content. Even beneath the thick canopy and away from the ever-vengeful gaze of that accursed boiling sun, the Thavnairian heat clung to Erenville like a hungry voidborne hoping to sap every scrap of stamina from him. Erenville fanned his hand against his face, trying to ignore the sweat stains splotched across his clothes from head to toe. The gleaner had no intentions of overexerting himself and meeting an exhausted end just to try and appease some completely unappeasable manager currently reclining in a cool office back in Sharlayan. He was allowed – nay, he deserved – a brief moment to rest, and this clearing among the cactbrush seemed like the safest spot to do so.
It’s not like it’s hurting anyone, Erenville thought to himself as he fidgeted with the cuffs of his boots (whilst failing to notice the microscopic wooden splinters of former huts drifting down from his dirt-laden heels as he did so.)
The great stone mesa was the literal centerpiece of Tozus Village – a landmark, quarry and site of import all at once. It had been mined for gravel over the generations with a whole network of tunnels sloping throughout the vast rock from the jungle floor up to the stone’s flat surface. The village elders had settled atop the great mesa in houses hewn from the selfsame gravel that they had once mined, so that they could admire the magnificent view of the glade around them and watch over their beloved residents below.
Had they known that a colossal Viera would one day decide to take a seat here, they might have opted for a more humble spot instead.
Any semblance of order and control had disappeared the moment an enormous backside-shaped shadow hung over the surface of the mesa, with any Gnomes atop the rock fleeing with all their fervor to escape an embarrassing end beneath the Viera’s buns. For those that could even bear to look up at the gigantic visitor now looming above them, they could even spot the splattered remains of a mosquito on the left cheek of the giant’s coattails. The mosquitoes were great and terrible beasts to the Gnomes – malicious winged devils that could swoop down to gorge themselves on unsuspecting victims and typically required no less than four warriors of the tribe to best in combat. It was evident enough that the giant had felt some barely-perceptible sting during his prior travels and inadvertently swatted it with a simple slap, not even acknowledging their foe before reducing it to a splattered parody of its former terrifying self (and showing the Gnomes below what would happen if they didn’t move fast enough.)
While the majority of the elders and their families were both fast and fortunate enough to flee to the mesa’s tunnels in time, one elder opposed the idea of a cowardly retreat. The boisterous man was convinced that, with their elevated position and the giant’s encroaching proximity, the bountiful lungs in his broad chest would be more than enough to catch the lumbering fool’s dimwitted attention. He confidently clambered upon the rocky roof of his personal abode and stretched his neck up towards the indomitable intruder.
The elder drew in a breath so deep that his lungs felt fit to burst at the seams and then bellowed out a yell so loud that he was convinced it might bring the house down beneath him. He eagerly waited to see if the giant had heard his echoing proclamation to the heavens.
He was given his answer when the Viera’s arse plummeted down towards him.
Erenville drank in the peace and quiet before giving his first sigh of relief (rather than irritation) for the day and sat down on the rock, finally able to give his reddened soles some well-deserved respite. He readjusted his posture for just a moment, trying to dislodge what seemed to be a few loose pebbles poking into his posterior, and after just one or two tiny twists of the hips, the discomfort disappeared – only for it to return as the Viera realized just how parched his throat was.
No doubt because I’ve sweated out half of my body weight since this morning. I surely hope the next ‘fantastical beast’ I need to find isn’t as close to the equator as this one...
Erenville sluggishly removed his hefty backpack and deposited it on the grass (accidentally flattening a few more Gnomes and their homes in the process.) While the distance of his expedition may have been longer than anticipated, he had been well aware of Thavnair’s sweltering heat ahead of time, giving him adequate reason to bring an ample supply of food and water. He rummaged amongst his tools and trinkets before fishing out one of the leather waterskins stashed within, eagerly unscrewing the cap and taking a series of loud thirsty gulps to quench his thirst.
For the Gnomes who hadn’t been buried beneath the brobdingnagian backpack, Erenville’s hydration break may have seemed like the perfect opportunity to escape, but with how greedily he was drinking from the waterskin, even the Viera’s brief break proved treacherously hazardous.
While most of those near the backpack were fit to recover from its deafening impact and continue their escape, a few beads of liquid wormed away from the giant’s lips as he tilted the waterskin further back, and while they were of no concern to him (as he had plenty to spare) the beads trickled down his chin and dropped down to the earth below.
A Gnome not too far from Erenville’s boots had been knocked down from just the sheer air displacement caused by the backpack’s sudden descent, but before he could try and crawl his way to anything vaguely resembling shelter at this point, a giant globule of water landed directly on top of him not unlike an ooze monster descending upon its succulent prey. The droplet’s landing was impactful enough to leave him concussed and trapped inside the watery bead, unable to move against the liquid’s cloying embrace.
Most of the villagers had never felt the necessity in learning to swim (as they simply retreated into the mesa whenever the canopy couldn’t shield them from any heavy rainfall) but as the water pushed down on every angle around his injured body, the Gnome frantically tried to learn as fast as he could. Sadly, even if he had known how to swim, no amount of struggling would ever be powerful enough to overcome the bead’s surface tension, and it wasn’t long before his futile struggles came to an end altogether.
Erenville finished his drink with a hearty sigh.
That hit the spot.
The Viera leaned back for just a moment, too blissful to notice a single Gil dropping its way through a hole in one of his many pockets and rolling down into the grass below.
The mayor of Tozus was, understandably, quite stressed.
It had been a simple morning routine of whipping the lazier sprout-growers and dew-collectors on the lowly jungle floor into shape until disaster had arrived in a form of a phenomenally tall rabbit man demolishing the village – her village – with one clumsy stomp at a time.
It was only by good fortune that the mayor hadn’t been in the halls of the mesa’s surface when the giant had seemingly sought to smother that into tiny pieces too for good measure, but it was thanks to her wits more so than chance that the mayor had continued her survival. Hiding in her destroyer’s former footprints was certainly a distressing experience which she never wanted to recollect ever again once this was all over, but what were the odds of him retracing his exact same steps? Besides, as long as it kept her alive, then that was all that mattered.
As the mayor squatted within the imprint and wondered if sacrificing a few of the less useful citizens to the giant would somehow appease it, she heard the sound of something fast approaching. The mayor peeked her head over the makeshift trench she was hiding in, hoping that it was the village’s resident warrior, here to pull the village’s most vital resident free from this horrible ordeal and lead her to greener pastures where they might rebuild.
She was instead greeted by an enormous coin careening towards her.
The mayor had barely enough time to scream and try to hoist herself out of her hiding spot before her fortune turned for the worse and the coin sped its way straight into the decline caused by Erenville’s earlier footsteps. What may well have been several tons of gold plowed its way into the bootprint and the mayor was introduced to the fine portrait of Nymeia minted on its front surface, just before Nymeia spirited her away to the heavens (or hells, depending on which Gnome you asked) as the coin lost its forward momentum and fell down face-first on the speck-sized woman.
Erenville could have happily sat on the rock and thought about anything except work for as long as he wanted, but after a short while, he began to grow restless. Despite his grievances with Sharlayan’s shoddy administration and even shoddier work ethics, his pride as a gleaner nagged at him to stop loafing around – he had Gil to earn, after all.
Taking one last moment to stretch his legs out (and plowing through another sizable portion of Tozus with his heels in the process) the Viera finished his self-appointed break and stood back up.
The village of Tozus now laid broken amidst the grass as a result of the giant’s blissfully ignorant rampage, the once-peaceful settlement now transformed to a ruin of bootprints, puddles and spare change. A regrettable number of the Gnomes were now one with the Lifestream, though some still endured; a few were injured but still alive amidst the trampled wood scraps and ground-up rubble of their former homes, the luckier among their number who could evade the giant’s cataclysmic stomps had retreated to the tunneled interior of the rock mesa (and prayed that there wouldn’t be any cave-ins) and a literal handful had opted to flee with their lives while they still could into the wider jungle beyond the cactbrush, where their fates would forever remain unknown.
There was, however, one soul in particular who was fighting, in their own way, for their destroyed home. The microscopic warrior had saved those that they could by pulling the wounded free from wreckage or guiding the frightened to the mesa, for it was all they could think to do in the face of a foe that they could never hope to slay or even wound. However, when the giant had sat down upon the great mesa, the hero had sought out their opportunity, rushing through the tunnels to its surface with their new goal in mind – they could climb the giant in the hopes of reaching one of their tall lagomorphic ears and finally alert them to the innocents below so that this madness might finally cease.
Unfortunately, as powerful as the Gnome warrior was, the herculean feat was on par with climbing the cliff face of Mount Ordeals – a feat that seemed all the more impossible when they saw that, for as exhausting as their journey had been thus far up the giant’s seated lap, they had barely made any progress up the indomitable wall that was their sweat-stained shirt. The only contest of strength to be found here would be between their muscle fibers and their pounding heart to see which would give out first before the hero even reached the giant’s shoulders.
The contest would remain undecided as Erenville accidentally enacted their final disaster by simply standing up. The Gnome gripped with all their might as the ‘mountain’ moved, trying to remain resolved when even the most minute of movements by the Viera threatened to shake them loose like a stray mote of dust. That resolve quickly disappeared as the giant pressed their palms against their chest and swept their hands down over their clothing.
A pair of hands plummeted down towards the Gnome and smashed into them with the weight and force of a redwood log tumbling down a waterfall. The Gnome only survived the impact thanks to a veritable wellspring of thorough training and raw determination, but their grip on the fabric stood no chance whatsoever and gravity pulled them back down towards the graveyard far below to join their fallen kin. As all sense of time and direction disappeared in their fatal free fall, the hero closed their eyes and prayed to whatever gods might listen in their final moments.
When the Gnome hit the ground, they were surprised to suddenly feel the sensation of something soft and damp against their back.
With their head still spinning and their heart fit to burst from the life-threatening tumble, the Gnome slowly opened their eyes, hoping to be greeted by the gentle embrace of a healer informing them that this had all been some terrible dream or the smiling visage of a deity welcoming them into a peaceful and dignified afterlife. Instead, all they could perceive was a murky and oppressive blackness and the stifling miasma of warm sweat all around them.
As the beaten and humiliated warrior spotted the tiniest sliver of light at the boot’s opening far above them and realized where they had landed, they wished that they had just fallen to their death instead.
Erenville stretched his limbs and brushed himself down before swiveling his head around to survey which way to go now, only to notice something that he had overlooked – there were more rays of light breaking their way through the canopy at a slight angle, as it seemed that the sun was no longer directly overhead.
Wait, it’s already past noon? But I set off at daybreak! Has it already been a couple of hours?! I swear this blasted Thavnairian sun is conspiring against me…
While Erenville would gladly welcome the coolness of evening over the heat of the day he had endured thus far, venturing any further afield and potentially getting lost in the dead of night seemed like an excellent way to ending up as a late night meal for any wandering predators.
Hm… The longer I stay out here, the more chores they’ll have piled up for me when I get back to Labyrinthos anyway…
While it would wound his pride as a gleaner, Erenville ultimately decided that, in lieu of taking unnecessary risks and becoming tiger chow, he’d have to count his losses for this leve and just jot down the kaftar as some superstitious local legend – at least until the locals brought some actual proof with them next time.
Besides, if there was something mystical or undocumented around here, I’d have probably noticed it by now.
Erenville brushed a lock of sweat-matted hair aside once more, double-checked the straps of his backpack for good measure and turned back towards the makeshift opening in the cactbrush (only stopping for a moment to retrieve a sample from the exotic flora so that this venture wouldn’t be a complete loss.) Convinced that there was nothing to be gleaned here, he trudged his way back into the jungle, oblivious to the tragic destruction that he had left in his wake or the speck that had accidentally slipped beneath his socked toes to unwillingly join him on the long journey back to Sharlayan.