# The Riley Chronicles - The Universe According to Riley



## Altalazar (Feb 2, 2002)

The Riley Chronicles: The Universe According To Riley
Volume One: The Early Years

Chapter One: The Meeting of the Gnomes

I begin this most important chronicle with The Meeting of the Gnomes in the far-flung village tavern.  We had gathered together to do a job for the local THANGs (Those wHo Are Not Gnomes) who were wringing their hands over the acquisition of something known as tannil root.  Being the Understanding Gnome that I am (always in the service of the One True Gnome), I immediately agreed to the service, after allowing some haggling over price by the solid Clayton, the Gnome Ranger.  I, of course, put in a clause to restore to full serviceability any clothing that suffered harm in the service of the THANGs.  I have an image to uphold, after all.  This far out in the badlands of AFFG (Areas Far From Gnomes) it can be most difficult to find decent clothing.
I shall now describe The Gnomes.  As already mentioned, there was Clayton, the Gnome Ranger.  He seems to know his place in the world as a Gnome.  Being a gnome, he is, of course, far superior than all other Rangers I have known, though he does not seem to be an example of the best the Gnome Ranger could have to offer.  

Then there is Lark, the Druid of the Gnome.  She also is haughty enough to be a Good Gnome when dealing with the THANGs.  She, as a gnome, has a finer understanding of nature than even the druid THANGs, but they, understandably non-gnome-like, completely fail to grasp this.  

Roondar is the Gnome of the Fist and Feet Fighting Arts.  He is a quiet gnome, as befits his contemplative calling.  As a gnome, he is more than a match for the lanky, awkward, tallish THANG fighters known as 'monks.' 

Our Great Band of Gnomes set off on our errand for the hapless THANGs at sundown, planning on travelling by night, sleeping by day.  Only we gnomes could be so clever as to take advantage of our night-eyes.  After several days uneventful travel, we came upon a group of the worst type of THANGs:  goblinoids.  In this case, Kobolds.  They were clumsily attempting an ambush against us on the trail.  We gnomes easily heard them smashing through the grass from many leagues away and, predictably, we gnomes were the ones springing an ambush.  I estimate 12 seconds between the time we first saw the hapless humanoids and the time they all struck the ground as corpses.  I easily ran them through from behind with my gnomish blade.  

The Kobold trail proved ridiculously easy to follow for us gnomes, and we headed to their lair.  The Druid proved most annoying, acting in a most un-gnomish manner by refusing to see the ease with which we would dispatch them in their lair.  When the Gnome Ranger and I boldly rushed the door, quickly dispatching  their guards in a behind-the-door-frame ambush and wardog cavalry charge, we went back and retrieved the Druid from her hilltop perch.  I received one minor wound, a testament to my noble bravery in facing down so many goblinoids.

The lair, as it turned out, was a residence of some impressiveness, perhaps once being a temple to some forgotten false god of the THANGs.  Its splendor was mute testimony to the fact that the goblinoid THANGs did not construct it.  Their waste and stench were the only contributions to its architectural style.  
Room by room, we relieved the golibnoids of their miserable existence, taking down a few hobgobilns as well as the dim but vicious Kobolds.  I, in my infinite Gnomishness, found a silver box containing an impressive silver dagger and a silver 'key' of sorts with a wavy pattern of lines upon its face that matched the same pattern on the compounds' impressive altar.  The key, when placed in the proper alignment, opened a secret storage room wherein we found many impressive weapons.  I grabbed a lovely enchanted longsword for myself, though I much prefer the shorter bladed masterwork weapon I also found therein.  
Oh, of course we found the tannil root.  How could we not?  And we also found a rather dim-witted ogre, who we peppered with arrows after he failed to see reason.  ("It's Ok.  We're gnomes.").  I had plans of claiming this place as my own.  Time would tell on that one.  

With a load of loot upon our ass, we headed back to get our denoument and payment for a job well done.  Of course, it was no great surprise to us, as gnomes, though the THANGs always seem impressed by our accomplishments.  The simple among them probably simply cannot comprehend just how different we Gnomes see the world and cannot understand our ease with dealing with what is, for them, insurmountable problems.


----------



## Altalazar (Feb 2, 2002)

*Chapter Two: The THANGs have lost their stick and need Gnomes to find it*

Chapter Two: The THANGs have lost their stick and need Gnomes to find it

After much selling and buying, including the acquisition of a lovely mighty composite short bow for myself (throwing daggers at the goblinoids was so passe), we again were approached, this time by a bird in flight.  It had a note attached, a note addressed to The Druid.  Of course, the bird found us, as we were the only Gnomes within many weeks flight, if you include Noddy, the Mysterious-Eyed Warrior Gnome who then appeared in our midst at the tavern.  

As Gnomes, we did our sacred duty to the One True Gnome and eagerly accepted and went on our way to find the druid THANGs.  Again, we traveled by night.  Again we came upon a pathetic excuse for an ambush.  This time, it was hobgoblin THANGs - more of a challenge, of course, but they were easily held in an entanglement of weeds by The Druid.  

Meanwhile, I scouted around their flank, looking for the rather un-stealthy human THANG that I had, moments earlier, heard order the pathetic excuse for an ambush.  Runedar was beside me, and caught her attention.  I deftly stepped behind her, and in two quick swipes of my blade, she was at my feet, perhaps in her unconsciousness, finally realizing the futility of sparing with Gnomes.  

I quickly stripped her as the others finished off the hobgoblin THANGs.  I managed to save her miserable life before she bled to death, but despite my gnome-like mercy, she was tight lipped and refused to answer my questions.  We strapped her to the ass and took her along with us as we met the druids.  

Predictably, the druids were lost until we gnomes arrived to save them from themselves.  They were missing some sort of druid-stick and required us to find it.  They took my prisoner from me in a rather un-gnome-like fashion (they just don't know their place!) and gave feeble promises of interrogation.  An interrogation they did not let me attend.  Perhaps they are embarrassed at their incompetence and did not want such knowning-gnome-eyes to see it in action.  In any case, we rested and headed off to find more hobgoblin THANGs, who apparently have taken the druid-stick (how embarrassing for the druids!) 

Several hours travel later, we found a camp with dead hobgoblin THANGs that appeared abandoned.  A quick search found us a secret passage underground, and into the lair we went.  Five dead hobgoblins and two dead bat-things later, we faced our only challenge to date, a pair of demon THANGs from the outer planes.  As my brave gnome comrades engaged them in battle, I calmly loaded up my magic and strode purposefully to the front, spraying them with my magical colors to first blind them before dispatching them with my silver magical long-bladed sword.  
Demons from the nine hells being the only creatures that give us serious challenge, most gnomes but me were seriously drained by their foul demon touch.  We returned to the druids, who gave us healing and a place to rest, before heading out again to face the dangers of the camp.


----------



## Altalazar (Feb 2, 2002)

*Chapter Three:  We return to face more Demons from the Pits of Hell*

Chapter Three:  We return to face more Demons from the Pits of Hell

	To be clear, we didn't manage to find any demons this time out, but it was worth a try.  Even demons can only hold their ground against gnomes for so long before their demonic brains register the need for self-preservation.  

	Upon our return to the druids, we were introduced to a new savior of the druids, a gnome cleric of Pallas called Skornd.  There's nothing more inspiring than seeing a three foot tall, proud, blood-soaked cleric of war.  I regretted not getting another clothing-cleaning clause in the druid contract.  
We found the camp much as we had left it, though upon returning to the dark recesses of the 'secret' place behind the altar, we found two ugly lizard things in a room that we had sworn we had cleaned out on the last visit.  They proved to be tough and vicious opponents, but predictably, being that they weren't demons, and we were gnomes, they fell.  I, of course, got in a few choice stabs in the back.  

After that fight, gnomes though we were, we needed to rest, and I, as fearless leader, pointed this out to the others, lest I be remiss in my duties as The Leader.  Alas, I could not contain their enthusiasm to 'scout' further, and so we found some nice bedrooms with black silk sheets and not much else of interest.  
Just at the moment when we should have been resting, we instead wandered into a room leading to two more humans in black, an ugly hobgoblin wizard, and a giggly human in black holding the druid-stick.  The druid-stick valet giggled and left, leaving the others to be dispatched upon our blades.  
Unfortunately, we hadn't rested, so we had to use up valuable healing elixers and I, once again, had to empty my mind of spells in putting these poor THANGs in their proper place.  

We returned to the druids, with all three of them as prisoners (and two of them, including the hobgoblin still alive).  Giggles was no-where to be found.  

Skornd gleefully chopped the dead one into handy-sized pieces, and we used these to persuade the hobgoblin to talk and tell us all he knew.  Unfortunately, with hobgoblins, telling all they know never takes very long.  We still didn't even know any of the black-dressed ones' names.  I found that highly annoying.  I mean, THANGs all look alike to me, so I need to have some sort of way to differentiate between them.  

	We returned with the druids to the encampment, and they spent many an hour attempting to get open the portal that Giggles went through.  They were taking so long I had time to cast identify twice, listen to six arguments between the ranger and the druid, and make some entries into the Chronicles.  All in all, it was a slow afternoon.   We eventually left the druids to play with their portal by themselves, because we had a full load of loot and we didn't want it sitting on our ass.  

	Oh yes, we didn't bother any interrogation of the other living woman in black.  I didn't think she'd talk either, and perhaps they were both under the influence of some special blocking magic that kept them from talking.  In any case, they were going to have to do their evil deeds in the buff, because we took all of their belongings, went to town, and sold it.  We cleared four hundred gold and some change for each and every one of us (six of us now).  Poor THANGs, financing their own demise.  Stupid bastards.

	I had not yet decided to scribe spells in my book.  We found a spellbook with a few spells I could use, but it takes so much time and money to scribe spells that I held off on scribing any new ones.  

	Oh yes, lest I forget, we found some interesting trinkets.  A magic pearl to recall spells of the first order, a ring of warmth, and some armor bracers.  For some reason, the druid and ranger had a beef about the ring, but when I, in my infinite wisdom, pointed out that Clayton had already acquired an enchanted short-blade, the matter was settled.  The Gnome of the Fist and Feet Fighting Arts now wears the bracers, and the pearl is well soaked in the blood of enemies Skornd.  

	I have only lukewarm hopes about the mangy druids.  They claimed the portal was for one person at a time, but it would be entirely un-gnome-like to send us through once a day to who-knows-what on the other side.  Especially when there could be demons there.  Fortunately, I remain steadfast in my confidence of my own superiority.  

One day, in the not too distant future, we gnomes will have saved the world from itself.  It is a tall job, but then, we gnomes are good at dealing with the tall jobs the giants of the world seem to trip over.  Dumb bastards.


----------



## Altalazar (Feb 2, 2002)

*Chapter Four: The druids can finally get on with it: The Gnomes Have Returned (And th*

Chapter Four: The druids can finally get on with it: The Gnomes Have Returned (And the furniture is getting ornery)

	Why are water clocks so expensive?  That was the question I was asking myself as I was being pummeled to death by a large, sticky, toothy piece of furniture with a limited vocabulary.  Wait, I need to back up.

	The water clock question actually first came up much earlier.  We had gone back to town to take care of business.  I was looking for a war dog suitable for a noble.  Proud lineage, perfect form, a dog to make even an Emperor Gnome weep with joy in seeing its awesome beauty of form and purpose.  But all they had was this mongrel mutt, so the druid took it.  

	I was gathering special inks and papers for the transcribing of my spells when I came across a rather large, interesting looking contraption in a sage's (THANG) shop.  I, being a Gnome knew immediately what it was, but asked the sage to test him.  

	"What is that thing, THANG?"

	"What?  Oh that, that is my pride and joy.  A water clock I built with my own hands.  Why, I remember…"  I cut him off before he could bore me with his non-gnomish gibberish.

	"How much is it?"

	"I could part with it for no less than a thousand pieces of gold?"

	The statement hit me with a thud.  Or wait, was that the furniture slamming me against the floor?  I forget which it was now.

	"Ok.   I shall be back to buy it soon.  Take good care of my water clock."

	I tossed him a few gold to keep him happy and left the shop.  Maybe I should have tossed him more gold.  Wait a minute, why is Skornd tossing him gold too?  Or wait, Skornd is tossing blood soaked coins at a nasty looking table.  It just doesn't go with the other furniture at all.  It certainly isn't as well behaved.  

	Anyway, we headed back to the Druids, who were sitting around waiting for us to return, totally unable to take action without the awesome power of Gnomes there to be their guiding light.  

	I remember seeing lots of lights, spinning through the air, twirling around my head.  Wait, that was just after I hit the floor head first.

	We went back to the goblin pile of crap they called a village and the druids opened up a hole for us to go through.  They gave us a crystal to open it ourselves from the other side, and then in a typical lapse of judgement, they gave it to the Gnome Ranger, when I'm the only one who can activate it.  I also got them to open up the portal from their side on a regular, daily schedule, just in case we needed alternate means.  (Leaving unsaid my own doubts about their 'crystal power' nonsense.)  

	We ended up in an apparently large complex with at least five other portals to other places.  Some look functional, some look like THANG art sculpture sold to cheap wanna-be-gnomes-humans who want to look like they are sophisticated.  

	In the room beyond the first three portal rooms, braziers of fire came to life and attacked us.  Being gnomes, they were dispatched with ease, and as I pummeled the last one out of existence, I idly wondered if the water clock had a water equivalent creature inside, turning the wheels.  Perhaps that is why it is so expensive.

	My head hurts.

	In rooms beyond, we found foul stenches, walking dead, more fire creatures, and a large pile of steaming Otuyugh in the garbage.  I leaped boldly forth to fight it, sending it back to the garbage from whence it came in a display of dashing noble Gnomish bravery (everything beyond 'Gnomish' is redundant, but I write for the benefit of THANG posterity).  I slammed it.  I slammed it hard.  Slam slam slam.  Again and again and again.

	Exploring the rooms beyond, we manage to rest a bit to give us time to contemplate the non-gnomish world around us.  

	In our explorations, we come upon a cluttered room. The furniture is atrocious.  It has no manners whatsoever.  

	If it likes gold so much, why doesn't it have any?  

	So we are standing there, minding our own Gnomish business, when suddenly the chair by the door starts attacking.  It shoots out an arm and sticks to me.  How rude.  I tried to break free, to wiggle free, and it stuck on me like idiocy on a NonGe (Non-Gnome).  

	So I was thinking that a thousand gold for a simple water clock is just too expensive.  What sort of materials went into it?  It looked pretty ordinary.  It did not detect as magical.  It just had water and a bunch of gears and other moving parts.  So what exactly does the money pay for?  The sage was a NonGe, so it couldn't be for the skill and talent of the maker.  Perhaps it was stolen from a Gnome?  That would explain why it seems to work.  

	So now it is a mattress.  We go back and take care of it, getting back the gold we threw at it.  

	Why is the room still spinning?  

	There are four torches.

	So we returned to our explorations, unsure of where there is value, but sure that we will not be so nice to the furniture the next time around.  Definitely NonGe made.  Poor craftsmanship.  Even wasn't able to get its own gold without Gnome intervention.  What a consumate NonGe.


----------



## Altalazar (Nov 14, 2003)

Tis my sad duty to report that Riley met a rather "ghoulish" end... it remains to be seen what will become of him...


----------

