Dreams in the Gnome House

For this dungeon shamble, some residents within the Barony of Fenmoss were asked to tell their best tales of dreams, gnomes, and/or dreaming gnomes (and made to solve a simple paper maze). The winner is presented below, wherein Erbsto Bedherwyc, a gnome of some renown who dwells near the borders of the Thrivinwood tells of his encounter with an feydrake of yon wood.

All downloads come with a full seamless version (with hidden secret or two...)

Listen at your own risk, product may cause lucid dreams, gnomish mischief, mild stupor, auditory hallucinations, misplaced cups and glasses, itchy beard syndrome, missing hats, jitters, and "gnome jaw."

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Dreams in the Gnome House:

Erbsto Bedherwyc is alone one early summer’s eve when who should alight on his tower windowsill? Can be none but azure Ffestygardd, an Feydrake of yon Thrivinwood. It has been some moons since Erbsto’s old winged friend has paid a visit to his woodside tower, and the two quickly set to talking. Over a third-or-so pot of wine, the pair make a wager over who can weave a better story. Ffestygardd declares that Erbsto is a master of such things, and could probably tell a better tale about going to bed than even a mighty dragon such as himself. Erbsto insists that though his powers are great, even he could not make an epic lay of such a mundane event. Ffestygardd grins mischievously and offers up a ruby the size of a gnome-fist that he shall be proven right by morning. Erbsto puts up a solid golden walnut in exchange, and the two agree. Scarcely a moment later, Ffestygardd blows a puff of feyrie-dust, casting a pall of dreams about the place…

Erbsto awakes in his room, only to find that his tower has grown strange and cavernous, and spends many an hour in this strange reverie as he traverses the suddenly unfamiliar tunnels and caves of his home. What was once the kitchen is a massive crystal chamber, a closet is a maze of stalagnates and geodes…the privy, an endless dark crevasse of no return…

When finally he awakes from his reverie, Erbsto finds his tower’s rooms and halls once again the way he remembered them. He staggers down the old creaky stair, alights on the kitchen floor, stirs the hearth, and settles into his best chair. Gazing for a moment at the golden walnut on the windowsill where he had set it, Erbsto mutters to himself, “That’s the last time I trust that dragon, and his damned magic dust!..”