At that moment, attracted by the light in the sky, the urgh-bane Grimmbros lumbered up. Huge in comparison with the halflings, he towered above them and thundered, “What was that gleaming in the sky?” Then, eyeing the smooth ovoid object in Razzles hands, “Ooh, what have you pair of fine fellows perchance upon there then - Masters…?” He waited to be told their names but was not rewarded. “That's a rather large, shiny bauble for such a little skimpling,” he rumbled. He paused then, distracted by Razzles’ ongoing hopping for a moment. Bemused at the knohm’s obvious discomfort he enquired, “What are you doing young knohm? Having difficulties of some sort?”

Fürgůïn, wondering where Grimmbros had just come from and where his usually ever-present trainer was, said, “Razzles here is in pain. He just dropped onto his… his lower back.”

The urgh-bane grinned at the attempt to delicately describe Razzles’ plight, but then a scowl formed upon his features as he looked closely at the writhing knohm, “Wait a minute, it's you - you with the bell on your head! The imbecilic, little skulker in the grass! What exactly is going on here?”

“Nothing,” Fürgůïn interrupted, “I think some larking seagulls up there reflected the sunlight or something. It made us blink.”

Grimm squinted at the sky but didn’t see any such playful birds.

“Are you suggesting that the source of that beaming light was fowl play?” he boomed. Then, suspecting he was being mocked, he charged, “Are you going to let me see that nice shiny object that you most likely purloined?”

“It's nothing you need to worry about!” snapped Fürgůïn dismissing the urgh-bane's demand, but ready to snatch the prize and run like the clappers if the need arose. He was concerned that Grimmbros’ sudden arrival was ominously well-timed and wondered how he and the still-capering knohm might keep their object of interest from the annoyingly curious urgh-bane's grasp. "It's just a family heirloom, a knohm hand-me-down,” he said, quickly grabbing the egg thing from Razzles and nudging it behind his back.

Perhaps if he changed the subject, he might distract the big fellow and secrete the precious egg somewhere safe.

“How come you suddenly turn up here? Shouldn’t you be scratching something?”

“Nay, young renling, Tullgotha's done for now.” Then, looking a bit deflated, “Apparently we're negotiating some deal – it’s all advertising and promotion these days.”

Razzles though, had other concerns though and his distresses were gradually over-spilling one into another.

“Where’s poor Hob got to?” he wailed with rather exuberant pathos.

“Ah yes, the bird strangler I presume, do I detect some concern over yon greenling's whereabouts?” Grimmbros enquired, scanning about him, assuming the nibblin to be hidden in the grass.

“Aaaaahhh – I don’t know which hurts the most,” howled Razzles flouncing tenderly from one foot to the other. “We didn't even know he'd gone till it was too late!”

“Well hoppeth not young halfling, where is the little chap?” the urgh-bane beamed, stretching out a stout finger to tickle the tibmibling on Fürgůïn’s shoulder, which shrank back nervously at the slab of Grimm’s head and his protruding, tusk-like canines.

“We don't know!” barked Razzles. “He’s of no interest to you, I can tell! You… You grovelhog heaver!”

Razzles now was beginning to slowly but surely work himself into a frenzy. He glowered at the renling who was attempting to surreptitiously wriggle the large metal ovoid up the back of his shirt, “We can’t just leave him there. That hideous, curly-haired creature will eat him up I tell you, or... or keep him!” Fürgůïn paused before offering, “What would he want to keep him for? Wait! I’m not saying that he’d eat him though. I didn’t mean that!”

But it was too late. Razzles’ imagination was already running away with the idea, “He wouldn’t even taste good! He was green! Green!”

“I say, what are you both on about? You are ignoring me - are you not?” cut in Grimmbros rather sensitively.

A pregnant silence took the renling as he contemplated the urgh-bane's arrival, before he calmly replied, “Keep your voice down, your rumbling is upsetting my tibmibling here It's beginning to quiver, all of this excitement is agitating it. His brain is only the size of a monkey-nut. It's hard for him to understand.” He paused for a moment, his own walnut-sized lump of grey matter trying to formulate some sort of plan. Fürgůïn was beginning to wonder whether the powerful urgh-bane might be of some value to the quest that was unfolding before them.

Razzles meanwhile, was becoming passionately absorbed in his personal woes and in order to give his gathering tantrum the attention it deserved, his body began involuntarily to shut down certain, less-important functions. Grimmbros’ forehead furrowed as he noticed the knohm's knees wobbling. He was about to say something, but was cut off by the ill-contained knohm who, on the verge of stamping his bell-tipped foot, realised that one of the ‘shut-off functions’ was his ability to control his own feet. He tried to manoeuvre them into position, but they remained resolutely unmoved and he fell face-first into the mud below.

“Oh, this is too much I tell you, too much!” he gargled from his puddle, “I’m a simple creature you know, a simple creature and I don’t have the legs for stupid quests. It’s T-O much! Tee oh!” Razzles splashed his fists, ranting into the murk and turning incomprehensible.

“At least the sun’s out though, eh?” chirped Fürgůïn, sensing the need to continue to distract Grimmbros from their treasured object. But this just made Razzles more frustrated, since the renling seemed completely disinterested in his worries and complaints. The sun! Why did nobody sympathise? Only this morning he had expressed his anxiety regarding the in-growing nostril hair that was making him sneeze into his breakfast - but did the renling offer any consolation? No, he had just offered to eat his breakfast for him! What help was that?

That was it! Nobody took a serious interest in the agonisingly endless woes of knohms. He decided that a complete shut-off of his bandy, little legs was not the best option right now. Climbing back to his feet, Razzles did a quick re-orientation test: he stamped, a single terse jingle, marking his exasperation.

Redirecting his focus, Razzles raved on, “And what about this stupid device?” he screeched, yanking it out from under the renling’s shirt and waving it wildly. “What is it? It must be important I tell you. I-M-P-O-R-T-A-N-T!” What he actually said was: “eye-em-pee-o-ar-tee-ay-en-tee!”*

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

*A knohmic habit during extreme stress situations is to spell out certain expressions that they feel need that extra little something added. This tendency can at times require an anxious knohm to call out the necessary letters with annoyingly time-consuming precision. Many a conscientious knohm has been trampled, drowned, mauled or otherwise turned into a garden ornament due to this peculiar trait. **

**Knohms traditionally bury their dead on stretches of lawn; usually in a standing or sitting position. The deceased is encased in an exact plaster replica of his former self, painted and posed in a situation considered to be representative of his character. Favoured stances are ‘the noble fisherman’, ‘the erstwhile toadstool cultivator’ or ‘the small creature tender.’ It is anticipation of this final state of rest that often turns a despondent knohm to the over-application of make-up.

His hat-top bell was now tinkling frantically as he looked across and noticed Fürgůïn smiling ever so slightly. He had seen that exasperating smile before and he knew it usually meant trouble. He had been worried from the moment they were handed the sketch-ridden piece of paper with the device scribbled on it and so he asked a question that had been on his mind since the floating light-lady appeared. He asked it very slowly and precisely, “This thyme-sauce and gerbil stuff: do you know what it's all about? Tell me, because I’ll smash your teeth down your throat if you’re lying.”

“Oh, I say!” bellowed Grimmbros, “This is getting out of hand. I find myself quite annoyed. This wretched promotional tee-shirt is beginning to chafe too - I'm purpler than is healthy!”

The two smaller creatures paused for a moment, gazing disconcertedly at the fabric straining over his enormous agitated muscles. The shirt actually had the words ‘purpler than is healthy’ emblazoned upon it for some reason. It was an odd moment. Fürgůïn smirked. Then erupted into laughter.

“Purple!” Razzles howled, bent over in amusement.

“Smash your teeth!” Fürgůïn gasped breathlessly.

“I say! That kind of abuse is inappropriate for such a little man.” Grimm scolded. “A threat like that is not to be easily bandied about, you know, despite the importance of this herb and rodent.”

Fürgůïn kept his eyes on the urgh-bane with bemused concern and to Razzles said, “No, I don’t know what it could be.” He had a degree of sincerity as he replied, but in reality, he did have a vague idea. The device lying on the grass before them looked very similar to one he had read about in his now lost books. He felt that the knohm was altogether better off if, for the present, he was 'caringly' deceived. Razzles pouted grumpily, telling himself that this whole gerbil matter was not over.

Fürgůïn thought back to the day the books had mysteriously appeared. He remembered the dream of the forest and the ancient-looking wooden chest. Within it, there had been some unusual, apparently useless objects including a jade ear folder and copper vole extractor. However, it was, of course, the books that had demanded his attention. He could almost smell the thick leather covers. One was called “Baldy - Truth Versus Apocrypha” the other was called “Baldy Legends”. What had attracted his attention initially was a story about weird eggs in the latter of these two books and a wild-eyed professor who had supposedly existed a long time ago in another world, somewhere south of a region called the Land of Nyu-Cruss! This was located in the vicinity of Ruthen-Hyde and deep within a mysterious area known as the Londus valley. This professor had mastered the art of painting eggs or what at least appeared as egg-like objects. These ‘eggs’ came in all sizes and were made of materials ranging from actual eggshells to metal and wood. Many old people would come to see this professor and he would ingeniously paint the events of their lives onto the inner surface of these eggs. They were all quite different and incredibly beautiful. One day, it is rumoured that his eggs began to come to life. First, just the paintings on the surface moved. It seemed that the events of the old people’s lives were coming to life, almost as if you were looking into their past. The eggs then began to reveal images of all sorts of things - some quite disturbing. They evolved into a dark fascination for the professor and he hid them in a small workshop in a small town. Eventually, his obsession with the eggs' great power drove him mad and he destroyed them all - all except one. This one escaped and was never to be found again.

The renling had sat on a low wall in the Tullgotha under-square and read this story with great interest. He was not sure whether any of it was really true; what he had read next though, that had struck him like a boot to a rooster. But before he could be sure his eyes hadn't deceived him, he had been spotted by the city rats.* They had come upon him whilst he was engrossed and pursued him as he fled in desperation through the streets. Dodging the vicious creatures momentarily in a dark alley, Fürgůïn had yanked out a series of pages and stuffed them into his cloak before flinging the books to the ground and fleeing. He never saw them again. He had dreamed them, had held them, had lost them.

* Whilst not officially associated with the city guard, the Order of the Rat (or The Squealers) often took it upon itself to police aspects of Tullgothan society that it saw as falling within its esoteric fields of interest.

# see endnote 6

Fürgůïn’s reminiscing was cut short though. Without warning, something fell from the sky. An object with a pearly shine hit Grimmbros hard on the top of his head. It was not big or especially heavy, yet it slammed down with great force. Grimmbros was saved from cracking his skull only by his extraordinary reflexes and his soft beret. Razzles and Fürgůïn gasped as the finely-honed reactions of the Chicken-Scratching Champion of Tullgotha enabled him to grasp the mysterious object. But not until after it had bounced twice, smacked Razzles on the chin, shot a beam of light that barely missed Fürgůïn’s left ear (causing an involuntary susorrificophonic spasm which rattled even Grimmbros) and then rolled along the back of a passing sheep and into a kou-pat before doing any serious harm.

As Grimmbros fingered the rather filthy metallic object, a further peevish tinkle was heard as Razzles' foot again hit the ground, "Fantastic!” he hissed, “Now Grimmbros has got one just like ours. Whose quest is this? He didn’t even have to get his! It just fell on him!"

Puzzled, Fürgůïn repeated, “Yes – just like ours… Fell on him...” The knohm had seemingly missed the important matter as to whence this second artefact had descended, nevertheless, Fürgůïn found himself reassuring Razzles almost vacantly with the words, "But, ours is the right one, the first one, the clean one..."

"I say! Did somebody throw this at me?" Grimmbros bellowed, looking at the inexplicably arrived object clutched in his hand. It looked, aside from the filth, identical to the device that that deviant little knohm had just been waving in his face.

"Wait a minute! Is this the same as you have there?" he asked, turning to the two still quarrelling halflings. "What is it, and where, on the face of temporality, did it come from?"

He looked up, and surveyed the nearby city wall, searching for some object-hurling miscreant in mid-flight. Everybody was just getting on with their activities as usual; no sign of any such. Grimmbros maintained his suspicion. Peripheral vision still on the wall, he returned his ponderous gaze to the device. The renling and the knohm both stared at Grimmbros, then, dropping their eyes to the device that was snuggling in the urgh-bane's palm, they stared at that.

Razzles was teetering on the precarious edge of a complete mental implosion. Drooling white froth into his perfectly topiaried black-beard, his chin resembled a pint of well-settled Ginysse. Fürgůïn however, had a far more disturbed look, an unnatural look, and as Grimmbros caught it, it quite unnerved the puzzled giant. On the surface, the renling was trying to appear casual, but he could not hide the look of worried horror that lurked behind, threatening to burst out like a hatching grobblecock tearing through its embryonic sack. The dark feeling that the renling held was growing. It gave him the overall appearance of somebody wearing far too much, badly applied, knohm make-up over an extreme case of agitated face-worms. He was not at all happy – this all seemed a bit too coincidental for his liking – something was undeniably and surely up.