by Brimin's Burrow
It has been a long day in this first week of the Readying and the Rock Gnomes of Brimin's Burrow do feel elated as the spring finally manages to pierce through the thickly forested slopes to the very north of the High Vale, where mountain meets forest at the very southern tip of the Sepia Uplands.
Despite the galling, ever-present shriek of the winds washing down from the majestic Yatils and the occasional frigid blizzard, the small gnomish community has much to be proud of as they enter into springtime.
Brimin's Burrow, as it is known to its few and rather select neighbours, has long persisted by keeping its well-hidden existence a treasured secret. As the thick forests of the Vesve give way to the labyrinthine gullies and crags of the old hills & mountains of the Highvale, it would be hard for the occasional passer-by to spot anything indicating the existence of this secluded community.
But spelunking this year has gone particularly well, with an amber colored gem similar in appearance to amethysts vein being discovered, holding gems the size of one's fist. The Silver Thane, the local river filling a nearby plentiful pond has brought great boons have been telling indeed. In its swirling mists and pristine waters, Garl Glittergold's reflection itself was purposely spotted, smiling benignly on his beloved folk. And that by itself has sparkled a climate of euphoria amidst the small community.
The Council of Three ruling over Brimin's Burrow has declared that at long last and after years of being on a tense lookout for the forces of the Old One which have thankfully left the settlement untouched, -some- celebration might be in order. At the sound of such a proclamation, the Gnomes do relish at the perspective of the upcoming traditional Festival that has been the community's celebratory tradition for centuries.
"Iriel's Joys", named after a well-known and long dead High Elf wizard that has kept away the Dark from Brimin's Burrow, is just the way the good Gnomes would want it: a good-willed, but still quite upshaking business, full of music, dancing, feasting, storytelling, illusionary magic shows, drinking, and contests of strength and wit. It is a two-day affair, with the first day devoted to preparations (such as rehearsals of performances and cooking the wide variety of food necessary for the feast). The second day, beginning at dawn, is likely to be a sequence of songs and performances, mixed with appropriate rituals and remembrances, and liberally spiced with many opportunities to eat and drink. Ale and wine, together with the music and revelry, flows freely from dawn to dusk and throughout the following night.
But what would become of a proper festival without guests? And of those, there can be no doubt of their identity. Deep in the slopes of the Sepia Uplands, one of the outer peaks of the Clatspurs where the community is located, a small valley is shared between the Rock Gnomes of Brimin's Burrow to the North and their Elven counterparts and centuries-old allies and friends to the west: the reclusive Elven village of Syrlaen.
Held at awe (or mild curiosity, for those of Brimin's Burrow less prone to being impressed by the first pointy-eared neighbour of theirs) by many of the Gnomes, this small settlement is said to hold as many as six dozen Sylvan Elves, hidden deep in the Valley's depths. The fact that their neighbours and friends are avid quartz-sculptors and masons has been the cause of many exchanges between the two communities, with information and mutual assistance being the staple between them for many many years.
It is a two-day trip between the two communities, for those that would know how to navigate the oft treacherous and snow-packed passages of the Valley (for which a name, most curiously, has never been uttered, simply referred to as the Valley). The path from Brimin's Burrow to Syrlaen is a descending one, a maze of crags and gullies and rocky passages until the soft grass of Syrlaen's outer reaches is finally trodden and the refreshing sound of the ancient, blessed waters of the Silver Thane can be heard.
Number of able-bodied adults: 260
Number of elderly: 13
Number of young: 161
Total number of inhabitants: 434
It has been a long day in this first week of the Readying and the Rock Gnomes of Brimin's Burrow do feel elated as the spring finally manages to pierce through the thickly forested slopes to the very north of the High Vale, where mountain meets forest at the very southern tip of the Sepia Uplands.
Despite the galling, ever-present shriek of the winds washing down from the majestic Yatils and the occasional frigid blizzard, the small gnomish community has much to be proud of as they enter into springtime.
Brimin's Burrow, as it is known to its few and rather select neighbours, has long persisted by keeping its well-hidden existence a treasured secret. As the thick forests of the Vesve give way to the labyrinthine gullies and crags of the old hills & mountains of the Highvale, it would be hard for the occasional passer-by to spot anything indicating the existence of this secluded community.
But spelunking this year has gone particularly well, with an amber colored gem similar in appearance to amethysts vein being discovered, holding gems the size of one's fist. The Silver Thane, the local river filling a nearby plentiful pond has brought great boons have been telling indeed. In its swirling mists and pristine waters, Garl Glittergold's reflection itself was purposely spotted, smiling benignly on his beloved folk. And that by itself has sparkled a climate of euphoria amidst the small community.
The Council of Three ruling over Brimin's Burrow has declared that at long last and after years of being on a tense lookout for the forces of the Old One which have thankfully left the settlement untouched, -some- celebration might be in order. At the sound of such a proclamation, the Gnomes do relish at the perspective of the upcoming traditional Festival that has been the community's celebratory tradition for centuries.
"Iriel's Joys", named after a well-known and long dead High Elf wizard that has kept away the Dark from Brimin's Burrow, is just the way the good Gnomes would want it: a good-willed, but still quite upshaking business, full of music, dancing, feasting, storytelling, illusionary magic shows, drinking, and contests of strength and wit. It is a two-day affair, with the first day devoted to preparations (such as rehearsals of performances and cooking the wide variety of food necessary for the feast). The second day, beginning at dawn, is likely to be a sequence of songs and performances, mixed with appropriate rituals and remembrances, and liberally spiced with many opportunities to eat and drink. Ale and wine, together with the music and revelry, flows freely from dawn to dusk and throughout the following night.
But what would become of a proper festival without guests? And of those, there can be no doubt of their identity. Deep in the slopes of the Sepia Uplands, one of the outer peaks of the Clatspurs where the community is located, a small valley is shared between the Rock Gnomes of Brimin's Burrow to the North and their Elven counterparts and centuries-old allies and friends to the west: the reclusive Elven village of Syrlaen.
Held at awe (or mild curiosity, for those of Brimin's Burrow less prone to being impressed by the first pointy-eared neighbour of theirs) by many of the Gnomes, this small settlement is said to hold as many as six dozen Sylvan Elves, hidden deep in the Valley's depths. The fact that their neighbours and friends are avid quartz-sculptors and masons has been the cause of many exchanges between the two communities, with information and mutual assistance being the staple between them for many many years.
It is a two-day trip between the two communities, for those that would know how to navigate the oft treacherous and snow-packed passages of the Valley (for which a name, most curiously, has never been uttered, simply referred to as the Valley). The path from Brimin's Burrow to Syrlaen is a descending one, a maze of crags and gullies and rocky passages until the soft grass of Syrlaen's outer reaches is finally trodden and the refreshing sound of the ancient, blessed waters of the Silver Thane can be heard.
