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Gromnies - Collectors' Hunt |
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| Aluvians | from the Zone
Even at the best of times, the two Aluvian hunters did not enjoy one another's company. After spending the night isolated deep within the Stonehold Valley, bandaging wounds gained on their journey thus far, the hunters awoke even less inclined to get along. Sir Cuthbert, Knight of the Golden Flame, arose first and well before dawn. Quietly rolling together his bedroll, the knight prepared to sneak down the stairs of the abandoned tower, all too happy to be parting ways. Or so he'd hoped. Before taking the first step past the chamber's archway, the voice of his traveling companion came grumbling from behind. “Not thinking of taking a rogue's leave, now, are you?” Sir Archibald, Knight of the Crooked Arrow, had rolled over to face him, propped up on one elbow. “They say,” Archibald yawned, “I've ears sharp as a Virindi's sickle. . . . And you'll find yourself hard pressed today without your precious hematite ring.” Cuthbert glanced at his hand. His bare hand. How the knave managed to slip the ring from his finger, he'd no idea. Archibald examined the jeweled item in one calloused palm. “They also say,” he went on, a slight sneer in his sleepy voice, “I've fingers quick as a Phyntos Wasp's wings.” Within Dereth's menagerie of creatures, few have proven of any use as livestock. Attempts to put captured Drudges and Banderlings to labor have met with almost no success; the prisoners proved unable to comprehend any instructions. Most experiments with Reed Shark watchdogs resulted in total disaster. The Lugian people seem to have mastered the taming of these beasts, but it remains beyond our ken. (I have heard rumors that a powerful Aluvian life mage has achieved the same success as the Lugians, but I cannot personally confirm this.) And while some Holtsburgian farmers have yoked Auroch bulls, they admit the beasts are of far better value when slaughtered and ground into mince. There appears to be precious little use for Derethian fauna except in death, when expert craftsmen can rework bits of the corpses into useable items. Consider the Armoredillo's useful plates, or the furry hide of the Mattekar. And while Drudges and their kin have proven no use for labor, their heads, at least, have made fine harvest festival masks. It is a terrible truth that we of the Exploration Society, and our colleagues in the Environmental Defense League, have been unable to find a practical reason to encourage the sparing of our more wild companions. Yet there remains the enigma of the Gromnie. -- Lady Aiyou-Shih
Tan, Dereth Exploration Society For once, however, the two had chosen to enter into a mutual, if reluctant, partnership. A well known duke, though neither knight's monarch, had been offering exorbitant prices for Ivory Gromnie hides. Better for the professionals to collect this price, they both felt, rather than the common rabble. Walking along the rolling hills, the knights kept their eyes to either side. They'd learned to check for such random encounters as had laid them up last night in the tower. “Other trophy collectors seek the wings of the Phyntos, or scalps from savage Drudge Raveners. I wonder why our esteemed duke looks to the weaker Ivory Gromnies?” Cuthbert asked. “And will you kindly return my ring? For chivalry's sake, at least?” “I feel compelled to keep the ring as token hostage. . . to ensure our continued partnership, you understand. As for the duke, I'm surprised you haven't heard. They say he's reached such power, the intrinsic value of items means less to him now than the aesthetic. He seeks a complete suit of ivory leather, crafted from the Gromnies' hides.” The two did not agree on much. Both, however, raised a brow at the peculiar vanity of fashion. It is an accepted truth, thanks to historical and archeological evidence, that Gromnies are one of the rare original natives of Dereth. These survivors are believed to be the juvenile form of a yet unseen creature -- the quasi-mythical “Gromnatross.”The main supporting evidence for this theory may be found on the volcanic island of Aerlinthe. Records recovered from that port clearly state that a Gromnatross called Aurlanaa built a nest upon the peaks of the northwest volcano, Cunara. It apparently abandoned its offspring there when the Shadows invaded Dereth approximately two thousand years ago. Now on the peaks of Cunara, one may still find a small colony of Ash Gromnies. The titanic Gromnatross appear to have been winged creatures, ranging from cottage-sized to the approximate length of the Empyrean Obsidian Span between Cragstone and Arwic. There is little more detail available on this presumed adult form. While Gromnie motifs may sometimes be found worked into the architecture of the Yalaini Seaborne Empire, Gromnatross images are conspicuously absent. It is possible that this is due to some religious edict; the Yalain held the creatures in high esteem, and may have considered the carving of their likeness to be a graven image. Some known details of Gromnatross morphology include manta-shaped wings; a long, eel-like luminous tail; and milky, radiant lavender eyes. If the Gromnies are indeed but the juvenile form, it is to be expected that they share the same cricket-like legs. Unfortunately, details about the Gromnatross' biology and behavior are contradictory at best, and in many ways nonexistent. For example, whether the creatures were carnivorous, omnivorous, or herbivorous cannot be determined from the records available. Although there is evidence that the Gromnatross often killed their own young (at which times entire provinces of the Empire apparently mourned), there is no mention of them hunting or gathering. Some have half-seriously suggested that adult Gromnatross somehow nourished themselves by tapping the unusual mana patterns of this world. Prominent works of literature mentioning Gromnatross attribute to them an eerie, inexplicable intelligence. However, there are many more references in the Imperial Archives discovered under Xarabydun that record their activity as nothing more than that of exceptionally large and fierce territorial animals, destroying crops and homes in large swathes around their chosen nests. It may be that while Gromnatross held a traditional role as a literary symbol, the reality was far different. It is no different in our own world, where the wild Scavenger Ursuin is used as a symbol of nobility and stoicism in Aluvian tales. I would be remiss if I did not point out that a small faction of the intelligencia maintains that Gromnies came or were summoned here at some point by the Empyrean. The basis of this theory lies in a handful of obscure old texts in the Falatacot tongue that mention: “. . . the hateful wings sent out from dark-lit skies which wander the span from one star to another,”and whose “glow'ring eyes spill algid light upon the fearful ground.”Aside from their poetic appeal, these texts are so notoriously biased as to be considered unreliable. Major portions of early Gromnatross lore have reached us through the fragmentary religious texts taken from the Gelidites of Frore. These ancient people seemed to live in stark fear of the Gromnatross, regarding them with horror and awe in equal portions. There is one last fringe theory that claims the Gromnatross were never natural creatures of this or any other world. Rather, they state, some ancient people of Auberean created them through lost arcane arts to safeguard their world, much as later civilizations created Golems to guard their doors from casual intrusion. In any case, these beasts have stalked the land for quite some time. Gromnie sculptures were once worked into the architecture of granaries, chapels, and ground supports for the floating “skytowers.”A matched set of Gromnie figures often flanked the thresholds of noble houses in the Seaborne Empire. Interestingly, these statues are described as cupping fragrant water in their stony mouths, which travelers would use to wash the dust of the road from their hands. The implication seems to be that by demonstrating a willingness to place his hands in the Gromnie's mouth, a visitor proved he bore no ill will toward the resident. - Ashif al-Kaba,
Fellow of the Zaikhal Arcanum Cuthbert finished donning his own plate mail, slinging a spear tipped with a tooth of mystic ice across his back. “There must be some semblance of truth behind those theories, of the Gromnies being magical constructs. After all, though reptilian, no one has yet come across a Gromnie's egg.” “Nonsense,” Archibald snorted, hefting his own fire-bane shield and winter-blade sword. “Why, myself, I've dined many a time on such eggs! A certain cook in Arwic used to sell the dish regularly.” “How convenient the town no longer exists to substantiate your claim. I suppose this gentle cook died in Arwic's tragic destruction?” Archibald sighed melodramatically. “He did, poor fellow. Afraid to use the lifestones, he was -- never touched a one in all the years he was here. And sure as sure, Dereth's worse off for the loss. “Ai, great light,”Haimn said, kneeling before the beast. “I come from the lowlands, driven out by my cruel father. He left me in sleep upon the peak of Verborn. If it please you, I would beg your protection this night.” The mighty Gromnatross leaned close to the girl, snorting rolling veils of mist into the cold air, one pale lantern eye blinking as it peered through the girl's very soul. Then it reared and gathered her up, carrying the girl away to its aerie built upon the shoulder of a high mountain pass. The Gromnatross had but a single chick, iridescent jade in color. Haimn bowed before it, but it lunged and bit at her. She shrieked and ran across the stony floor of the aerie. Although the young Gromnie tried to pursue, the Gromnatross shielded the girl with one wing. The enraged hatchling bit and tore at its snow-white flesh, vainly seeking Haimn. With a whistling, sorrowful sigh, the pale-eyed creature swept the angry child gently away to the edge of the nest. The great Gromnatross curled itself carefully around Haimn and rumbled soothingly in the depths of its throat. By the cool lavender glow of its watchful eyes, the girl fell asleep. When the golden light of dawn touched her, Haimn awoke. The Gromnatross had gone in the night, leaving behind a small pile of fruit. The Gromnie chick was nowhere to be seen. After eating the fruit, Haimn climbed out of the nest to continue her journey. It was then that she saw, sprawled across the rocks at the base of the cliff, the broken form of the young Gromnie. Though now in death, its face still twisted with bestial rage. - Surinna Thrasyl,
Imperial Legendsinger More often than not, though, the Gromnies, mad with some animal rage, ran straight into Cuthbert's readied spear. Archibald would then follow closely behind, finishing the creatures off with his frost-dripping sword. Archibald knelt by the body of the most recently slain, using a curved knife to slip the hide from its joints. In such a position, he failed to notice anything remiss until his partner kneed him cruelly in the ribs. “An Ash!” Cuthbert cried, lowering his spear into the charge. Archibald snatched up his sword in blind panic. He would never have seen the more powerful Ash Gromnie if it weren't for the electric crackle of its breath. What now? They had prepared frost and fire-bane for the Ivories, but what against an Ash's lightening breath? “Now is the time to return my ring,” Cuthbert yelled, holding out one hand. “I can use its magic to protect us from this beast.” “Have I a choice?” Archibald replied, reaching into his belt pouch. “They may say I've the strength, but not the dull sense, of a Lugian.” He passed the ring over. Slipping the painstakingly inscribed band of hematite onto his finger, Sir Cuthbert found the benighted ways of the School of the Right Hand clear in his mind. Pattern formed from chaos. There -- the energies wove themselves in ways simple and beautiful. All around, magic flowed and whirled in warm, tingling torrents. Little wonder mages became so engrossed in their spellcraft. The world seen only with the spirit eye was wondrous and strange. “I wouldn't be so sure of that, Archibald,” he said. Cuthbert gathered the fine tendrils of energy drifting before him, caressing and prodding them into new alignment. “Eh?” Archibald grunted, sheltering behind his shield as a crackling sheet of electrical fire washed over it. “What. . . no!” Cuthbert dissolved, smirking, in a whirl of violet bubbles, leaving Archibald behind, blinking in amazement. . . and quite alone with the Ash Gromnie. “Bugger all this,” Archibald cursed. The Gromnie charged -- a final time.
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