Gumple Stilt-Shins

Grumple was an ornrey old gnome who lived in a small village. His life was normal. He made his living owning a general store, before comfortably retiring. He had a wife, and then didn't. Had kids, and then they were gone. Old Man Grumple seemed content living his peaceful life of tea, relaxing on the porch in his favorite rocking chair, the occasional book, and neighborhood gossip. But one cool autumn day, when he found his legs to be too restless, the tea to be too bland, the gossip to be too boring, and the children to be too bothersome, Old Man Grumple went for a walk in the woods.

On his walk, the old gnome forgot himself for a time, wandering out aimlessly for hours. His hadn't quite failed him yet, to his surprise. Grumple walked, and walked until he happened upon a small hut. And in that hut, was a hag. A strangely friendly hag. The hag offered him hospitality in her hut, complete with a warm cup of tea, some cakes, as well as either pleasant conversation or peace and quiet, upon request. At first, Grumple chose the latter, though it wasn't long before he found himself chatting up the old hag, discussing various gossip, reminiscing, and complaining like old folks do. The old man made himself at home, and the both of them couldn't have been happier.

It was just as Grumple was about to leave that the hag made him an offer. No one knows the deal that was proposed, only that Grumple accepted, and his payment would be claimed at a later date.

Grumple continued on with his life as if nothing happened, for some time. He returned to his home, to the village, and to his rountine. But it was not to last. On a cool autumn day, some years later, when Grumple had almost forgotten about that day, the hag returned. She entered his home without invitation or preamble, and demanded payment. Though to her detriment, Grumple had not simply sat idly waiting, and he was ready for the creature's return. The hag was smote to ruin upon the den of Old Man Grumple.

Remains went unburied, and a debt unsatisfied.

Grumple was different from that day, on.

At first it, the folk of the village were rather passive in there reception of these changes. Parents told their children they are never to go to Old Man Grumple's. Neighbors, concerned he might be ill, came to check on him, once in a while. Though that ceased quickly, and Grumple's once neighbors sought homes elsewhere.

The sounds, the smells.

The lights.

The filth.

Small towns had lynched for less. And the townsfolk needn't much convincing to blame the old gnome for each of their kin to fall ill, or for each failed crop.

Old Man Grumple was torn from his house, the gnome's protests falling on deaf ears as he was dragged to a cliff outside of town. Waves crashed onto the jagged rocks from the vast waters of the lake.

Grumple kicked. Grumple begged. Grumple cried. Grumple fell.

And fell, and fell, and fell.

The old gnome's legs shattered against the jagged stones. His body dashed against the rock by current and wave. His screams crawling up the cliffside. And the townsfolk continued on with their lives.

Much time had passed, just enough for the town to almost forget about Old Man Grumple, when they recieved a ghastly visitor. A tall, shadowy figure stood at the edge of the village. He was the height of a man, but his body was small, and his legs thin and spindly. Townsfolk were impailed on his wooden stilts, as the visitor trampled through the village. People succumbed to plagues in an instant. Others simply eviscerated, by claw, or even a simple look. The village was reduced to shattered homes, and bloody corpses. And Old Man Grumple went for a walk in the woods.

A Trifling Gnome The occasional survivor of an attack by Grumple Stilt-Shins, will bring with them tales of a twisted, bloody gnome that loomed like a giant, with legs made of wood and claws like an animal. Somtimes through their hysterics, they might become lucid enough to tell you about the sickness that preceeded his arrival. Nothing tragic, meerly an increase in colds and the like, but enough to be odd. And they might tell you how food tasted worse in the days leading up to the his arrival, or how all the elderly seemed even more weary, or the strange smells that occasionally wafted in on a breeze. I would hope it needn't be said that, should you find your village under attack by Grumple Stilt-Shins, or notice these preceding signs, you should flee as far as you can. But there are those out their who would stand up against such a creature, and to those are whom I write these pages.