Within a column of marching fellow imps, Beezil staggered and stumbled, complacently carried along with the tide as they moved directly away from the chasm that had breached their world. He couldn't think at this point, there was simply too much for his sheltered mind to comprehend. This new world both exhilarated and terrified him.
A thousand gentle sounds came to him on soft breezes that were utterly foreign. Instead of burning with the reek of sulfur and ash, these zephyrs were like a soothing caress, alive with sweet perfumes and moisture. Overhead, the sky was deep, deep purple instead of dead black and fiery red, and it was speckled with tiny, twinkling points of light. Amid that sea of subtle color and glittering lights, a great round, luminous orb hung suspended, watching over the imps and their escape like a great, gaping eye.
The Imp Tower in Noctria
Beezil pulled the tatters of his tunic over his head, hoping to hide from that terrible gaze, but he continued to peek through the holes, watching, seeing everything as he passed. Soft greenery washed about his ankles and dozens of tiny, chirping creatures scattered from his feet in sharp jumps. Much taller things passed on either side of him, huge brown arms topped with masses of flat, green swatches that seemed to sing a soft, droning song to Beezil as the breeze filtered through them. So much to see, so much to hear, smell, touch, even taste. Beezil loved how this world frightened him so.
A tall, slender being stopped at the front of the column and gestured furtively for them to follow. So amazing, this creature, with skin so soft and flawless like the illumination of that pale eye in the sky. Its features were delicate and very strange, save for its tapered, pointed ears, with no visible fangs or horns. "Ehlf." Beezil repeated softly to himself, emulating the sound he had heard it make in reference to itself. Even its voice had been beautiful. As he had carefully memorized every minute detail of his passage from Nadirak, so too, did he file away this bit of information.
The "ehlf" had brought them across many miles, through an endless expanse of green, until it met up with another of its kind. No, this one was different, thicker and taller, with stubbled hair on its face. Human, Beezil learned, as he and just under half of his fellow imps began to follow it northward while the rest went west with the "ehlf". Human was accompanied by a tall, brown, four-legged creature, with a long face and deep, dark eyes. Beezil stayed away from it, noting its thick, heavy hooves and the way its stirred irritably whenever one of the imps came near. In his home world, Beezil had learned very early on not to draw the ire of hoofed creatures.
Human didn't travel nearly as long as the other had, stopping at the base of a low mountain and corralling the imps into a circle. One of them spoke to Human, an elder longtooth named Azik. He was one of the first refugees who had passed through the rift and seemed to have picked up an understanding of their strange language. Human untied bundled fabrics from the back of the hoofed creature and handed them to the longtooth, then proceeded to pass a few around to other imps. He wanted them to sleep, Beezil realized, and had chosen to provide warmth and comfort. Beezil relished the softness of the blanket, so much nicer than the coarse shreds of tunic he'd brought with him from Nadirak, and held it tightly under his arm. Unable to contain his curiosity, he boldly approached Human and asked from where the wonderful fabric had come.
Of course, Human could not understand his exact intent, but knew he had been referring to the blanket. "Wool." he told Beezil, thumbing the cuff of his white robes and baring his teeth in a way that was not at all cruel or frightening. Beezil memorized the word and cherished it in the way that he would also cherish this inexplicable act of kindness.
After sleep, Beezil discovered yet more wonders. Brightness filled the sky, cast by a blinding shape that had replaced the high, pale eye from earlier. Beezil tried to guess its size but whenever he looked too long at the light, his eyes always watered intensely and odd, purple shapes would float before his vision. Beezil decided he didn't like the purple shapes and chose not to measure the sky light again. There was far more to see on the ground, anyway.
Vibrant greens and pinks and yellows gradually gave way to grays and tans as Beezil and his fellow imps traveled farther north with Human. He chose to use the time wisely as he walked, listening and memorizing every strange word he heard. He also cut a hole in the middle of his wool blanket for his head and draped it over his body, tying the open sides together with threads of his old tunic. Yes, much better. Now he had both a soft blanket and a soft tunic at once.
Beezil learned many things while following Human northward. Human's name was actually Larson and he was the offspring of another human named Lars. His white robes were very important to him and there were others like him who all wore similar robes and wanted to help Beezil and his people. They came to a place called Davas, a defensive structure of sorts, where Larson met another human named Danilla and left some of the group, including Beezil, with her while he continued north with the rest.
The group of imps split and joined other similar groups many times as Danilla led Beezil and his companions toward the east. This sort of exchange happened repeatedly and Beezil was divided from and reunited with familiar kinsmen many times during his travel. Every new imp he spoke to had stories to tell that were as varied and awe-inspiring as his own.
Some had come from the far north, where enormous one-eyed giants had given them shelter within sturdy stone buildings and fed them with mountains of mouth-watering food that was beyond imagination. They told of how the ground there was so bright and cold to the touch, but quite tasty in small measures. Some spoke of a giant endless blue lake to the east where many tanned, normal-sized people lived on sandy, sweet-smelling islands. Apparently, while these waters were quite breathtaking to behold, they were not good to drink. Other imps had been underground, in a place unlike any of the brood tunnels they had all been born and raised in. These places had been built by dwarves, tough and garrulous craftspeople who showed their imp guests the beauty of what they called the "underearth" and a tasty drink named ale.
Beezil listened to every story, every detail, with rapt attention, enthralled at the richness of this new world. What pleased him most, though, was that all the tales, no matter how different from one another, seemed to share in one very important detail. Everywhere they'd been brought, the imps had found welcome. This world, Ganedan, was truly a place where Beezil and his people might find freedom from their cruel overlords.
As his command of the new tongue increased, Beezil began to understand more and more from the different peoples who were his guides. There seemed to be some difficulty in finding places for all the imp refugees. So many were coming through now, they were becoming like a small nation.
He eventually arrived at a place called Jannerwik, a sun-drenched town full of rounded, adobe buildings and friendly gnomes. As soon as they passed through the gateway, a cheerful gnome named Piktrumble separated Beezil from the group and showed him into one of the rounded buildings. This place was to be his. There was a low cot, a little table, and a candle to read by. Only Beezil didn't know how to read. Piktrumble smiled broadly, that strange yet reassuring expression Beezil had never seen until recently, and patted him on the back.
The gnome took him across an enormous bridge to another island and Beezil finally got to see the great salt lake that he had been told about. He found its beauty to be everything he had imagined and often paused to stare over the side while his gnome companion waited patiently nearby. Once they reached the new island, Piktrumble introduced him to yet another experience like he'd never known before. A giant tent, impossibly large to Beezil's eyes, towered over him. Inside, people of all descriptions crowded around stalls displaying a wide variety of wares.
Beezil was put to work in Piktrumble's Market and remained there for over a year. It was comforting, after a fashion, to have a task with which to occupy his time. He resigned himself to his place in Ganedan, the place where his saviors had put him. He was Beezil, market-worker. That was his purpose.
When he had first arrived in Jannerwik, he had thought of Piktrumble as his new master. Not a master in the same manner as the Nadirak had been, of course, but a kinder, more placid equivalent. The first thing Beezil noted about the gnome was how he always looked Beezil in the eye when he spoke to him. Often smiling, he asked Beezil questions and seemed interested in his opinion on things. Beezil found this very odd. He'd never really had opinions before now. |
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In many ways, service in Piktrumble's Market was very different from the type of service he was used to. For instance, once a week, Beezil would return to his cot and find a pouch of gold coins on his pillow and he used these coins in trade for things he found in the market. Sometimes, after a particularly busy week, the pouch contained more coins than usual.
Beezil grew to love his time in Jannerwik. Under Piktrumble's tutelage, he learned to read and picked up a keen sense of the workings of commerce. In the evenings, he would study books about other nations and the people who lived there, ravenously devouring entire volumes of historical and geographical information. He became a local expert on written works and made quite a success of importing and selling rare tomes for Piktrumble.
One evening, Beezil met with Piktrumble at his home, as they now often did after a long workday. They sipped on fermented fruit drinks and gazed up at the stars while chatting idly about small matters of business. Piktrumble sighed and regarded Beezil with an uncommonly serious expression.
"I've been thinking." He said, "It seems about time that you should go."
Beezil was struck dumb. Had he done something wrong, failed in his purpose somehow? He couldn't imagine life without the market. What had he done wrong? Why was he being punished so cruelly? Beezil wanted to scream. He wanted to strike Piktrumble and deny what was happening, but he wouldn't dare.
Piktrumble stood and took Beezil to the railing which encircled his house. Looking out over the water, beyond the far end of the bridge, they could just see the faintest flicker of light from the market reflected on the water.
"Jannerwik is a very beautiful place, Beezil." Piktrumble mused, "But it is not your place. It's just too small for you."
Beezil was horrified and confused. If Jannerwik was not his place, then where was? Where would he go?
"I know you enjoy working at the market," he continued, "but I think your heart longs to be elsewhere."
With that, the gnome held up a square package tightly in his hands, similar to the packages Beezil wrapped for customers every day except it had been tied with a red ribbon. He handed the package to Beezil and urged him to open it. Still lost, the imp tentatively untied the bow and unfolded the parchment covering to reveal a beautiful, leather-bound book. " Bithrellin's Updated Guide to Ganedan " the cover read in carefully scrolled gold leaf.
"Go out and see the world, my friend." Piktrumble smiled, moisture gathering in his eyes as he gripped Beezil's hand and pulled him into a brotherly hug, "This place is just too small for you."
All fear and outrage drained from Beezil in an instant and his stomach filled with tense excitement. Without realizing it, he desired nothing more than to see the world he had read so much about and now Piktrumble had given him the impetus he needed to do just that. He clasped the book tightly and grinned from ear to ear.
"Thank you. Friend." He repeated, his eyes misted over.
With guide in hand and a brimming pack of gnomish travel goods on his back, Beezil bid Piktrumble goodbye and set out across the mainland. While he would miss his friend and the market very dearly, he felt the entire expanse of the world before him, awaiting only his decision to step forth and see it.
For the next year, Beezil traveled the length and breadth of the eastern world. He went north to the land of Markadon , south east and west to New Illanthia and Larocia, and through the mountains of Cladash. But he never chose to stay. Within a month, he would grow restless. No matter how beautiful or interesting he found his surroundings, he never felt like he belonged. Inevitable, he always moved on.
In the summer of AR 6, he returned to the Savincian islands, hoping to find his place again. The islands were different than he remembered. Piktrumble's Market was as successful as ever, but the gnome himself was nowhere to be found, having gone overland to secure a trade deal in the newly-discovered dragonkin lands to the west. Beezil stared wistfully out across the bridge to Jannerwik and wondered if he would ever find his place.
It wasn't long before word reached him of a stunning new development in the northwest. Beezil knew of a piece of land there that had been used to house many of the refugee imps who had flooded out of the Sorrowlands, but he'd had no idea of the changes that had been underway during the last year. A whirlwind of migration and construction had speckled the rocky landscape with imp-made houses and precipitated a tremendous step for the imps as a free people. They had chosen a ruler.
Grand Exalted Emperor Lugus V had been crowned less than two weeks earlier and imps had begun flocking from all over to the newly-dubbed nation of Noctria. An imp nation. Home.
Beezil
Beezil packed up his belongings and immediately set out for the west, certain he had finally found his place. Once he reached the most westerly Savincian town of Windok , he turned north through Wardenroad and Hillsford before following the shoreline east onto Noctrian soil. In the distance, he made out the outline of a great series of towers, entrenched together like the grandest palace he had ever heard tell of. His heart swelled with joy as he began to comprehend how much his people must have accomplished to have become capable of such a feat.
Topping a high hill, he noticed dozens of ramshackle dwellings surrounding the base of the great tower. Imps, everywhere, living free in a nation of their own. As he looked down over the rows of houses which seemed to have been made from every conceivable combination of available building materials, he realized that, although Noctria was certainly the home of the imps, he still had no place here.
He folded his arms across his chest, craned his head back and eyed the wondrous tower complex of Grand Exalted Emperor Lugus V. An imp had become an emperor. And if one imp could accomplish such a thing, there was no reason why another could not do something equally as great.
Beezil understood in that moment why he had never found his place, no matter how many places he had traveled to. Every region of this world he loved called to him with a common allure and he longed to span all those regions at once. It wasn't that he had no place, but rather that he had already found it. His place was everywhere.
The young imp turned on his heel and marched off with renewed vigor, limitless plans running wildly through his head. This was the true power of freedom. It was not something to be found in a soft wool blanket or the comfort of a corner cot to call one's own. It didn't even have anything to do with the establishment of geographical borders and the national identity that came with them. Freedom was about possibility, possibility and the opportunity to pursue a dream.
Beezil's sharp mind, near-flawless memory and his extensive knowledge of the world abroad enabled him to establish a small network of consignment traders and parley it into something far greater. Almost four years later, members of the Red Palm Exchange can be found in nearly every populated area in the world. While the founder himself rarely ever gets directly involved with his business anymore, rumors abound that he can sometimes be found in a little town on the Savincian mainland, sipping a fermented fruit drink and gazing up at the stars with an old, dear friend.
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