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Join Captain Victor T. Mayfair as he talks with Borin Stonebeard, a gruff yet sincere gnome with centuries of wisdom and tales to share. In this fascinating episode, Borin sets the record straight on the true history, culture, and magic of gnomes, dispelling myths about garden ornaments and delving into the rich traditions of his people. From their deep connection to the earth and their love of craftsmanship to stories of legendary gnomes and their relationships with other mythical beings, this interview uncovers the heart of gnomish lore. A conversation full of wit, warmth, and wisdom—don’t miss it!

Executive Producer / Writer – Victor Ciccarelli.
Copyright Mythos Anthology / Quixana Productions 2025, all rights reserved.

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<< Victor >>
Good Morning Stonebeard, or may I call you Borin?

<< Borin >>
“Good mornin’ to ye, Captain Mayfair. Aye, Borin will do just fine—though if ye were a gnome, I’d insist on a proper title! But seein’ as you’re not, we’ll let it slide. Now, what grand tales or deep questions do ye have fer me today? I’ve me tea here, and I’m ready to set the record straight about us gnomes.”

<< Victor >>

Thank you Borin, I guess i would like to start with the basics. I dont know if you are awair of this but over the last few years there has been a explosion of Gnomes in Holiday Decorations. In fact Gnomes are everywear now. But my guess is few of our readers would know the real history of your people. could we start with that perhaps. please what makes a gnome.. a gnome? ?

<< Borin >>
“Ah, Captain, ye’ve hit the nail square on the head there. Gnomes poppin’ up in every shop window, wearin’ floppy hats and daft grins, like we’re all some cheery garden ornaments. Makes my beard bristle, it does! But aye, let’s get to the heart of it—what makes a gnome a gnome.

First off, we’re creatures of the earth, through an’ through. Born of stone, root, and soil. Our bond to the land is deeper than any human farmer’s plow or miner’s pickaxe. It’s not just where we live; it’s who we are. We tend the balance of things—guardians of the wild places, keepers of the old ways. When the forest whispers, or the mountain hums, it’s a gnome who hears it first.

Then there’s our size. We’re small, aye, but don’t let that fool ye. We pack wisdom, strength, and cunning into every inch of our stature. Humans might think size measures worth—fools, the lot of ’em—but in truth, it’s our roots that make us mighty. Not just literal roots—though we do live near ‘em—but our roots in history, family, and tradition.

And traditions! Oh, we’ve got plenty, from the crafting of moonstone runes to brewing the perfect batch of root ale. We pass our tales and knowledge down through generations, always mindful that what we know isn’t ours to keep—it belongs to the future.

Lastly, let’s not forget our magic. Subtle it may be, but it’s woven into our lives. It’s not flashy like a wizard’s fireball, no; it’s the quiet kind that mends a broken branch, leads lost critters home, or stirs the soil to life. Gnomish magic is practical, respectful, and never taken for granted.

So, Captain, if ye see a wee figure in a holiday display, just remember—if it’s a real gnome, you won’t find it just standin’ there all idle. It’ll be busy, workin’ behind the scenes to keep the balance of things, as we’ve done since time immemorial.”

<< Victor >>

Can you tell me what the physical characteristics of a Gnome are? All i know is long beard, Poinity hat, and short?

<< Borin >>
“Ha! Aye, those are the bits folk remember—long beards, pointy hats, and short stature. But there’s a bit more to us than that, Captain, so let me paint ye a proper picture.

First off, the height. A full-grown gnome stands about the height of a human toddler, maybe two to three feet tall. But don’t let the size fool ye—we’re compact and sturdy, like a well-carved gemstone. Broad in the chest, strong in the limbs, and quick on our feet when needs be.

Now, the beard, aye, it’s a point of pride for us gnomish men—and for some women, too, depending on the clan. A gnome’s beard is more than decoration; it’s a tapestry of our lives. We braid in trinkets, beads, or bits of lore, each one tellin’ a story—a victory won, a loved one remembered, or a bit of wisdom gained. Keeps the tales close to the heart, as it were. My own beard’s had a few singed ends from an alchemical mishap or two, but that’s part of the charm, eh?

As for the hats—aye, they’re pointy, but they’re also practical. Keeps the rain off and the sun out of yer eyes while ye’re workin’. Plus, the colors an’ patterns can say a lot about a gnome. Red hats often mark a craftsman, green for a forest-dweller, and blue for the scholars among us. It’s like a badge of identity, though some of us more adventurous types have taken to hats of our own makin’, for style and function both.

Our features are round and weathered, with skin tones that reflect the earth—ruddy like clay, deep brown like fertile soil, or even grayish like the mountain stone. And our eyes, Captain, they’re sharp and bright, like polished gems. Green, blue, gold—always glintin’ with curiosity or mischief, dependin’ on the day.

One last thing folk rarely notice: our hands and feet. Strong and calloused, built for diggin’, craftin’, and climbin’. A gnome’s hands tell as much about ‘em as their beard—ye can tell a smith from a healer, or a farmer from a tinkerer, just by the wear on their fingers.

So aye, Captain, we’ve got the beards, hats, and height—but there’s a world more detail in every gnome, if ye take the time to look.”

<< Victor >>

And Gnomes live a long time compared to humans do you not?

<< Borin >>
“Aye, Captain, that we do—longer than humans by a good stretch, though not quite as long as some of the more ancient folk, like elves or dwarves. On average, a gnome can see two, maybe three centuries if the winds of fortune blow fair. Our elders, those who live quiet lives and steer clear of trouble, might even nudge closer to four hundred years.

But it’s not just the length of life, mind ye—it’s how we live it. Gnomes aren’t ones to rush through the seasons. We savor the slow turn of the earth, takin’ time to learn, to craft, and to leave the world better than we found it. A gnome in their first century is like a sapling—full of vigor and curiosity, diggin’ roots and stretchin’ branches. By the second century, we’re like sturdy oaks, strong and wise, with stories to tell and wisdom to share. The third century? That’s when we’re more like ancient yews, steady and grounded, but still with a spark of life in our veins.

That said, long life isn’t without its burdens. To live so long is to carry memories—of joys, aye, but also losses. Friends and loved ones come and go, as do kingdoms and forests. It’s why we gnomes hold tight to our traditions and kin, to keep ourselves anchored in the ever-turnin’ tide of time.

So aye, Captain, we live long, but we do it with purpose. Life’s a gift, after all, and a gnome’s duty is to treasure every moment, whether it’s spent mendin’ a stone wall, craftin’ a fine tool, or sharin’ a tale by the fire.”

<< Victor >>

What is the cultural background of Gnomes? what parts of the world do your stories come from?

<< Borin >>
“Ah, now ye’re diggin’ into the roots of it, Captain, and I’ve no qualms about sharin’ where our tales sprout from. Gnome lore winds its way through many lands, much like the roots of an ancient tree twist through the soil. Our stories are steeped in the earth, passed down in whispers and hearthside murmurings, tied to the places we’ve tended and the people we’ve encountered.

Most of what ye humans know of us traces back to the forests and hills of Europe—Germany, Scandinavia, the British Isles. Those are the regions where gnomish tales were first told to human ears, though always with a twist or two to keep folk from knowin’ too much. Ye see, gnomes have long preferred to stay out of sight, workin’ in harmony with the land without drawin’ too much attention. Better to be whispered of as a mystery than to be poked at or meddled with.

In Germany, for instance, the word ‘gnome’ itself comes from the alchemists of old, like Paracelsus, who claimed we were elemental beings of the earth. He had the right idea but missed the mark—called us mere spirits instead of flesh and bone folk. Scandinavian lore paints us closer to their tomte or nisse—guardians of homes and farms, small and clever, but quick to temper if disrespected. In the British Isles, tales of brownies and other wee folk echo a bit of gnomish truth, though we’re no servants to humans, mind ye.

Beyond Europe, there are whispers of gnome-like folk in the Andes, where mountain spirits protect the land, or in the jungles of Asia, where small, crafty beings are said to guide travelers. Though we don’t claim those tales as strictly ours, they share threads of kinship—earthly beings watchin’ over their world, offerin’ help to the kind-hearted, and playin’ the occasional trick on the unwary.

Our culture itself is a tapestry woven from these many places and eras. At its heart, though, gnomish life is always about balance and care—be it with the land, the creatures we share it with, or the knowledge we pass down. We’re builders, healers, and guardians. We tell our tales in song and rhyme, carve them into stone and wood, and whisper them into the soil itself so they’ll never be lost.

So, Captain, our roots run deep and wide, and our stories reflect that. They’re not just ours to keep but ours to share—so long as they’re told true and with respect.”

<< Victor >>

Are there similar mythical figures in other cultures that share traits with gnomes, such as their connection to nature, their craftsmanship, or their guardianship of treasures?

<< Borin >>
“A fine question, Captain, and aye, there are plenty of mythical kinfolk from other cultures who share a bit of overlap with us gnomes. Though none are quite the same, ye can see hints of our nature reflected in tales from across the wide world. Let me walk ye through a few.

First off, there’s the kobold from Germanic folklore. Now, kobolds get a mixed reputation—they’re crafty, like us, and connected to the earth, often as spirits of mines or hearths. Some of them are said to guide miners to rich veins of ore, much like a gnome might if ye’ve earned our trust. But others, well, they’ve a trickier streak and might lead the greedy astray. Sound familiar? That’s not far from how gnomes handle trespassers in our own lands.

Then there’s the leprechaun of Irish lore—guardians of treasure, clever with their hands, and prone to mischief. They’ve got that knack for craftsmanship, makin’ fine shoes or craftin’ clever tricks to protect their gold. They’re a bit flashier than we gnomes, though—always with that pot o’ gold business. We’re not ones to flaunt our treasures, mind ye; what we guard is often not for ourselves but for the good of the land.

Look to Scandinavia, and ye’ll find the nisse or tomte, as I mentioned earlier. These wee folk are guardians of the home and farm, deeply tied to nature and family. They’re quiet and hard-workin’, much like us gnomes, but they’re not to be trifled with. Disrespect their domain, and ye’ll find your cows unmilkable or your tools broken come mornin’. That sense of duty to the land and kin? That’s pure gnome spirit, that is.

If we wander further afield, ye’ll hear tales of duendes in Latin America. They’re small, secretive folk who live in forests or near human settlements, protectin’ nature and sometimes helpin’ or hinderin’ folk who cross their paths. They’ve got a bit of our love for mystery and the wild places, though their ways can be a touch more unpredictable than ours.

In the mountains of Asia, ye’ve got the yaksha—guardians of treasures and sacred groves in Hindu and Buddhist traditions. They’re not small like us, but they’re earthbound, deeply tied to nature, and protect the balance of things. That protective spirit resonates with our own purpose.

Finally, there’s the fae folk—the wider spectrum of fairy beings in Celtic and European lore. We’re often lumped in with them, though I’d argue we’re more grounded, literally and figuratively. The fae can be flighty and fickle, while gnomes are steady and dependable—when we’re treated with respect, that is.

So aye, Captain, from the kobold to the yaksha, there are plenty of mythic figures that share threads with us gnomes. It seems folk across the world have always felt the presence of small, unseen hands at work in the earth, protectin’ treasures, tendin’ nature, and craftin’ wonders. Makes ye wonder if there’s a bit of gnome in every corner of the world, eh?”

<< Victor >>

Are you magical, do you have any magic powers?

<< Borin >>
“Aye, Captain, we gnomes have our share of magic, though it’s not the flashy sort you’d see in human tales of wizards throwin’ fireballs or conjurin’ storms. Gnomish magic is subtle, quiet, and tied to the natural world—a reflection of who we are, ye might say. Let me give ye a sense of it.

First and foremost, we’ve a deep connection to the earth, and that gives us certain gifts. We can sense the flow of energy in the land—the hum of a mountain, the whispers of a forest, or the pulse of a stream beneath the soil. It’s how we keep the balance, tendin’ to what needs mending and nudgin’ things along when they’re out of sorts.

Then there’s our craft magic. A gnome’s hands aren’t just skilled; they’re guided by somethin’ more. When we carve a stone or shape a tool, we pour a bit of magic into it, makin’ it not just functional but alive in a way. A gnomish-made blade stays sharper, a lock more secure, and a charm more protective than anything you’d find from a mundane hand. It’s not grand spellwork, mind ye, but it’s magic all the same.

We’ve also got a knack for concealment and misdirection—call it an extension of our connection to the land. If we don’t want to be found, ye could walk right past us and be none the wiser. It’s not invisibility, exactly, but a way of blendin’ with the world around us, like a stone in a stream or a leaf on the forest floor.

And let’s not forget our healing arts. Gnomes have long been herbalists and alchemists, but there’s magic in it, too. A potion brewed by a gnome doesn’t just mend the body; it soothes the spirit. We understand the harmony between plants, minerals, and the energies of life itself, and we use that knowledge to heal and protect.

Lastly, there’s the magic of our stories and songs. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? But words have power, Captain. The right tale told at the right time can inspire, mend a broken heart, or even ward off danger. Gnomish lore is a kind of magic in itself, a way to weave the past and the present into somethin’ that shapes the future.

So aye, we’re magical, but not in the way of grand fireworks and spectacle. Our magic is quiet, practical, and always in harmony with the world around us. It’s not about power for its own sake—it’s about respect, care, and keepin’ the balance. That’s the gnomish way.”

<< Victor >>

You mentioned dwarves, leprechaun, and other folk who are known for guarding treasures. Do gnomes have a similar tradition of hoarding or protecting valuables?

<< Borin >>
“Ah, Captain, ye’ve touched on a point that stirs many a tale and a few misunderstandings. Gnomes and treasures—aye, we’ve a connection, but it’s a mite different from the likes of dwarves or leprechauns. Let me explain.

First off, we’re not hoarders. Ye won’t find a gnome sittin’ atop a mountain of gold like some dragon, nor stashin’ a pot of coins at the end of a rainbow. Our relationship with valuables is more about stewardship than ownership. When we guard somethin’, it’s not out of greed, but duty. A treasure isn’t just wealth to us; it’s often a piece of history, a shard of the world’s soul, or somethin’ with great power that needs protectin’.

Take gemstones, for example. Gnomes have a deep affinity for stones and crystals—not because they’re shiny, but because they’re part of the earth’s lifeblood. A fine gem holds stories within it, ancient energies and wisdom. We work with such treasures carefully, shaping them into tools or charms that serve a purpose, always mindful not to waste or misuse their power.

Then there’s the matter of artifacts and relics. Over the centuries, many a foolish mortal has crafted things too dangerous for their own good—cursed rings, enchanted blades, and the like. Gnomes have taken it upon ourselves to guard such items, not to keep them but to keep them safe from misuse. Ye could call us caretakers of the dangerous and the sacred.

Now, while we’re not hoarders, we do appreciate craftsmanship and beauty. A well-made tool, a perfectly brewed potion, or a finely carved bit of stone—that’s treasure to us. And aye, we’ll guard it jealously, but not for its value. It’s the work, the story, and the purpose behind it that we cherish.

Let me give ye a tale. There’s a legend of the Moonstone Crown, a relic of immense power forged by a long-forgotten gnome king. It’s said to bring balance to the lands around it, but if it falls into the wrong hands, chaos would reign. For centuries, gnomes have passed it from guardian to guardian, each sworn to keep it hidden and safe. That’s the sort of treasure we protect—not for ourselves, but for the good of the world.

So aye, we’ve a tradition of guardin’ treasures, but ye’ll find no greed in it. What we keep, we keep for a reason, and always with the intent of servin’ the balance of things. That’s the gnomish way, Captain—not hoardin’, but stewardship.”

<< Victor >>

Can you shed light on the folklore surrounding gnomes and their interactions or conflicts with other mythical beings like dwarves or fairies?

<< Borin >>
“Aye, Captain, our dealings with dwarves are a mix of camaraderie and clashin’. They’re stout folk, much like us, and we share a love of craft and stonework. But where gnomes tend to the surface, the roots, and the soil, dwarves dig deep into the mountains, chasin’ after gold and gems.

There’s respect between us, sure enough, but plenty of bickerin’ too. We’ve argued over their heavy-handed minin’, claimin’ they harm the land above. They call us meddlin’ busybodies, sayin’ we don’t understand the glory of what lies deep beneath. Still, when trouble’s afoot—be it trolls in the hills or somethin’ darker—we’ve been known to stand shoulder to shoulder with our stout cousins.

Now, with the fae folk, it’s a whole different dance. Gnomes and fairies share the wild places, and while we’ve worked together at times, they’ve got a flighty, tricksy nature that rubs us the wrong way. Fairies love their mischief, while gnomes prefer steady work and balance. More than once, a gnome has had to fix the mess a fairy’s prank left behind—plants wilting, streams runnin’ dry, or poor humans spooked out of their wits. That said, we respect their magic—it’s wild and ancient, like the winds. But fairies think us too grounded, and we think they’ve their heads too far in the clouds.

As for conflicts? Oh, there’ve been tussles. Dwarves and gnomes once fought over a silver vein, only to find it cursed—left us both red-faced and united in clearin’ the mess. With the fae, it’s less about battles and more about games of wit. Trickery versus practicality. A gnome’ll outlast a fairy’s patience any day, but heaven help ye if ye fall for their charms.

So aye, Captain, our history with dwarves and fairies is a tapestry of grudges, alliances, and a healthy dose of mutual irritation. Keeps life interestin’, ye might say.”

<< Victor >>

lets talk about your transition from earth elemental to greeting card. In the Victorian era, garden gnomes became a popular ornament. How do you feel about this ‘domestication’ of your kind?

<< Borin >>
“Domestication, ye call it? Bah! I call it an insult to our name and heritage. Turnin’ us from guardians of the wild places into decoration for human whims—there’s no dignity in it, Captain, none at all.

Now, I’ll grant ye, the Victorian era brought a certain fascination with us gnomes, and some of that came from genuine respect for the old tales. But what did they do with it? Stuck us in gardens like we were no more than clay pots, frozen in grins and pointy hats. That’s not honorin’ gnomish lore; it’s mockery wrapped in cheap paint.

And the so-called ‘ornamental hermits’—don’t even get me started on that nonsense! Wealthy landowners hirin’ folk to play at bein’ wise, solitary gnomes? It’s a travesty. True gnomes don’t stand idle, posin’ for human amusement. We’re workers, caretakers, and protectors. Our place is in the forests, hills, and hearths—not perched next to a birdbath.

The worst of it, though, is how it’s stripped away the truth of who we are. Now, when folk think of gnomes, they picture lawn ornaments and holiday trinkets, not the rich history of our people. They’ve forgotten the stories of our craft, our magic, and our place as guardians of the balance.

So aye, Captain, I’m none too pleased about this ‘domestication.’ It’s turned us into nothin’ more than a human fancy. But there’s still hope. That’s why I’m here today—to remind folk of the real gnomes and set the record straight. We’re not decorations. We’re a people with pride, purpose, and history, and I’ll see that remembered, even if I’ve got to shout it from the highest hill.”

<< Victor >>

Lets talk about gnome society. Are there different types or classifications of gnomes?

<< Borin >>
“Aye, Captain, gnome society is as varied as the stones in a riverbed, each with its own hue and shape. We’re not a one-size-fits-all folk, and over the centuries, our ways have branched and flourished in different lands and roles. Let me walk ye through the types, as best I can.

First, ye’ve got the forest gnomes. These are the guardians of the green places, dwellin’ under the roots of great trees or in hidden glades. They’re smaller and quieter than most, with a knack for blendin’ into the wild. Forest gnomes are deeply tied to nature’s rhythm, speakin’ with animals and tendin’ to the balance of life in their woodland homes.

Next, there’s the rock gnomes. That’d be my kind—sturdy folk who live among the hills and crags, often in deep burrows or stonework homes. We’re the crafters and tinkerers, always inventin’, buildin’, or mendin’. If it’s got gears, levers, or enchantments, chances are a rock gnome’s had a hand in it. We’re practical and hardworking, but we’ve a deep love for art and story as well.

Then there’s the deep gnomes, or svirfneblin as some call ’em. They’re a rarer lot, dwellin’ in the underdark, the shadowy realms far beneath the surface. Life’s harsher down there, and so are they—quiet, tough, and cautious. But they’re loyal, and their skill with gems and stonework rivals even the finest dwarves.

Ye’ll also find river gnomes in some places, though they’re less common in the tales folk tell. They make their homes near streams and waterways, guidin’ the flow of water and carin’ for the creatures within. Quick-witted and nimble, river gnomes often act as messengers or traders, movin’ between gnome clans and other folk.

Lastly, there are the wandering gnomes, though they’re less a type and more a path some of us take. Wanderers leave their homes behind to travel the wide world, learnin’, teachin’, and bringin’ back tales and treasures to enrich the clan. They’re the ones most likely to be glimpsed by humans, which is why many think we’re all solitary travelers.

So, as ye can see, Captain, gnome society’s as diverse as the lands we inhabit. Each type has its strengths, its traditions, and its purpose, but we’re all tied together by our roots—our love for the earth, our craft, and our stories. No matter where we roam or how we live, we’re gnomes first and foremost, and that’s a bond as strong as stone.”

<< Victor >>

You mentioned that gnomes are often seen as solitary creatures. Is this perception accurate within gnome society, or is it more a matter of how outsiders view us? Do gnomes have families and communities?

<< Borin >>
“Ah, Captain, now that’s a question worth answerin’. The notion of us gnomes as solitary creatures—wandrin’ alone through the woods or tinkerin’ in secret burrows—well, that’s more an outsider’s fancy than the truth of it. Don’t get me wrong, there are some among us who prefer their own company, but by and large, gnomes are deeply social folk. Families and communities are the very heart of our lives.

A gnome family, or a kinclan as we call it, is a close-knit bunch. We don’t just share blood; we share stories, craft, and purpose. A typical kinclan might live together in a sprawling burrow or a cluster of homes, workin’ and celebratin’ as one. Parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins—it’s not uncommon for three or four generations to live under one roof, teachin’ and learnin’ from each other.

Then there’s the gnarls, our larger communities. These are villages or settlements where multiple kinclans come together. A gnarl’s a lively place, Captain, full of shared work and shared joy. Ye’ll hear the hammerin’ of tools, the hum of song, and the laughter of children chasin’ each other through the tunnels or fields. Festivals are big in gnome life, and a gnarl celebration is a sight to behold—food, music, games, and tales told long into the night.

Now, why do folk think we’re solitary? Part of it’s our natural caution. We tend to stay hidden from outsiders, preferin’ the safety of our homes to the risks of human curiosity. And aye, some gnomes are wanderers or hermits, but even they keep ties to their kinclans, sendin’ word or visitin’ when they can.

So no, Captain, the solitary image isn’t the full truth. Gnomes are builders—not just of things, but of bonds. Our families and communities are what ground us, givin’ us the strength to do the work we’re meant to do. We might seem small and scattered to the outside world, but together? We’re a force as steady and strong as the roots of the oldest oak.”

<< Victor >>

And do you know Love?

<< Borin >>
Better than most, I’d wager. Love’s a cornerstone of gnome life, from the bonds we share with kin and friends to the passion we pour into our work and the land. But if ye’re askin’ about a personal sort of love—the kind that makes a heart ache with joy and longing—then let me tell ye of Gaela.

Gaela is my heart, my partner, my equal in every way that matters. She’s a gnome of rare wisdom, strength, and beauty, and though she travels far these days, not a moment passes that I don’t feel her presence with me. Her very name brings a smile to my face, and her memory warms even the coldest of days.

Ah, Gaela… where to even begin? Her wisdom shines brighter than any moonstone, her silver hair a crown of years well lived. Eyes deep as cavern pools, reflectin’ a thousand stories and a lifetime of knowin’. Clever? Why, she’s outsmarted more griffins than I’ve got fingers and toes. But with a heart as warm as a dragon’s hoard, mind ye. Always the first to offer a kind word, a healin’ herb, or a bit of sage advice.

Strong, she is. Roots run deep with Gaela, weathered and wise, yet with a spirit that dances like firelight. She’s the history of our people, the keeper of our lore, and the steady beat of my own heart.

So aye, Captain, gnomes know love—not just the quiet, steadfast love of our kin and land, but the kind that burns bright and makes life all the richer. Gaela is my proof of that, and she always will be.”

<< Victor >>

Clearly, you have the heart of a poet and the craft of a wordsmith. But that is to be expected from a figure with as rich a tradition of works in writing as you. Can you tell us about some of the most memorable stories, folklore, and even modern media about gnomes?

<< Borin >>
“Aye, Captain, ye flatter me with yer words, but I’ll not argue against it. We gnomes do take pride in our storytelling—it’s how we keep our history alive, passin’ it from one generation to the next. As for memorable tales and folklore, let me share a few that shine like polished gems.

In our own lore, one of the oldest and most cherished is the tale of The Stonecarver’s Heart. It tells of a gnome named Kaelor, a master craftsman who carved a statue so lifelike it seemed to breathe. When Kaelor fell in love with the figure he’d created, the mountain spirits took pity on him and brought the statue to life. But here’s the twist: it was not the figure that held his heart but the act of creation itself. The tale reminds us that love and passion often come not from what we make but from the making itself.

Now, human tales about us—those are a mixed bag. The Brothers Grimm gathered stories that touch on gnomish traits, though they often muddle us up with dwarves or kobolds. Take Rumpelstiltskin, for example. Many believe he was based on a gnomish figure—clever, mischievous, and tied to the magic of creation. But a true gnome wouldn’t demand a child as payment; we’re guardians, not thieves!

In modern media, things get a bit daft, don’t they? Gnomes have popped up in everything from children’s tales to garden-variety comedies. The animated film Gnomeo & Juliet, for instance—it’s lighthearted and fun, aye, but it paints us as little more than ornaments with antics. Then there’s David the Gnome, a fine bit of storytelling that comes closer to honorin’ our connection to nature and animals. At least it shows us workin’ for the good of the land, even if it’s through a human lens.

And of course, there are the role-playing games—Dungeons & Dragons has a version of us, though they tend to play up our tinkerin’ side and downplay our deeper ties to the earth and balance. It’s not wrong, but it’s like seein’ just one facet of a gem—it misses the full brilliance.

The tales I treasure most, though, aren’t the big, flashy ones. They’re the quiet stories told by gnomes themselves—of a healer who saved a forest with a single herb, or a smith who forged a blade so fine it could cleave a shadow. Those are the stories that live in our hearts and keep our spirits strong.

So aye, Captain, from ancient lore to modern media, gnomes have made their mark. Some tales get it wrong, some get it right, but all of ’em point to somethin’ humans know deep down: we gnomes are small but mighty, and our stories are as enduring as the earth itself.”

<< Victor >>
I want to thank you for coming on our program today. But, before we go. Any final words of wisdom for our listeners?

<< Borin >>
“Aye, Captain, it’s been an honor to share a bit of gnomish lore with ye and yer listeners. If there’s one thing I’d leave ye with, it’s this: take time to see the small wonders of the world. The roots beneath the soil, the quiet streams, the tiny acts of kindness that hold things together—these are the treasures worth guardin’.

And remember, balance is the heart of all things. Whether it’s the balance of work and rest, of takin’ and givin’, or of respectin’ the world around ye, it’s what keeps life steady and strong.

Lastly, don’t be so quick to dismiss what ye can’t see. The world’s full of hidden magic—whether it’s in a gnome’s burrow, a forest glade, or a humble garden—and it’s there for those who take the time to notice.

Keep yer hearts light and yer hands busy, and perhaps the next time ye glimpse a gnome, ye’ll know the truth of who we are. Farewell to ye, Captain, and to all listenin’. May yer paths be steady and bright.”

<< Victor >>

Thank you

<< Borin >>
“Ah, thank ye, Captain. It’s been a pleasure and an honor. May yer tales be ever rich, and yer travels bring wonder. Farewell, and may the roots of wisdom guide ye always!”