Shapechanging Menace Exposed in Gnomish Halls

Any report out of Gnomengarde must first survive invention, optimism, frightened royalty, and at least three devices nobody should have wound. The Orb therefore presents the following account with appropriate caution and a respect for gnomish enthusiasm.

The settlement had fallen into suspicion after disappearances, strange signs, and royal panic turned ordinary confusion into a locked-room dread. King Korboz and King Gnerkli, whose authority survived mostly by being defended from inside their own chambers, required proof that the unseen menace had been ended.

The company found the thing where a careless eye might have found nothing at all. Disguised as the back wall of a chamber, the creature waited in plain sight with the patience of furniture and the appetite of a predator. A mimic is a lesson in distrust: not every wall is a wall, not every chest is a chest, and not every silence is empty.

The fight was close enough that those retelling it have already begun polishing the danger into legend. What matters is simpler. The mimic died. Vimak kept a trophy from it. The kings were convinced. Gnomengarde, which had held its breath through fear and contraption alike, exhaled into celebration.

Official gnomish statements describe the resolution as orderly, triumphant, and evidence of excellent institutional preparedness. Less official versions include random crossbow fire, secret routes, royal anxiety, and at least one person insisting the back wall looked suspicious only after it tried to eat someone.

Let scholars argue what such a creature wanted in those halls. Let inventors insist everything functioned as designed. The Orb records the practical truth: the company entered a place of hidden teeth, found the lie wearing stone as a face, and left behind a settlement loud enough to be grateful.