Flinch asks Percy about his Monday, and wishes he hadn’t asked about the gnomes
Told by Flinch · 12th October 2026
Evenin’, Master. For anyone readin’ over my shoulder, that’s Unclegrumble, the gnome as keeps me. I asked Mister Percy about his Monday through the pipes, an’ what follows is what he said, with the bits I’m sure of an’ the bits I’m not marked as such.
The errand
It started with a journal. Apothecary Berard‘s, the one Mister Percy took off him in Pyrewood Village an’ wouldn’t read. Master Apothecary Faranell read it for him, an’ since then it’s come out of Faranell as errands: moss off the Lake Creepers, moss off the Skulkers, an’ one Hardened Tumor that Berard once found on a murloc an’ never again.
Mister Percy was a bit worried by that, I think. He didn’t say so. He said, “It is difficult to take instruction from a man one has not heard speak.” Then he went out to the lake anyway an’ had, by his own account, a nice afternoon of it. I can’t make those two sit together, but he managed.
The lucky one
He swam out to Fenris Isle for the tumour. I’ll tell you the part I think he minded most: the very first murloc he killed dropped it. Straight off. He’d come, he said, to settle an account with the murlocs, an’ was handed a receipt instead. “I had been looking forward to a fight,” he told me, an’ sounded like a man who’d been given his supper before he’d sat down.
So he walked the long way round the island instead, takin’ a few more murlocs as he met ’em, which I count as a kindness to himself.
Player’s caption: another corpse run
The towers
From the isle he could see Dalaran‘s towers, near enough to count. He couldn’t go closer, on account of the monsters on the far shore, an’ I’m glad of it.
I asked what he felt, lookin’ at ’em. He took a good while. “Difficult to say,” he said. Then, after a bit: “I may go and look at it again, one day.” That’s all he’d give. I didn’t push, Master. I’ve learnt there’s a time to hold your tongue.
Ambermill
He finished at Ambermill, among the wizards an’ the gnomes, an’ there, he told me, he found the fight he’d been owed. He gave the little ones a proper pasting. He said it was the best part of the day.
I said, as gentle as I could, that Master’s a gnome.
“Yes,” said Mister Percy. “I have noticed that you keep one.”
He wrote a few words in the stone beside one of them, an’ I’ll quote ’em because I can’t leave ’em out: dead gnome good gnome
Please don’t let Master hear that. I mean, Master, you’re readin’ it. I don’t know what to do about that. I’ve written it down plain an’ there’s no takin’ it back.
Player’s caption: dead gnome good gnome
He doesn’t like humans either, if it’s any comfort. He’s very even about it.
After
He flew back to the Undercity with the moss an’ the tumour, an’ stood among the hooks while Faranell took ’em like coal. I’ll say this for Mister Percy: he’s doin’ a dead man’s errands, an’ he knows it, an’ he still came home from the lake pleased with his afternoon. I think that’s the right way round to be.
The filth hole won’t see to itself. I’m off down it, Master, an’ I’d take it kindly if you’d not read the bit about the gnomes again till I’m back.
What did you think?
Tell us what you made of this story. Your comment is read by the people who write and review the stories.
Last updated 13th October 2026, 05:03