A gnome on a mission...
After a long and dusty journey from the tinkering halls of Mount Nevermind, he finally set foot in the renowned Inn of the Last Hope in Solace, eager for a warm meal and a rest. But the moment he stepped through the door, his keen gnomish eyes caught sight of no fewer than seventeen things that needed immediate fixing.
“Ohdearohdearohdear!” he muttered to himself, his gaze darting from a squeaky door hinge to the crooked chandelier swaying gently above the patrons. "Howcananyonerunaproperestablishmentwithallthisdisrepair? Ithasn'tevengotaproperfluxmodulatorinyet!"
Without so much as a greeting to the barkeep, Thirdwin whipped out his trusted multi-tool, a contraption with more gears, springs, and dials than anyone would think possible, and scurried over to the door hinge. With a quick twist here and a tightening there, the door was moving so smoothly that it practically swung shut on its own, catching an unsuspecting patron mid-step and sending him spinning.
“Oh! Sorrysorrysorry, didn’tmeantohityou! Butjustlookatthedoor! So smooth, so precise!” Thirdwin beamed proudly, while the dazed patron shook his head in confusion. The gnome didn’t linger—there was more to be done.
Next, he spotted the bar stools—one with a loose leg, another rocking dangerously back and forth. "Now, thatwon’tdoatall!" Thirdwin exclaimed, zipping from stool to stool, tightening screws and realigning the legs until they were all perfectly stable. Unfortunately, in his enthusiasm, he adjusted one stool a bit too well—it spun with such vigor that a seated patron ended up spinning like a top, clutching the counter for dear life.
“Ohdon’tworry,that’sabuilt-infeature! You’llneverhavetoadjustittwice!” he called over his shoulder as he moved to his next target—the chandelier. It wasn’t exactly loose, but it was not perfectly balanced, and that simply wouldn’t do. Hanging onto the banister with one hand and adjusting the chandelier with the other, Thirdwin somehow managed to overcorrect it so perfectly that the entire chandelier rotated gently every few minutes, casting cozy circles of light around the room. “Ambience, you see!” he called out, wiping his brow.
By now, several patrons were watching him in bemused curiosity, and the barkeep—who had been suspicious at first—now seemed oddly entranced by the gnome’s chaotic efficiency. Then disaster struck. With a triumphant smile, Thirdwin approached the bar, intent on fixing the beer tap that “definitely wasn’t calibrated to the optimal flow rate.” A twist here, a turn there, and suddenly a geyser of ale erupted from the tap, drenching him from head to toe.
“Ahahah! A minormiscalculation!” Thirdwin sputtered, blinking through the suds. “Butlook! ThepressureisMUCHbetternow!”
The barkeep handed him a towel with a grin. “Welcome to the Inn of the Last Home, Master Gnome.”
Thirdwin took the towel with a wide smile, his eyes already darting to the next project—an uneven table leg wobbling in the corner.
“Why,thankyou! Icouldn’thelpbutnotice—well,Imean,lookatthat! Onlyasecond!”
And with that, he was off again, leaving the inn a little brighter, a little more chaotic, and with the patrons chuckling at the whirlwind of gnomish ingenuity that had swept through their evening.