It was the Day of the Boar, in the year 3302 in Norrath. Adventurers, both the mundane and the mighty, ran about, attempting to make the world a better place, while others plotted to make it better, but for themselves. Our story begins, and ends, in an orc- and gnoll-filled place known as the High Pass, the most commonly travelled link between the two halves of the Antonican continent.
Here we observe a lively Gnome, in a profession uncommon to his race, upon the Freeport side of the pass, engaged in battle with a party of friends against the Shralok Orcs. He was of the Gemcutters faction, the Warrior Guild of Ak'Anon, the gnomish home. His centaur-Crafted armor, embedded with enchanted gemstones to empower his abilities, shone blue in contrast to the sickly green of orc flesh as his quick, but small, blades parried and darted about the Shralok's defenses. Not far away, his friends were ensconsced in a larger battle, amidst a thick throng of orcflesh and orcblood. He had broken away from them to stop this orc, one of the more powerful of the Shralok Clan, from joining in the fray until the lesser orcs died away.
A powerful fist brought his vision back to the Shralok, whom carried a giant halberd which he swung at the gnome's swivelling head. A twist of his body had him out of danger's way, and a grin, hidden by his steel-white helm, adorned his lips as he saw assistance coming. The orc never heard the high-pitched whistling of the dagger as it sailed into his back, driving him forward a step in confusion, right onto the properly placed Ku'juch of the gnome. The branch-like blades dug deep into the orc leader's belly, splattering the gnome with green ichor the orcs called blood. An arrow sizzled over his head, slamming into the orc's face, driving him back several steps. His minions dead, the rest of the party - three elves, two Feir and one Koada, a Dwarf, and a Human - came at him. Fear in the orc's eyes, he started to flee, but found his feet entangled in several weeds. Larger blades found deadly marks, and the chieftan fell, conquered at last.
The gnome, Xtis by name, slid back several feet, reaching up with one little hand, a mischevious, hidden grin on his face as he pinched the bum of one of the elves, a female Ranger named Teneel, through her shiny leather pants. She swatted at his hand, and cried 'Damn Imp!' in jest, as she usually did when he did this. This was their last kill, another party waiting nearby, comprised mostly of halflings, and they were on a rotation set by the guards of the High Pass, whom had not enough manpower to stop the flow of orcs from the Kithicor Forest. This was before the opening of the rift into the Plane of Hate, when Kithicor was a safe place to wander through, if a bit empty, and less fearsome creatures roamed.
Smiling down at him, Teneel also bopped him on the head, hurting her hand on the steel helm, but not really caring. It set Xtis' ears to ringing nevertheless, and he gave her a quick slap on the area he had so recently pinched, before moving out of the orc area with the rest of his party, the small group that had been waiting rotating in. They were quick to rush off and sell their gear, except for him - surprisingly, he was stronger than all but the Dwarf in the party, and was content with his load. No, his eyes were elsewhere, settled on a shadow, where a form he knew so well was crouched. He told the Dwarf to send a messenger when it was their turn again, and quickly wandered away from the Waiting Wall, towards a large rock in a niche of the surrounding mountain. High Pass was carved through a mountain, and protected the High Keep, from which Carson McCabe made his law evenly between Qeynos and Freeport. That is to say half of his guards were on the payroll of the Freeport Militia, and another half on the payroll of the Bloodsabers, one aligned with the Dark, Teir, Elves, and one with the plague-worshippers.
A form melted out of the shadows as he approached, a bulky form crouched in the darkness, a pleasant smile on her lovely face as she watched the gnome come forth. Xtis removed his helm and tossed it into one of his packs as he came forward, and, crouched though she was, he still had to stand upon the tips of his plate-booted toes to reach her mouth and kiss her.
"Haielle! So nice of you to join us, when I've been waiting for hours for you." Xtis' voice came forth in a happy bubble of noise, making the woman smile. And woman she was! She stood slowly, unfurling from her crouched position, all the way up to her seven foot height, in comparison to Xtis' three and a half. He took the opportunity to scramble up the rock nearby so that he was eye-level with her, though just barely.
Haielle's rich, smooth voice came easily, her chainmail shimmering down her voluptuous form as she leaned back against the wall, drawing the gnome's eyes to places they really shouldn't have been. "You need to learn patience, little Cee, otherwise you'll have no supper tonight." A teasing grin on her full lips, she drew the gnome up onto her, kissing his bulbous nose. It was a ridiculous sight, both from a distance and close-up, a gnome and a Barbarian intimate like so. Neither of them really cared how they looked, but found it just as amusing as the rest of the world of Norrath. The smallest and the largest, and Haielle was most definitely one of the larger of her hardy people. And a member of the White Wolves, the Scout (aka Thief) guild of Halas, her frozen home. This writer dares any of you to take all of these facts into consideration and suppress a smile, or even a chuckle, as he mentions the old adage, 'opposites attract.'
Xtis hopped smoothly from Haielle's bosom and took her hand, tugging on it. "Come with me, Haielle. I have a room booked at the inn, I need to talk to you." Bemused, and curious, the Barbarian woman allowed herself to be led to the inn of High Pass, and up the stairs, smiling at the familiar face of the bartender, whom returned it knowingly. He knew the little Gnome's plan, had given him advice on how to properly do it, though, knowing the gnome as he did, his advice would likely be ignored.
The room was bedecked with but a single bed and a dresser, as the inn was a Halfway Point, one of those places most people only stop in at for a night before continuing. The road from Qeynos to Freeport, and vice versa, was long, so long that it took almost a fortnight by foot. These places were godsends to the travellers walking the long, lonely path, but tonight, it was to be more.