Fearless voyagers and inventors of wild wonder, gnomes thrive where the land meets the sea—and often well beyond it. Living on coastlines, ships, and floating platforms, they craft lives of constant motion. Their shipwrights build vessels that defy logic, and their toymakers infuse joy and chaos in equal measure. Gnomes disdain hierarchy and delight in surprises. They are natural tinkerers, cunning traders, and exuberant storytellers. Though often underestimated, few can match a gnome in cleverness—or unpredictability.
Attributes
Gnomes receive a +1 bonus to Intellect at level one.
Language
To hear a gnome speak is to hear the wind shift direction five times in a sentence. Known as the Sea Tongue, the gnomish language is a rollicking melody of motion, color, and emotion, shaped as much by facial expression and flailing hands as it is by vowels and verbs. It’s not just a means of communication—it’s a performance.
The Sea Tongue blends the rapid precision of Japanese with the emotional musicality of Italian, forming a language that bounces, darts, and swells like waves against the hull. Gnomes speak in bursts of enthusiasm, sudden whispers, and laughing crescendos—often switching tone mid-thought. If they stop talking abruptly, it’s either because something just exploded… or because what they’re about to say will change everything.
The Sea Tongue is quick, staccato, and animated. Gnomes speak in energetic flurries, stringing idioms together like beads on a thread. The language flows like conversation aboard a crowded ship—layered, loud, and alive.
Gestures are essential. A gnome can tell a full story with half-sentences, winks, hand flourishes, and two raised eyebrows.
Volume is not rudeness. Excitement drives volume, not anger. In fact, many gnomes save their softest words for their most serious thoughts.
Idioms abound. “Cloud in a bottle,” “one more coin for the splash,” and “don’t trust a silent deck” are just a few examples. Literal translations often fail.
A single word may shift meaning with tone:
“Torivo!”
– With laughter: “Brilliant!”
– With raised brows: “You’re serious?”
– With a sigh: “We’re doomed, aren’t we?”
The Sea Tongue loves shortened phrases and compound words, especially those referencing the sea, storms, or strange events. Gnomes condense and reshape words like they do with gadgets—if it can be faster and funnier, why not?
- Umitalo — “Seahearted,” someone brave or mad (or both).
- Rimbalvo — “Bounced,” meaning things went wrong in a spectacular fashion.
- Zanfu — “A deal where everyone laughs (eventually).”
Example Phrases
“Tesoro delle onde!” – “Treasure of the waves!” (a praise, or exclamation of joy)
“Vita è un viaggio… ma occhio al timone.” – “Life is a journey… but watch the helm.”
“Mare mente, ma mai due volte.” – “The sea lies, but never twice.” (i.e., learn from mistakes)
“Sotto il sole, sopra la follia!” – “Under the sun, above the madness!” (used before doing something wild)
Cultural Insight
Gnomes believe speech is like sailing: too slow and you drift, too straight and you miss the fun. In their view, the Sea Tongue is meant to surprise, amuse, and occasionally bewilder. But behind the laughter, it can carry great wisdom, old grief, and moments of startling beauty.
A quiet sentence in Sea Tongue can carry more weight than a shouted decree, and gnomes never forget the tone, the tilt of the head, or the glint in the eye that came with it.
To speak the Sea Tongue is to ride the wind, spill a secret, kiss a storm, and grin at the gods. It’s never just words—it’s a voyage.
Names
A gnome’s name is not a static label but a living, evolving performance. Names are crafted, adjusted, exaggerated, and sometimes entirely reimagined based on mood, accomplishment, or absurd inside jokes. To a gnome, a name is a celebration of identity, and identity is a story still being written.
Where dwarves carve their names in stone and elves sing theirs into memory, gnomes prefer to paint theirs across the sky in fireworks, then rename themselves before the smoke clears.
Structure and Style
A gnomish name typically begins with a first name—often long, vowel-rich, and musical—and is followed by one or more nicknames, titles, or claims to fame. The more inventive, the better. And while the first name may remain fairly constant, the rest is fair game.
- Fenni Flipspark, the Moonlighter of the Tide-Whale
- Pimble Tinkertrout the Unsinkable Skipper of Stars
- Wizzlepop Gearsneeze the Great Navigatrix of Soggy Maps
A gnome might change or add titles depending on the day’s events, recent achievements, or whether they’re trying to impress a dinner guest or intimidate a merchant.
“I am Wizzlepop Gearsneeze the Great Navigatrix of Soggy Maps, Conqueror of the Saltpuddle, Slayer of the Giant Clam… but you can call me Wizz.”
Common Naming Themes
First Names: Often playful and overflowing with vowels. They may sound like spells or bubbles popping.
Examples: Pimble, Fenni, Wizzlepop, Lunelli, Zazoona, Beebo, Taffelwick.
Nicknames/Titles: These can include occupations, events, or complete nonsense that somehow makes perfect sense to other gnomes.
Examples: “The Unsinkable,” “Spinner of Storms,” “Toastmaster of Tidal Feasts,” “Honorary Clam Herald.”
Descriptors often reflect maritime exploits, mechanical disasters survived, or unbelievably specific achievements.
Cultural Significance
To gnomes, naming is a social art—a way of expressing joy, sharing history, and reminding others that life is meant to be lived with flair. Titles are earned, invented, swapped, gifted, and sometimes lost in card games.
A gnome with a short name might be sulking or trying to be taken seriously (a difficult task).
A gnome with too many titles might be showing off—or deflecting questions they don’t want to answer.
Among gnomes, forgetting someone’s title is forgiven—but getting it wrong is a faux pas unless you can make them laugh with your version.
Sample Gnomish Introductions
“Zazoona Driftwhistle, High Admiral of the Lost Paddle, Decorated Twice by Mistake, Finder of the Singing Crab—at your service!”
“Beebo Nibbleflip, Spinner of Storms, Maker of the Map That Bit Back, Fifth of the Name (all accidental).”
“Fenni Flipspark, Tide-Walker, Oathbound to the Floating City, Owner of Exactly One Sea Serpent Scale (long story).”
To name a gnome is to name a storm, a laugh, a leap off the bow, and a wild dream. It’s never just who they are—it’s everything they might be.
Economy
If the dwarves build with discipline and the elves with reverence, the gnomes build with wonder. To them, every object is a story in progress, every transaction a chance for delight. Their economy isn’t measured in ledgers and law—it flows, like the sea they call home: unpredictable, glittering, and full of hidden depth.
From their floating cities and ship-bound enclaves, gnomes pull sustenance from the sea—fish, seaweed, shellfish, and strange aquatic fruits—but it’s what they do with those materials that sets them apart. They are tinkerers and traders, inventors and improvisers, turning scraps of flotsam into wonders that fetch princely sums across Tambra.
Exports of Eccentric Genius
Gnomish exports are prized in every port and palace—not for their elegance or tradition, but for their sheer brilliance and unpredictability:
Ships: The finest in the world, blending craftsmanship with enchantment. Some sail on mist, others fold space, and at least one is rumored to whistle when happy.
Toys and Trinkets: Playful or practical (sometimes both), these devices might produce sparks, songs, holograms, or full-scale chaos at the flick of a lever.
Contraptions: From self-stirring soup pots to saltwater purifiers and crab-catching exosuits, gnomish inventions turn necessity into joyful utility.
Each creation is unique, often bearing the quirks and mood of its maker. Some are cobbled from coral, bone, sea-metal, or salvaged magic—and a few have minds of their own.
Currency, Trade, and the Art of the Bonus
Gnomes officially use printed paper notes as currency—colorful, often scribbled-on bills issued by the Council of Cogs and Captains. But in truth, they prefer to trade in shiny, rare, or interesting things: exotic spices, unusual maps, musical stones, or a particularly satisfying seashell.
But more than coin, gnomes believe in the bonus. No deal is complete without a little something extra.
“Life is richer when unexpected treasures are exchanged!” they say.
A bonus might be a feather, a puzzle, a joke, a riddle, or a trinket made on the spot.
Refusing to give or accept a bonus is among the greatest insults in gnomish culture, often leading to canceled trades and closed harbors.
Deals with gnomes are never dull. Prices may shift mid-negotiation—not out of deceit, but delight. A trade is an event, a dance, a memory. The goal is not profit—it’s surprise.
Armor, Weapons, and the Gear of the Deep
Gnomes don’t mass-produce. They salvage, adapt, and experiment, creating gear from the sea’s endless offerings:
Weapons: Coral daggers, bolos crafted from shells and rocks, and crossbows formed from driftwood and urchin needles.
Armor: No two suits are alike. Expect a wild blend of kelp-wrapped padding, living coral plating, and shimmering jellyfish silk. Some armor even adjusts itself over time.
Magical Enhancements: Everything hums with enchantment—some subtle, some dangerously unstable.
“A gnome’s gear is like their name—don’t expect it to stay the same tomorrow.”
The Salt Economy
Behind the laughter lies fierce ingenuity. Gnomes guard their secrets, especially the magic-and-machine methods they use to purify seawater or extract essence from living coral. These technologies are jealously protected, rarely shared, and often misrepresented in trade to keep rivals guessing.
Yet, for all their cunning, gnomes are generous to those who respect their way. Trade with them in good humor, and you’ll find unexpected wealth, wonder, and wisdom.
To enter gnomish markets is to step into a world of clattering gears, bubbling potions, flying automata, and music echoing off sails. It’s a celebration of trade, invention, and the sparkling chaos of life. And if you walk away with only what you paid for… You did it wrong.
Government
To call gnomes “ungoverned” is misleading. They are governed by whimsy, by impulse, by the weather, and the punchline of a joke told three trades ago. But that doesn’t mean they lack structure. It simply means their structure is… flexible. Fluctuating. Occasionally made of papiermâché and good intentions.
At the center of what passes for gnomish governance is the Council of Cogs and Captains, a semiofficial body that somehow exists without a roster, a constitution, or any real consensus. It meets when it feels like it, where it feels like it—often aboard the largest, noisiest ship in port—and its members may include shipwrights, spice barons, mapmakers, jellyfish wranglers, and whoever has the most colorful hat that week.
No one really knows who is on the council, how decisions are made, or even if the same people attend two meetings in a row. But the Council speaks for the gnomes… sometimes.
Leadership by Laughter
Gnomes have a longstanding cultural habit of declaring themselves leaders—“Commodore of the Outer Waves,” “High Admiral of the Floating Bazaar,” or “Executive Mirthmarshal of Left-Handed Spices.” These declarations are often met with applause, fireworks, and ceremonial feasts… and then promptly forgotten by the next tide.
“We gave him a crown made of crab legs. That counts, doesn’t it?”
In truth, no one is really in charge. The gnomes enjoy the spectacle of leadership—the titles, the banners, the speeches shouted from ship prows—but they are not particularly interested in being led. As a culture, gnomes prefer suggestions to orders, and improvisation to law. Rules are for writing, breaking, or rewriting again.
The Council of Cogs and Captains
Role: Acts as a voice (or several voices) for the gnomish fleets and floating cities, especially when dealing with outsiders who insist on “talking to someone in charge.”
Members: Whoever shows up, speaks loudest, or arrives with the best snacks.
Decisions: Often made by majority cheer, impromptu danceoff, or “winner of the squidtoss.”
Despite the chaos, the Council can occasionally unite the gnomes, especially in times of great crisis, or if someone threatens their trade routes or floating taverns. When rallied, the gnomes are shockingly effective… for about three days, after which everyone gets bored and starts building fireworks again.
Law, Order, and Other Distractions
Gnomes aren’t fond of rules. Not because they are rebellious, though many are, but because they believe too many rules dull the sparkle of life. Instead of laws, they live by customs, rhythms, and a shared understanding of what’s fun and what’s foul.
Crime is rare, not because it’s outlawed, but because gnomes quickly punish bad behavior with social ridicule, prank wars, or total ostracization from the bonus economy.
Contracts are written in colorful ink, often burned at the edges, and signed with flourishes that might explode.
Conflicts are settled by duels, debates, or competitive storytelling.
In Truth, the Tides Rule
Ultimately, gnomish society is guided less by government and more by momentum—the pull of the next port, the whisper of a storm, the invention no one asked for but now everyone needs.
They may call meetings, vote with juggling balls, and shout at charts—but deep down, every gnome knows the truth: the sea governs all, and gnomes merely ride its moods with laughter, luck, and loosely laminated bylaws.
To understand gnomish government is to realize it’s not about control—it’s about cooperation without coercion, celebration without centralization, and the joy of building a floating circus and calling it a democracy.
Locations
To understand the Ocean Kingdom is to understand movement. The gnomes who call it home are not tethered by borders or bricks, but by currents, trade winds, and tales half-sung over crashing waves. Their kingdom is not a fixed land—it is a living flotilla of innovation, unpredictability, and adventure.
Saltworn Shores — The City That Leans into the Sea
Perched precariously where land forgets itself and the sea begins, Saltworn Shores is the Ocean Kingdom’s chaotic and colorful capital. A harbor city in perpetual motion, it’s a mad tangle of tilted taverns, towering drydocks, and ramshackle shops stacked like driftwood castles.
Sights & Sounds: Rope bridges swing overhead, pulley elevators rattle between rooftops, and seashell mosaics glint in every direction. Mechanical clanks mix with gull cries and the roar of trade.
Population: Mostly gnomes, but also a daring mix of humans, elves, and the occasional dwarf seeking repairs, inspiration, or escape.
Government: The Council of Cogs and Captains meets in Saltworn’s tallest lighthouse-turned-tavern, where every session begins with a toast and ends in a shouting match. Decisions may or may not be enforced.
Saltworn Shores isn’t just a city—it’s a storm made permanent, and everyone is invited to ride the wind.
Zephyrwake — The Floating Phantom City
Whispered in sailor bars and spoken of in riddles, Zephyrwake is the mythical floating city of the gnomes. Though it is real, few outsiders have ever seen it, and fewer still remember where.
Description: A vast network of ships, floating gardens, and wind-powered platforms drifts constantly across Tambra’s oceans. Some say it flies; others say it sails between dimensions.
Magic & Engineering: Zephyrwake is held aloft by wind magic, clever ballast manipulation, and the willpower of thousands of gnomes.
Purpose: To the gnomes, Zephyrwake is freedom—the beating heart of their culture, away from politics and permanence.
When it appears, it’s usually by invitation or mistake. And when it vanishes, it does so with the mist and the laughter of disappearing sails.
The Freewake — Nomads of the Open Sea
The Freewake is not a place but a people: a roaming fleet of gnome ships that travels like a school of celebratory fish across Tambra’s oceans. Made up of dozens of independent ships, each with its own culture, the Freewake is united by a shared love of the sea, freedom, and absurdity.
Traditions: Each ship has a unique flag, a ship-song, and its own “weird rule of the waves.” But all pledge aid to one another in storm or skirmish.
Culture: They host massive floating festivals, complete with market ships, dueling barges, and fireworks launched from jellyfish-shaped cannons.
Among them sails the infamous Captain Fenni “Starwhisker” Brambleblast aboard the Whimsy’s Woe—a living legend of luck, riddles, and gust-powered getaways.
Tinker’s Dock
A floating shipyard at the mouth of the Silverleaf River. Built from rafts and anchored barges, it’s a chaotic haven of inventors, smugglers, and traders. The air is thick with sawdust, salt, and steam. Need something custom-built overnight? Tinker’s Dock is the place.
Glittercove Bastion
A sturdy coastal outpost flashing signal lights across the sea. Here, young gnomes are trained to decode flags, fire flares, and spot sails before they crest the horizon. Part lighthouse, part lookout, part open-air academy.
Pebbletide
A pint-sized port town balanced between tide-slick rocks and floating pontoons. Its main attraction is the Bobbing Bazaar, a floating market where vendors row between stalls. Home to:
Pindle Merrywhistle, seller of (mostly fake) cursed artifacts.
Captain Wrenna Tidewick, a retired pirate who teaches kids to “listen to the sea” and tie one-handed knots behind their backs.
The Howling Shoals
A stretch of reef where wind and tide whistle through hollow coral, creating eerie, beautiful music. Some say the shoals sing to lonely hearts. Others say they sing for them.
Starwhale Graveyard
A sacred, silent place where the skeletons of great sea beasts drift below the deep. Navigation stars seem to align when passing overhead. Said to be guarded by the souls of the whales themselves, and home to lost magics of the sea.
The Wandering Islands
A cluster of lush, floating isles that never stay in the same place. Sailors say entire towns have vanished within them. Some believe Zephyrwake refuels here—others believe the islands are alive.
Minor Rivers
Wanderdrift Stream: A calm, slow river beloved by inventors for transporting delicate prototypes downstream to Tinker’s Dock.
Sandwhistle Creek: Trickles into hidden sea coves, occasionally used by smugglers and poets alike.
The Ocean Kingdom is not a nation. It is a movement. A rhythm. A chorus of waves and whistles and laughter carried on the wind. Its cities drift, its rulers toast the stars, and its stories are told in sea spray and stormlight.
Current Tensions and Story Hooks
The Vanishing of Zephyrwake
Rumors swirl across the ports: Zephyrwake, the mythical floating city of the gnomes, hasn’t been seen in over a year. Even the Freewake can’t find it, and secret signals have gone unanswered.
Theory 1: Some believe the city has sailed into a magical storm or dimension beyond reach.
Theory 2: Others fear it was hijacked by a rogue faction—Freewake radicals or worse.
Theory 3: Stranger still, whispers of a second Zephyrwake have begun circulating, one built in secret… with unknown intentions.
A member of the Council of Cogs and Captains discreetly hires the party to locate Zephyrwake—or whatever’s become of it. Along the way, they’ll need to navigate secret Freewake ports, decode floating messages, and possibly sail through a storm that shifts space and time.
Rise of the Leviathan Cult
In the deep water near the Starwhale Graveyard, strange phenomena are being reported: vanishing ships, glowing tides, and the sound of drums beneath the waves.
Now, a new cult has emerged among some Freewake sailors—one that worships an ancient sea leviathan, claiming it will return to restore “the old tide.”
They’ve begun sabotaging trade routes, sinking rival ships, and scrawling barnacle-ridden symbols onto docks and lighthouses.
Some claim they’ve learned to summon deep-sea monsters using enchanted music made from starwhale bone.
The Council needs a quiet strike team to infiltrate the cult before they attempt a full-scale ritual. Or worse—perhaps the party is sent to recruit the cult for help… only to discover what they truly serve.
The Pirate Queen’s Gambit
Captain Fenni “Starwhisker” Brambleblast has always danced on the edge of loyalty, chaos, and charisma—but now, she’s made a bold move: she’s declared the Freewake a sovereign power.
Most think it’s a joke. She gave the speech from a rotating throne made of cannonballs.
But her fleet is growing, and several ships once loyal to the Council now fly her sigil.
Worse, she’s brokered a secret deal with a dwarf merchant guild and a human admiral, creating an unofficial naval alliance no one saw coming.
The Council wants to stop her without making her a martyr. They task the players with infiltrating the Whimsy’s Woe as new crew, uncovering her plans, and… if needed, helping her forget them.
But what if Fenni’s gamble isn’t madness, but exactly the kind of unifying vision the Ocean Kingdom truly needs?
Affinities
The gnomes of Tambra are as unpredictable as the sea they sail—and so too are their magical affinities. Among them, magic is not a solemn calling but a living current of play, experimentation, and improvisation. Where others see boundaries between the primal forces, gnomes see infinite opportunity for mischief, movement, and mayhem.
They are most commonly aligned with Trickery, Water, and Air, weaving these forces into their inventions, trades, and tales. More elusive affinities—Death, Darkness, and Truth—are not unheard of, but are treated with a mix of curiosity, caution, and whispered jokes.
The Tale of Tides and Tinkering
First told by Captain Whizzlestitch, as the sails caught flame and the soup caught fire
Ahem!
Long before bubbles, before bells rang and whirred,
The world was a whisper, not even a word.
No sails in the sky, no soup in the pot,
No giggles, no goggles—just nothing. A lot.
Then—zap!—came a shimmer, a shimmer became
A pop in the dark, then a whistle, then flame!
Light twirled in circles, then slipped on its face,
And fell into Darkness—they kissed—and gave chase.
From twinkle and tumble came Earth with a bump,
Then Water went sploosh, and Fire gave a thump.
Wind whooshed in laughing, said, “Now we can play!”
And Nature said, “Fine, but don’t blow me away.”
They danced and they darted, then kaboom, Life began—
First a fish, then a frog, then a talking tin can.
“Oho,” said the cosmos, “this isn’t so bad,”
Then Death poked his head in and everyone scattered.
But with Life came a question, and Thought said, “Hold tight!”
So Truth took the stage, shining terribly bright.
And Trickery whispered, “I’ve heard that before…”
Then rewrote the ending and scuttled the lore.
So here we are spinning, still chasing that spark,
With ships in the mist and a song in the dark.
And maybe the world is a joke with no punch,
But we’ll build it again—after second lunch!
Trickery — The Gnomish Signature
To be gnome-born is to dance with deception, not malice, but mirth. Trickery is the most common and celebrated Affinity among gnomes, manifesting in illusions, misdirection, enchantments, and pranks that border on artistry.
Illusions and glamours are used not only in defense but also in storytelling, trade, and even engineering.
Trickery-affine gnomes may create holographic maps, decoy ships, or enchanted riddles that unlock hidden doors.
Among the Freewake and in Saltworn Shores, high Trickery mages are often appointed as “Harbormasters of Misdirection” or “Grand Jesters of the Third Truth.”
“If it doesn’t sparkle, change shape, or tell a lie with style, it’s not gnomish magic.”
Water — Fluidity, Change, and Cunning
Second only to Trickery is Water—an Affinity that mirrors the gnome’s love of adaptability, trade, and tides. Gnomes of the Water Affinity are often inventors, sailors, and diplomats who channel flow both literal and social.
They conjure mist to shroud ships, ice to preserve fish, and manipulate waves to navigate or escape.
Some are healers or purification specialists, maintaining the Ocean Kingdom’s closely-guarded desalination secrets.
Water Affine gnomes often work as storm guides and current speakers, using their connection to the sea and sky to find paths no compass could ever chart.
Air — Windriders and Skycallers
Gnomes love heights, ropes, sails, and speed—so it’s no surprise that Air is another common Affinity, especially among Freewake captains and Zephyrwake engineers.
They craft gust-cannons to accelerate ships, summon breezes to fill dead sails, or use sudden updrafts to leap rooftop to rooftop.
Some learn to glide, hover, or even briefly ride lightning storms with reckless glee.
Among Air Affines, there is a common saying: “The best ideas strike like thunder. No time to think—only act.”
Rare Affinities: Death, Darkness, and Truth
These three Affinities are uncommon—and culturally uncomfortable—in gnomish society. Not because they are inherently feared, but because they carry a seriousness that gnomes instinctively push back against.
Death is treated with solemn whimsy—gnomes believe in remembering the dead through laughter and legacy, not shadowy power. Those attuned to Death are often gravekeepers, bone-bards, or whispering diviners, treated with cautious reverence.
Darkness is rarely embraced, but some gnomes who sail alone or scavenge at night have found comfort in it. Their magic leans toward concealment and dimly glowing bioluminescence rather than fear or dread.
Truth is the rarest of all—gnomes value clever lies over rigid honesty, preferring truths revealed through stories, not interrogation. Gnomes with a Truth Affinity are often misunderstood, even by their kin, and may serve as counselors, contract-witnesses, or reluctant judges in the Council of Cogs and Captains.
“If you’re telling the truth, at least make it entertaining.”
Philosophy of Affinity
For gnomes, magic is not about control—it’s about curiosity. Affinities are discovered through mishaps, moments of joy, or epiphanies halfway through an invention gone horribly right.
Children aren’t trained to pursue a specific force; they’re encouraged to play with all of them until one whispers back with a wink.
“Magic’s a storm. The best you can do is catch the flash and ride the roar.”
To be a gnome is to breathe illusions, surf the wind, and laugh at limits. Their affinities may twist and tumble like a trick coin, but land true when it matters most.