The Gnome Miniaturists
The dwarven and gnomish civilizations have, from the beginning, been shaped by their complex and often hostile relationship with the Matras, the inorganic people of the southern part of their continent.
Finding ways to deal with these encumbering neighbors, either diplomatically or militarily, has been a driving force in the advancement of the technological and arcane capabilities of the dwarven and gnomish nations for the past nine centuries. Several different artificer disciplines have emerged over this period, and- ever since the pioneering artificing techniques of the Ur-Artificers Brukar of the First City and Kiriç of the Original Sheikhdom- the dwarven artificers have chosen to specialize in large, mighty constructs, while the gnomes have opted for the small and precise.
A clear example of this trend is the gnomish miniaturist tradition. These artificers have mastered the creation of tiny constructs both amusing and practical. The applications of these devices in the arts and entertainment are those that jump to mind first and foremost- after all, clockwork toys and curios are popular across the continents, and the gnomes’ miniature homunculi are simply exquisitely sophisticated iterations of such trinkets.
But gnomish miniaturists have gone far beyond this conception, not limiting themselves to simple music boxes or refined puppets. Instead, they have discovered the pinnacle of their craft in the Cabinet of Wonders.
The Cabinet of Wonders is a piece of furniture, roughly the size and shape of a small wardrobe, which contains a miniature theatre stage- and not only the stage, but a full theater troupe as well. These little actors are tiny constructs crafted from a special paste of wax, elemental dust, and acacia gum. Each is about as tall as the palm of a hand, with a tiny costume to match. The actors and their movements are realistic and natural, and they can perform entire plays while accounting for changes in costumes and scenarios. The most basic Cabinets require a bard to operate and are soundless, with the “director” providing narrations and musical accompaniment for the pantomime. But, if one is willing to shell out enough money, there exist fully automated armoires capable of replicating voices and music, even coming programmed with several different plays from which to choose.
The most famous Cabinet of Wonders is likely the Operarmoire, an immensely complicated machine gifted from the Holy Infernal Emperor to his wife. The Empress, sick and unable to leave her room, could not go to the theater. Thus, her devoted husband commissioned a Cabinet of Wonders able to stage three of her favorite operas, with music ringing from the mouths of the tiny tenors and sopranos and a minuscule orchestra on minuscule instruments. It’s said that the construction of the Operarmoire cost as much as that of a castle.
The Cabinets are not only exports, but one of the most beloved forms of entertainment within the Sheikhdoms, on par with the Theatrum Obscura and Picture Globes. These miniature plays showcase a mastery of artificing through the intricate homunculi and take full advantage of their materiality. Slapstick comedies featuring prank falls and silly accidents are very popular, as well as tragedies full of gore and violence (a crowd always goes wild for well-executed dismemberment and blood splatter). Salacious erotic plays also feature in the cupboards of seedy inns and decadent harems.
A number of Cabinet plays possess an unmistakable tinge of cruelty, with mini-performers partaking in humiliating or violent acts. Most evidently, this is a way to take advantage of the artificial nature of the actors, as they are able to perform and survive actions that flesh-and-blood actors could not. But there’s something more to this strange comedy.
The traveling scholar Naberius Vox once noted that “more even than the felinar, the gnomes of the Sheikhdoms possess the humor of cats. They find a cold amusement in the misfortune of others, like a cat might find in a bird struggling in its clutches, or in the distraught face of the owner of a vase it has just shattered.” And while this statement may be a little melodramatic, there is undoubtedly a sadistic streak in many of the sheikhdoms’ favorite miniature spectacles.
The most egregious example that corroborates this view is the Dinner Theater, where actors made of edible pastes perform for and then are eaten by the guests. Constructs of cheese, aspic, and ground meat are programmed to attempt to flee and beg for their lives, a spectacle that amuses many gnomish diners and horrifies most foreigners.
Even more unsettling is that sheikhdom artificers never craft their homunculi in the shapes of gnomes- miniature performers may bear the images of orcs and elves, infernals and celestials, dwarves and matra, but never, ever gnomes.
The Gnomish Miniaturists don’t create their homunculi solely to entertain and demonstrate their mastery, but they also employ them as precision tools.
An artificer can guide a homunculus and use the creature’s eyes as her own, obtaining the same magnifying effects as a lens. The homunculi’s small hands are like sophisticated tweezers, able to manipulate microscopic objects.
Through the medium of work done by tiny constructs, a miniaturist can make spell-casting foci or magical objects of unbelievably small size: such as nails painted with magic scrolls, wands that can be inserted under the skin of somebody’s arm, a dental capsule containing a pocket dimension, a magic sigil tattooed inside the ear canal.
Like the actor homunculi who are able to perform plays on their own, so other kinds of these tiny golems can also work autonomously. For example, there are “sewing kits” that consist of minuscule tailors and seamstresses who are able to embroider exquisitely fine designs on dresses. Similarly, there are kits with potter painters, clock repairers, lockpickers… The box that these mini-workers come in is where their instructions are stored. The key element is the special plywood from which the boxes are made, formed out of hundreds of thin sheets of wood, inscribed with magic sigils glued together with alchemical adhesives.
There are even medical kits with minuscule surgeons, doctors, and nurses able to cure the wounded and help the ill. But magic always has a degree of unpredictability and these homunculi must always be supervised by a Gnomish expert. Because after all, it’s one thing to botch the needlework on a napkin, quite another to mess up the sutures on somebody’s artery!
The most wondrous examples of these sorts of working homunculi were those who worked in the Other Library of Sheik Çift Kitap. In the 17th Century, the Sheik ordered a miniaturized replica of his vast book collection, using homunculi as copyists and librarians. The Sheik wanted to be able to ask any question and have the librarian easily bring him the volumes that contained the answer. The idea was to then go to the library and find the regular-sized book, but Çift Kitap was so enamored of the tiny replicas that neglected the “actual library” and focused on collecting only miniatures.
The story goes that he started traveling, making his army of mini-copyists transcribe the books of his hosts without permission. But one day he tried to “steal” from the wrong place: the Enigma Library. The Sheik disappeared on the streets of Mizani and there are many poems, plays, and operas depicting all the ways that he could have been dispatched by the Matras that curate it. Some people are still skeptical and think this is only a tale to scare book-borrowers into behaving, though.
It must also be said that the tiny size of the homunculi makes them perfect for mischievous activity, some of it much more dreadful than unauthorized book copying! For example, the Sessiz-el, the Silent Hand, is a gnomish sect of spies and assassins famous for using homunculi in their missions. An innocent-looking tinder box resting on the fireplace can contain a miniature assassin beneath a false bottom. The homunculus lacks in strength, it makes up for in stealth and precision, killing its sleeping victim with a surgical cut to a major artery.
Also infamous are the homunculi made of poisonous plasticine. These will prowl a busy kitchen to find a pot or a jug to dive into and dissolve, contaminating the food.
Additionally, if the Silent Hand want to send a message, they won’t mess around: some homunculi will wait to be found near their victims and hand a folded paper to a survivor detailing the reason for the assassination.
