Being a recent race to the world of Jade, Gnelves are not known widely for their heroics. In fact, most of the heroes they claim as their own are only known to those that historically need to know outside of their realm. Yet, the general feeling for Gnelves goes without saying: unacceptable. Elves, care not for them and refuse to admit any lineage. Humans look upon them with disdain, but curiosity keeps them interested. Gnomes befriend and trade with them. Anyone else could care less for the Gnelven race, except Dwarves. Dwarves respect them much for their capabilities, but generally are annoyed by them. For many years, they refused any association with the Gnelven persons, until one day, an unusual fellow, crossed paths with them. It was this crossing that made history and it was the Gnelven race that saved a race of dwarves from certain elimination. This unusual fellow, a gnelf, is referred to by many dwarves as the "Dwarf that Wasn't". This is the story of Benton Twogut.

The real story of Benton Twogut began when the Clan Wars were just under way. The Wars themselves lasted some sixty years and involved the Mountain and Hill dwarven races. Over sorts of time, the rival races although not different in likeness, developed a form of hate for the other. A good portion of this hatred developed out of anger towards a defecting prince named Sands Ka Mone. This dwarf desired freedom of the ideals and strict order of his father and kingdom. Thus, this freedom ended out in the open sky when he and several others defected from Durak, the mountain kingdom. As time passed and the new race developed the other launched attacks upon the hill dwarven societies. Hatred burnished and eventually turned into a series of battles initiated by the Durakan Kingdom. Then, one day the hill dwarves retaliated. This resulted in yearlong episodes of battle with little success on either end. Thus, the hill dwarves created patrols as early warning devices if their fellows attacked again. It was one of these patrols that our supposed hero began his story.

Benton then was just a young lad then. He was a robust fellow with a rather round belly and cheeks more rosy than a young Gnelf should have at such a young age. He even had scraggy tufts of beard hair that were premature and unlike other gnelves. His unusual appearance is what made him a solitary gnelf. This solitude allowed him to invent ideas of significance that one day forced him to trek away from his home and north into the hill dwarven borders. One idea was to attempt to sell gnelven ale-wines to dwarves to develop a business venture of his with eventual trade development between the two races. With his knowledge of the wars occurring in the north, Benton intended to get mixed up with a dwarven patrol or caravan to begin his new venture. One day, his wish was granted and he bumped into a patrol of hill dwarves from the Kar Suum clans (these are more of a broad shouldered clan of hill dwarves). The air was abuzz with tension until the gnelf made the first move by tapping his keg of ale-wine and drawing a mug. The dwarves sniffed the air with apparent displeasure and scoffed. Little did he know of the insult he thrust upon them; for the dwarven way is to draw a mug for others before you draw one for yourself.

"What kind of dung hopps ye got there? Do ye Gnelven punks always put fruity flavors in yer beer?"

Of course Benton looked very offended, but at the same time, he admired the stout fellows. Not only did they appear very powerful in size; they also had very thick and long beards. Grabbing at his own tufts of beard hair made him feel self-conscious. They all chuckled at his sheepish look, but he puffed up his chest and spoke.

"If you can show me better, I'll never sell flavored brew again."

The dwarves of course rolled about in laughter, but nevertheless, they got off their stocky ponies and patted him on the back. Although they aborted their patrol duty, nobody was around to accost them of it. Soon, they were trying his ale-wine and noted the large differences between his and their own. All the dwarves disliked the gnelven ale-wine, but to them it was still liquor. Soon, the group was around a campfire and enjoying themselves. Many noted how much the young gnelf resembled the young lads in their own villages. Even his personality, despite being gnelvish, was more relaxed. Benton drew in their mannerisms like a sponge and soon was speaking like them. It was then he negotiated with them to take him to their home and show him how they brewed ales. He wanted to know what was good ale to a dwarf desperately. Eventually, the stubborn fellows decided to take the gnelf back with them and learn him some lessons on ale and great hops. Once there, commotion was brought forth, but eventually the dwarves settled into him and tolerated his presence. They eventually showed him their hops and still he was amazed. Never had he seen grain so thick. He had also never been this close to a dwarven community. It amazed him and filled him with dreams so thick his head clouded with them. It was then, that the revelation came to him. He wanted to be just like them. Sure he was taller, but could grow a beard and he was big for a Gnelf. So Benton stayed with the dwarves learning about them that day and night. Several of the dwarves disliked him for remaining longer than he was allowed. However, annoying as he was, the more they learned to like or tollerate him, for he was gruff and quite strong. His strength being his best asset allowed him to work with the dwarves in helping build things in the community and learn how to swing a hammer like every other dwarf. It was then that Benton asked to be trained by them in the arts of war and battle.

Years had passed and Benton had not yet returned home. His desire to be a dwarf was odd, but at the same time admirable by the dwarven community. His likeness to them was so impressive, that even the dwarven females considered him a dwarf. Benton had worked hard with a dwarven made double bladed axe. His arms became so strong that they bulged out his old clothing. His belly slimmed down, his face weathered and hardened, and his legs stayed on the ground more often than not. Benton’s favorite days were out with the dwarven warriors to take on the local orcan communities further to the north. Because of Benton's height, he had a slight advantage over the dwarves when swinging a blade. He soon became a dwarven favorite among the community for the many orcs he had proffered heads from. It was more even than Rangar Leadhead, the town's leader and commander of the army. Rather angered by this, Rangar in his jealousy forced the gnelf into several precarious situations. Yet, Benton managed out of them like he were something more than a spirit placed on this planet. So not to be embarrassed, Rangar forced the gnelf to leave the Kar Suum clans, though he was not exiled. Several of the local dwarves were angered by this action and actually left with Benton. Yet, their desire for home forced them back and only three remained with the gnelf in the end. These dwarves were middle-aged members that seemed to seek business ventures. All three assumed that the gneven populace could be coerced into evolving into dwarven nature as well. So they sought to sell their wares in their lands of gnelven forests.

Time passed, the dwarves and Benton had found a home to reside in, but failed to convince the gnelven people that their wares were worth buying into. The three dwarves having been quite restless due to the lack of profits, considered leaving until one day a gnelven lord of sorts found dwarven treasures to be some sort of new fad. Jewelry, arms, leatherwork, and even clothing made by the dwarves were bought in large quantities. A week or so later, the dwarves were immersed in gnelven nobles seeking to be the first persons to style the dwarven wares. Thus business became profitable and gnelves came from all over to buy from the dwarven salesmen. They, to this day have a pair of shops and an Inn in a suburb of Antlere that are called Dwarven Threads, the Fist and Anvil, and the Three-Beard Inn.

Benton enjoyed these times greatly, but with the Clan Wars carrying on up north and his people’s lack of fighting prowess, he began to be troubled on a daily basis. This made him look even gruffer, more grumpy, and full of sarcastic animosity towards his own people. These feelings he contained until he burst in anger one day at a local pastry celebration. Here, he yelled profanities at his people, for their lack of focus and battle prowess in times of need. As he was yelling at him a frosty doughnut hit him in the head and knocked him clean silly. After he was revived, an idea struck him. Why not bring dwarves into town to help train his people. Sure, they were impatient with gnelves in general, but insert the word ‘profit’ and a bunch of the stout fellows will come running to help. He stood and left the confused people without time to apologize and instead made haste to prepare for a trip to Kar Suum.

A month later, success was at hand, as Benton managed to convince that the gnelves had tradable goods and plenty need for other wares to purchase. Taking his dwarven comrades back with him, Benton managed to get back in time for Harvest Festival. Which is the perfect time to work new products into gnelven hands, why woudn’t ideas be any different. With this plan, he did nothing more than succeed in convincing the local police chief to at least train his goons with better swordsman ship. Gnelves were already great bowman, so they needed little training here other than smithing the arrowheads. With more time, a few of the more stalwart and curious citizens managed to come and learn how to fight for and defend their country. It is this first act that made Benton Twogut known to gnelven peoples. The second act follows.

After some seven years of profitable business and building a training academy known as Aspen Fighting Force, Benton seemed restless once again. However, this time the call came to him. Apparently, his friends in the north were in dire circumstances and needed his help. Without thinking, he grabbed his battleaxe and stole away with a troupe of his first ever, trained warriors, Troupe 2. Troupe 1, unfortunately was the local police force and he could borrow them. His 3rd Troupe could handle the training facility easily since they had six years experience and the newest recruits, Troupe 17, still needed a commander for support. Thus, the stout gnelf left his home to help his friends in Kar Suum.

Less than a week later, the group of thirty-four, (Gnelves oddly make their troupes thirty-three persons, with one leader. They call a garrison, three troupes plus one leader to make one hundred.) arrived just outside of Kar Suum. Here, he left them in hiding while he managed to creep up to village to make himself known to those of his friends. The only person to welcome him was Rangar Leadhead, the dwarf that disliked him due to personal jealousy. Oddly enough, he was the one that sent the message. Apparently, the town lacked enough strong men to handle the current assault by a nearby mountain dwarf force. They were nearly outnumbered three to one at this point with little help from the remaining hill dwarf clans nearby. These clans had their own issues and could spare nothing. Thus, it was Rangar’s own idea that ago them to this point. Benton clasps arms with the dwarf to show respect and nodded.

“I’ve a troupe of thirty-three with me now Rangar. We’ll help wherever you need it. They are seven years trained, excellent bow and spear skills, handy with short swords and staves, but lack battle hardening like your fellows. They’re the best I have right now.”

Rangar seemed disappointed in the lack of numbers, but managed to cough out his acceptance.

“We’ll take what we can. Set yer camp in town and take up the northeast quarter for support. That is where we’ll most likely get hit the most since most of the homes there are made of wood. Just know that our brethren dislike flame as much as they dislike us. They’ll most likely avoid the stone homes and hid us hardest in the supply shacks on yer side. Defend well and defer command to Commander Brock there. He controls the force there, but will allow yer men to take orders from ye.”

Benton did as he was told, moved his men into town, made camp, and reported to this Commander Brock. Once found, the gnelf was amiably surprised by the view in front of him. This dwarf was female. She looked upon him with confusion at first and then a knowing look crosses her features.

“Benton! It’s been a few years. Look at ye, yer as strong as ye were when I first remember ye.”

Again, Benton is surprised. Not only does he not recognize her, but also he couldn’t place her. She smirks in a funny way at this and then recognition dawns. Rangar’s eldest niece now stands before him. Brock was her last name, Liquid was her first name. Her name was meant to sound like molten rock. A bit surprised, he jumps out and hugs the smirking dwarven female. She grumbles under combed tufts of sideburn hair. Yet, she returned the hug. She’ll never admit it, but she had a crush on this gnelf at that time long ago. Despite all this, her dwarven instincts come forth and she pushes him away knowing her job comes first.

“Ok friend. Glad ye could help, but we have to avoid making a show here. I’m a commander now. I guess my uncle sent ye to help over…”

She pauses just as she sees the gnelven troupe of thirty-three. THEY looked like gnelves. It sure is surprising how Benton didn’t.

“Benton, take yer men to front lines and help them with spearing. I suggest that ye…”

Benton interrupts her suddenly.

“Commander, I believe that we are better set in the read. All of us are expert archers and can launch three volleys before the first hits the enemy. We then can move forward if you need.”

Commander Brock is a bit perturbed by being interrupted, but she stuffs it down realizing he is more right than she can admit. Having archers may change the tide of the battle when it comes as well. She nods and allows him to position his men as he will. Then, she lets herself fall into the old days and begins to grin. How she wondered what happened to him. Now RantoR has brought him back. Now what…

Soon, the sounds of boots upon stone are heard echoing throughout the region as an oversized garrison of mountain dwarves moves in for the attack. An old dwarven war tune lights up the air as they come forth. The hill dwarves match it with their own giving the great Ka Mone his respect. Soon the air is alight with electricity and anticipation. Then, when the gnelves least expect it, the sound goes to complete utter silence. Nothing moves, nothing creaks, and nothing seems to breathe at that moment. It is then that Benton makes a decision. He draws his bow and aims while signaling the others in his troupe to do so. Then he wavers a long minute before pulling an arrow from his quarrel, places it, and draws the bowstring back to his shoulder. Silence remains until a light ‘twang’ followed by a long ‘whoosh’, kills the silences. Nothing seems to happen for the longest time until quite suddenly the sounds of pain and anger wipe all the quiet air away. Benton and his troupe launch another volley, a second, and third then follow as more screams of pain and anger above all. At least four more volleys were launched before the screams dwindled and slowly became silent. Then, nothing happened. It was as if they were never there.

Sounds of crickets slowly came back as the group became restless and a bit untrusting of the air around them. Benton managed his men to calm them until the hairs on the back of his neck rose. This feeling was electric and slowly grew into something he couldn’t decipher. A very slight sound, like that of a mouse climbing through the walls of a home came next. Seconds passed before everything suddenly burst into fire around Benton and on them. Several jumped to the ground, to roll out of the burning flames. However, there were more pressing matters, like getting the flames out. These flames seemed to be unnatural. His problems decreased as someone found a water source. Whatever the case, he was rather confused. Didn’t Rangar mention something about the mountain dwarves disliking flames? Why would they use it as a tool to kill then? His thoughts vanished as a supply shack collapsed. Anger more primal than any he had known began to well inside of him. So strong was it that he waved at his remaining men and took off with them in the rear. Benton disappeared into the night making it look like they defected. On the contrary though, for he headed straight for a group of mountain dwarves he didn’t know were there. Immediately, he drew his great double bladed axe and began working through the surprised mountain dwarves. In his anger, he saw nothing. Everything was enemy to him now. His own men stayed back as their leader berserked about the mountain dwarves. He took forearms, legs, heads from shoulders, and bodies from torsos in single sweeps of the blade. This blade was made of dwarven steel and was imbued by a famous Paladin. Benton, cleared the whole group of armored dwarven soldiers in mere minutes with only a slash mark across his ear and down his neck. Yet, it was enough when realization came back to him to make him pass out.

Whatever the case, his single move killed half the known garrison of the mountain dwarves that night. It was also this night that his fellow gnelves nicknamed him Benton Twogut for his uncanny ability to kill a very difficult opponent alone and in mere minutes. Even the dwarves had accepted this nickname. Did he live? Yes, quite so as I recall. I remember the day like I was there myself.

When he awoke a bit confused as the same dwarven paladin that imbued his axe also saved his life with a received prayer from the God RantoR.

He went on to become a local legend among us dwarves. He became the greatest gnelf ever known to this region by continuing to assist the hill dwarves where he may in battle. Soon enough did his gnelven garrisons help sway the battle to a more even keel. However, the rest of that story is another tale. Benton Twogut, as he then became, eventually settled down as the wars ceased. He stayed with the Kar Suum Clans, but never took a wife. He had many female friends of the dwarven race, but it seemed not the right time to expose the world to a relationship quite so demanding upon the dwarves. So, it was then, as it is now that he remains. Yet, it is odd that his longtime friend, Liquid Brock, gave birth to a dwarf with pointy ears and was fathered by no claiming dwarf…

The End…Maybe.