Gnomerick of sorts

A gnome will always tinker
No matter what's abound;
In revelry or chaos
It's known where they'll be found
They never cease to wonder
Of all things old or new;
If something winds up broken
They'll know just what to do

They tinker in their workshop
That's where they make their keep;
A cogwheel-this, a gyro-that
They'll even mechanize sleep
Their savvy only rivaled
By the fiery goblin race;
A folk, if gnomes had their way,
Would be shot up to space.

Albeit short in stature,
In genius they don't lack;
Be it good or evil type,
Don't ever cut them flack.
For if you cross a gnome
They will surely make you pay;
You may not see them coming
But you''ll surely rue the day.

A gnome will always tinker
And they'll laugh maniacally;
Though, if you hear their cackle
You may have to look down to see.

Forgotton Lands

Swampy forest and mud-caked hues
As far as the eye can see
Which, is to say, not very far at all.
For moss and vine-roped trees
Obscure all angles.
Dark magics permeate the air,
As every breath familiar
With the fonts of ancient powers
Rumored nearby, yet now unseen.
Arachnids and dragon-folk lay silent,
In waiting for an unsuspecting hero
To spring upon their lairs,
And be no more.
As broken souls search for light and meaning
The answer of analogy may stand nearby
As forces greater than containment
Wage a futile, endless war.
As blood-stained pools fill voided grounds,
Whispers unbeknownst to most
Hide under the lands so hotly contested.
And should one make their way to shore,
A race of old awaits fresh faces,
For they seek to make their fate
The same for all.
Even older mysteries await beyond
The foreseeable horizon;
Answers which our heroes
May never find, at least-
Not to their knowledge.