humorous fantasy adventure

by Bill Tiepelman

Tiny Rebel in a Big World

Once upon a time, in a desert much too big for his boots, there was a gnome who went by the name of Grog Thistlebeard. Grog wasn’t your average garden-variety gnome, happy to stand guard over tulips and wave at butterflies. Oh no—Grog had a leather jacket, a custom-painted motorcycle, and a serious thirst for adventure. One evening, as the sun sank behind the rolling desert dunes, casting the sky in hues of fiery orange and purple, Grog adjusted his belt, gave his mustache a final twirl, and revved up his ride—a gleaming motorcycle he lovingly called "Rustbucket." It was anything but rusty, but Grog thought the name gave it character. His mission? To ride from the sandy flats of Cactusville all the way to a mystical place known only as the Big Rock. No one was entirely sure what the Big Rock was, but Grog had heard whispers that it was actually a gigantic cheese wheel left behind by an ancient clan of desert mice. The Road Less Graveled Grog kicked his bike into gear and shot off across the desert, his beard streaming like a wild banner behind him. The desert critters—lizards, jackrabbits, and tumbleweeds—watched in awe as the tiny gnome rocketed past. He had barely hit top speed when he encountered his first obstacle: a cactus. Not just any cactus—this one was big, mean, and had a scowl on its face (or so Grog imagined). “Oi! Watch the spikes, mate!” Grog yelled as he swerved around the prickly beast. “Almost took my beard clean off!” The cactus didn’t respond (as cactuses generally don’t), but it stood as a silent reminder that the desert was full of surprises. As he sped off, Grog muttered, “This whole 'wide open spaces' thing is a bit overrated if you ask me.” A Gnome, a Hawk, and a Borrowed Hat About an hour into his journey, Grog noticed a shadow circling overhead. It was a hawk, and it didn’t look friendly. The bird, seemingly intrigued by Grog’s shiny ride and crimson hat, began to swoop lower and lower. “Back off, featherbrain!” Grog shouted, waving his fist at the sky. But the hawk wasn’t deterred. With a screech, it made a dive straight for him. In a heroic act of self-preservation, Grog took off his hat and threw it as a decoy. The hawk snatched the hat and soared off, leaving Grog safe but slightly miffed. “Great. Now I’ll be the only gnome in the land without a proper pointy hat,” he grumbled, vowing to retrieve it on the way back. “Or find an even pointier one. A rebel doesn’t follow fashion rules anyway.” The Mystery of the Big Rock As dusk settled over the desert, Grog spotted a shape on the horizon. It was the Big Rock—or, as the rumors had it, the Big Cheese. With newfound excitement, he pushed Rustbucket to its limits, the bike rattling and roaring across the sand. Finally, he skidded to a halt in front of his destination. There, standing magnificently against the twilight sky, was the Big Rock. And Grog had to admit, it did indeed look somewhat…cheesy. “Could it be?” he whispered to himself, licking his lips in hopeful anticipation. Clambering off his bike, Grog strode up to the massive boulder, pulled out his trusty knife, and gave it a tentative scratch-and-sniff. His nose wrinkled in disappointment. “Just a rock, not even a whiff of cheddar,” he sighed. “Blasted desert legends. I should’ve known.” Return of the Pointy Hat As he prepared for the long ride home, Grog’s keen eyes caught sight of a glint of red on a nearby cactus branch. There it was—his hat! The hawk had evidently decided it wasn’t as delicious as it looked and had dropped it en route. Grinning, Grog retrieved the hat, dusted it off, and plopped it back on his head. “Ah, much better,” he said, striking a victorious pose. “Now, let’s ride home and tell the gang about how I faced down hawks, cacti, and the legendary Big Rock.” Back to the Garden (With a Few Tall Tales) By the time Grog rolled back into Cactusville, the desert was bathed in moonlight, and his fellow garden gnomes had gathered to hear his story. Grog took a deep breath and began weaving a tale of peril, adventure, and bravery that grew more exaggerated with every word. “...and that’s when the hawk swooped down, eyes like fiery coals, talons as sharp as dragon’s teeth, and I wrestled it barehanded right out of the sky!” he boasted. His audience gasped in awe, even though most of them suspected that Grog’s stories were about as real as the Big Cheese. But that didn’t matter. Grog Thistlebeard was a tiny rebel in a big world, and every adventure—whether real or slightly embellished—was another badge of honor. As he finished his tale, Grog tipped his hat and took a bow, feeling every bit the hero he believed himself to be. The End (Or, as Grog would say, “Just the Beginning”)    Bring Grog’s Adventure Home If you’re inspired by Grog Thistlebeard’s epic journey and want to keep his adventurous spirit close by, check out our exclusive products featuring the artwork "Tiny Rebel in a Big World" by Bill and Linda Tiepelman. Perfect for anyone with a taste for adventure and a love for whimsical art, these pieces bring Grog’s daring escapades right into your home: Throw Pillow - Add a dash of rebel spirit to your sofa with this cozy and colorful pillow. Tapestry - Transform any wall into a statement of adventure with this stunning tapestry. Canvas Print - Bring Grog’s desert journey to life with a high-quality canvas print, perfect for any space in need of a little boldness. Puzzle - Piece together the gnome’s adventure with this fun and challenging puzzle, great for fans of both fantasy and games. Let Grog’s courage and charm remind you every day that life is one big adventure—just waiting to be explored.

by Bill Tiepelman

Splashing in Magic Waters

Deep in the heart of the enchanted autumn woods, where the leaves were ablaze in shades of red and gold, there lived a gnome named Gribble. Now, Gribble wasn’t your average, everyday garden-variety gnome. No, no. He was as mischievous as they came, with a snicker that could make the trees blush and a wit sharper than the blade he never actually used. Let’s be honest, Gribble was more about fun than work. And then there was Sprout. Ah, Sprout—his pint-sized dragon companion. Sprout was... well, "adorably chaotic" is a good way to put it. With wings too big for his body and a tendency to hiccup smoke rings, he was like a flying toddler with an attitude. Together, they were a walking (or flying) disaster, but in the most entertaining way possible. One crisp autumn afternoon, Gribble and Sprout were on a stroll through the forest, not looking for trouble (which meant trouble was definitely going to find them). They came upon a stream, the water clear and cold, reflecting the fiery canopy of leaves above. Gribble, always up for a bit of nonsense, decided this was the perfect time for a break from ‘important gnome business.’ And by that, he meant absolutely nothing productive. The Plan (or Lack Thereof) "Alright, Sprout," Gribble said, rubbing his hands together, eyes gleaming with glee. "Time for a bath!" Now, dragons don’t traditionally love water, but Sprout, with his unpredictable baby brain, decided today was the day he’d be an exception. With a high-pitched squeal that sounded like a kettle about to blow, he launched himself into the stream, flapping his tiny wings and spraying water everywhere. And by everywhere, I mean all over Gribble’s face. "Ah! You soggy little lizard!" Gribble sputtered, wiping his beard, which now looked more like a soaked mop than the dignified tangle it usually was. "I said you take a bath, not me!" Sprout, of course, was far too busy splashing and blowing little fire-bubbles to listen. Every few seconds, the dragon would hiccup, sending out a spark of flame that turned into harmless bubbles in the cool air. A bubble popped on Gribble’s nose, and he couldn’t help but snort in amusement. The little pest was too cute to stay mad at for long. The Splash War Begins "Alright, Sprout," Gribble said with a wicked grin, rolling up his sleeves. "If it’s a splash war you want, it’s a splash war you’ll get!" He leapt into the stream with all the grace of a rock tied to an anvil. Water exploded in all directions as the gnome belly-flopped into the shallow creek, sending waves cascading over the unsuspecting Sprout, who immediately retaliated with a gust of wing-flapping and shrill giggles. Gnomes weren’t exactly known for their swimming abilities, but Gribble didn’t care. He was having the time of his life. And so it went, back and forth, with Gribble laughing like a madman and Sprout trying his best to drown him in two inches of water. To any casual observer, it looked like a full-blown riot had broken out between a miniature dragon and an overgrown garden ornament. And to be fair, that’s not too far off the mark. "You call that a splash?" Gribble bellowed, swiping a wave toward Sprout, who ducked and responded with an expertly timed tail-flick that sent water straight into Gribble’s open mouth. "Gah! You slimy little..." Gribble sputtered again, but his laughter was louder than his complaints. He could’ve sworn Sprout was actually smirking at him. Cheeky lizard. Serenity, Interrupted As the sun dipped lower, casting a warm orange glow over the forest, Gribble and Sprout finally collapsed onto the shore, soaked and exhausted. The forest around them had returned to its usual serene self, the birds singing sweetly, the leaves rustling softly in the breeze. It was almost... peaceful. Until Sprout hiccupped again. This time, instead of bubbles, a tiny jet of flame shot out, catching Gribble’s boot on fire. "Well, that’s just perfect," Gribble groaned, staring at the tiny flame that had decided to settle on his foot. He lazily dipped it into the stream to put it out. "Thanks, Sprout. Really. Just what I needed." Sprout gave an apologetic chirp and then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, splashed Gribble one last time. The gnome sighed dramatically, raising his eyes to the sky. "I don’t know why I keep you around," Gribble muttered. "But then again, who else would set my foot on fire just to get a laugh?" With a huff of mock indignation, Gribble stood up, his clothes still dripping. He looked down at the soaking wet dragon, who was now curled up in the shallows, tail flicking contentedly in the water. Gribble couldn't help but grin. For all their chaos, he wouldn’t have it any other way. "Alright, come on then, you soggy salamander," Gribble said with a smirk, offering Sprout his hand. "Let’s go find something else to ruin." And off they went, leaving a trail of wet footprints and charred leaves behind them, two mischievous companions bound to wreak havoc on whatever unsuspecting corner of the forest they found next. Because in the life of a gnome and his dragon, there's no such thing as a dull moment.     If you’ve fallen in love with Gribble and Sprout’s chaotic adventures, you can bring a piece of their whimsical world into your own! Prints, products, downloads, and licensing options for this delightful image are available in the My Gnomies Archive. Whether you’re looking for a splash of magic for your walls or unique gifts that capture the joy of these mischievous companions, explore the collection today!

by Bill Tiepelman

Quantum Canter

At the intersection of time and possibility, where the wind bends just a little differently and the sun sets in every color imaginable, there is a realm few know about. This is the Field of Infinite Horizons, a place where the laws of physics take a break and let whimsy run wild. In this surreal landscape, one creature galloped across the vibrant fields, leaving a trail of shimmering energy in its wake. That creature was none other than Quasar—the most eccentric unicorn in existence. Now, most unicorns you’ve heard about are likely majestic, elegant creatures, graceful in every step. Quasar was all of that, sure, but with a twist. See, Quasar didn’t just gallop; he quantum cantered. Every time his hooves hit the ground, reality sort of... hiccuped. One second, he’d be in one spot, the next, he’d flicker and appear five feet to the left, or above, or below—no one could quite predict it. He could shift between moments and possibilities, always riding the waves of probability, like a whimsical surfer on the edge of what-could-be. As Quasar cantered along, his long, iridescent mane billowing behind him in all the colors of a particularly enthusiastic rainbow, he hummed a little tune. Not because he had any pressing destination—he didn’t. In fact, Quasar rarely had a plan. The thing about being able to quantum jump through realities is that, eventually, you stop worrying about where you’ll end up. You’ll always end up somewhere interesting. The Unicorn’s Existential Question “You know,” Quasar said aloud to the field, which, to be fair, didn’t ask for his musings but was used to them by now, “I’ve been thinking.” His horn sparkled as if reacting to the thought itself, casting a flicker of light across the swaying grasses. The field, in its quiet, infinite wisdom, did not respond. It had long since learned that Quasar’s thinking often involved strange paradoxes and nonsensical questions, best left unpondered. “What if,” Quasar continued, “we’re all just probabilities? Not actual beings, but a collection of maybes and what-ifs, constantly shifting in and out of reality? Like, are we ever truly here, or are we flickering between possible versions of ourselves?” At this point, a small flock of birds flew overhead, wisely choosing not to engage in any metaphysical discussions with a quantum-leaping unicorn. They’d heard his rants before. “Maybe that’s why no one can ever find me when they need me,” Quasar concluded, cantering in a perfect circle, though, given his nature, half the circle existed in another dimension. “Because I’m never in one spot long enough to actually be found.” He snorted, half-amused. “That, or I’m just too fast for my own good.” The Time-Looping Hare It was on one of these gallops across space-time that Quasar met an equally curious creature: Harold, the Time-Looping Hare. Harold, unlike Quasar, wasn’t content with slipping between possibilities. Harold was caught in a single moment, over and over again—constantly hopping, but never quite reaching his destination. Every time he reached the top of his hop, time rewound, and he’d find himself mid-hop again. He’d been hopping for a very long time. “Morning, Harold!” Quasar greeted as he flickered into existence next to the hare, who was currently in the middle of what must have been his seventy-thousandth hop of the day. “Is it still morning?” Harold asked, his tone weary but resigned to his fate. “Time’s a bit of a blur for me, you know.” Quasar pranced in place—well, in several places, technically—trying to stay in the same timeline long enough to have a proper conversation. “You’re looking... energetic, as always. How’s the eternal hopping going?” Harold sighed mid-hop. “You know, same old. Always hopping, never landing. It’s exhausting, really. You’d think time would just give up and let me hit the ground once in a while, but noooooo.” Quasar nodded sagely, his mane swirling with streaks of indigo and violet. “I feel you, buddy. Time’s overrated anyway. Too linear for my taste.” He paused, flickering out of existence for a moment before returning. “Say, have you ever tried hopping in multiple realities at once? You know, spice things up a bit?” Harold shot him a dubious look. “I’m already stuck in one endless loop. You really think adding more is the answer?” “It could be!” Quasar said brightly, his horn glowing with excitement. “You never know until you try. Maybe you’ll hop so hard you’ll break free of time itself and—poof!—you’ll be hopping across dimensions like me. It’s quite the thrill, let me tell you.” “No thanks,” Harold muttered, mid-hop. “I think I’ll stick to my loop. I’ve... gotten used to it.” Quantum Advice Quasar shrugged—though he did so in three realities at once, which made the gesture hard to follow. “Suit yourself, but if you ever get tired of that loop, you know where to find me... sort of.” He flashed Harold a wink before cantering off, his hooves leaving ripples of energy in the grass. As Quasar galloped onward, weaving in and out of the fabric of time and space, he found himself mulling over the nature of existence once again. “If I can be everywhere and nowhere at once, does that make me more real or less real?” he mused aloud. “And if reality is just a series of possibilities, is anyone really doing anything, or are we all just... existing? Floating along like dust in a sunbeam?” A passing butterfly, its wings shimmering in fractal patterns, landed briefly on Quasar’s mane before flitting away, as if to say, “You’re overthinking this.” “Maybe I am overthinking it,” Quasar admitted, though his grin never faltered. “But what else is a quantum unicorn supposed to do with all this time—or lack of time?” The Quantum Canter After a particularly wild leap that sent him flickering between dimensions so fast it looked like he was galloping through a field of rainbows, Quasar finally paused to take in the moment. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long golden rays across the infinite fields. His mane, swirling with its own magical energy, caught the sunlight in brilliant waves of color. For a brief, fleeting second, Quasar was still. He was here, fully present, not jumping between moments or dimensions—just standing in one place, basking in the beauty of now. He breathed deeply, feeling the earth beneath his hooves and the warmth of the sun on his coat. “Huh,” he murmured to himself. “So this is what it’s like to just... exist in one spot.” He considered it for a beat longer, then laughed softly. “Nah, too boring!” With a flash of light and a flick of his tail, Quasar took off again, quantum cantering into the horizon, disappearing and reappearing in the blink of an eye, leaving trails of shimmering magic in his wake. He didn’t need to know where he was going or what tomorrow—or any other timeline—would bring. Because in the grand scheme of the universe, Quasar had discovered one undeniable truth: existence wasn’t about where you were or even when you were. It was about the joy of the journey, the thrill of the leap, and the beauty of all the possibilities in between. And for a quantum-leaping unicorn, that was more than enough.    If the whimsical adventure of Quasar’s quantum leaps through reality has sparked your imagination, you can bring a bit of that magic into your own world with a collection of beautiful products. For those who love crafting, the Quantum Canter Cross Stitch Pattern allows you to capture the vibrant energy of Quasar in every stitch. You can also explore a variety of home decor items to keep Quasar’s mystical charm close by. The Tapestry brings the breathtaking colors and fluid motion of Quasar’s quantum canter to your walls, while the Throw Pillow is a cozy way to add a splash of magic to your living space. For a fun and interactive experience, the Puzzle lets you piece together the wonder of this fantastical creature, and the Greeting Cards are perfect for sharing the enchantment with friends and family. Whether you’re crafting, decorating, or simply enjoying the beauty of the Field of Infinite Horizons, these products allow you to keep a piece of Quasar’s magical journey with you.