mischievous gnomes

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Grin and Gnome It

by Bill Tiepelman

Grin and Gnome It

The Mushy Affair In the heart of the Blushblossom Grove, where the mushrooms grew as tall as gossip and twice as colorful, lived a gnome couple whose love was as loud as a frog orgy in springtime. Bucklebeard “Buck” Mossbottom, the jolliest mischief-maker in the glade, had a laugh so powerful it once caused a fairy to drop her pants mid-flight. And then there was Petalina “Pet” Thistlewhip, the sharpest tongue east of Toadstool Bend and proud owner of the only apron in the forest banned for ‘excessive sass’ by the Gnome Gardeners Guild. Now, Buck and Pet were not your dainty, storybook gnomes who spent their days knitting socks or watching moss grow. No, these two were infamous for their woodland hijinks, nightly howls of laughter, and the strange but oddly sensual way they buttered each other’s mushrooms. Every morning, Pet would pick him a daisy the size of his butt and wink like a wench in a bard’s bawdy tune. Buck, in return, would swing by her mushroom workshop with a bouquet of dew-drenched fern fronds and a smirk that practically screamed, “I brought pollens and I know how to use them.” One foggy spring morning, Buck stomped into their mushroom-stump kitchen, cheeks already flushed like he'd been caught with his pants tangled in honeysuckle. "Pet, love of my life, wrinkle in my suspenders," he boomed, "today, I’m takin’ you out! A real date! No toad races. No spore-counting competitions. I made us reservations at Fung du Licious." Pet arched an eyebrow so high it nearly poked a squirrel. “You mean that scandalous place where they serve soup in snail shells and their waiters wear nothing but rose petals and a confident grin?” “Exactly! We deserve it. I want wine. I want weird. I want you and me in candlelight, whispering dirty mushroom jokes ‘til the waiter begs us to leave.” Pet giggled, her eyes gleaming with devious delight. “You’re lucky I shaved my legs with a pinecone yesterday. Let me get my corset — the itchy one with the embroidered raccoon scandal." That night, the gnome couple turned heads all the way down the mosswalk. Buck wore his best checkered shirt, with buttons so shiny even the fireflies got jealous. Pet strutted beside him in a skirt that practically yodeled with flirtation and a flower crown so aggressive it nearly declared war on a wasp hive. As they entered Fung du Licious, holding hands and smirks, the entire forest seemed to hold its breath. They were seated under a glowing fungus chandelier, served glowing beetle juice cocktails, and serenaded by a quartet of horned newts with suspiciously sensual saxophones. Every dish that came out got more suggestive — the ‘Stuffed Moaning Morels’ nearly led to an indecent groping incident, and Buck’s attempt to describe the ‘Saucy Root Pile’ earned them a stern glance from a dainty hedgehog couple in the corner. But it was during dessert — a steamy tart named “The Creamy Puff Puff of Lust” — that Pet looked at Buck and said, “Darling, let’s go home. I need to jump your spores so hard we’ll fertilize the next zip code.” And Buck, wiping pudding off his beard, whispered back with all the subtlety of a thunderclap, “Grin and gnome it, baby.” They didn’t even finish their second puff puff. Pet flung some coins at the petal-clad waiter, who winked and handed them a complimentary bottle of dewberry wine, whispering, “For what comes next... hydrate." They burst out into the night air, giddy and slightly sticky, making a mad dash through the glowing shrooms, tripping on moss, and tearing petals out of their own crowns like love-drunk forest lunatics. But just as they reached their stump home, something unexpected was waiting on their doorstep… Sporeplay & Shenanigans Standing on their mossy front porch, slightly wine-soaked and whispering innuendos about puff pastry and sap-sticky nibbles, Buck and Pet froze. Because sitting atop their doormat was not a raccoon, a rogue snail, or even that judgmental owl from down the lane — no, this was something far more terrifying. A basket. “It’s not ticking,” Pet said warily, poking it with a spoon she kept in her corset for emergencies both romantic and violent. “It’s not farting either,” Buck added. “So it’s not my Uncle Sput.” Pet untied the gingham bow with the same grace and caution she used when undressing Buck — which is to say, she ripped it off like it owed her money. Inside lay a note and a large, squirming puff of fluff with two oversized ears and a tail that twitched like it had opinions. “Congratulations! It’s a Fuzzle!” They stared at the creature. The creature sneezed, and a cloud of sparkles hit Buck square in the beard, coating him in a fine dusting of glitter and pheromones. “A… Fuzzle?” Pet blinked. “Who the hell drops off a semi-sentient emotional support beast when we’re two drinks away from a night of rumpy-pumpy?” “It’s blinking in Morse code,” Buck said. “I think it’s judging our life choices.” “It’s about to watch us make more.” They carried the Fuzzle inside and dropped it into the cuddle-cushion pit, where it promptly fell asleep snoring like a hedgehog in a harmonica. Buck locked the door. Pet unpinned her crown with the flair of a gnome ready to sin. They locked eyes. They held hands. They grinned… And then the Fuzzle exploded. Not violently, but dramatically — a puff of spores erupted from its fuzzy little body, filling the air with a scent like cinnamon, vanilla, and poorly suppressed kinks. Buck staggered. Pet swayed. The room went pink. The candles flickered into little hearts. Their reflection in the mirror suddenly wore matching lingerie. “Buck…” Pet whispered, her voice suddenly several octaves lower and suggestively damp. “What… the... glittery shroom is happening?” “I think the Fuzzle is a Lustspore Familiar,” he gasped. “Those things were banned after the Great Groin Fire of ‘62!” They collapsed into the mushroom-mattress in a tangle of limbs, laughter, and pheromone-fueled silliness. Pet’s corset somehow snapped itself off. Buck’s pants disintegrated into a fine powder, possibly due to age or spellwork — no one cared. The next hour was a blur of kisses, tickles, giggles, and one moment involving whipped honey, a ladle, and the phrase “CALL ME FUNGUS DADDY.” Later, sweaty and exhausted, they lay side by side as the Fuzzle purred between them, now glowing faintly and wearing Buck’s sock like a cape. “That was… something,” Pet sighed, running fingers through her flower-tangled hair. “I saw colors I don’t have names for,” Buck wheezed. “Also, you bit my thigh. I liked it.” “I know.” They dozed off in a pile of warm limbs and snoring spores, tangled in love and mischief and the kind of magic only found deep in enchanted woods — the kind of love story that never makes it into bedtime books but is whispered by naughty pixies behind toadstools for generations. By morning, the Fuzzle had redecorated. Their living room was now a heart-shaped mushroom lounge. Everything smelled like wine and unspoken secrets. Buck woke up with a raccoon curled around his foot and no idea how it got there. Pet, now wrapped in a throw blanket made of moss and bad decisions, sipped dewberry tea and smiled. “Well, my darling,” she said, “we grinned. We gnomed it. And next time, we check the basket before dinner.” Buck raised his mug, sloshing tea all over a fern. “To mushroom madness, Fuzzle-fueled fornication, and loving you ‘til my beard turns to bramble.” And the Fuzzle, still glowing, farted a love heart into the air. THE END (until they get a second Fuzzle…)     Bring the giggles home! If Buck and Pet made you laugh, blush, or crave a puff-puff tart of your own, why not capture their enchanted chaos for yourself? From the heart of the whimsical woods to your cozy corner, “Giggling in Gnomeland” is now available on a curated selection of charming gifts and home decor. Snuggle up with a Throw Pillow bursting with fairy-tale feels, take your mischief on the go with a Tote Bag, or pen your own saucy gnome tales in a Spiral Notebook. For those who want a magical visual punch, hang a Canvas Print or a sleek Metal Print and let the laughter of the forest light up your space. Whether you’re a woodland romantic or a mischievous soul, these treasures are for anyone who believes love should always come with a grin… and maybe a Fuzzle.

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A Trio of Springtime Mischief

by Bill Tiepelman

A Trio of Springtime Mischief

The Great Bloom Heist Spring had arrived in the Enchanted Grove, and with it came the annual Cherry Blossom Festival—a time when the air smelled like honeyed petals, and even the grumpiest trolls cracked a smile (albeit begrudgingly). The festival was a sacred event, marked by a grand ceremony where the first bloom of the season was plucked and turned into the legendary Nectar of Eternal Delight, a potion so potent that one sip could make a banshee giggle. At the heart of this festival stood three very particular gnomes: Pip, Poppy, and Gus. They were known throughout the Grove not for their wisdom or generosity, but for their unrivaled talent in causing mayhem. Where there was trouble, there was a gnome-shaped footprint leading to it. “This year, we’re going to be legendary,” Pip declared, adjusting his oversized, rose-colored hat adorned with embroidered daisies. “We’re going to steal the First Bloom!” Poppy, the mastermind of the group, twirled her white beard thoughtfully. “The Blossom Keepers will be watching the tree all night. We’ll need a flawless plan.” Gus, who was currently stuffing his face with honeyed acorn pastries, raised a sticky finger. “What if we... bribe them?” Pip sighed. “Gus, we do not have enough pastries to bribe an entire guild of Keepers.” Poppy grinned. “But what if we make them think they’re needed elsewhere?” That was all it took. With a gleam in their eyes, the gnomes set their plan in motion. The Plan (Which Was Definitely Not Foolproof) At midnight, the Cherry Blossom tree stood tall and resplendent, its petals glowing faintly under the moonlight. The Blossom Keepers, clad in their ceremonial robes (which honestly looked suspiciously like oversized pajamas), stood at attention. No squirrel, fairy, or gnome would get past them. Or so they thought. Phase One: Distraction. Gus, wearing an absurdly large cloak that made him look like a sentient pile of fabric, waddled up to the Keepers. “I have urgent news!” he gasped dramatically. The eldest Keeper peered down. “What news, little one?” “The Moon Moths are revolting! They’re demanding better working conditions and have threatened to, uh, boycott the night sky!” The Keepers blinked. “That... doesn’t sound real.” “Oh, it’s VERY real,” Gus continued, summoning every ounce of fake sincerity he could muster. “Just imagine—no shimmering wings, no graceful moonlit dances. Just an empty sky, like a sad, forgotten soup bowl.” The Keepers exchanged nervous glances. They couldn’t risk a celestial labor strike. With a hurried nod, they rushed off to investigate, leaving the sacred First Bloom unguarded. Phase Two: The Heist With the Keepers gone, Pip and Poppy sprang into action. Pip climbed onto Poppy’s shoulders, teetering dangerously as he reached for the blossom. “Almost... got it...” Just as his fingers brushed the delicate petals, a gust of wind sent him toppling off Poppy’s shoulders and straight into the tree, where he clung like an oversized, panicked squirrel. Poppy, trying to be helpful, grabbed a stick and poked at him. “Just let go, Pip. I’ll catch you.” “That is an unbelievable lie, Poppy.” “Fair enough. Just—” Before she could finish, Pip lost his grip. With a dramatic yelp, he plummeted, bounced off a lower branch, and landed with a soft poof into Gus’s fluffy hat. They sat in stunned silence for a moment. Then Poppy grinned and held up the First Bloom, which had fallen neatly into her hands. “Would you look at that?” Victory! But just as they were about to celebrate, a shadow loomed over them. It was the Head Keeper. And he did not look pleased. “Well, well, well,” the Keeper said, arms crossed. “If it isn’t the Blossom Bandits.” Pip swallowed hard. “We prefer ‘Mischievous Floral Enthusiasts.’” The Keeper narrowed his eyes. “Do you have any idea what kind of punishment is in store for thieves like you?” Silence. Then Gus, ever the opportunist, cleared his throat. “Would you, uh, accept a bribe?” The Keeper raised an eyebrow. “Go on.” Gus pulled a slightly smushed acorn pastry from his pocket and held it out with a hopeful grin. And that was when the real trouble began. The Trouble with Bribes The Head Keeper eyed the smushed acorn pastry in Gus’s outstretched hand. The gnome trio held their breath. For a moment, it seemed like the Keeper might accept the bribe. His fingers twitched. His nostrils flared ever so slightly, catching the scent of honeyed nuts. But then, with a sigh, he crossed his arms. “I’m allergic to acorns,” he said flatly. Gus gasped in horror. “But they’re a superfood!” “For you, perhaps,” the Keeper said. “For me, they’re a death sentence. Now—” He snatched the First Bloom from Poppy’s hands. “You three are in a world of trouble.” The Trial of the Gnomes By dawn, Pip, Poppy, and Gus found themselves standing before the Grand Council of the Enchanted Grove—a collection of elders who looked very wise but also, conveniently, quite sleepy. Apparently, holding a trial at sunrise wasn’t an especially popular idea. “Gnomes Pip, Poppy, and Gus,” droned the eldest Council member, a wrinkled elf named Elder Thimblewick. “You have been charged with grand floral larceny, Keeper deception, and—” he squinted at the scroll in his hands, “—‘reckless tree climbing without a permit.’ How do you plead?” Pip glanced at his friends, then puffed up his chest. “Not guilty, on account of technicality.” Thimblewick frowned. “What technicality?” “The First Bloom fell into Poppy’s hands. Gravity did the real stealing.” The Council murmured amongst themselves. It was, admittedly, a solid point. The Head Keeper, still seething, stepped forward. “I demand justice! They plotted this crime! They tricked the Keepers and endangered the sacred blossom!” Gus cleared his throat. “To be fair, you abandoned your post because of a made-up moth strike. That’s on you.” “Silence!” the Keeper snapped. The Council exchanged glances. Finally, Elder Thimblewick sighed. “This is a mess. But a crime was committed. A punishment is required.” The Unusual Punishment The gnomes braced themselves. Banishment? Hard labor? Were they about to be sentenced to a life of unpaid squirrel-wrangling? Thimblewick cleared his throat. “For your crimes against the Enchanted Grove, your punishment is thus: You must personally assist in the Cherry Blossom Festival preparations.” The gnomes stared. “That’s it?” Pip asked. “You want us to—what—hang banners and sprinkle flower petals?” “Among other things,” Thimblewick said. “You will also oversee the nectar-making process and act as official greeters for every guest.” Poppy groaned. “Ugh. That means smiling, doesn’t it?” Thimblewick nodded. “Oh yes. And wearing matching festive gnome tunics.” At this, Gus let out a horrified gasp. “You mean—uniforms?” “Precisely,” the elder said with a smirk. “Pink ones. With ruffles.” The gnomes shuddered. The Worst Day of Their Lives Thus began the worst—and most humiliating—day in Pip, Poppy, and Gus’s mischievous little lives. First, they were forced into the most frilly, lace-covered, pastel-pink tunics imaginable. Gus nearly fainted. Poppy cursed under her breath. Pip, always the optimist, tried to convince himself they were wearing “intimidation garments.” They were not. Then came the endless festival preparations. They spent the morning filling nectar jugs, which was dull enough—until Gus accidentally fell into a vat of the sacred liquid and had to be fished out with a broom. By noon, they were tasked with handing out floral garlands to visitors. This part should have been easy, except that Pip got carried away and turned it into a competitive sport, aggressively throwing garlands at unsuspecting guests. “YOU GET A WREATH! YOU GET A WREATH!” Pip shouted, pelting a confused centaur in the face with a ring of daisies. By evening, they were utterly exhausted. They slumped against a cherry tree, their once-vibrant tunics now covered in flower petals, spilled nectar, and Gus’s dignity. “I can’t believe we got caught,” Poppy groaned. “We had such a solid plan.” Pip sighed. “Maybe we should retire from crime.” They sat in silence for a long moment. Then Gus snorted. “Nah.” They burst into laughter. Mischief, after all, was in their blood. As the festival continued around them, the three gnomes made a silent pact: Next year, they wouldn’t just steal the First Bloom. They’d steal the whole tree. But for now? They’d suffer through the ruffled tunics, hand out garlands, and bide their time. The gnome way.     Bring the Magic Home Love the mischievous charm of Pip, Poppy, and Gus? Now you can bring their whimsical world into your home! Whether you want to cozy up with a stunning tapestry, add a touch of enchantment with a canvas print, or challenge yourself with a delightful puzzle, there's a perfect way to keep the gnome mischief alive. Looking for a charming gift? Send a magical message with a beautiful greeting card featuring this playful trio! Embrace the whimsy—shop the collection today!

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Warden Gnomes of the Mystic Grove

by Bill Tiepelman

Warden Gnomes of the Mystic Grove

A tale of adventure, mystery, and three grumpy, battle-hardened gnomes who are really just trying to mind their own business. Part One: A Fool’s Errand “You hear that?” Gorrim, the tallest (by an impressive half-inch) of the Warden Gnomes, tilted his head toward the distant crunch of twigs underfoot. He narrowed his eyes beneath his heavy, rune-stitched hat, gripping the pommel of his sword. “Someone’s coming.” “Oh, fantastic,” huffed Baelin, the most cantankerous of the three. “Another dimwit thinking they can plunder our forest for ‘hidden treasures’ or some other nonsense.” He adjusted his ornate battle axe and leaned against the gnarled trunk of an ancient oak. “I say we scare ‘em off. Let’s go full ‘ominous guardian’ routine. Maybe some spooky chanting.” “We did that last time,” Ollo, the youngest (a mere 312 years old), pointed out. “They just screamed and ran in circles until they fell into the bog.” Baelin grinned. “Exactly.” Gorrim sighed, rubbing his temples. “Let’s at least see what kind of idiot we’re dealing with before we start traumatizing them.” The three gnomes peered through the underbrush as a figure stumbled into view—a lanky, wide-eyed human man dressed in what could only be described as ‘fashionably impractical adventuring gear.’ His boots were too clean, his tunic too crisp, and his belt held far too many shiny trinkets for someone who had actually faced any real danger. “Oh, sweet mushroom spirits, he’s a noble,” Ollo muttered. “You can smell the entitlement from here.” “Good evening, fair woodland creatures!” the man announced with an exaggerated flourish. “I am Lord Percival Ravenshade, intrepid explorer, seeker of lost relics, and—” “—and first-place winner of ‘Who’s Most Likely to Get Eaten by a Bear,’” Baelin cut in. Percival blinked. “I—what?” “State your business, long-legs,” Gorrim said, his voice edged with patience that was rapidly wearing thin. “This is protected land.” Percival puffed up his chest. “Ah! But I seek something of great importance! The fabled Gem of Eldertree, said to be hidden within this very forest! Surely, noble gnome-folk such as yourselves would be delighted to assist a humble scholar such as myself!” The gnomes exchanged a look. “Oh, this is gonna be fun,” Ollo murmured. Baelin scratched his beard. “You mean the Gem of Eldertree?” “Yes!” Percival’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “The very same Gem of Eldertree that’s guarded by a bloodthirsty, soul-devouring, absolutely massive spirit-beast?” Percival’s confidence wavered. “…Yes?” Gorrim nodded solemnly. “The one that’s cursed to drive treasure hunters insane with whispering voices until they wander into a nest of venomous shadow-vipers?” Percival hesitated. “…Possibly?” Ollo leaned in conspiratorially. “The same gem that once turned a man’s entire skeleton inside out just for touching it?” Percival gulped. “That one?” Baelin grinned. “Yep.” The nobleman took a deep breath, then squared his shoulders. “No matter the danger, I shall face it with honor! Besides, legends say a trio of wise gnomes knows the way to the gem.” “Hah! Wise gnomes.” Ollo snorted. “Good one.” Gorrim crossed his arms. “And if we do know the way, what makes you think we’d help you?” “Gold!” Percival said brightly, jingling a pouch. “Plenty of it! And fame! Your names will be sung in the halls of kings!” “Oh yes, because that worked out so well for the last guy who came through here,” Baelin muttered. Gorrim sighed deeply. “Against my better judgment… I say we take him.” Baelin stared. “You what?” Ollo clapped his hands together. “Ohhh, this is going to be hilarious.” Gorrim smirked. “We take him… and make sure he fully appreciates the horrors of this forest before we even get close to the gem.” Baelin’s face broke into a wicked grin. “Oh, I like it.” Percival, oblivious, beamed. “Wonderful! Lead the way, my good gnomes!” “Oh, we will,” Ollo muttered as they began their trek into the dark heart of the Mystic Grove. “We most certainly will.”     The Scenic Route to Certain Doom Percival strutted confidently behind the three gnomes, his boots crunching against the damp forest floor. The deeper they went into the Mystic Grove, the darker and more twisted the trees became, their branches curling overhead like skeletal fingers. A faint, eerie whispering echoed through the air—though whether it was the wind or something far more sinister was up for debate. “You know,” Baelin mused, nudging Ollo, “I give him twenty minutes before he cries.” “Ten,” Ollo countered. “Did you see how he flinched when that squirrel sneezed?” Gorrim, ever the responsible one, ignored them. “Alright, Percival. If you really want the Gem of Eldertree, there are some… shall we say… precautionary measures we need to take.” Percival, ever eager, nodded. “Ah, of course! Some kind of magical rite? Perhaps a test of my courage?” Baelin grinned. “Oh, it’s a test all right. First, we need to check if you’re… resistant to the Wailing Mushrooms of Despair.” Percival blinked. “The what now?” “Very dangerous,” Ollo said gravely. “If you hear their cries, you could be overwhelmed with such unbearable existential dread that you forget how to breathe.” Percival paled. “That’s a thing that happens?” Baelin nodded solemnly. “Tragic, really. Just last month, a guy collapsed on the spot. One moment, determined explorer. Next moment, curled up in a fetal position sobbing about how time is a meaningless construct.” Percival looked around nervously. “H-how do I know if I’m… resistant?” Ollo shrugged. “Oh, we’ll know.” They led him to a cluster of large, pulsing fungi with bioluminescent blue caps. Gorrim gave one a light poke, and it released a long, eerie wail that sounded suspiciously like an elderly man muttering, “What’s the point of it all?” Percival yelped and took several steps back. “By the gods! That’s unnatural!” “Hmm.” Ollo stroked his beard. “He didn’t immediately collapse into an existential crisis. That’s promising.” Baelin leaned in. “Think we should tell him they’re just regular mushrooms and the wailing sound is Gorrim throwing his voice?” “Not yet,” Ollo whispered back. “Let’s see how much more we can get away with.” Gorrim cleared his throat. “Alright, Percival. You’ve passed the first test. But the path ahead is dangerous.” Percival straightened up, puffing out his chest again. “I’m ready for anything!” Baelin smirked. “Good. Because the next part of the journey involves the Bridge of Certain Peril.” “Certain… peril?” Percival repeated warily. “Oh, yes,” Ollo said, nodding seriously. “A rickety, ancient bridge stretched across a bottomless chasm. So old, so fragile, that even a slight gust of wind could send a man plummeting into the abyss below.” Percival’s confidence wavered. “I… see.” Moments later, they arrived at said bridge. It was, in reality, a very sturdy, well-maintained stone bridge. The kind you could probably drive a fully armored war elephant across without so much as a wobble. But Percival didn’t need to know that. “There it is,” Baelin said, making his voice tremble just enough to sell the drama. “The most treacherous bridge in all the land.” Percival took one look at it and visibly paled. “It looks… uh… sturdier than I expected.” “That’s what it wants you to think,” Ollo said darkly. “It’s the cursed winds you have to worry about.” “Cursed winds?!” “Oh, yes,” Gorrim said with a straight face. “Unpredictable. Invisible. The moment you least expect it—whoosh! Gone.” Percival gulped. “Right. Yes. Of course.” Taking a deep breath, he stepped cautiously onto the bridge. Baelin, grinning like a madman, subtly cupped his hands and let out a low, ominous whoooooosh. Percival let out a shriek and flung himself flat against the stone, gripping it as if he might be flung into the abyss at any moment. Ollo wiped a tear from his eye. “I’m going to miss him when the forest eats him.” Gorrim sighed. “Alright, enough. Let’s get him to the ruins before he has a heart attack.” Percival, still visibly shaken, scrambled to his feet and hurried to the other side of the bridge, panting heavily. “H-ha! I conquered the Bridge of Certain Peril! That wasn’t so bad!” Baelin slapped him on the back. “Atta boy! Now just one last thing before we reach the temple.” Percival hesitated. “I swear, if it’s another test—” “Oh, no test,” Ollo assured him. “We just need to wake up the guardian.” “The… guardian?” “Yeah,” Baelin said, waving a hand dismissively. “The spirit-beast of Eldertree. Giant, angry, breathes fire, maybe eats souls? Honestly, it’s been a while.” Percival went rigid. “You weren’t… joking about that?” Gorrim smirked. “Oh no. That part’s real.” The trees ahead trembled. A deep, guttural growl echoed through the forest. Baelin grinned. “Welp. You first, brave adventurer.” Percival turned slowly toward them, his expression caught somewhere between utter horror and regret. “Oh,” Ollo whispered. “He’s definitely gonna cry.” To be continued… maybe.     Bring the Magic Home! Love the world of the Warden Gnomes? Now you can bring a piece of their mischievous, mystical adventure into your own space! Whether you want to decorate your walls, challenge yourself with a puzzle, or send a whimsical greeting, we’ve got you covered. ✨ Tapestry – Transform your space with enchanting artwork that captures the magic of the Mystic Grove. 🖼️ Canvas Print – A high-quality piece to add an air of fantasy to any room. 🧩 Puzzle – Test your wits and patience just like our dear Percival. 💌 Greeting Card – Send a message with a touch of fantasy and mischief. Click the links above to grab your favorite magical keepsake and support the artistic adventures of the Warden Gnomes!

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