We don't know what's impossible. Infinity gets smaller every day.
A tale that transcends the boundaries of space and time, not just to explore galaxies, but to delve into the vast universe within ourselves. This isn't just a story of interstellar tr...
The city didn't quite appeal to him. Its structures, diminutive and oddly mushroom-like, seemed a humorous reflection of the Gnomes themselves. Yet, he couldn't help but admire the city's organic diversity. Each turn presented a fresh, artistic expression, standalone yet part of a greater whole. Žynjo, as a Dark Elf, the perpetual shadow and lush flora resonated with him. It was evident a lot of thought had gone into its creation.
Grøn'VirdDalr, the Gnomish capital of their petite world, truly lived up to its translation, "Green Valley." Ages ago, their world orbited dual suns, their heat oppressive for the Gnomes' preference. Their solution? A celestial migration, their entire planet in tow. Utilizing Dwarven tech, they propelled their world away from the blistering suns, setting a new course into dimmer spaces. The light that did reach them was merely a reflection from Tylora, their massive moon, and the main one. Without it, planet Gnom'Kjopstall would drift through eternal night.
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Gnomes had this quirky linguistic habit of merging words in their naming conventions, a reason for which remained a mystery, even to them. And their planet, Gnom'Kjopstall or "Gnomish Market," was a literal embodiment of its name, just like the capital. They didn't just choose a new orbit; they engineered it. With those same Dwarven thrusters, they maneuvered their world, not to maintain a constant trajectory, but to sling themselves strategically around significant celestial bodies within the Lyamvjaam Sector. Their path was vast, a single orbit equaling 999 human years. And true to its name, Gnom'Kjopstall wandered the cosmos, a merchant world drawing traders from every corner of the universe.
But here's the catch, the unique twist to this cosmic marketplace: transactions weren't conducted with Merit, or conventional currency. They used Møn'dar. While the closest human equivalent might be money, Møn'dar functioned on an entirely different principle, one deeply rooted in interstellar norms and Gnomish culture. It operated on the "Essence of Value," which is exactly what it translates to. Unlike Earth's government-regulated currency, Møn'dar tapped into something more profound, more intrinsic to the societal fabric of the cosmos.
Unlike traditional money, which represents a numerical value, Møn'dar embodies the essence of value itself. Each unit of Møn'dar is akin to a crystallized shard of pure creativity, innovation, or knowledge. The "worth" of Møn'dar is determined not by markets or banks, but by the collective consciousness of the entities engaging in the transaction. This makes every exchange deeply personal and subjective, based on the mutual recognition of value between the parties involved. It's also universally accepted and unbound by planetary regulations, or any regulations at all. It transcends physical form and can be transferred instantaneously across vast cosmic distances, acknowledging no boundaries, be they in space or dimension.
While the majority of the universe's sophisticated civilizations traded in Merit, a select few held a special affinity for Møn'dar. This peculiar preference was often found among species with a penchant for hoarding treasures beyond their need. Gnomes, Goblins, Dwarfs, and even Dragons exemplified this trait, regularly dealing in Møn'dar. Their fondness for it was understandable, given that Møn'dar was composed of one of the universe's rarest minerals: Xjïz¨jlbony.
