From where does Gnomeaggedon gain his name?
My parents (unmarried – outrageous I know – at the time of the pregnancy) had little choice in my name. The pregnancy, and my birth was considered an ill omen… then came the fall of Gnomergan. My grand parents while arguing over my still pink and squishy new born body exclaimed that I had brought the end of the world on the Gnomes, I was the Gnomeaggedon!
Why not the sensible route, and become a Warlock, Rogue or Warrior?
I was never particularly good at the more Gnomish pursuits, you know, using my hands in engineering and warfare, but early on, while trapped in the many and varied tunnels under Ironforge, the ability to turn tunnel mush to ice, blink across trapdoors placed for the unwary and spark flame to light my way home was just ooh so natural. Luckily Dwarves have thick skin – I was a terror in my youth, which brings me to your next question.
What’s the worst trouble Gnomeaggedon ever got into as a child?
On one of my many tunnel explorations with my friends, we came to a secret door. One of my less reputable associates picked the lock, peeked out, but exclaimed I needed to light up the room beyond.
I didn’t really have a good line of sight through the cracked door, so I flicked a quick blast at what I thought was an unused torch. Woe was me, it was King Magni Bronzebeard‘s banner, and he was holding a candle lit tribute to fallen warriors!
Imagine my embarrassment when many years later I stood before him to receive my reward, a King’s Tribute, and later again when I return to him to tell him that the heir to the Kingdom of Ironforge will be a Dark Iron dwarf. “Whether he approves or not, it shall be.”
In reality, this incident was to be an indicator of my future life, I often still run headlong into rooms full of unwelcoming inhabitants, and I have spent many a night lighting street lamps with click of my fingers.
Food, glorious food. What is Gnomi’s favorite thing to eat?
As a child I loved to feast upon dig rat stew. It was smuggled across the Auction Houses and made it into the hands of my Dwarven “rat pack”. Now days, I attempt to maintain the fires of wrath within my small frame. I diet almost exclusively on Blackened Basilisk – blackened by my own finger tips of course.
What does Gnomeaggedon have in his pockets?
It’s mine, no one elses, just mine, you wont find another one in the whole of Azeroth. It is my one mechanical joy, a chicken that I have as my constant companion. I just wish it wasn’t wind up. It winds down at the most inapproriate moments, and gets left behind, until I work my way back through the cracks in the pavement until I find it.
Why didn’t it come with a homing beacon?
Gnomer and Out!