Of Sound Mind the Halfling Way
- Thread starter the Jester
- Start date
CelticWolf
First Post
Finally got to read this thread all the way through - good stuff! Well-written, good story, interesting characters - all in all a good read. I like the characterizations especially - sounds like your players are a fun and interesting bunch...
Keep up the good work!
C.W.
Keep up the good work!
C.W.
the Jester
Legend
The Foe They Couldn't Hurt!
The next door opens to reveal a room with trophies- animal and human heads- mounted on the walls. A few old, decayed weapons are likewise displayed. “Oh, this place is so dirty, watch out, kids,” Mama chides, stepping in and looking around warily.
Something moves with a metallic scraping sound, lunging from the shadows in the corner of the room. Serpentine in form but clearly made of metal, it lunges at Mama, narrowly missing her! She gives a dismayed yell- ambuscaded again!
Federico starts singing in a warbling, yipping voice, helping his clan focus on victory. Brother He leaps forwards, his hand chopping out at the iron cobra, but though he hits it he clearly doesn’t damage it!
“Watch out,” he cries. “It’s pretty tough!” He dances around it, but it lunges not at him, but rather at Mama again, and this time its vicious bite hits with surprising force! Mama feels a burning sensation as the snake’s mechanical fangs pump some sort of poison into her and she yelps with dismay.
Federico starts trying to hit it with missiles, first hurling his dagger and then firing his crossbow. Nothing he does- nothing any of them do!- seems to hurt it!
The snake lunges at Brother He, and he flips adroitly aside, dodging its blow. “I don’t think we can hurt this thing!” he says.
Mama scowls, pulling a large sack from her belt. “There’s more than one way to skin a snake,” she says. “Grab it! We’ll tie it up in a sack and leave it under a rock!”
Brother He nods, lunging at the metal snake. It moves quickly, drawing back out of his reach and then striking in; but he is just as quick, maybe quicker, evading the cobra’s strike and snatching it about the neck! “Got it!” he cries, wrestling with the writhing iron cable of its body.
Quickly they manage to get it into the bag and tie it shut. Then Brother He and Mama put a large piece of rubble on top of it, followed by another and another; and finally, it seems as though any danger of it getting out of the sack is past.
A search doesn’t turn up anything worth taking; so our heroes proceed to the final door, which leads to an old bedroom. It’s in pretty bad shape; again, there isn’t much worth taking (though they do find a few cheap glass gems and Federico takes some crushed velvet from within a drawer to attach to his hat).
“I think we’ve explored this place pretty thoroughly,” Brother He comments. “We should return to the old druid with Bromworth’s head and get Hamstring, the sword we came for.” The others nod, and the group returns to the old druid’s cabin. As they approach they can hear horrendous coughing; and once they go inside they find that the old man is on the very edge of death. His rheumy eyes don’t see so well; he clutches Mama’s arm as she approaches his sick bed and wheezes something to her. He seems to think she’s someone else.
”The map,” he gasps. “Beneath the green stone. At the well, south of Bellhold... cough cough...” His licks his lips one last time, gives out a final gasp, and expires.
“Uh,” says Trinia, “what about Hamstring?”
A search of the old man’s cabin turns up a small rapier quite quickly; and it’s back on the road for our heroes, after a night’s stay in his cabin (they bury the body of the dead druid as a sign of respect, but being primarily kind of lazy halflings they don’t dig too deep). In the morning they have a big breakfast before they leave; then, a few hours down the road they stop for elevensies.
Well-fed, rested, content, our heroes set off whistling for Bellhold, since it’s on the way to the gathering site.
Next Time: Brother He starts developing his own style of combat!
The next door opens to reveal a room with trophies- animal and human heads- mounted on the walls. A few old, decayed weapons are likewise displayed. “Oh, this place is so dirty, watch out, kids,” Mama chides, stepping in and looking around warily.
Something moves with a metallic scraping sound, lunging from the shadows in the corner of the room. Serpentine in form but clearly made of metal, it lunges at Mama, narrowly missing her! She gives a dismayed yell- ambuscaded again!
Federico starts singing in a warbling, yipping voice, helping his clan focus on victory. Brother He leaps forwards, his hand chopping out at the iron cobra, but though he hits it he clearly doesn’t damage it!
“Watch out,” he cries. “It’s pretty tough!” He dances around it, but it lunges not at him, but rather at Mama again, and this time its vicious bite hits with surprising force! Mama feels a burning sensation as the snake’s mechanical fangs pump some sort of poison into her and she yelps with dismay.
Federico starts trying to hit it with missiles, first hurling his dagger and then firing his crossbow. Nothing he does- nothing any of them do!- seems to hurt it!
The snake lunges at Brother He, and he flips adroitly aside, dodging its blow. “I don’t think we can hurt this thing!” he says.
Mama scowls, pulling a large sack from her belt. “There’s more than one way to skin a snake,” she says. “Grab it! We’ll tie it up in a sack and leave it under a rock!”
Brother He nods, lunging at the metal snake. It moves quickly, drawing back out of his reach and then striking in; but he is just as quick, maybe quicker, evading the cobra’s strike and snatching it about the neck! “Got it!” he cries, wrestling with the writhing iron cable of its body.
Quickly they manage to get it into the bag and tie it shut. Then Brother He and Mama put a large piece of rubble on top of it, followed by another and another; and finally, it seems as though any danger of it getting out of the sack is past.
A search doesn’t turn up anything worth taking; so our heroes proceed to the final door, which leads to an old bedroom. It’s in pretty bad shape; again, there isn’t much worth taking (though they do find a few cheap glass gems and Federico takes some crushed velvet from within a drawer to attach to his hat).
“I think we’ve explored this place pretty thoroughly,” Brother He comments. “We should return to the old druid with Bromworth’s head and get Hamstring, the sword we came for.” The others nod, and the group returns to the old druid’s cabin. As they approach they can hear horrendous coughing; and once they go inside they find that the old man is on the very edge of death. His rheumy eyes don’t see so well; he clutches Mama’s arm as she approaches his sick bed and wheezes something to her. He seems to think she’s someone else.
”The map,” he gasps. “Beneath the green stone. At the well, south of Bellhold... cough cough...” His licks his lips one last time, gives out a final gasp, and expires.
“Uh,” says Trinia, “what about Hamstring?”
A search of the old man’s cabin turns up a small rapier quite quickly; and it’s back on the road for our heroes, after a night’s stay in his cabin (they bury the body of the dead druid as a sign of respect, but being primarily kind of lazy halflings they don’t dig too deep). In the morning they have a big breakfast before they leave; then, a few hours down the road they stop for elevensies.
Well-fed, rested, content, our heroes set off whistling for Bellhold, since it’s on the way to the gathering site.
Next Time: Brother He starts developing his own style of combat!
the Jester
Legend
Lela said:
It was an iron cobra from FF- it had DR 5/adamantine, which our poor lil halflings couldn't get through!
the Jester
Legend
Denoument
Just a quick one this time.
Bellhold, naturally enough, remembers our heroes. They are greeted with smiles and cheer. They have a nice day hanging about Wyrmcall Plaza, the great central square of town that the bell tower our heroes used to destroy the strange crystal from the dragon’s gut stands over.
“Hello, friends!” a voice calls. Our heroes look about and find themselves being addressed by a short, scrawny gnome with an oily moustache. He bears a rack of some sort of odd-looking, exceptionally short canes with canvas upon them. “Perhaps I can interest you in a fantastic gnomish innovation?”
“Innovation?” queries Brother He.
“Behold!” the gnome cries. “I present to you- the rainshield!” And with a flourish, he pulls one of the canes from his rack and does something to the handle- and the top pops open into an almost-flat disc. It’s easy to see, knowing the name, exactly what it’s for.
“Wow!” Federico exclaims.
“What genius,” breathes Mama.
“I’ll take one,” Brother He says decisively. His head is already spinning with the possibilities. “Come, let us talk.”
In the end, he buys one of the rainshields for now and commissions a special, telescoping one that he will be able to use as a weapon. From that point forward, he starts testing stances, examining rainshield moves, and otherwise begins developing what can only be called Rainshield Style.
A few days later and a few platinum richer (for the town’s gratitude for the party’s actions in destroying the dragon stone remains immense) our heroes head back to the halfling moot, and soon enough they are back with their own. The annual meeting is officially over, but as always, several wagons remain behind to trade, gossip, plan marriages and alliances, and trade members. Among these are a trio of Bakeswell wagons, and it is here that our heroes’ next adventure shall begin.
But for now, there are several lazy days of games, dancing and smoking, fine food and drink, and long naps. Just what a halfling wants.
Next Time: Well, I heard that those Peachtrees have a jam that’s making quite an impression on the contest circuit. I tell you true, it’s won almost every contest it’s been entered in! And speaking of jam contests, there’s a big one coming up at the end of the summer, you know the one- they have it every year. And I tell you true, if that upstart Benjy Peachtree’s jam beats out mine (which, by the way, has won the last three years)- well!
Just a quick one this time.
Bellhold, naturally enough, remembers our heroes. They are greeted with smiles and cheer. They have a nice day hanging about Wyrmcall Plaza, the great central square of town that the bell tower our heroes used to destroy the strange crystal from the dragon’s gut stands over.
“Hello, friends!” a voice calls. Our heroes look about and find themselves being addressed by a short, scrawny gnome with an oily moustache. He bears a rack of some sort of odd-looking, exceptionally short canes with canvas upon them. “Perhaps I can interest you in a fantastic gnomish innovation?”
“Innovation?” queries Brother He.
“Behold!” the gnome cries. “I present to you- the rainshield!” And with a flourish, he pulls one of the canes from his rack and does something to the handle- and the top pops open into an almost-flat disc. It’s easy to see, knowing the name, exactly what it’s for.
“Wow!” Federico exclaims.
“What genius,” breathes Mama.
“I’ll take one,” Brother He says decisively. His head is already spinning with the possibilities. “Come, let us talk.”
In the end, he buys one of the rainshields for now and commissions a special, telescoping one that he will be able to use as a weapon. From that point forward, he starts testing stances, examining rainshield moves, and otherwise begins developing what can only be called Rainshield Style.
A few days later and a few platinum richer (for the town’s gratitude for the party’s actions in destroying the dragon stone remains immense) our heroes head back to the halfling moot, and soon enough they are back with their own. The annual meeting is officially over, but as always, several wagons remain behind to trade, gossip, plan marriages and alliances, and trade members. Among these are a trio of Bakeswell wagons, and it is here that our heroes’ next adventure shall begin.
But for now, there are several lazy days of games, dancing and smoking, fine food and drink, and long naps. Just what a halfling wants.
Next Time: Well, I heard that those Peachtrees have a jam that’s making quite an impression on the contest circuit. I tell you true, it’s won almost every contest it’s been entered in! And speaking of jam contests, there’s a big one coming up at the end of the summer, you know the one- they have it every year. And I tell you true, if that upstart Benjy Peachtree’s jam beats out mine (which, by the way, has won the last three years)- well!
the Jester
Legend
That Peachtree Upstart
A few facts about halfling life: the clans all get along together, yes, and there is very rarely a bad disagreement among them; but there certainly is a healthy degree of competition! As this is halflings we’re talking about, a lot of this competitive element comes out in ways like baking, cooking, brewing or eating contests. Great favor is bestowed upon the clans that habitually produce the finest foods and beverages and pipeweed; in fact, of the six most powerful clans, four (the Bakeswells, Peachtrees, Hempflowers and Barleybrews) gained much of their prestige through such means. Many of the intermediate clans rose from obscurity through similar means (including, of course, the Flapjacks).
For the last six years running, a particularly grand contest has been the annual Summer Jam Festival’s jam contest. One of the greatest reasons for the grandness of the contest has been the sweet taste of victory- for six years running, victory has fallen to the Bakeswells and their black raspberry jam with just a hint of olalaberry and dream berry in it.
This year, although the contest is still some time away, there’s another contender who has shown a worrisome level of success. A young upstart by the name of Benjy Peachtree has shown up several more traditionally respected jam makers in smaller contests- testing the waters, as it were.
It isn’t that anyone wants him out of the contest; it’s just that the Bakeswell jam is widely distributed and easily available on the market. This new upstart Peachtree lad’s jam has never been tasted outside of his clan and the judges in the contest. That’s not fair to the Bakeswells, of course; how can one concoct the proper culinary countermeasure to something when one has never sampled it?
So informed by the clan matron of the Bakeswells, our heroes easily agree to see what they can do. Perhaps, in one of the smaller contests that are forthcoming, they can manage to get someone (such as Mama Flapjacks) onto a panel of judges...?
And indeed, there is another small contest coming up.
Our heroes set out to execute their plan.
Next Time: Well, if that ain’t a halfling adventure, I don’t know what is! Jam Session!
A few facts about halfling life: the clans all get along together, yes, and there is very rarely a bad disagreement among them; but there certainly is a healthy degree of competition! As this is halflings we’re talking about, a lot of this competitive element comes out in ways like baking, cooking, brewing or eating contests. Great favor is bestowed upon the clans that habitually produce the finest foods and beverages and pipeweed; in fact, of the six most powerful clans, four (the Bakeswells, Peachtrees, Hempflowers and Barleybrews) gained much of their prestige through such means. Many of the intermediate clans rose from obscurity through similar means (including, of course, the Flapjacks).
For the last six years running, a particularly grand contest has been the annual Summer Jam Festival’s jam contest. One of the greatest reasons for the grandness of the contest has been the sweet taste of victory- for six years running, victory has fallen to the Bakeswells and their black raspberry jam with just a hint of olalaberry and dream berry in it.
This year, although the contest is still some time away, there’s another contender who has shown a worrisome level of success. A young upstart by the name of Benjy Peachtree has shown up several more traditionally respected jam makers in smaller contests- testing the waters, as it were.
It isn’t that anyone wants him out of the contest; it’s just that the Bakeswell jam is widely distributed and easily available on the market. This new upstart Peachtree lad’s jam has never been tasted outside of his clan and the judges in the contest. That’s not fair to the Bakeswells, of course; how can one concoct the proper culinary countermeasure to something when one has never sampled it?
So informed by the clan matron of the Bakeswells, our heroes easily agree to see what they can do. Perhaps, in one of the smaller contests that are forthcoming, they can manage to get someone (such as Mama Flapjacks) onto a panel of judges...?
And indeed, there is another small contest coming up.
Our heroes set out to execute their plan.
Next Time: Well, if that ain’t a halfling adventure, I don’t know what is! Jam Session!
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