Halflings

"Sit with me for a while, young sprouts, while these coals soothe my aged bones."

"Your bones aren't old, Grandmother!" piped up the youngest of the brood--Kepli, a tiny cherub not two feet tall. He glared at his mother's mother's mother, as if challenging the venerable halfling to dispute her scion's faith.

"Oh, you're right about that, Little Kep--I could still dance a step or two! Why, I remember the night of the Twenty Year Festival, a dozen years back . . ."

"Tell us, Grandmother--please!" implored a chorus of voices.

But instead, the oldster held up her hand and shook her white head, hair tied in a neat bun at the back of her neck. Ample jowls jostled amiably as she chuckled at the youngsters' enthusiasm. "Another time, sprouts . . . you'll hear about that, all right. But tonight, you'll have a different tale."

The old halfling settled into her soft chair, adjusting her well-padded form amid the worn cushions, pulling back the comforter on her left, where she faced the fire.

"You see, the story I'll tell you now is one I had from my own grandmother, when I was not much older than Pedderee here." She ruffled the coppery curls of a beaming little girl. Pedderee turned proudly to her siblings and cousins, but their attention remained riveted on the seated figure of the matriarch.

"And it's my true hope," she continued, "that when one of you sits in this chair here--many, many years from now--you'll remember, and share it with your own little sprouts."

"We will, Grandmother! We promise!" Eyes wide, faces serious, the young halflings pledged their attention. They already understood that, tonight, it was no ordinary story they would hear.

The diminutive halfling has become as archetypical a character in heroic fantasy as the stalwart knight in shining armor or the robed wizard fumbling with his spellbooks. Perhaps it is because, in stature and appearance, halflings is so unheroic that they have won their way into our hearts and our adventuring consciousness.

Of course, for most halflings, the life of adventure seems a slightly mad choice of lifestyle--a road one takes out of dire necessity or because of profound misfortune. Sometimes simple eccentricity or mental imbalance is attributed as the reason for a friend or relative's leaving his or her hearth behind, with the townsfolk quietly clucking their tongues and sympathetically agreeing that the adventurer was "never quite right in the head, that one."

The halfling race, by and large, cherishes a pastoral existence full of comfort. As a people, they are remarkably lacking in ambition, content to dwell in a snug, well-furnished burrow, enjoying a pipe of rich tobacco and a filling, multi-course meal at dinner. The typical halfling would look askance at the meager trail fare of the average party of adventurers. Our well-padded Stout or Tallfellow, likewise, would be horrified by the rude, chill, and drafty sleeping accomodations available on a rocky forest floor or in the sheltered recesses of dim caverns and dungeons!

Yet, for a wide variety of reasons, a few members of this quiet race do choose to embark on the path of danger, adventure, and possible wealth. Indeed, it is the latter consideration that brings many halflings onto the adventure road--the comforts of life that make living so enjoyable are not always cheap or easily attained! Also, halflings all have a strong sense of duty, and a just cause in the name of a friend will often pry a reluctant halfling from his or her burrow when nothing else would.

Despite their short stature, halflings who choose the life of adventure can be splendid assets to a party. For one thing, the generally cheerful outlook of halflings, together with their ability to make friends with members of a wide variety of different races, can be powerful, if intangible, assets to the group's morale. Faithful and trustworthy to their friends, one of the Small Folk can often provide a focal point of trust and even leadership within a party of much larger characters.

On the more practical side, halflings' nimble fingers are famed for a dexterity that is the envy of many a human thief--and don't make the mistake of confusing small size with physical frailty or weakness. Though they admittedly weigh much less than most of their likely opponents, halflings have found that their speed and their wits are more than ample replacements for brute size. An unaggressive race, halflings have never been known to war with others of their kind, and they resort to organized warfare against other races only in cases of dire need. At such times, their tactics lean toward ambuscade and the use of screening terrain, rather than frontal clashes where the greater weight of any opponent's troops would likely prove decisive; given the choice, they would rather drive a foe away than slaughter it.

The small size of the halfling has proven to be a lifesaver on more than one occasion. Indeed, a party consisting entirely of halflings can investigate dens, caverns, and burrows where humans, elves, and dwarves would be fatally constricted by space.

Halfling society, too, is a flexible and forgiving structure, easily capable of allowing individuality and freedom. A halfling who leaves his or her home in search of fortune and fame will almost certainly be sure of a warm welcome on that perhaps distant day when he or she at last returns. At the very least, such a traveler is likely to return with interesting stories . . .

But to all halflings, travelers and homebodies alike, there is something compelling and desirable about the solid stone hearth of his or her own burrow. Even the most well-traveled halflings are likely to eventually return to the place of their birth when they are ready to settle down and remember.

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