A History of Halflings, volume 2

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The sequel to A History of Halflings by Petyr Brandybuck, this second volume is written by Faldo Featherfoot and tells the story of the Halfling people from the end of Aegis, through Asulon, and the beginning of their time in Anthos.

Preface

Many years ago, notable Halfling Petyr Brandybuck wrote the most famous tome telling the story of the Halfling race, ‘A History of Halflings’. Many years on, I have always put off writing this for fear of not doing justice to the influential work on our people. As I am just one Halfling, the story (of which every word is true and every event occurred to the best of my memory) shall be told from my eyes only. The reader may assume that outside of my perspective there are many stories left untold, for which more works should be created - and another tome of the history of our people will be deservedly written, for there is much more to be told.

Chapter 1 – Beginnings – Years 1351-1355

The village of Dunwood was spared by the Undead, or perhaps overlooked in their destructive march south. Despite this good fortune of the Halfling people, the future of our world at large was perilous. Many Halflings took up refuge in High King Syrio's refugee camp next to the Cloud Temple. But the crowds and the chaos of it all were generally considered a great discomfort to Halflings, being uprooted from their home and made to live amongst the outside world.

With Dunwood's comfort far behind us, Halflings stowed themselves on any boat they could find to journey to the new land. When I arrived in our new home, a land called Asulon, myself and Tibb Fairfield received a raven from Petyr Brandybuck with directions to our new village in the far south named Branborough, in a verdant land called the Vale.

Petyr had been quietly industrious building up our new village as best as he could. Branborough was surrounded by lush forest, with a winding stream through the centre named the Tookwater. To the east were the imposing snowy peaks of Hanseti, but they were a welcome site to keep troublemakers out. Very quickly, The Drunken Sheep Inn became the centre of village life. Petyr had even brewed a new ale and named it Branborough Buzz. Nights spent sharing the fire and telling tales of our escapes from Aegis, with enough Buzz on our lips to sink an Alrasian galleon, kept our wandering minds away from the fearful mystery of our new land.

Chapter 2 – Early Village Life – Years 1355-1361

All Halflings are naturally suspicious of tall people – particularly the urbanised Humans. This is not due to a sense of inferiority, or born out of hatred, and certainly not out of fear. No, far from it. It is said far and wide that a Halfling's garden is his castle. However, it is also said far and wide that tall people have many actual castles made of actual stone. As such, Halflings want to know little of the world outside and those that live in it, the clash of culture is too great to overcome.

Consider then our shock when the neighbouring human Kingdom of Hanseti sent inspectors to levy taxes on our fair village. Frerry Brandybuck, quick thinking as always, devised the plan that most likely saved our village just as it was in its infancy. We spread rumours of a deadly aquatic beast living in the Tookwater River, floating a sack of wheat painted red to mimic a body. When the humans arrived, myself, Tibb Fairfield, Lobo Underhill and Frerry started to dance around a huge bonfire whilst chanting whatever mumbo-jumbo we could think of, and attempting to draw their attention to the fake human sacrifice floating in the water. Considering us deranged, and fearing the rumours of an aquatic beast who has a taste for humans, we were then left alone forever.

At this stage, Petyr grew a little more distant every day. Though his nephew, Frerry Brandybuck, helped shoulder much of the burden of leadership from the shoulders of the old Halfling. Soon, however, the intrusive and violent outsiders visiting the village were replaced by wandering Halflings flocking to the village looking for the peaceful quiet life which every Halfling craved.

This period saw a considerable enrichment and increase of Halfling cultural activity. Halflings wrote poetry, created paintings, sang songs, brewed ales and ciders, and wrote books. Many of which became very popular with the world outside of the Vale, and the Halfling folk of Branborough received a great deal of unwanted attention as a result, and Branborough began to thrive.

Chapter 3 – BranFest – Years 1361-1383

The duties of running the village had now fallen to me and Tibb, and so we took advantage of the village's booming population by hosting a festival named BranFest. I had never seen so many Halflings in one place. Distant Underhills, Hollowmeads, Dewhursts, Herbwallows, and other families too obscure to name convened on the village. I even saw the King of the Humans taking part in the lumberjack contest, though his name now escapes my memory. I also met several wizards, whose tales of dragons and necromancers sounded too far-fetched that I suspected the Branborough Buzz was doing its work.

There was a pig race, a story-telling contest, cake-eating contests, fishing contests, lumberjack competitions, and a boat race down the Tookwater won by Bili Hollowmead, who was rewarded with a specially made golden shovel. Bili's announcement of his marriage to Lyra renewed our spirit in the evening, as relatives, friends and well-wishers already busied themselves with plans for the ceremony.

When I think of Branborough, I always come back to the night of BranFest. Listening around the fire to some adventurer's entry into the story-telling contest as the mists rolled in over the Tookwater. I’ve heard it said that little else stirs the soul of a Halfling quite like a party. That was never more true than on the night of BranFest.

Chapter 4 – Interesting Times – Years 1383-1414

To wish upon your fellow Halfling ‘May you live in interesting times’ is considered a great insult and a threat. It is to my shame that in these years we all lived in fairly interesting times. The presence of our wheat-powered ship The Salty Salmon sparked debate, for it would ferry unwelcome visitors to Branborough as well as good-intentioned Halflings. It also sucked us into all manner of adventures.

Hallfings, I among them, under the guidance of a wizard confronted a dragon who had kidnapped Doc Brandybuck, gate-crashed a festival of Oren's political leaders, and had to shovel a group of goblins who had disguised themselves as Halflings to gain a burrow in a series of events too complex to be included in this volume of history.

The village found a reprieve from adventure when Rupert Herbwallow detonated an explosive which felled a tree into the mouth of the Tookwater. Tibb then used this to invent the game of Shogs (shovels and logs) which consisted of two Halflings on opposite logs wearing pumpkins on their heads and trying to knock each other off. Rupert Herbwallow pioneered a (now illegal) manoeuvre known as the Herbwallow Hop as he leapt onto his opponent's log, which earned him some scorn in the village for a solid week. To this day Shogs is a game played in every lake, river, or general body of water that a Halfling can get their hands on – and has even received great acclaim in the wider world.

Though life in the village drifted by, we began to hear disturbing reports of natural disasters plaguing the outside world. When a wizard came to us imploring us to leave, we didn't know quite what to believe. Dunwood was now a memory, and the meadows of Branborough had provided us with comfort, with homes, and with friends.

Yet there we were again, cramped into the bowels of a wheat-powered barrel. Not knowing where we were going or what we would find when we arrived.

Chapter 5 – Reflections – Year 1424

I write this entry in the new village of Lenfarthing in Anthos, built by Tibb and I, as the welcoming LenFest festival steadily draws to an end in the late evening. From my window on the hill I see Lobo Underhill capsizing Rupert Herbwallow from his boat on the lake, and a Dwarf asleep over the back of the pig he was so proud to have won the Lenfarthing Derby with earlier in the day. As the air warm evening air comes off of Lake Lenfarthing the moon shimmers brilliantly in its reflection on the clear water.

When Petyr wrote the first volume of this history, his conclusion was sombre, the future looked dim. Whereas I have the pleasure of a brand-new world full of optimism, yet I still don't know exactly what the future will bring. Time, as it is so apt at doing, marches on for all of us – especially this old Halfling. My eyes are going, which makes writing this history an arduous but fulfilling, worthwhile task.

I hope that you have enjoyed reading this account of the history of our folk, the Halflings. As Petyr wrote in the first volume, the future will surely deserve another tome of Halfling history. To that, I sit here and raise a mug of Branborough Buzz – and to those who farm, tinker, laugh, sing, joke, drink, bake, fish, brew, borrow, or burrow, the future is bright for the Halflings.