Legends of Belariath
Mozenwrathe
Cold Comfort - Path Of Ki-Rin Hoof
And here do I find myself in front of yet another person whom refuses to believe anything positive they here. Well, it is not as if this is completely new for me, as I have been around a while. How long is that while? I could tell ya, but it would cost you a full Mehrial in order to get ME to tell you my age. You could ask my cousin, Tremkis Azurebreath, but he'll charge ya TWO Mehrials, loperboy. [chuckling] Oh, now you want to know what "loperboy" means? Well, it is in the way you tallfolk walk sometimes after a long ride. It is more like you are carrying your legs rather than using them. Of course, if The Great Ones meant for us to ride, wouldn't They have made us all like centaurs? Y'all tallfolk never think about those things do ye? Well, just goes to show you make life far too busy for yerselves.
Now we halflings, we know all the good that can come of life, and we all seek it out in the best way possible - with ease. Yes, relaxing is the best way to take life, considering how much can go wrong without you running all hellynelly all over the place screaming at the top of your lungs like a bairn with its foot caught in a door. And don't try ta say you ain't done that a-fore, because you are young and you youngins have done it. I know I did a few times when I was a saucy lad back a-fore ye were brought up. No shame in it, as long as ya learn how t'avoid it. [smirks, then begins to laugh] Well, the look on yer face just brought back a thought of an old story that had a cleric, a sorceress from one of those island kingdoms, and a big bucket of honey... but you ain't enough for that yet. Why, you don't even have yer first whiskers yet!
One might consider us far too small to be a threat if all yer used ta is them big stinky behemoths yer call orges and trolls. Then again, pound fer fat, ugly, nasty, nose-picking, pickle-puckering pound, they are a big ass threat to anything they are around - especially themselves. There is nothing like watching two of those prize bull sized gore-loving critters going at it - from a distance, of course. You can hear them wailing on each other like a human blacksmith's hammer slamming down on a would-be horseshoe. It's nothin' short of a wonder how they both don't fall over from exhaustion from movin' even one of those meaty fists. Still, as you of all yer bowlegged kind should know at yer age, size ain't ev'rythin'.
Another would be more inclined to write my people off as pertyon bait or wyvern appetizer. Now I don't know about yerself, but I can tell you wyverns ain't all that particular about where they get their next meal. Not to say they won't eat a tender and juicy morsel like myself, but they rather go for the long haul first - and that'd mean your baby soft behind would be greasing their smelly and twisted maws before mine would. Oh, come on kid, I were just joshin' with ya? There ain't no need to look all pasty from what I said. Yer sure yer don't wanna seat? A bucket? Yer mother?
My thoughts on the matter, as I am sure ye guessed, are far different. I might be small in stature, but there is none whom I would declare braver than mine. Now, I am sure here's where ye get all bent outta shape and start doing the bard's top ten tale listing, but listen on before ye get all screechy on me, kid. Ye see, I am a halfling, and size means nothing ta us, because we've all been this way before ye ever thought of walking on two legs. We might not be able to reach the highest human shelves, or compare to dwarves in metallurgical talents. The elves can be more graceful for all their delicate sensibilities will force 'em to, and minotaurs far stronger than I'll ever hope t'be. I betcha, though, none of them would DARE challenge a halfling to a cooking contest. (They know damn well we'd knock 'em out the water no matter what it was, and that's all there is to it.)
Although my pudgy hands won't be holding one of them zweihander thingies, ye place twin daggers in my hands and I'll match any beastman staffwarder. (You don't know what a beastman staffwarder is? Child ye have so much to learn and so little time to do it in it frightens me.) You constantly insist my diminuitive size would hamper my efforts, yet I don't recall goin' all hungerstricken o'er the winter months. Your ribs, however, could use a little thickenin', if you want to know the truth...
Mercy is not only for the weak, despite what yer soldierkin commandant's diatribe insists. Let him rave and let fly with spittle from his gaping mouth while his vehemence ruins his performance and runs his throat ragged. We gots plenty of mead here for him when he's done chattin' himself out of breath. (And, I'll have ye know, it was good Widow YesRiver-Crane who brewed it, so it'll be a quality batch. Damned to be a dryad if it isn't - her mead's been one of the best around these here parts for the past twenty years, yes indeed.) My village here's been witness to predatorial ways of raiders from all races. Each and every time we've kicked those moleskins out of our quaint little place ta live without having to give up anythin' more than a few well-treasured and long remembered lives. We did it by bandin' ta'gether with other villages around here and working as one in order ta remove such foul and feral presence from our view. Unlike so many others, we can rely on each other in times of chaos.
A nymph may be of the forest, but only a halfling can take thorns and ivy, place 'em inna pot with wild 'shrooms and weeds, and make ye a hearty broth that'll warm ye to yer toes and fill yer gullet. [pauses in deep thought, then continuing on, with appropriate gestures] A dwarf might forge steel better than we, but wouldn't ye not prefer a halfling's nimble fingers to remove a poisonous needle from yer leg? Elves might be more aesthetically pleasin' and all, but ye know the most ribald humour comes from one low to the ground.
Remember me words when next ya run into any of my people, child. Because you see, maybe the next time we'll be as generous with the hearth wisdom we've gained over the years as we are with our meals. Speaking of which, what are ye doing not finishing all that's on yer plate? I've a wife at home that worked long and hard on that, and unless ye wanna be telling HER you didn't eat up, yer going to stuff yer skinny self full of this good home cookin' until ye and yer squadron up on all out of this village! [laughing can be heard]