Story
The morning mist still clung to the hedgerows when little Oswin Underhill stepped out of his burrow-house, a basket hooked on his arm. The air was crisp with the smell of fresh bread from the ovens, and already the village square was alive with chatter. Halflings bustled to and fro, carrying baskets of apples, rolls of cloth, or jars of honey.
Today was the Cider Fair, and no one worked alone. Giants had come down from their halls to help string garlands between the cottages, lifting halfling children to hang ribbons too high for small hands. In the commons, Mistress Leofwen stirred a copper kettle of spiced cider, her wooden spoon taller than she was, while two giants poured in barrels of juice as though filling a teacup.
Oswin trotted to the judging table with his basket of honey-cakes. He had baked them himself, and though he knew he wouldn't win-the Bramblebrook family always did-he beamed with pride as the council scribes noted his entry. Behind him, fiddles struck up a tune, quick and lively, and halflings began stamping their feet in time.
By noon, the square was overflowing. Stalls bent under pies, loaves, and jugs of ale. A pair of giants sat cross-legged, each holding a halfling on their shoulders as the children tried to outshout the fiddlers. Stories were told, riddles traded, and wagers made-who could eat the most apple dumplings, who could drink the most cider without stumbling, who could keep their feet in the longest dance.
When dusk came, lanterns glowed warm in the hedgerows, and the whole village gathered to feast. Oswin sat between his father and a giant farmer, sharing cider from mugs of very different size but equal cheer. Laughter rolled across the fields like thunder, and even the oldest faces shone with merriment.
No one spoke of the Empire, or of Caerduin's war, or of anything darker than the question of whether honey or cinnamon was the better spice. For this was Ardenvale, and halflings knew that joy was worth guarding as fiercely as any treasure.

The halflings of Ardenvale are small folk, rarely taller than a child of other folks, yet full of life and spirit. Their round faces are often sun-browned from long days in the fields, their eyes bright with cheer and mischief. They dress in simple but well-kept clothes, woolen tunics, sturdy boots, and aprons dusted with flour or soil. Many wear garlands of flowers at festivals or carry charms carved from wood or bone.

They carry themselves with a lightness that belies their stature. A halfling moves quickly and with quiet confidence, whether balancing on a ladder to prune an apple tree or darting through a crowded fair with a basket of bread. Though small, they are never overlooked, when halflings laugh, the sound fills a room, and when they speak, their wit sharpens even the dullest conversation.

Daily Life

Halflings are the heart and hands of Ardenvale's villages. They tend the finer work of farming, cooking, brewing, weaving, and managing daily life. Where giants plow and haul, halflings plant and harvest. Where giants raise beams, halflings fit the joints. Together, they make a harmony that seems impossible anywhere else.

Halfling homes are burrow-cottages dug into hillsides or small, tidy houses with painted shutters and neat gardens. Smoke curls from chimneys that smell of bread and stews. Inside, rooms are cozy and warm, with shelves stacked high with jars of preserves, mugs of polished wood, and family heirlooms passed down for generations.

Every halfling hamlet is alive with the chatter of children, the bark of dogs, and the music of fiddles. Villagers know each other by name, and gossip flows as freely as cider. Work and leisure blur together, tending the garden is as much joy as duty, and baking bread is an act of love for the whole community.

Temperament

Halflings are known for their cheer, practicality, and good sense. They are rarely gloomy, for they believe every problem can be lightened with laughter, a meal, or a clever solution. While they lack the giants' patience, they make up for it with quick thinking, resourcefulness and pure enthusiasm.

They are fond of games and wagers, especially those involving food, drink, or feats of wit. A halfling rarely wastes a chance to turn a chore into a contest or a dispute into a joke. Some outsiders mistake this lightness for weakness, but halflings are far from naive. They have lived beside giants for centuries, knowing that size and strength mean little without cleverness to guide it.

Though halflings dislike violence, they are not helpless. A sling or shortbow in halfling hands can drop a hare at fifty paces, or an armored soldier if the need arises. More often, though, halflings prefer to win their battles with cunning words, quick bargains, or well-timed trickery.

Values and Virtues

The halflings' greatest virtue is community. To them, a village is not simply a place but an extended family. Food, tools, and labor are shared freely, and no one is left hungry or cold if a neighbor has a crust to spare. Hospitality is second nature, travelers are welcomed with open doors, steaming stews, and spare beds.

They value honesty, though not always bluntness. A halfling's honesty may be wrapped in humor, softened with kindness, or hidden in a tale that carries the truth between its lines. Generosity is a point of pride, a host is judged not by the wealth they display, but by how well they feed their guests and how warmly they laugh.

Craft and Skill

Halflings excel in the crafts that require fine work and attention to detail. They are brewers, bakers, weavers, and scribes. Their gardens are marvels of careful planting, with herbs, vegetables, and flowers growing in orderly beauty. Their kitchens are famed for their stews, pies, cheeses, and ales, each flavored with local herbs or fruit.

Halflings also keep records and histories, serving as the memory of Ardenvale. They write songs of the seasons, tales of harvests, and stories of giants and halflings alike. Their bards are prized in every village, for a good story is as nourishing as bread and as binding as law.

Halflings in the Council

Six halflings sit on the Council of Twelve, matching the giants in number. Where the giants are slow and measured, the halflings provide quick wit and practical solutions. They debate fiercely, argue over details, and draft clever compromises. It is often the halflings who handle imperial envoys, their sharp tongues hiding concessions within good-natured chatter.

Though they share equal weight with the giants, halflings never try to dominate. They know their strength lies in balancing their larger kin, where giants hold firm, halflings adapt, ensuring the council flows like the seasons rather than grinding to a halt.

Faith and Seasons

Halflings honor the same gods as the giants, though with a different flavor. For halflings, the gods are excuses for festivals, feasts, and games. Maelis's spring is for dancing and matchmaking. Syril's summer is for storytelling and teaching. Harlorn's autumn is for pie contests and ancestor toasts. Brunnoch's winter is for endless nights of drinking, games by the fire, and riddles that last until dawn.

To halflings, faith is not solemn but joyful. Their gods are beloved companions, toasted at every feast and thanked in every harvest song.

Halflings and War

Halflings abhor war, for it spoils the land and ruins the harvest. Yet they are no strangers to it. In ages past, when invaders threatened Ardenvale, halflings fought beside giants, guiding them through valleys, laying traps in hedgerows, and using slings with deadly precision. They are not warriors by nature, but defenders of hearth and home.

Their true weapon, however, is wit. More than once, a halfling has saved a village not with sword or sling, but with clever bargaining, misleading words, or a feast that turned strangers into friends. Where giants are the mountains of Ardenvale, halflings are its quick-running streams, flowing around obstacles until they wear them smooth.

The Spirit of the Halflings

In Ardenvale, halflings are the laughter in the hall, the song in the field, and the hands that keep the seasons turning. They are small, yet their presence fills every corner of village life. They embody the belief that happiness is not foolishness, that kindness is strength, and that the best battles are won not with blood, but with bread, beer, and good company.

Though the world beyond Ardenvale is grim, the halflings endure by holding fast to joy. Their spirit is one of warmth and resilience, a reminder that even in the darkest times, life can still be lived in peace, plenty, and song.

Possible Secrets

The First People

Some halfling elders whisper that their folk were the first to settle Ardenvale, long before the giants arrived. The "partnership" may be remembered wrongly; it was the halflings who tamed the soil and invited the giants later, not the other way around.

Lost Kin

"Wanderhalves" are halflings who left Ardenvale generations ago. Some became rootless traders and smugglers, known in the wider world as charming but untrustworthy. Others are rumored to have embraced darker trades, selling secrets instead of bread.

The Trickster's Lessons

In many villages, elders hold private evenings where children are taught riddles, codes, and little pranks. Outsiders think this is innocent mischief, but in truth these lessons form a tradition of halfling cunning that prepares them for dealing with larger, less friendly neighbors.

Old Magic

A few families guard the art of "seed magic," said to coax plants to grow unnaturally fast or twist them into shapes of defense. The halflings pretend it is folklore, but some hedgerows and orchards are too strange to be natural.

The Archivists

Beneath Greenmead, halfling scribes keep records stretching back centuries. Some of these histories tell of empires rising and falling, even predictions of what is yet to come.

Smuggling Rings

Despite official neutrality, halflings quietly smuggle food north into Caerduin, hidden in barrels or wagons. Some do it out of pity, others out of profit. The Empire knows something is amiss but cannot trace it.

Adventure Hooks

The Missing Cask

A giant's ale barrel, big as a cottage, has gone missing from a brewery. How anyone moved it without notice is a mystery, but the brewer insists it must be found before Brunnoch's Winter Feast.

The Dancing Bull

During Maelis's spring festival, a prized breeding bull breaks loose, rampaging through fields and scattering villagers. The heroes must round it up before it ruins the planting.

The Orchard Thieves

Someone is stripping apple orchards at night. Locals blame foxes or even Caerduin raiders, but the truth may be far stranger, perhaps fairies.

Lost in the Haystacks

A halfling child has vanished during harvest season. The villagers think she's only hiding in a game, but her family fears she wandered into the nearby woods.

The Wrong Barrels

A shipment of ale bound for the Empire has been swapped with barrels of vinegar. The brewer swears sabotage, and the adventurers must uncover who did it before the imperial envoy arrives.

The Wandering Bard

A beloved halfling bard has not returned from his seasonal rounds between villages. His songs carry news and joy, and perhaps something more valuable.

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