Thursday, September 21, 2017

Florens and Hauflins

By Akela (as far as I could tell)
In Liang Bua, it’s traditional to leave out bowls of rice wine and baked sweet potatoes by the family shrine every full moon, so that they might scare off evil spirits with the sound of their happy feasting.

In Warchest’r Shire, the first bottle of a fresh batch of garum-sauce is taken out past the old stone bridge and left in a basket at the edge of the woods, as payment for saving the life of the good king Wenceslas’ infant son.

In Old Alegh, soldiers on patrol always keep a few marbles or dandelion heads in their pockets to put in the crooks of old trees’ roots, to make amends for the blood shed at Crowshead Creek.

No matter where one goes in the world, there will always be the Little People. Hauflins, florens, halfamen, puckwudgies, hobbledehoys and halflings. Half the size of a man, or just about the size of a child, folk say they live up in the mountains, deep in the jungle, just over the next hill.

They exist, there’s no doubt about that. The people of Liang Bua wake up to find their wine and potatoes gone, and are untroubled by wicked spirits. The garum factory in Warchest’r will find broken tools mended overnight. The forests of Old Alegh are a place of rest for men tired of the wars past the mountains.

Many men confuse them for Folk, but this is not true. They are Folk-friends, perhaps the most so of all the races of men (Goblins in particular, as they share a puckish humor), but men they are to the end; The Little People know the Humble Art, and remember when Mother and DOG led them through the snow, as befitting an elder race of man.

Few ever directly cross paths with the Little People: their villages are hidden by geography and subtler arts, and they themselves are quiet as shadows. They rarely travel abroad, and in those rare cases it is usually because they have been roped into some adventure or another by someone else. This is occasionally referred to among their villages as being “off to see the wizard.”

Playing as the Little People

Your HD, XP, saves, and class abilities remain unchanged. The following traits may be added.

Hauflin Hole

There is a village out there that your heart calls home. The world of bigmen is good for an adventure or two, but in time you will return to the place you were born. Roll below:
  1. A comfortable, clean warren beneath a hill, among the roots of an old rowan tree. Guarded by a one-eyed badger named Old Battleaxe.
  2. A temple complex overtaken by the jungle. Tents and huts set up among the statues of devas and boddisatvas. The serpent who lives in the reservoir could eat a water buffalo whole.
  3. A longhouse in the mountains, at the end of a path erased by a landslide. Memories of smoked fish and warm furs, skiing down the slopes and riding the goats back up.
  4. A wooded island in the middle of a placid lake. You spent your days fishing with your grandfather.
  5. A cave behind a waterfall, at the end of a valley. The stream above was glacier runoff, meaning that any homecoming had an unavoidable cold shower attached.
  6. Just over the next ridge of hills. From the top of the church steeple you can barely make out the willows by the river and the apple orchards by Miller Tad’s.
Out of Sight, Out of Time

For all the simplicity of their lives, the little folk have a tendency to collect objects that don’t seem to belong to the place, nor the time: a pocketwatch, a newspaper, a telegram from one’s aunt, an umbrella, a booklet of stamps, licorice candies, mothballs, rubber galoshes, and so on. You will have at least one of these items in your possession upon leaving home, and might find another during your travels. (If the original is lost, or every other level as desired)


The Little People adore riddle games. Your opponent must pass an INT check to guess your answer (or you can try and stump your DM), but you must write your riddles yourself.


Off playing chess near a red velvet field
White king lost his crown and knelt there to yield
His hair’s all turn’d black
By the shock of attack
And pain now the kingdom’s been deal’d.

On My Mother’s Side

The Little People have large families, and so you most certainly know someone, or you know someone who knows someone, who is relevant to whatever is at hand. You can use this to get a piece of information, a helpful tool, a translator, or a guide, once per adventure.

This place is apparently an actual pub now. Probably overpriced as hell, but I appreciate the effort.


  1. Happy 80th anniversary of the Hobbit, everyone, and a happy Bagginses Birthday tomorrow.

  2. Excellent work, as always. A note: Hauflin hole #5 is unfinished.