NOTE: The following is from the mouth of one of the party's halflings and may be naturally nixed or altered by Quendalon. It is an attempt to expand the campaign world. This map shows the area of the world discussed while much useful information was cribbed from here. I will put this in two posts due to length. Hope someone might be interested.
Recuperating in Malinbois, the Company feels a new member has joined their ranks. Gone is the buoyant Handsome Hans. The female halfling replacing him has not been sullen, but certainly quiet. Brash, boyish chatter about city adventures in this new form has dissolved into wistful self-doubt. Reality has crashed in on the young halfling.
Finally she rounds them up. Afternoon sees them shuffling in to the back tables of the Spotted Owl. What they witness is a heart-to-heart, surprising for the brash, unserious little guy. She begins:
If you looked out the window very early this morning, you might have seen the white wings of a dove flashing outside in the spring air.
This was Pappatacci, a pigeon given as my wanderlust gift, not too long… but ages… ago. I feel like I need to explain myself, who I am but maybe the value is simply just to talk.
I have quietly kept Pappatacci in a cage. Feeding him, taking care of him. It felt dumb to have him. But you're supposed to. If you get in real dire straits. You send for help. Or you tell them you're coming home. Well, after what happened in the Chateau, I've sent him home with a letter. Last night he came back. My mother is coming to Malinbois. She will be here in a couple of weeks, meeting me here. She is concerned and before I could even offer to go back, myself, she is probably already on her way.
I have no way to stop her. There are concerns I will get to in a moment and she wants to take care of them. Pappa has done his duty. By rights he deserves to see the world and be his own pigeon, so I set him free."
Yallara and Glantri
A halfling's walkabout is called yallara.
Not all halflings care about the world. Some are content with staying in, taking care of themselves, taking care of loved ones. You will not see every halfling go yallaren. My family is an active. My parents both travelled. My older sister has settled in Shireton, our great city. Even if I hadn't been rambunctious… boy… I might have been prodded in that direction."
Why Glantri?
Why not Glantri? Dark magic is at the heart of this place. They hate clerics. They hate dwarves and elves. They hate us. The lords of the highest families, at least. Look how they treat goblins. Then they have a civil war and blow themselves all to hell, so now the big guys can't prevent new things from flooding in. I find this fascinating.
The Five Shires
My roots are not far from Rumblegate. This is the west of the Five Shires. A little far to sniff the sea brine, but close enough. But my family moved not long after I was born across the border into Darokin. When I recite my name, you'll hear that recorded — "Darrow-kin" is how we say it, a little goofy, if you ask me. Bramblebranch is on the opposite foothills of the Barrier Mountains, but the nearby lords know we are tough halflings and will take care of the area.
All my life I have known people who were not halflings, but for all you'd know we were in one of the Five Shires anyway. It was halflings everywhere.
The capital of the Five Shires is Shireton. Our port city empties out onto some of the great island nations of the Known World. Yes, there are halfling pirates. There are halfling everything. Halfling merchants. Halfling prisoners. Halfling sorcerors. Halfling charlatans. Halfling architects build galleon-shaped buildings; seashell-shaped buildings; buildings shaped like the backs of turtles or elephants. They bring home new designs, and generally do not forget to build their creations large enough to accomodate visitors. It is an amazing city, filled with commerce.
The rest of the Five Shires are genuinely peaceful. Well, I take that back. But for a small people, we are able to hold our own againt invaders. We hope. And keep our troubles to ourselves. Mostly.
The Hundred Clans
Tradition says there are one hundred families. The clans. The last names. One hundred of them. But come on. Time passes and how can that be true? Our people have grown up in distant countries - Yluarum or Thyatis or further and further - who have never set hairy or slim foot in the Shires. Those that stayed - how can the trees not twist and branch as the years go on?
Still they have the yearly Book-Sequence. The sheriffs of the shires, and all the constables, gather together to recite and make sure each other's book is straight with all the changes.
Each family is responsible for keeping track of their own. They send in their reports as the Book-Sequence approaches. Then the births and deaths, marriages and so on are compiled as a nation, together. This includes… changes to adventurers. Turned to stone? Check. Turned into a newt? Check.
This is why my mother is heading in. We need to discuss my name. And put it in the record for the months and years to come.