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Burnsider

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About Burnsider

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    Coal Miner

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    Burnsider

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  1. The Wee Folk have suffered a great loss. With the destruction of their town, Brandybrook, they find themselves to be orphans in an unforgiving land, put up in a location not their own, reliant seemingly only on the kindness of the bigguns and the self-preservation in their own hearts. Yet, even in such dark times, Lord Knox provides and protects. Gaffer Hamfast welcomes one and all amongst the Wee Folk to return to the ruins of Brandybrook and take back a semblance of the old life, a moment of comfort, an attempt to make peace with the violence done to us. We members of the Wee Folk have always found our place in the world through good food, good drink, and good cheer. We cannot end our time in Brandybrook with what has occurred there; we must show that the Wee Folk are strong enough to overcome the harshness that has befallen us and that good cheer can never be driven from our souls. Gaffer Hamfast will be building a communal oven in Brandybrook and invites the Wee Folk to come and harvest the dreaded pumpkin that caused Brandybrook’s end and turn it into a pie unlike any ever seen in the annals of Arcas. For that is the Wee Folk way, to take tragedy and not let it affect how we interact with the world and ourselves. We are simple folk with hearty appetites and and an eye for tasty morsels. Let us turn defeat into dessert. The Pumpkin Lord protects us. May we live in peace and happiness because of his protection. The Pumpkin Lord provides for us. Let us feast upon his spoils in thanks to him. The Pumpkin Lord teaches us. For to be proper Wee Folk is to show our devotion to him. [OOC: Saturday, 10/16/2020, 2:00 PM EST in the Ruins of Brandybrook]
  2. Gaffer Hamfast smiled and set his hoe down upon the fence. He took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow and the dirt from his hands. “Wha’ a wonderful way ta give devotion ta tha Pumpkin Lord, by ‘avin’ a festival in celebration o’ his blessed gourd. T’would be moi pleasure.”
  3. In this time of uncertainty, when demons assault the very shores of the Wee Folk community, it is important to remember the protections and blessings of the Pumpkin Lord, Knox. Lord Knox protects the Wee Folk. He gives blessings to the harvests. He helps us return to a time of good eating, delightful smoking, and fine relaxation. Let us return now to these times, praying that the Pumpkin Lord will bring that time back to us. Do you need help with your harvest blessings? Does your pipe-weed need prayers to better dry the leaves? Are your pumpkins just not up to the quality of prior harvests? If so, you need the help of a practiced devotee of Lord Knox. You need a Gaffer. Gaffer Hamfast has come to Brandybrook to offer the services of a Gaffer to this fine example of a proper Wee Folk village. As usual, all Gaffer services are free of charge to Wee Folk of a proper disposition. Curious Wee Folk need only seek out Gaffer Hamfast at his residence in the Puddlefoot Burrow to inquire about such services. Harvest Blessings Are you in need of a bountiful harvest? Are you planting in a fresh field and want to ensure that it is fertile? Has your land gone fallow and need it to be reinvigorated? Is your child planting their first crop? Call upon Gaffer Hamfast and he will invoke the blessings of Lord Knox. The Pumpkin Lord knows that protection of the Wee Folk begins with ensuring that each belly be full, that each tongue be satisfied. Knox-Blessed Pumpkins Gaffer Hamfast, through careful study and revelation, has found a way to make pumpkins truly blessed by Lord Knox. For truly magnificent pumpkin pies or for the finest gourdian helmets to grace the shores of Arcas, please call upon Gaffer Hamfast for pumpkins of inestimable quality. Lessons for a Proper Child Is your offspring thinking about wearing shoes? Does your cousin entertain the idea of living in a house rather than a burrow? Has your nephew decided that a life of swashbuckling adventure is more important than an evening of good brews and good smokes? Call upon Gaffer Hamfast to teach the wee ones how to act like a proper member of the Wee Folk community, how Lord Knox wants us to act. Act now before it is the Sheriff knocking at your door. Remember, the Pumpkin Lord protects us so that we can afford to live a life of peace and contentment. All this and more can be available from your local Gaffer. Please visit today! The Pumpkin Lord protects us. May we live in peace and happiness because of his protection. The Pumpkin Lord provides for us. Let us feast upon his spoils in thanks to him. The Pumpkin Lord teaches us. For to be a proper Wee Folk is to show our devotion to him.
  4. I, and I can't believe I'm saying this, agree with everything Jumper has said.
  5. I really like this and I think that, with a little tweaking, this will be perfect. My thoughts: The council should each be elected a different way. Thain: Should be appointed for life by the elders. In charge of all halflings, period. Mayor: Should be elected by the Halflings. Sheriff: Should be elected by the Bounders (see below) with consent of the Thain. Elders: Each family gets one vote for elders, usually cast by the Parriarch. Steward: Should be appointed by the Mayor. Library: Should fall under the High Pumplar Military: Should be renamed Bounders Architect: Seems too un-halfling. Maybe the Surveyor?
  6. There's literally an app for that. Don't ask. Apply.
  7. Fred sips some tea with his good friends, Micah and Benedict, laughing at all the good times they had when alive.
  8. Fredegar Puddlefoot lay on a cot in Last Light, his breath labored. He sighed, and it brought on a new coughing fit. One of the medics put a cloth to his mouth and the sputum came up red and black. The black was new; soot from the flames that he had inhaled. One more thing. He could not feel much, the herbs he had been given had taken that away thankfully. His hands, mostly useless now, lay on his stomach, wrapped heavily in gauze. He closed his eyes and smiled. He had done what he could during the battle against the infernal horde, treating those on the field before taking them to the medical tent, wrenching Boris Oceantoe away from the flames at the cost of his own hands, beating an imp to death with his shovel. It was more than he had expected to be able to accomplish at the age of one hundred and sixteen. He looked to his right and nodded at the pack that lay by his cot. “If’n ya’d be so kind,” he said slowly to the medic. “Oi would ‘preciate it muchly if’n ya’d go in there and fetch ma pipe and leaf.” The medic shook her head. “I can not allow that. After the amount of smoke you have inhaled, a pipe is liable to cause even more damage.” Fred gave her a tight smile and shrugged, a movement that took an immense amount of effort. “You and Oi both know that ‘tween tha cancer and tha smoke inhalation, it’s a mattah of when, not if. Please. One. Last. Smoke.” The medic shook her head again, but it was done hesitantly. Then, a pause, and she moved to get the pipe and packed it with fine Hillsborough leaf, picked in the early spring and hung in the caves of the Common until mid-summer to dry. She lit a flame and placed it in the pipe, putting it in Fred’s mouth. His lips had trouble sealing around the pipe, but eventually he held it between his teeth. He inhaled and the taste smelled like home. For the briefest moment, Fredegar Puddlefoot, of the Pennywhistle Puddlefoots, sixth of his name in nine generations, and mayor of Hillsborough was back on his front porch, rocking in his chair. He could smell the smoke coming from his chimney, a rabbit stew on the pot, a Pennywhistle Pie in the oven. He could hear the slow lap of waves on the nearby shore and a heron warble in the nearby woods. And, for a time, deep in the lands of the demons, Fred felt like he was at home. His lips curled into a smile and the pipe fell from his lips. The pain was gone and he exhaled one last time. The medic closed his eyes and put a sheet over him and went to tell the others in the camp that there would be one less soul at Last Light when the horde came upon them once again.
  9. Fred wonders why a common s*** poster always feels the need to respond to posts she disagrees with as if she was actually there.
  10. “If one o’ t’ese damn daemons off me in t’is infernal place, Oi hope t’ey do before t’ese impropah Wee Folk get any further in this insane bid fer democracy. Imagine, thinkin’ we should be loike tha Silver City.”
  11. Fred Puddlefoot slammed his drink down on to the table upon finishing reading. “Why tha...tha absolute nerve o’ such an member o’ tha Wee Folk. Nothin’ bu’ a bunch o’ impropah nonesense, an’ ta gathah an armeh of supportahs. Why, Oi never though’ Oi’d see tha day tha Brandybrook would’ve become such a liberah place. May Knox see them turn their from t’eir ways or may tha Thain roightfulleh toss t’eir impropah hides ou’ o’ tha village.” He rapped his cane against his empty mug. “Anothah, before Oi ‘ead off ta tha Camp o’ Last Loight.”
  12. Young Nicolas looked over the table at his father after trying to read the treatise, but it was a little difficult for him. "Vater, when ich was in Helena the other day, ich saw priests being arrested while people yelled at them that 'people can believe what they want. We have freedom of religion here.' It was scary, watching the priest on the donkey have to run like some kind of criminal. Is that what this is about?"
  13. That application is hilarious. 4 different quizzes? A promise to forfeit the character if you tell them? Oh my.
  14. Fredegar Puddlefoot, ninth of his name, of the Pennywhistle Puddlefoots, rose from his bed upon reading the declaration and went to his floorboards. He lifted them off and found his unlocked chest covered in dust: his armory. He lifted up the dwarven crafted shovel, forged by master smiths in Urguan and laid down his elven cane. He took a deep breath in worry and concentration, but a coughing fit overtook him. He doubled over, dropping the shovel and grabbing for his handkerchief. He reached, almost blindly for a chair, and grabbed it to sit down. The coughing fit lasted for another minute and then, he lowered the handkerchief. It was covered in blood. He looked at it and sighed, then tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket. He grabbed his cane and used it to stand again, then found the shovel on the floor, which he placed next to the door in anticipation. The gray haired halfling hobbled to the door to his burrow and began to head to the tavern to talk to the others and enjoy a good meal. Not many left of those now, but Fred was ready for this, his final march. He was one hundred fourteen years old and all his other friends save the elves were already dead. And those elves had taught him well. He would show the inferi why they should not mess with the Wee Folk.
  15. Look, my post may have been a bit salty, but come on. This is supposed to explain OOC to the player base what this CA is and how to play it in a way that is easy to comprehend. These sentences seemed deliberately designed to be hard to comprehend.
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