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Story Actor
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About Burnsider

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    Stone Miner

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Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Fred Puddlefoot
  • Character Race

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  1. I am happy to see teeth behind the announced investigation bans.
  2. Baelithar looked at the missive with a look of confusion. "If this is what passes for concern in Haelun'or, they are certainly more pampered than I expected."
  3. Burnsider


    I am okay with this person being a member of the Puddlefoot family. He should decide whether he's a member of the main branch of Puddlefoots or the sub-branch Pennywhistle Puddlefoots of which my Halfling is the current head. Based on his backstory, he sounds like a member of the main branch. Just my two cents.
  4. That is both how I understood it to mean and how I've experienced it IG
  5. Baelithar's hand gripped the hilt of his sword upon reading the missive. "Jackanapes! Rapscallions! Would that they were before me now for my sword is cramping from being too long in the sheath! The swiftest winds and the fastest horses could not keep them away from me! No hiding place will be too secure! Their bill has come due and the tax collector cometh!"
  6. Well, that went well...
  7. My halfling is a stock one from the archive. Now that he's a bit older and isn't a farmer anymore (he's a doctor), I'd like to update his outfit. Happy to pay in cash or crowns. My discord is Burnsider#3564
  8. Late one night as Fredegar Puddlefoot was just putting out the last candle and getting g ready to turn in, a loud knock sounded on the burrow door. He looked at the door, quizzically. The elves never knocked. They just barged in and demanded a tour. Who could it have been? As he opened it, a short man in a cloak entered. The cloak was soaked from the rain and the man pulled the cloak off him. It was none other than Deek Driftwood, sheriff of Brandybrook and captain of the Spicy Shrimp. "So it's true! Ya are bein' 'eld captive by these menaces!" Fred shook his head. "'Ouse arrest, more like." Then, he smiled and embraced his companion. "What are ya' 'ere fer? Oi jes put tha fire out, but Oi could start it again if'n ya'd like some tea." Deek rolled his eyes. "Ya daft goat. This is a rescue." And, over tea, pie, biscuits, crumpets, and a sandwich, he laid out his plan. The next day, Deek and another halfling in his cloak approached the gate. Other members of the Spicy Shrimp waited beyond the gate for them. There was a commotion at the gate as a line of people awaited entry into the high elven city. "I cannot accept just one bar of iron as a contribution to the city," the Sillumiran manning the gate bellowed to the man currently at the front of the line. "'Ey! Lemme outta' ere!" Deek groaned, pounding on the bars. "You will wait your turn, halfling!" Fred threw a small rock at the back of the head of one of the guests milling in the courtyard and the man turned, confronting a nearby high elf for such an insult. As the gate opened to allow the next guest entry, the affronted man began to attack the high elf. The guard looked over and ran out of the gatehouse to stop the brawl. Deek turned to Fred. "Now's yer chance. Go go go!" Fred burst through the open gate, over the bridge and jumped into the elevator, pulling the lever to lower it. He looked back to see Deek on the ground of the bridge, having tripped. "Run fer it, Fred! Yer free!" As the guard looked back at the new commotion, Deek got to his feet and rain towards the lowered elevator. He pulled his fishing rod from his back and cast the line, wrapping it around a post. He leapt and used the fishing line to repel down the shaft until he landed next to Fred. The elevator hit ground and they sprinted out of the city towards a set of ponies held by a few crewmen of the Spicy Shrimp. As if daemons themselves were after them, the mounted the ponies and rode, not waiting to see how much of a lead they had. Fred was free.
  9. NAME: Georg Fleischer NOBILITY (Y/N): N if not, GENTRY (Y/N): N RACE: Waldenian PAST EXPERIENCE: My Uncle, a studious scholar of history, believes zhat he has found a new method of infantry fighting utilizing old Imperial tactics vith modern drill. As such, he has trained me in zhe manner of zhe short sword and pike.
  10. A halfling pokes his head in. "Did someone say bootless?"
  11. Fred rolled his eyes upon reading the missive in his burrow directly outside Berr'lin's citadel. He chuckled a bit at the absurdity of it all. "Words mean nothin' withou' some oomph behin' them. T'ain't nothin' in 'ere ta stop them Sillumirans from continuin' ta harass tha populace or ta stop them from threatenin' ta level ma home. Beggars in Llyria all o'er again, I tell ya."
  12. To the honorable Thain of Brandybrook, Micah O'Connell, It is with greatest regret and heartfelt sorrow that I heard of the death of Thain Rollo Applefoot. The Thain is dead. Love live the Thain. I know that it is a time of sorrow in Brandybrook, indeed for all halflings around Arcas, and yet, I find myself reflecting upon words of glad tidings I had wished to exchange with Thain Rollo. Alas that I had not the time to share them with him. As such, I pass on these words to you. It is my firm belief that the titles of Thain and Protector of Halflings, both once held by your predecessor, should be one and the same. The Thain should not be Thain of Brandybrook only, but of halflings as a whole. Therefore, I hereby request that the village of Hillsborough receive vassalage under your august title, and becomes a dependent territory with local autonomy still granted to the Mayor, while retaining the suzerainty of this greater halfling state. I await your reply and hope that you agree to this proposal. Yours in service, Fredegar Puddlefoot, Mayor of Hillsborough
  13. Beat me to it as well, given, well, look at the quoted username.
  14. "Oi'm sorry, but did ya want ta sound loike a whiny, petulant choild? 'Cause ya sound loike a whiny, petulant choild." Fred tsks tsks at the moist spot on the ground. "Ya know, some people walk in there bare feet 'ere!"
  15. From his comfy new burrow in Haelun'or's capital, Fred looks over the choices and crumbles up the notice in disgust, tossing the paper in the fire, where a nice mutton stew was just starting to bubble. "Figs and biscuits! There wasn't even a choice fer 'illsborough North."
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