HalflingPrincess

Which LotC character of yours would you say had the most strange, unusual, or unique life?

Whenever we get stuff like anti-crowns of thorns redlines for all races. Like shoes on halflings, most wouldn't elect to wear it and it'd be very painful but it's not physically impossible.

A fairly odd date to do an AMA on but who cares, I'm bored, I've been here a decent amount of time and I've always wanted to do one of these. You know the drill, ask me anything.

Silence filled the halls of Goodbarrel Burrow. The afternoon sun shone through the window, casting light on the thousands of pages of writings sitting on Greta Goodbarrel’s desk. As it had often been over the past few years, the burrow was empty save for Greta and a couple of Sorvians. Once home to five halflings, the burrow was now home to only two. Not since her early days in Brandybrook had Greta lived in such an empty burrow. As she entered her dining room, her eyes fell upon the various paintings on the walls. There was a portrait of her daughter Eliza when she was a baby. It was rare now that Eliza, all grown up and off on her own, would visit the burrow. Everyone has left, Greta thought, haven’t they? As her eyes moved across the other portraits, that same thought crossed her mind. There was a portrait of Inkers, and of herself and Isalie Gardner speaking before a crowd of halflings. She had grown accustomed to seeing these faces every day, but had not spoken to them in decades. At ninety-two years, Greta was not really an elderly halfling, but she had certainly begun to feel like one. Greta was entirely alone when she took a seat at her dining room table. Her wife Kerra had left on a shopping errand and her Sorvian Tolerance was still in the study reading. An opened bottle of Greta’s favorite fortified red wine was already resting on the table, and she hardly gave a second thought before picking up the bottle and taking a long swig from it, as was her custom. Not even a minute passed before the woman felt a sharp pain in her chest. She recognized it instantly. She knew what moment had arrived; a moment she had been imagining nearly all her life, a moment she had been long prepared for, though she had rarely imagined it would look like this. Greta did not call for help, she didn’t even stand up. What was coming was inevitable, there was no choice now but to let it be. She began to imagine what people would be saying about her next week, or next year, or a hundred years from now; though it was not a question unique to this moment. All her life, Greta had been fixated on building herself a legacy, on writing things worthy of being read and achieving things worthy of being written about. She had resolved long ago not to become the simple housewife her mother had intended her to be and, to that end at least, she had succeeded. For as much as she resented her failures, reporting on them had left her finally satisfied. For nearly a decade now, Greta had felt her life was more or less complete. But now the notion that Greta’s life was over was not just a feeling. As she began to lose consciousness, she started to imagine what she may soon see. Greta did not believe in any particular god, but she had never ruled out the possibility of an afterlife. In fact, as she collapsed on the table before her she could almost swear she had caught a glimpse of it. She could see her father, looking up from his book to offer her a warm smile. She could see Jol, waving to her with a mug of coffee in her other hand. She could see people she had hardly known like Kit-Kat and Fred Puddlefoot, and great halflings who had died long before her such as Rollo and her cousin Micah. Yet, as Greta got ever closer to the other side, her mind wandered back to the living world, to Kerra, to her daughters Elsie and Eliza, and to her friend Winter. She wondered if she would ever see them again. But Greta did not have long to ponder that question. Soon the pain gave way to nothing; no more senses, no more thoughts, and no more feelings. Nearly an hour passed before Tolerance went into the dining room to check on their maker, realized what had happened, and rushed off to find Kerra, to tell her and anyone else that should know that Greta Goodbarrel was dead. As was her fashion in life, Greta had left behind quite a hefty pamphlet, which; after a brief introduction, was helpfully divided into sections addressed to various people she had known: The Last Will and Letters of Greta Goodbarrel To any it may concern, If this pamphlet has been published, I have died. Whether by the hand of another, by unexpected tragedy, or fault of my own, my life has ended. As chance very likely has it, however, my departure from this world was abrupt, and I was not given what time I needed to give each of my loved ones a personal send off, nor to sort out my wishes for burial or my bequests. It is for this purpose that I write these final letters: To my dear daughter, Eliza; To my dear wife, Kerraline; To my dear daughter, Elsie; To my dearest friend, Winter; To the Warden and Isalie; To Anne; To Valorin, Inkers, Maenor, and Aiera; To all others who have crossed my path in Bramblebury, Haelun’or, and Norland; If you feel that I have neglected to send you a letter, my apologies. If you believe you were at all important to me, then you likely were, for I do not show affection lightly. As of writing this, I have no idea how long I will have lived, but I am confident that it will have been far too short a time to live among such wonderful people. If I have ever offended you, I can offer only my general apologies. I, as much as any other person, was far from infallible, and throughout my life have committed many errors. Nevertheless, it is my hope that history will be kind to me, for I have devoted a great deal of my life to changing its course for the better. Though I will spare you all a political sermon, seeing as most of you are likely tired of such things, I will close by offering a final wish to any in the world who may listen: that a day soon comes when all peoples of the world live in peace, freedom, and equality. With Regards to my Body and Belongings I leave everything; including my books, my jewelry, my sword, my Sorvians, and my burrow; to my wife Kerra with the expectation that she will pass them on to Eliza when the time is right. Though my wife is under no obligation to continue caring for our vineyard or brewing wine in my place, I do hope that each and every bottle of Goodbarrel Wine soon finds its way to a thirsty person. As for my body, I ask that, if possible, it be put out to sea in the fashion of Polo Gardner and other halflings of old. After all, my life was nothing if not a series of adventures. It is only fitting that it should end with one. I bid all who are reading this one last farewell, may you all live long and happy lives.

A certain red-haired halfling lass lets out an incredulous chuckle upon reading the flyer. "Can't help but wonder how long this one will last."

Upon discovering a copy of the agreement, Greta shakes her head in disapproval. "Conspiracy against Isalie, abuse of power as Elder, and now separatism? My, my she's getting ambitious isn't she..." Greta would chuckle a bit. "She had all of Bramblebury under her thumb before disappearing. I suppose she couldn't accept as I did that leaving opened the door for someone Rolladango to come walking along." As Greta walks home, she wonders what problem a proper halfling could possibly have with Rolladango... apart from him not thinking exactly the same as her, that is.

Greta was sitting at her desk, hard at work on a history of Bramblebury when she heard a knock ring out from the door. Having been visited a few times by different people, Greta had learned to recognize knocks on the door. She had never heard someone knock on the door of Goodbarrel Burrow only once, however, that is, not until today. She gently set down her quill stood up, going over to open the door for this newcomer, being quite surprised to see that it was only a short little Sorvian bearing a letter. Politely as possible, Greta took the letter and sent the Sorvian off, going back into her study to open it, pushing her reading glasses back up her nose as she did so. She was not all prepared for what she would find. Greta read the letter from Jol several times, her face falling with each scan, though only a short Sorvian of hers (which she had yet to give a name) was there to see her. Light tears escaped the halfling's eyes as she lowered herself into her chair. She had not truly realized how much she had meant Jol, nor could she have possibly expected to lose her so suddenly. Greta thought back to the last time they had spoken, regretful that she had never taken the chance to thank Jol for what she had given her. Greta would look up from the letter to her Sorvian, which tilted their head as if to say "What is it?" The halfling did not respond at first, going deep into thought. Jol had taught Greta something very important; and it wasn't Sorvian crafting. In fact, the husk of the Sorvian before her had been built by Jol, though what little of a soul they had was Greta's. But no, the most important thing Jol gave Greta was a lesson. An ideal, even. In giving the name of that ideal to that Sorvian, Greta could, in a way, immortalize her friend; preserve her legacy. But what was the word? Eventually Greta figured it out, giving another nod before saying aloud "Tolerance." The Sorvian tilted their head again, so Greta repeated "Your name is Tolerance."

Greta blinks in confusion "So she wants men over 6 feet tall but posted this in a halfling village? Come again?" She laughs shaking her head. "Honestly I'd wager this is more likely to attract the attention of some halfling ladies than any men regardless. Or at least it would if she weren't practically a child!"

Somehow, a copy of this work makes its way to the desk of Greta Goodbarrel. She regards both the title and the author written on the cover with great interest, and reads the entire thing dilligently, nodding along in approval at nearly every word and notion presented. "So what if an elf wrote it? This should required reading for any politician anywhere."

Don’t worry about it lads, Greta’ll handle this.