Heff

A Random Halfling Name Fumble Liks cuz he cris evrytim

Meanwhile in the Tueton Fort a child swings his stick at green pillows...

"Greywyn is ours orcses!"

"I wan't a sword!"

-Harry "Pot-Roast" Altraza 

5 Years Of Age

((ryanheff74))

Halfling here, can we get a short screen of our new village? It's looking pretty nice right now but burrows need to be done.

"That's not real blacksmithing." says well informed man who once watched Lark blacksmith. Of course he wasn't saying it to Kalameet, whom he doesn't know is also doing fake smithing, but to some make shift smith trying to open up a place in Abresi next to Lark's.

 

"Lark is best smith." He repeats.

Lark Smith Is Best Smith. Lark Smith Make Do Of "LARKON-PUNCH!"

OI! PM me not Dovah! I'm way better than Dova at helping people... we all know that! 

Right?

Right?

No....

Okay

((test this IP 

1. mc2.lordofthecraft.net ))

Yuz +1

Fumble shakes his head, scribbling in the name of a race... missed by the Cloud Monkeys.

All are invited, HAFLLIN'Elf, Kharajyr, Human, Orc, and Dwarf alike.

Lark dips some Streltbread into his mug of Carrion Black in a tavern and munches on it, "I sense a disturbance in te' force."

 

Lark's Streltbread is moldy... the Bod-Side disturbed it.

*Posters are spread about near the Cloud Temple and the areas surrounding it*

Lookin Fer Hunters and Rangers Of The Like! 

I, Ryan Darkwood, am looking to form a group of Foresters in which we can regulate our profession and earn gold and cash. More details will be given to those who contact me. Send a bird to Ryan Darkwood ((just post here)).

​Sincerely,

Ryan "Aver" Darkwood.

I think we all know and love beta but it's just too much of a hassle for *new players* who are also *noobs used to full minecraft*. So they'd be looking around for horses while all of us are having a good time

Fumble scribbles down the second book in his file of biggun bookses.

Hail Queen of Festina, she will bring us many "Fade to Blackpowder"s.

((Will add everyone to perms soon))

Big footsteps cover the frozen wasteland once known as Lenfarthing, searching for a particular book.

While looting some burrows one breaks down, freezing to death... the halfling tears off the rusty grate of his old fireplace and lights it... bringing heat and light to the deathly area.

Before the Northern Scourge can react the halflings discover what they were looking for...

Petyr's Ancient Shovel Recipe... the thing that the Scourge had been so keen to find and destroy during their raid on the peaceful Dales. The halflings are gone as quickly as they came, leaving footprints in the snow.

Looks at the Dark Elf that suddenly poped up in Oren, in the Church's Monastery in Heredual. He then ignores it as it just his imagination. 

But there really is a halfling child hiding in your Church-Biggun hat who tickles your hair when you go to sleep, whispering,

 "Are ya so death to ignore  the hearings of troof within ya ears silly poopy? For ya i' not listenin' to da simple facts of the goo' person's nature, and proving the book to leave in the dirt, correct. If ya are tastes' in fighting' and not the mind, then ya a beast."

Fumble scribbles down a copy of the first book in a more halfling-esque way... making accent marks and such before putting it in his old toy-box.

((Bolo my head count post has 11 halflings in total (not including me as I will live with you) (So far we have 1 burrow for living done)

Doo eeet

A note is left for the Lumi'drim.

"Dear Lumi'drim,

I am resigning. Sorry if this is brief but after long thought I miss the thought of the ope world... exploring the unknown. I also would like to note that although my fellow Sentinels rose the ranks, I, who did just as much as them was neglected and never up-ranked from Sentinel. Another fact that I must leave is that multiple citizens have no respect for the Lumi'drim what-so-ever. I feel that if Malinor's Mali' continue this way, the Lumi'drim will have no power at all. "

​Sincerely, Ryan Darkwood"

Wut.

((For now we aren't going to have elders while we develop the new community))

Jonathan sees the notice and blinks in surprise "who the hell writes in an accent..." He mutters quietly to himself before turning sharply and walking off, certain that anthos literature is doomed