Thasper

⚘ T h e T u c k e t b r o o k s ⚘ "It is no bad thing to celebrate a simple life." - J.R.R Tolkien The beginnings of the Tucketbrook family are rather peculiar, as most things concerning these small-folk tend to be. The family began with the arrival of a round, pudgy fellow by the name of Lobo. There was nothing particularly exemplary about this halfling, except for perhaps his ability to detect the scent of a cake from several miles away. Or so he said, though judging by his size, most often assumed it to be true. Indeed, the only other thing this small man was known for was his many fears. It was perhaps most unusual, then, that Lobo would be remembered most of all for his position as the first Sheriff of Lenfarthing. Whether or not he actually did anything as a Sheriff is a question I leave to the historians. (Note. He did nothing.) Anyway - I digress. Lobo, having travelleled from Branborough in lands long lost, began to make a name for himself in the new community of smallfolk, among the gentle hills and golden wheats of Lenfarthing. Forming a friendship with the leader of Lenfarthing, Faldo the LenMaster, Lobo took up residence in a burrow of great splendor named 'The Tucketbrook' of Tucketbrook Lane. Many a green eye turned to Lobo, for The Tucketbrook was home to the grandest, largest hot-tub in all of Lenfarthing. It was said Lobo would spend an entire days kipping in the tub at a time. Perhaps these tales are false, but if I know my father, I expect they are true. Lobo came to love the lazy days spent in the Tucketbrook so much, that it was said he even adopted the name! Or - maybe the Tucketbrook was named after him. Another question for the historians! The Tucketbrook was rivaled only by the burrows of Faldo Featherfoot and Tibb Fairfield. Together, these three halflings would guide Lenfarthing to a place of fond memory for many smallfolk such as myself. From the festivals of Lenfest, to the frequent games of Shogging, many a fun time was had. I should note - Faldo was rumoured to have performed the greatest Herbwallop Hop ever witnessed by halflings! Sidenote: A Herbwallop Hop is the act of jumping from your log, to your opponents, for any untrained players of this game! Now, before I lose myself in the many stories of Shogging, I ought to explain how I came to be! While Lenfarthing was, for the most part, a calm place because of the ever watchful eye of Sheriff Lobo by nature, there was an event that brought chaos to the peaceful folk there. The arrival of a halfling woman. Her beauty was legend, and many compared her beauty to the sight of a golden pint of ale. No small claim, I assure you. Faldo, Tibb and Lobo all fought for her attention. Many shovels were broken in fights to prove themselves, many trees felled to make the logs for more competitive games of shogging, and many a bump and bruise gained by the three halflings throughout the process. All three scrambled to find the greatest gift, the most valuable offering to her, to surely win her heart! Lobo - the chubby, lazy halfling least expected to win her heart, pulled a stunner. He produced a shovel as gold as the wheat surrounding my burrow - a shovel as gold as the morning sun! Knocking on the door to her burrow, Lobo triumphantly presented what could undoubtedly be the greatest gift a halfling could produce. Faldo and Tibb could only watch in despair as Lobo, having been hiding the shovel behind his back, revealed his gift for the lady. As she took the shovel with glee, Lobo was confident he had proven triumphant, and the battle to go down in the folklore of all halflings for years to come was won! As it turned out, she was a greedy bugger. Snatching the shovel and slamming the door, the three halflings found all of their advances rejected. Reconciling, the three halflings made a solemn vow never to compare the beauty of a lady to that of a fresh ale. Despite the heartbreak felt by all three, life continued on, and peace returned to Lenfarthing. Then Lobo met my mother, some time later! - The personal musings of Fosco Tucketbrook in his 'in-progress' book, "The short history of the even shorter Tucketbrooks" C u l t u r e , T r a d i t i o n s a n d R e l i g i o n The Tucketbrook family has a history of being involved as Sheriffs or Deputies within the halfling communities. It is a shame then, that more often than not every member of the Tucketbrook family can be scared silly at the slightest of things. Perhaps it is this paranoia that drives them to be involved the 'solving' of mysteries plaguing the lives of halflings (e.g: Why is there one less cake? Well - it must be a hilltroll burrowed underneath the ground that comes up at night to steal the cakes!) The Tucketbrooks are relatively independent fellows and have a great dislike for being told what to do. This, in turn, lends itself to the exceptionally stubborn attitude of any Tucketbrook. If they are right - they are right. Or at least, that is what they would have those around them believe. The Tucketbrook family is, perhaps oddly having been involved in the creation of the legend known as 'Lord Knox', less religious than many other halfling families. The Tucketbrooks will never miss an opportunity, however, to recount the tale of the Pumpkin Lord making his first appearance to Lobo, Faldo and Tibb in Lenfarthing. It is likely they are simply too lazy, or too forgetful, to commit to regular worship. Yet despite their propensity to be forgetful, stubborn, scared and proud fellows, the Tucketbrooks have a great warmth surrounding them. Their sense of humour and willingness to get involved in a joke ensures there is never a dull moment around a Tucketbrook, be it for the better or worse. A p p e a r a n c e It cannot be said that the Tucketbrooks have a defining trait of appearance beyond their dark hair. A relatively new family in the grand scheme of things, any such traits have simply not yet had the time to develop. Some may be fat - others slimmer, as is the case with Lobo and Fosco respectively. F a m i l y Lobo Tucketbrook - Pimpernel Tucketbrook | Fosco Tucketbrook

A direct descendant of the son of the infamous King Edmund, Enor Sheffield, Eoin can trace his bloodline back to the ancient household, though any looking at him would pass him by without so much as a second thought. The days of the Sheffield bloodline as a noble family of importance are gone, their fame only in their histories. Enor, the ancestor of Eoin, was for a time a King himself, the King of Salvus. The kingdom was doomed to collapse, however, and with it Enor Sheffield vanished. As most thought, the Sheffield bloodline with it. Yet Enor did not meet his death in the fall of Salvus, and instead took to exile some time before the kingdom fell under the rule of Enor's uncle, King Edwin. Enor retreated from public eye, his experiences with the Undead, civil strife and more taking a toll on his ability to remain a King, and more importantly on his desire to be apart of the society he once ruled. Fleeing to far-flung villages and campsites, Enor is said to have lived the rest of his days in obscurity. One thing is certain, however, despite how little else is known of his last days, and that is that he sired a son. Indeed, the Sheffield family has continued to live in exile and obscurity ever since, seeking no place among the succeeding Empires and Kingdoms of men. As for Eoin, the son of the late Edmure Sheffield before him, he stands as the sole member of his bloodline as many of his family have before him in the years since the fall of Oren. Remaining in obscurity, he travels as a wanderer, with no home to call his own. He has never had one, nor does he desire one, for his is a life on the move. The once rooted and royal family has now turned to vagabonds and vagrants. With the death of his father only several years ago now, and the biting loneliness started to take its toll on Eoin, he has decided to pursue a different life from that of his ancestors until this point. He searches for a place to call home. No - he has no grand desires or ambitions. Instead, he looks for somewhere to humbly call his home. A farm, a small village abode, somewhere out of sight. But a home, nontheless. Currently, he wanders the various settlements taking what temporary jobs and contracts he can for payment, continuously working until he can find a small piece of the world to call his own. To the majority of folk he encounters, however, he will be short-tempered, cold, stony and altogether unwelcoming. He has no desire to become a member of the society he has been apart from for all of these years.