Heh...I visited em a few times last night...

I'll look through my books today, nothing on hand.

_________________
How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single
moment before starting to improve the world.

~Anne Frank

Green Fields

Essentially it's the specific place that the souls of halflings that have a halfling deity as a patron go after they die. Urogalan's job is to protect the souls of those that are traversing from the material plane to Green Fields. This would be via the Fugue Plane where all souls wait until either resurrected or their deity calls them. A hin deity in this case.

Green Fields is one of the many planes grouped in the "Celestial Planes" which, like Arvandor for the elves, and the House of the Triad, are seen as the "good" planes as opposed to the collection of evil "Fiendish Planes".

In Green Fields all the halfling gods have their own 'realm'. Presumably the soul of the dead halfling will be guided to the appropriate realm within Green Fields by Urogalan.

Within these realms the deities reside, though Brandobaris is rarely in his. He prefers to set up small temporary realms wherever he rests.

Unsurprisingly Green Fields connects to Tymora's realm in Brightwater via a portal maintained by Tymora.

Tymora is considered by halflings as one of Yondalla's children, even though her realm isn't in Green Fields. The romance between Tymora and Brandobaris is what is believed to be the reason for this.

There's a bit of a controversy on Amia, I think, because (from reading the Campaign Setting and Faiths & Pantheons) generally the cosmology of how it's believed to be is not really how things really are, but how it's commonly accepted. Gods may or may not be real, and the time of troubles our PCs would very likely believe that the gods themselves walked among them.

On Amia, however, it has been decided that the gods are real. No shades of grey debades. So it's difficult to see how post spellplague there's a real change in how people see cosmology. Tymora = Brandobaris which makes perfect sense in their minds when reconsidering cosmology post-spellplague. But I guess that doesn't matter, because Amia is non-canon.

Green Fields, we can imagine, would be the ideal place for halfling souls to spend the rest of eternity in afterlife. Vast fields to cultivate, wander through, roam, play among other halflings and Yondalla's Children and just enjoy themselves. The ideal for almost any halfling.

That's my take on it.

_________________
"The householder's disdain for the vagabond hides a hint of jealousy."

~ A hin proverb

What He said...Thanks Alpha! Brilliant!

_________________
How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single
moment before starting to improve the world.

~Anne Frank

The names of the two captains of the Irregulars are filled in to the original declaration.

_________________
"The householder's disdain for the vagabond hides a hint of jealousy."

~ A hin proverb

You should gather this type of info into one tight package and then make a sticky containing all of it. Many people (including myself) who know all too little about Hins and Gnomes would find this incredibly useful in making one.

_________________

UCE THIS, YOU COW.

That was the idea behind BloodNAshes' "Big Book of Small Folk" for halflings, but there are still a few gaps. The Green Fields stuff above, for example, wasn't in there as far as I know. And there's usually a lot of trouble accessing it on the AmiaWiki.

It would be nice to have an Amia forum sticky with it. Ill get right on it. We can use this topic for questions about stuff that needs to go in.

I'll start a halfling one. Gnomes aren't my strong point, so I'd hope someone would be up for doing something similar. -Claok-and-Dagger-, I'm looking in your direction

_________________
"The householder's disdain for the vagabond hides a hint of jealousy."

~ A hin proverb

Gnome seems to be the forgotten race in the Forgotten Realms. I just can't comprehend why anything that brilliant has been left unsung.

_________________

UCE THIS, YOU COW.

I blame the NWN models. The gnomes as illustrated since 3rd edition in the core and supplementary books really sell the race to me. But then I look at the model in the character creator in NWN and a can't bring myself to pressing "accept" or whatever the button is.

_________________
"The householder's disdain for the vagabond hides a hint of jealousy."

~ A hin proverb

The ugliness of the figure is awfully easy to disguise. Puffy trousers, skinny forearm models (via crafting), say bye-bye to the monkeylook.

But I really I meant overall. I can't find any fantasy books wherein the Gnomish culture would be processed with a closer gander.

_________________

UCE THIS, YOU COW.

Well, they're known by other races as the "Forgotten Folk" for a reason.

In any case, I'm not all that good with Gnomes either. I know only the basics. I think Cloak and Dagger can tackle that monster. Get it?



Anywho... About the Green Fields:



That's probably most of the information there is to find about the Green Fields.

_________________
My Characters:
Yuilith Kethil Menaiivan Garadeth

Nice find, Gunz. Which book is that from?

_________________
"The householder's disdain for the vagabond hides a hint of jealousy."

~ A hin proverb

It's from the book "Player's Guide to Faerun."

_________________
My Characters:
Yuilith Kethil Menaiivan Garadeth

Thanks for the info! <3

Even Yondalla snubbed them.

_________________
♪ Primera Gemfinder ♪

I came across The Complete Book of Gnomes and Halflings and thought I'd share the entries on the Gnomes and Haflings myths. Cover says Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 2nd Edition; no idea if this is applicable for Amia or the Forgotten Realms.


Myths of the Gnomes

The moon faded as the shadow of the world slipped across its surface, until the natural amphitheater—recently so brilliantly illuminated under the full circle of white glare—slipped into darker, deeper shadow. Finally, in nearly complete blackness, the masters stepped from their niches onto the stages of honor set around the gathering. Each of these stages was a pinnacle of rock, rising several dozen feet above the heads of assembled gnomedom.

One of these masters raised his hands and muttered an incantation. Immediately the midnight air around him flared into a blossom of red light, light that spilled like a shower of liquid onto the floor of the valley. Another master spoke, and green illumination grew in a spurting fountain around her. Soon other showers of light, in blues and whites and pale yellows, spread across the darkened vale. The rock walls reflected the magical flares until the whole of the bowl-shaped vale brightened under the illusionary magic.

Then the circle of lights faded again, as a file of stunted figures moved into the smooth clearing beside the lake. Abruptly, these gnomes raised their hands-and the tale of the gods began…

Unlike most other civilized races, the gnomes do not have a creation myth. Instead, they view the world—and their place in it—as a constant within the flow of time, changing only in small and insignificant ways. In the big picture, they assume that things will remain very much as they always have been. Good and evil, chaos and law, exist in equilibrium, and the preservation of this balancing act is the primary purpose of time.

A great wall of white light flickered into the sky. A fountain of golden sparks appeared in the midst of the pale illumination, and the whiteness encircled the gold like a mantle wrapping royal shoulders. Slowly a figure grew distinct—gnomish of form but enormous in size, covered with rippling golden, his eyes gleaming like twin diamonds of incomprehensible size and value.

Murmurs of appreciation and comprehension rippled through the assembled gnomes. They knew that this was the image of Garl Glittergold, the patriarch of the gnomish pantheon of deities from time immemorial. In mute confirmation, the gleaming shape of a huge, silver-bladed axe materialized in the god's hands. This, they knew, was Arumdina the Justifier, the great battleaxe that would cleave the enemies of gnomedom as easily as she might slice through water.

Other fountains of color spurted upward, and within them grew the shapes of additional gods—the mischievous and merry face of Baervan Wildwanderer; the calm, stoney features of Calladuran Smoothhands; the vibrant metal-faced visage of Flandal Steelskin; Segojan Earthcaller's benign features—until the whole cosmic family was represented in the bright vale.

Only then came the creeping white shadow, reaching forward with steel-shod claws, its shape like that of a blunt and blinded beast. It glowed like a corpse-candle, its illumination swallowing up all other light, its pale glare unmistakably pure evil.

The gnomes gasped collectively, and little ones instinctively shrank beside their mothers, for they all knew that this was Urdlen—the dark center of evil that remained, even within gnomedom, always ready to flourish in the world.

The gnomish outlook on life requires a very balanced view of the universe. Thus, while gnomes consider themselves and their race to be generally good, the force of evil in the world—and even within the gnomes themselves—cannot be denied. Indeed, only by acknowledging evil, by recognizing it as the counterpoint of goodness, can the balance of all things be maintained.

Like the gnomes themselves and the other gods, Urdlen the Evil One is assumed to have always been there, and to remain for all time to come. Yet only in the steady struggle against the creature and what it represents can the truly happy and vital nature of these people be insured.

The colors flowed and flamed. In their towering pillars they told of the great battles of life, as darkness ever strives to swallow light but always the brightness breaks through.

Thousands of gnomish throats first howled with laughter, then groaned in collective grief, as the images of the gods cavorted across the epic stage. They watched in awe as Garl Glittergold raised his axe, chopping at imaginary stantions of stone to bring a thunderous collapse—this was the tale of Garl's triumph over Kurtulmak the kobold god, in which Garl brings down the cavern that Kurtulmak would have made his prison upon his captor's head.

Next the images of a thousand gnomes, arrayed for war, marched from the cliff walls, striving toward each other with braying trumpets and drums that pounded like thunder. But again came Garl Glittergold, the goldenskinned giant of a gnome, and with a swipe of his axe he cast glittering sparks of light all across the ground. Immediately the gnomish host threw down their arms, and the audience roared with amusement as they scuttled about to collect the gems that their deity had scattered. By the time the gathering was done, the weapons were lost and the trivial argument that had once propelled them to war had been forgotten.

Central to the mythology and self awareness of the gnomes is a sense of the race's togetherness-even among the different subraces that make up the whole. Indeed, one of Garl Glittergolds main tasks in the world is to intercede in potential gnome-to-gnome conflicts, usually by humor and diversion. It is this awareness that makes conflicts among these folk—whether they be marital arguments, property disputes, disrespectful youth, bitter clan rivalries, or warfare—so extremely rare.

When they do occur, the practicers of violence (on both sides) are likely to face complete ostracism until the conflict is resolved. It is interesting to note that, once resolution is achieved, the gnomes are usually quick to forgive and to welcome transgressors back into the fold. Their patience is not limitless, however, and blatant aggressors or bullies who repeatedly hector others are not likely to be easily forgiven. Fortunately, such malefactors are quite rare.

The image of the goldenskinned gnome, surrounded by his entourage of lesser gods, cavorted from mountaintop to hillcrest, scampering around the vale that held so many of his people. They laughed and roared at his antics, cheering as he and Baervan sat together at a table and alternately stole a succulent haunch of roast back and forth from each other. The illusionary roast, which was the size of a small house, sizzled and sputtered, casting the warmth of steam and the scent of its juices enticingly across the gathering.

But then the crowd drew breath in hushed anticipation as they saw, lurking in the hollow below GarlS golden image, the hideous bulk of Urdlen, The Crawler Below. Reaching upward with steely claws, the hairless, blind beast groped for the higher gods, seeking to strike and injure them in its spite and hate. Small gnomish children, not yet initiated in the scope of the tale, shouted warnings, their squeaking voices rising above the hush and stillness of the vale.

Garl took no notice, however, instead choosing that moment to perch on one foot and do a wild, spinning dance for the edification of the crowd. Ever upward crept the monstrous mole, until those steel talons reached almost to the great god's golden boot.

Suddenly, just as Urdlen prepared to lunge at its apparently unsuspecting victim, Garl leapt into the air and did a double somersault backwards over the creeping beast, finally coming to rest on a hilltop a full quarter-mile away. Hissing in hate and spite, the evil mole reared up to make a last desperate swipe at its escaping prey, only to overbalance in its haste and fall backward, rolling over and over like a runaway snowball as it slid down the slippery slope, not stopping until it hit the bottom of the shaded vale between the two summits. A moment later an avalanche of gems it had dislodged in its fall buried it from sight.

And then, to the echo of Garl's laughter and the relived cheers of ten thousand gnomes, the shadow slipped from the face of the moon. As brightness again filled the vale, the performance of the illusions faded… and the celebration began.

The task of the gnome, as he or she views his or her place in the world, is a mixture of important work and equally important play. Whatever the nature of the job at hand, a gnome will apply himself or herself to it with great good humor, even carrying his or her joking wit and humorous outlook into the subterranean depths of a mine or down the forest trail.

But it is when the work is done that the true nature of gnomehood becomes apparent. No one could mistake a boisterous gathering of singing, dancing gnomes for a hard-working bunch of dwarves. Indeed, the humor that possesses them comes to the fore in these days of celebration. For example, the festival of the Lunar Eclipse runs until the next full moon. For a full month, the gnomes set their cares and chores aside, using the cosmic occasion as an excuse to gather far and wide, spending their days and nights in a loud and boisterous celebration of themselves and their role in life.



Myths of the Halflings

Halflings can be found on almost all the worlds inhabited by demihumans and humankind—and, in at least one case, have settled a world without any human or elven inhabitants. Though they resemble their larger human cousins in physical characteristics as well as geographic locale, the halfling race differs significantly in the common tale of its origin.

Whereas humans throughout the known worlds have countless legends, tales, and myths to explain their arrival and presence there, halfling cultures all share a common story: the Story of Littleman. Of course, the common tale is inevitably flavored with local custom-for example, the role of the goddess Yondalla varies depending on who’s telling the story. Yet its core is always the same: the story of a small person wandering in the midst of chaotic, populous lands, facing a thousand difficulties and triumphing over them all through luck, courage, wits, and persistence.

The Story of Littleman

”There, Petrilly—be a dear child and fill my teacup. Surely thanks. Oh, and just a wee splash from the bottle to give it some character. Well done, lass.”

“The story, Grandmother—tell us the story!” Eyes wide, the youngsters waited impatiently until the old halfling’s tea was properly mixed. She sipped, and smacked her lips, and then began.

“Yes ... the story of Littleman. But it’s not just a story of the first halfling—it’s a story of the gods, as well. The gods of the Big Folk and the Bad Folk, humans and goblins, who dwell up in the Seven Heavens and look out over the worlds and watch out for their followers.”

“And Yondalla, Grandmother? She’s there too, isn’t she?”

“Mercy, child! Where else would she be? All you little ones know she’s the great Protector of all halflings. Of course she lives there! In fact, the tale’s not just about Littleman, but about Yondalla as well. But in those days, when our story begins, she was not yet our protector. Indeed, back then Yondalla was held by most of her fellows to be an unimportant goddess and was little heeded by the great lords of Human and Elf, Dwarf and Monster.”

“Not that she was weak, or meek, mind you—quite the contrary. Yondalla was bold and brave, and quick to speak her mind when the gods met together in one of their great councils. But alas, since she had no faithful worshippers, her wise words were often ignored by the other gods, deities who boasted of their multitude of followers like peacocks showing off their pretty tailfeathers. Then, too, there was the matter of her size—gods are like too many people I could mention and are quicker to give respect to the huge and awesome than the small and clever, and Yondalla barely reached to the knee of many of the mightier lords.”

”But, but, Grandmother… ?” Kepli spoke tentatively. “Yondalla’s a mighty goddess—isn’t she?”

”Aye, Sprout—that she is. But even in those days, many other gods already had the weight of worshipping legions to support them and cause others to listen to their words. Yondalla had none, and thus many of the greater lords ignored her, especially after she was banned from their councils for a time…”

“But why would they do that to someone as nice as Yondalla?” Petrilly wanted to know.

“Simple, lass. She’d often heard various of the gods boast that they were the wisest, or strongest, or most popular deity of them all. One time when all the gods were gathered in council, she asked ‘Which of you is the greatest? Quickly the responses grew heated, and the argument that followed lasted for a long,
long time; by the time it was over just about everybody was mad at just about everybody else. And they decided to blame it all on poor Yondalla for bringing it up in the first place—isn’t that just like Big Folks?”

“But it wasn’t just that; her questions had gotten her in the soup before, and not listening to the big gods making long speeches and trying to impress one another was hardly punishment in her mind. I think it was more that she was tired of being ignored. It seemed to her that even those gods and godesses who were her friends often treated her with condescension, as if her size meant she had no more sense than a child! Humph!”

“Also, Yondalla is a kind and tolerant goddess. She admires kindness and generosity—not traits that the other gods held in abundance. But remember, my little ones, Yondalla is also a clever god. She saw the power that followers gave to the other gods, and she determined that she would have followers of her own. Finally the goddess decided there was nothing for it but to find some worshippers of her own.”

“Kepli, the fire needs another log—Ah! there’s a good lad.”

“Yondalla left the Seven Heavens and came to the Worlds Below, where she searched for a long time, looking for the perfect worshipper. But it was a long, hard search: most of the folks she came across already had gods of their own. She could have tried to steal away the other god’s worshippers, of course, but that would have meant trouble, and it was never Yondalla’s way to stir up trouble when there was an easy way of avoiding it. Other folk had no gods but watching them Yondalla saw that they were cruel and savage, hunting one another for no reason. She wanted followers she wouldn’t have to scold every ten minutes, and decided to continue her search.”

“I don’t know how long she searched—my old grandmother used to say it was ‘a day and a year and a year and a day’—but surely it was a long weary time. Then one day she saw Littleman sitting on a riverbank, fishing, and at that moment her search was over.”

The old matriarch stopped. There was a long, thoughtful pause as her audience considered the story. Unnoticed, Pedderee refilled the venerable halfing’s empty cup. Finally, Kepli broke the silence: “Grandmother? Where did Littleman come from? What was he doing before Yondalla found him?”

“Ah, child, who knows? Remember, this was in the Bad Old Days, before our folk had farms and villages, and shires of our own. Back then we were scattered like mice when the owls are out. Each family kept to itself and had its own hidden burrow. It was a hard life: sneaking, and hiding, and getting by on gleanings and scraps, always listening for enemies at the door.”

“But Littleman, he wasn’t afraid like the rest. He used to boast there wasn’t a monster in the whole forest he couldn’t outsmart, and he proved time and again that his quick wits were more than a match for the brute strength by leading enemies into trap after trap as they chased him, until finally they’d given up and decided to leave him alone. Thanks to his carrying on so, his folk were safer than they had been in a long day, for none of the Bad Folk wanted to mess with any halfling they came across, in case it turned out to be Littleman.”

”Yondalla watched Littleman for a long time and decided she liked what she saw. Here was a potential worshipper who was clever, brave, kind-hearted, and full of mischief. Best of all, he was just the right size. So one day she revealed herself to him and made him a bargain: if Littleman would gather all his scattered people into villages and communities, in return for their worship Yondalla would protect them from all their many enemies and give them a life of plenty and peace.”

“Now, Littleman thought this over and decided it sounded fair, so he said ‘Done!’ And from that day to this, Yondalla has watched over our folk and guarded our prosperity, and we have been her people.”

“And Littleman, Grandmother? What became of him?” Pedderee asked

“Why, child, she sent him on his wanderings, to all the worlds where any of the small folk lived,” chuckled the white-haired matriarch. “But that’s a tale for another night.”

A General History of the Halfling Race

They myth of Littleman is repeated in virtually all halfling cultures of the mortal realms. However, the details of the story differ with every teller. In some versions of the tale, Yondalla creates Littleman out of the essences she has stolen from the humans, gnomes, dwarves, and elves. In others, she said to have created halflings long before Littleman’s time but then left them along for an age to see how they’d turn out, like a farmer who plants seeds and then leaves them until the young plants have sprouted. Others give no explanation of how halflings came into the world but simply start with Yondalla’s meeting with Littleman.

All versions agree, however, that before recorded history began, halflings were a shy and fugitive people living as hunter-gatherers on the edges of civilization, hiding in isolated burrows from the humanoids and monsters that preyed upon them. The civilized races—elves, humans, dwarves, and gnomes—took little if any notice of them, while to the humanoids they were merely tasty, if elusive meals. Then, for reasons which these races have never fully understood, the small folk suddenly came out of hiding, gathered together and created small agricultural settlements for themselves across the face of the known worlds (the halflings themselves attribute the impetus to their mythical cultural hero, Littleman, and the goddess Yondalla). At any rate, it is clear that halflings arrived on the scene after humans and well behind the longer lived dwarves, elves, and gnomes. The halflings seem to have made a point of not competing with the brawnier neighbors, instead selecting regions of lowland or dense thicket which they industriously drained and cleared, forming the pastoral shires inherited by their descendants.

Halfling societies have developed among most of the lands that have significant human settlement. Sometimes the small folk live among the humans, sharing their cities (though many will be gathered in a well-defined "Halfling Quarter") or farming beside their larger cousins. More often, however, halflings will live in small enclaves on the fringes of human realms. As a rule, halflings do not display the urge to expand their frontiers that so characterizes humanity; they are on the whole an easy-going and unambitious people. Once every dozen generations or so some restless halfling will gather a group of like-minded souls and forge into wilderness to clear new lands, but like their ancestors they will avoid areas already inhabited by others (whether human, demihuman, or humanoid). There is no record of halflings ever invading an area for the purpose of driving its inhabitants out and settling there themselves, although they are adept at mingling with whatever inhabitants they find already there.

Halflings strive to form the most neighborly of societies wherever they live. The race has a gift for getting along with dwarves, elves, humans, and gnomes in all climes and environments. Lack of prejudice is a noted halfling characteristic—one which allows them to welcome all types of strangers into their communities and to mingle comfortably in the cities and towns of larger races. Typically, halflings will cooperate with their neighbors for the defense of a larger area. Thus they gain an alliance with larger troops, and the ally welcomes companies of superb missile troops.


Source: The Complete Book of Gnomes and Halflings

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♪ Primera Gemfinder ♪

Bumping the festival list by gothic: HIN FESTIVALS as celebrated in Bendir Dale. Someone make one for the forgotten gnomes.



The Complete Book of Gnomes and Halflings: Typical Halfling Village

_________________
♪ Primera Gemfinder ♪

heh. That list has been on my browser bookmarks since its creation.

_________________
"The householder's disdain for the vagabond hides a hint of jealousy."

~ A hin proverb

Adventurers be warned

If your feet pass the pond in the forest, mind you don't get snatched up by the umbral banyan tree that's there. Be as curious as you want, but just be armed with this knowledge that it'll snap your life away in an instant. Happy footing!

_________________
"The householder's disdain for the vagabond hides a hint of jealousy."

~ A hin proverb

We Want Wood

To aid the efforts of the expansions, we need to collect 12 logs of either yew or pine.

1,000 gold pieces reward for the first to hand over the needed amount to the Town Hall.

_________________
"The householder's disdain for the vagabond hides a hint of jealousy."

~ A hin proverb

_________________
How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single
moment before starting to improve the world.

~Anne Frank

*Prim summons a Juggernaut after reading the warning.*

"Good news Champ! No fighting today, Champ gets to relax in a pond. Happy footing!"

_________________
♪ Primera Gemfinder ♪

// I've unlocked this. The Harlequins have been back in Bendir for a while now. Seems only appropriate to pick up here. All harlequins and those interested in the 'Quins, please post here as liberally as you feel. Thanks.

_________________
"The householder's disdain for the vagabond hides a hint of jealousy."

~ A hin proverb

*a note in the de-elevated lair of frivolous festivity*

Oh dear brothers an sisters o'the motley we wear
there be many a grim face, what needs our fine fare

Chaos an Law, the low an the high
our job be quite simple... bring sight t'the blind

Some folk be simple and they miss all da fun
they kain't see da trees, fer in da forest they hide

come hither come thither, come what may
we seek only truth in da silliest o' ways

fer life's to short
to fast
and to fun
to be wastin it waitin fer sumin ter come

when the road come t'the end
and the curtain draws closed
when all is said and yer deeds been done

a fine tale to tell at the end of the day
is all you'll have when they send ya away

So brothers an sisters o'tha motley we wear
wha will ya do wit the treasure you bare?
will you rise with me, will you heed the call
for they be need'n a fool ter take the fall

[[edit:font size]]

_________________
How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single
moment before starting to improve the world.

~Anne Frank

*Egan pouts a bit*
Oye..I stumped around that ting an nuttin 'et me....
*kicks a pebble and drys off his clothes*

_________________
How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single
moment before starting to improve the world.

~Anne Frank

//Would a non-Hin, visiting the Dale see these messages (including the original post)?

_________________

// Yep. As mentioned in the title, it's all up in the Town Hall, so if you non-halfling found themselves in the town hall they'd be able to see. It's also written in common.

_________________
"The householder's disdain for the vagabond hides a hint of jealousy."

~ A hin proverb

Bump RE: Nof's name change and relocation, and the forum tag-line.

_________________
"The householder's disdain for the vagabond hides a hint of jealousy."

~ A hin proverb

_________________
How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single
moment before starting to improve the world.

~Anne Frank

That is pure awesome, Gothic. Pure awesome.

_________________
Characters I play:
Kira Cottonfoot - Hin Bardess
Kirby Cottonfoot - Arcane Trickster

Volunteers,

We did some fine work, but there's still some more digging to be done. That said, I'd like to continue and knock out a few more feet. The day after the harvest festival, let's get you back into shape with some back breaking labor! Expect to be fed afterward and be given drinks throughout.

Selune's blessings,
Lyle Torrowfire

// Aiming for the day after, that Friday. Sound off times?

_________________
Andrew Fryar: Cordor's Folk Hero
Bobrin: Eccentric Avenging Executioner
Lyle Torrowfire: Retired badass
Marigold Cobcruncher: Perceptive Priestess

//Gone on a field trip to the Museum of Tolerance that day...can't be in until late...8pm pst at earliest. Heh...not like Egan did any digging anyway, the pregnant lady with spoons did more.

_________________
How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single
moment before starting to improve the world.

~Anne Frank

*Egan can be seen, when not out to sea, looking for Willie and others wearing the harlequin motley*

A gatherin'...aye 'at's wha we need. Gots t' see who be here an able ter 'elp in this new scheme. Heh...gatherin the Harlequins kin be a bit like gatherin the wind wit a net.

*writes on a small parchment with invisible ink*
~ Jo, Egan, Willie, Prim, Caith

_________________
How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single
moment before starting to improve the world.

~Anne Frank

Agreed!

_________________
Eli Hodgewall <{/,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
Sven <=={o===========>
Qeelak \ | / ,

That's Hin style? Always thought they'd be wee huts, similar to Tolkien's hobbits' houses.

_________________

UCE THIS, YOU COW.

For a hin establishment that caters to both settling and nomadic hin from all over the islands and afar, why not convert a natural looking cave into a wonderful gathering area?

_________________
Eli Hodgewall <{/,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
Sven <=={o===========>
Qeelak \ | / ,

Sounds more Gnomish to me, but I know bugger all about this stuff, so I haven't got any ingredients for an arguement. Just curious.

_________________

UCE THIS, YOU COW.

In the box for suggestions for the main road's name, the following is left. Written simply on a napkin: ((pleasant hill road))

//Oh! Speaking of names... In honor of the joke of having a foot of the lake dug out with a spoon, I think the lake should be named Spoon Digger Lake
Anyways, I am unsure if I will be there or not for part 2. My schedule is up in the air right now.

_________________
Eli Hodgewall <{/,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
Sven <=={o===========>
Qeelak \ | / ,

_________________
Amia Minecraft Server Ip: vps1602.directvps.nl
NWN Damage Calculator: http://www.afterlifeguild.org/Thott/dnd/
NWN Build Calculator: http://nwvault.ign.com/View.php?view=Other.Detail&id=856

// Who said anything about making one appear from thin air, Svensky?

_________________
"The householder's disdain for the vagabond hides a hint of jealousy."

~ A hin proverb

//any Quins want to "borrow" the one in the Monolith?

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Eli Hodgewall <{/,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
Sven <=={o===========>
Qeelak \ | / ,

// this is in 2 days exactly from this post

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"The householder's disdain for the vagabond hides a hint of jealousy."

~ A hin proverb

*Caith reads the small parchment with a grin and a snicker*
I dunno what Egan be up too but if it be adventure or tricks I be in!
*Caith reaches into her small side pack and brings out another small parchment and attaches it to Egans note*

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Caithana Shoo (nee Alerteyes) - Away on her honeymoon ((Semi inactive for now))
Nolu'tana - Spreading her own kind of joy in the underdark.

// I don't think any one but you was thinking that.

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Andrew Fryar: Cordor's Folk Hero
Bobrin: Eccentric Avenging Executioner
Lyle Torrowfire: Retired badass
Marigold Cobcruncher: Perceptive Priestess

The Hin Inn isn't going anywhere, so any other location out in the new area will be smaller and more intimate..more like the corner tavern. If I had my pick, I would keep just the performing pit and set a bar in one of the niches...what I showed was just my ideas. I'll do up the smaller version...just because its fun.
If anything, I think my design was to rough..not enough comforts.

My thoughts on Hin are always colored by Tolkien's opening lines in the Hobbit


And Gnomes are kind of wide open for interpretation...I'm right there with ya Opustus...though I really like RuffTuff's new Gnome.

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How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single
moment before starting to improve the world.

~Anne Frank

Let's just accost the one hidden inside a cave, before someone else does.

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Prescia the Pristine Voice

_________________
How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single
moment before starting to improve the world.

~Anne Frank

_________________
How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single
moment before starting to improve the world.

~Anne Frank

Well, all FR source I have tells me they prefer to build their burrows a bit underneath the surface with vast rooms. I could imagine the cave behind Bendir Dale as one, if a few beds, tables and standard furniture was added.

_________________

UCE THIS, YOU COW.

Yeah, that could work. The cave originaly had a really cool lake. Maybe the lake could be brought back and a side chamber added that had the Inn. Make it really comfy and warm. That would be really cool.

_________________
How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single
moment before starting to improve the world.

~Anne Frank

This is a matter that can be discussed IC. There are plans for the underground lake/cave.

It may not be visible but apparently Brogendenstein Dwarves have been working on the cave for the past 6 months (I've recently been informed).

And there's a good chance the lake will have been lost, but who knows. Anyway, this is definitely stuff that can be discovered/discussed IC or IG. Go wild

_________________
"The householder's disdain for the vagabond hides a hint of jealousy."

~ A hin proverb

// To be honest, 7 GMT -5 would probably work well for me, I hope, barring anything cataclysmically awful happening to my computer.

_________________
Andrew Fryar: Cordor's Folk Hero
Bobrin: Eccentric Avenging Executioner
Lyle Torrowfire: Retired badass
Marigold Cobcruncher: Perceptive Priestess