Took inspiration from Tom Bombadil, The Observers from Fringe, Dr Who's TARDIS, the centurion from an episode of the same show and The Invisible Gorilla experiment: Interested to get your thoughts -
The halfling who shouldn’t be.
There are some souls the world forgets how to see. Not by magic or stealth, but by some quiet trick of attention, like a shadow that moves when you try to look straight at it. He is one of those - a halfling who shouldn’t be, yet somehow is.
He’s no hero, no chosen one, just a small, cheerful wanderer who tries his best and somehow changes the world by accident, usually for the better. He’s the sort who means to help, stumbles doing it, and still ends up saving the day. His arrow catches a loose buckle that turns a strike aside; his sword slips, but finds a gap in the armour anyway. He doesn’t notice the difference. To him, that’s just how things go.
The Weave doesn’t protect him; it simply corrects itself around him. When he fails, he truly fails, the wound still bleeds, the bruise still aches, and death still brushes close enough to leave its mark. But when he succeeds, it’s rarely by skill or design. The world just seems to breathe, shuffle its pieces, and let his mistakes fall neatly into place.
He’s lived through ages, appearing in murals and stories across history, never the focus but always nearby. Some call it luck, others divine humour. He calls it trying his best.
It’s all flavour - no hidden boon or rule. He’s as mortal as any adventurer, just a halfling whose failures keep turning into the world’s small corrections.
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Took inspiration from Tom Bombadil, The Observers from Fringe, Dr Who's TARDIS, the centurion from an episode of the same show and The Invisible Gorilla experiment: Interested to get your thoughts -
The halfling who shouldn’t be.
There are some souls the world forgets how to see. Not by magic or stealth, but by some quiet trick of attention, like a shadow that moves when you try to look straight at it. He is one of those - a halfling who shouldn’t be, yet somehow is.
He’s no hero, no chosen one, just a small, cheerful wanderer who tries his best and somehow changes the world by accident, usually for the better. He’s the sort who means to help, stumbles doing it, and still ends up saving the day. His arrow catches a loose buckle that turns a strike aside; his sword slips, but finds a gap in the armour anyway. He doesn’t notice the difference. To him, that’s just how things go.
The Weave doesn’t protect him; it simply corrects itself around him. When he fails, he truly fails, the wound still bleeds, the bruise still aches, and death still brushes close enough to leave its mark. But when he succeeds, it’s rarely by skill or design. The world just seems to breathe, shuffle its pieces, and let his mistakes fall neatly into place.
He’s lived through ages, appearing in murals and stories across history, never the focus but always nearby. Some call it luck, others divine humour. He calls it trying his best.
It’s all flavour - no hidden boon or rule. He’s as mortal as any adventurer, just a halfling whose failures keep turning into the world’s small corrections.