The Spriggan
by ZuiderZee  (zuiderzee@hotmail.com)
Adventures of an Amazon Hobbit:  Part 2



     In all the history of the halflings--and as I stated earlier on, I 
don't know nearly enough about history to make a valid comment--there has 
never been a cultural influence of power, either through violence or 
anything else.

     We (or should I say the halfling establishment) tend to lose all hope 
when the threat of war comes our way.
     Our thin blood is not stirred by bright flags fluttering in the breeze 
or by beating drums and blaring horns or by the monuments to the fallen.  
With hand to hand combat typically a losing propostion, even a halfling of 
little prudence will do all he or she can to avoid it!  We have expolited 
nearly all our talents in remaining hidden from view and supressing noise.  
That's the tried and true method--keep it all on the inside and hope the 
trouble goes away.

     Well, that didn't work with me!

     And why should it have?

     I have spoken often and loudly about halflings, but so far I have 
uttered nary a peep about spriggans.  I did off-handedly remark about my 
tangled ancestry, and this is where the spriggan part comes in.  Spriggans 
are not related to halflings.  They are perhaps an offshoot of gnomes.  Or 
perhaps gnomes are an offshoot of spriggans?
However it goes, either sort, gnomes and spriggans are fiesty, belligerent 
little people with a culture vastly different than those of halflings.  The 
controversy is that all three of the folk I have just named can be mistaken 
for one another.

    Worst of all, we can interbreed.

    I've already given painted a picture of how lacking halflings are in 
battle.  But why should they be?  Well,
the average halfling, like Elmo my pappy for the sake of
argument, is about a yard high.  Employing all his might and main he could 
raise to the level of his chest a weight of sixty pounds.  Just that.  
Perhaps in his youth he could have hefted that same weight over his head for 
a few minutes and then dropped it safely, but that was his limit.
    Pathetic.
    Lem "Lumpy" Lamkin, the undisputed brute among the
halflings of Kladsch could manage to lift a weight of hundred pounds in the 
same manner and that was as far "Lumpy" would dare to go.

    By human standards, this is laughable, but for diminuitive people this 
is quite a feat.

    That's what I thought until I fell in with the gnomes.  Gnomes are about 
the same size as halflings.  A yard or so, but their physiques are 
astounding in comparison to our own.  When it comes to average gnomes (and 
spriggans) they are completely on par with humans, and it is not ridiculous
to claim that even a normal gnome to could deliver a punch that would knock 
even a prepared human off balance if not right on his hairy arse!
     I found this out in due course, but it took me a while
to accept the reality of it.

               *                      *

     Up to now, I have said much about the physical aspects of having mixed 
blood.  And now I delve into something far more mysterious and uncanny.  In 
my youth, I always thought of myself as a halfling, and with good cause.  I 
look like one!  I have a halfling's body.  I am not enough of a spriggan or 
a gnome to pass for one.  Not physically.

     And just what is there besides the body?

     The soul!

     How could a mere halfling or anything else for that matter suddenly 
acquire the dimensions of a giant?  With mere flesh?  Don't fool yourself!  
All that additional mass has to come from somewhere.  The somewhere I leave 
to the mystics, but the conduit, the funnel if you will, is the soul.

    Only when I found the spiritual aspect of being a spriggan was I able to 
share their phenomenal gifts.  Halfling religion is a watery, gutless affair 
with no daily affirmation of the gods and their wills in our lives.  Once in 
a while, we take a day or so to remember our blessings and pat ourselves on 
the back for being so nice to each other and our neighbors.  Gnome worship, 
on the other extreme is a pounding, boisterous affair with oaths, both 
reverent and irreverent shouted back and forth with the clanging of weapons. 
  Its something like those affairs I have heard about on the "idiot boxes" 
of the New World
where human clerics stomp back and forth spraying the masses in the front 
row with saliva.
     It can get quite messy.

     Growing, or "burgeoning" as it is translated from
gnome language to huamn, is a spiritual gift from the gods.
Being mischevious creatures for the most part, spriggans use their ability 
to grow and shrink to indulge in all sorts of havoc.

     During the gnome wars, I found out how exclusive this
power is.  Attempts to use my increased proportions to help my comrades in 
arms resulted in immediate shrinkage!  There is a clear cut reason behind 
burgeoning and that is to spread panic and work greater acts of destruction 
than would be capable in "normal" size.  Having grown up as a
halfling and encouraged to help my neighbors, I had to reject my sense of 
kindness and responsibility to contend with the insurmountable threats that 
came my way.  Malice was the key to power during those awful years.

     Things are different now...so very different.

                *                      *

     Brawlers are always held in low regard among halfling
society--explaining why I never rejoined it--a halfling in
rage always lashes out at some inanimate object, rather than at his fellows.
     Our pleasant humor more or less reflects our desire to catch others 
making mistakes.  Jokes about mistaken identity, miscounting, blind pride 
and assumption pad out
our lighter literature.

     There is never any sort of humor having to do with
physcial or sexual prowess.

     The humans have us at a complete disadvantage here.

     Memory and mental agility is the center of our farce.  Trying to get a 
laugh when commenting about breasts or buttocks or loins is a waste of time 
and breath and the province of the thick-witted; remarking about someone 
else's physique simply isn't done.

     Humans, on the other hand are obsessed with the image
of their bodies and bury their conversations with false names and 
descriptions of their body parts.  To listen to even a sober human babble 
for an hour about his body or that of his wife or other women who aren't 
anything like his wife...gets hard to take.

     As decidedly feeble people, halflings don't have the tedious 
terminology humans insist upon and when it comes to
describing acts of violence, we must always employ their
dreadful lexicon.

     Take for instance the time I got into my first serious fight...


     To Be Continued.