Merridan Silverbud

You'd pat his little head if you didn't think he'd stick you with a spear.


On the short side even for a halfling, Meridian’s green eyes pierce up at even the tallest newcomer through a mop of auburn curls. Perpetually covered with a light patina of dust or pollen, Meridian’s faintly sunburned skin accentuates the rosy complexion common amongst his people. A rather fine tunic of variously shaded green covers surprisingly stout leather armor that appears to be woven about with metallic, thorny fiber. Strapped to his back is a quiver of spears and at his waist, next to a bulging wineskin, is a small stone ball in a mesh sack. Mostly, you’ll find him lounging in a corner or sitting on the bar searching his pockets for loose weed that he smokes from a strange, thin pipe that looks nothing so much like a siphon of a stirge. If you were to strike up a conversation with him, you’d most likely get an earful of the most outlandish tales of misadventure.


a halfling with a mop of auburn curls perches on the bar table clutching a too-large mug of wine and smoking a long, thin pipe that looks like it’s made out of horn or chitin. His lightly sunburned skin and dusty clothing marks him as a traveler and as you set down next to him, you notice he’s particularly well armored; leather wrapped in what appears to be metallic, thorny vines. His legs dangle over a quiver of short spears resting on the stool in front of him. As he fishes around for his matchlock to relight his smoke, a large, glowing eyeball in a mesh sack drops to his knee. He casually smacks it and shoves it back under his shirt. Puffing his pipe alight, he resumes talking to the patron next to him.

“…look there was this whole business with a ring, don’t even get me started…one day I’m smoking weed with this old carnie big-folk and him going on about " see the world! Meet interesting people! Watch this magic trick," and the next thing I know I’m marching a thousand miles with a bunch of cranky bigs, hauling my everything on my broken back; and not near enough everything at that. That in’t even the worst, neither. You ever had to dodge Orc arrows whilst climbing out of an active godsdamned volcano with some nasty little mutant all screaming your ear off over his birthday present? Ugh, it’ll drive hin to drink. Not all bad though; best part of the whole was the elf tail. You’d disbelieve what the fair folk get up to, and they got a real fetish for the wee-folk, owing to our not being part of the great game of the gods, I gather naught. Anyway, I’m straight drowning in moon dew, catching my drift, and I took a re-up. Overall, I fell in with the fair Lady of the forest, but her man Oberon was less than pleased with what I was doing to his wife so she cut me loose, lest he get mad enough to make a scene. I still hook up with the fey-folk time to time, we help each other out and honestly, I think the Lady thinks it’s funny to keep her men riled up, but I get mine in turn. I gotta say, though, sometimes, I’d be fine settling down with a girl what have the pixie blood in her and be done with the adventuring, excepting what we’d get up to together…"

The fellow he is talking to finishes his and wanders away from the bar, glassy-eyed. He turns to you, striking green eyes glowing slightly in the wavering light of the tavern, “the name’s Merridan, biggin’, and no good comes of you percepting one of my tales without a return gesture. Tell me, what brings you out on a night like this?”

Merridan Silverbud

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