The citizenry of the Empire is largely human, but not entirely. There are enclaves of small folk, mostly in the borderlands, as their one unifying tendency is a preference to live among their own. As the Empire is dedicated to Law, allegedly, it desires hierarchy and taxonomy, and so the philosophers and biologists of the capitol’s academies have endlessly debated what the small folk are, what divisions exist among them, if they are indeed divisions or if they are entirely different creatures, and on and on. Their conclusions are almost entirely inaccurate.

The first error is in trying to divide the small folk up into distinct categories. This is generally done by location. Dwarves live in mountains, halflings live in the gentle hills, and gnomes live in the forests.

The second error is in assigning a hierarchy to them based on the Law and Chaos scale. Dwarves create lasting works of stone, so they must be of Law, while gnomes are friendly with elves and learn their magic, and they carry the taint of Chaos. Halflings are placid, but unambitious, suggesting a sort of Neutrality.

The problem with both of these assumptions is ascribed some sort of connection to biology. The poor small folk who have ended up in the restricted towers of the academy, snatched from the markets or taken from the roads to be poked, prodded, and ceaselessly measured, only for these compassionless experiments to continue past death, they could tell you the simple truth of the matter. The differences between dwarves, halflings, and gnomes are entirely cultural and individual. What is a hill dwarf other than a halfling with close ties to their mountain kin? And what is a gnome besides a halfling who has heard the call of chaos and the dark woods, enough to step just beneath the boughs at the edge? Biologically, the small folk are one and the same, with any differences in appearance stemming from the general isolation of their populations.

As for Law and Chaos, it’s as complicated for the small folk as it is for the humans of the Empire. The dwarves of the mountains are presumed to be paragons of law, for their stone halls have stood for hundreds of years. But odd influences have crept into their people from the dark depths of the mines, and curious practices take place away from the prying eyes of outsiders. The great mushroom groves that sustain their populations during the cold months have been tainted with curious spores, and now many of the dwarves live in a hyper-real state. The secrets of the world are written on its surface, if only you have the perspective to see them. Dwarvish philosophers seek to derive a unifying blueprint of all things, but in that way lies the madness of Chaos and the potential fall of their people.

Halflings are mild in most things. Their art and buildings are pleasant but modest, and their magic is generally limited to minor conjurations. They field no armies to conquer their neighbors and defend themselves with decentralized militias largely armed with pitchforks and the like. They live in a placid state of semi-retirement, working the land to satisfy their indulgences in food and drink.

The greatest trouble of the halflings is when an imperial unit turns an eye to their fields and meaderies. The soldiers of the regiment ride in and demand tribute, to which the halflings reply, “please, just give us time to gather what we can, for we want not of trouble.” The soldiers are hosted and wined, and then, as they sleep off the sweet drinks proffered by the unassuming small folk, they are murdered to a man. The bodies are piled in a building that is then burned, and the fire is allowed to spread to the rest of the village. The halflings pack up and move, hoping to settle beyond the reach of the Empire’s desires.

The claim that gnomes tend towards Chaos would be accurate if there was any such thing as a gnome. It’s more accurate to remember that small folk who seek the mysteries of the woods are called gnomes by humans, which is a mishearing of the small folk’s term for “knowledge seeker.” Chaos and the verdant darkness of the forest tease some of the greatest mysteries imaginable, and there are small folk who can’t resist the temptation. They gather in small communities, rarely more than a dozen, and dally with elves beneath the trees. As the pendulum swings between the two cosmic signifiers, they often swear themselves to local demigods to attain more insight and spellcraft.

The small folk do seem to be different creatures than humans. Though romances occur between them on rare occasions, these couplings cannot bear offspring despite the visual similarities of their biologies. Given the risks small folk face in the heart of the Empire, they tend to continue to keep to themselves, with only the most unusual individuals venturing south among the tall folk.