-"Give us the pot full of gold, you little leper!"

Somewhere in the cold north, the hafling known as Harran O'Stoner, because that was his name really, had found himself in a bit of a tight spot. Yes, his name was O'Stoner, and it's going to be that way, so just follow the story and don't question it. Anyway, the hafling stood squeezed between two tall humans, both armed with clubs and axes, looking down at Harran. 

"I'm telling you both, I'm not a leprechaun, and I certainly don't have a pot of gold! And even if I did, why would I tell you?" The hafling shouted at his assailants, standing knee-deep in the winter snow covering this cold land. He had been running from them for a week now, ever since he had helped sharpen their axe back in a town far away from where they found themselves now. Apparently Haflings were so rare in these parts, that they thought he was a magical being. Nonsense!

-"But you are magical! You sharpened my axe and didn't turn me into a newt!" One of the humans said to Harran, while the other human suddenly turned to his partner. 

-"Wait, wait, wait, WAIT for a moment! Are you saying the only reason you thought he was magical, was because he sharpened your axe?"

-"Yes? What were you thinking?"

-"..."

-"And besides, he's so tiny! He must be magical to be so tiny!"

"Hello! I'm still here, and I'm not tiny!"

-"Shut up, we're not talking to you. Now Bhun, you may be right that he's magical, but to lay the basis of your magical theory on just his size and his skill in weapon sharpening, is a little thin."

-"Yes, but I'm also comparing my already stated facts with other theories, and this one just seems like the most logical one. Firstly, no one in that town could sharpen my axe other than this tiny being. Secondly, we have never seen such a tiny being in our lives, and ergo, since he's tiny and can sharpen my axe, he must be a leprechaun! And since leprechauns have pots of gold, we can get rich!"

-"...What about kids? They are tiny too. Or dwarfs?"

-"Yes, but they are not leprechauns, aren't that fact already proven?"

------

Hours away, Harran had ran. He couldn't believe that his assailants were both so incompetent, and yet had thought through the theory so thoroughly in their hunt for him. It was almost as Harran himself wondered if he was a leprechaun, and if he was, where was his pot of gold? But the thought flew away just as quickly as he remembered why they thought he had sharpened the axe; it was not an axe, for he had taken the axe and sold it to an elf. What they had was a spear, hence why it was so sharp. 

As the snow grew deeper, and Harran's feet disappeared underneath him until it looked as if it was a bunny digging its way through the snow, Harran suddenly hit something. Hard. With his face first. It was a door, a door! He looked up to see a sign, "The Unorthodoxy", a tavern. "Well, perhaps I finally can shake of those morons..." He said happily to himself as he got past the door and into the warm interior of the tavern. And just as he turned away after having closed the door, he hit something, again. Hard. With his face first. This time, a leg. And what a might fine leg it was. 

"Excuse me madam, but you're ever so delicate leg is in my way. Excuse me." He said, walking right underneath her legs, happily smiling at the perks of being tiny; the view.