The door to your tanning shed swings open with a bang, and Sally the hedgewitch storms in. "Heroes have come to Shurwanott!" "What?" You look up from the deer hide you're scraping. This isn't the reaction Sally the hedgewitch was expecting. She strides forward and all but yanks the hide out of your hands. "Did I bleedin' stutter? Heroes have arrived. *Real* heroes. *Here.*" --- [["Big deal."]] [["Really? Fantastic!"]] [["But that's impossible."]] "Big deal," you say, turning back to your work. "Heroes only care about glory. What glory is there to be had here? They'll scarper the moment they've filled up their supplies - or the first time they try to drink Scarrow Malachite's stone ale. Whichever comes first." Sally scowls. "You may want to correct that attitude right quick, seeing as those heroes are on their way here." [["Wait, WHAT?"]]"Really?" you exclaim. "We haven't had a merry band pass through Shurwanott in a decade." "Not since Emperor Krittvidius built the Path," Sally says with a smile. "I'm glad you grasp the importance of this." Hope begins to glow in your heart. "We might finally have a harvest festival uninterrupted by undead rioters. Or an actual harvest!" "Save that happy feeling," Sally says. She reaches out and pats you affectionately on the check. "Because the heroes are looking for *you*, and they love a good dose of peasant gratitude." [["Wait, WHAT?"]]"That makes no sense," you say, puzzled. "Ever since Emperor Krittvidius paved that Path to the Golden Tower, no heroes have ever wandered this way of their own free will. There's been no point." "I saw them myself, with my own eyes!" Sally says. "Are they lost? Injured? Under a curse? Enchanted to think--" "They're *here*," Sally cuts in impatiently. "That's what's important. When they come here asking for help, I don't want you natterin' away with any of your pointless questions." [["Wait, WHAT?"]]"The heroes are coming here. To see you," Sally repeats, a trifle impatiently. "And they need new leather?" you ask. "No, you ninny! They need a quest!" Your skinning knife falls from nerveless fingers. "Sally, I'm a tanner. I can barely take care of my own business. Why would you send them to me?" [["Well..."]]She sighs. "Quite frankly, we don't have anyone else. The huntsman's visiting his sister in the next town over, our two pathetic officers of the peace are still sleeping off last night's barrel of brandy, and our blacksmith's sick with a cold." You think for a moment. "Why can't you help?" Sally blushes an unflattering maroon that highlights the pockmarks of acid scars on the left side of her face. "Because I'm only an *unofficial* hedgewitch until the union sends a replacement for the instructor who up and died on me." "I still don't know why you need me." "Haven't you been listening? Heroes are in Shurwanott - for now. But heroes only stay where they are needed. Dragon mating season won't start for two more weeks, and the undead attack is scheduled for the week after. Those heroes will be long gone by then." [["So what should I do?"]]"Keep them busy!" Sally says. "Give them a righteous task that makes them feel needed. Important. Buff their pride until they need new helms to fit their swollen heads." "I don't have anything that needs doing that's righteous." "Then lie," Sally says. "I don't know," you reply. "If they find out, that's on me. It might be safer to give them some actual chores. Something useful, honest." "And *boring*," Sally spits. "Bored heroes don't stick around." Suddenly, someone [[knocks at the door.]]Sally dives and hides herself beneath a table covered with cured hides as three heroes enter your hut. Together, the heroes make up a whole deck - a stabber, a shooter, and a sparkler. The stabber steps forward. He's clad in a suit of armour so pristine he's either never taken a hit in battle - or he's never seen a real battle. An equally polished sword lies at his hip. "Greetings, grateful tradesman." His voice is as smooth and supple as leather that's never experienced a cold, rainy day in its life. "I am Sir Rodrick. My companions and I arrived in town a few moments ago, and have heard that you are in dire need of assistance." Dire need. Right. The elven shooter twangs the string of her bow. The sparkler fiddles with his magical staff. They're the real deal. Setting them to a mundane task might offend them, but they'll be more offended if you send them on a wild goose chase and they find out. "Well?" Sir Rodrick prompts. --- [["I could really use a few more pitmire pelts."]] [["Uh, have I mentioned the Emerald of Tea'oth?"]]"That's it?" the sparkler asks, lowering his magical staff. Your hands curl into fists. The shooter twangs her bowstring, a bored look on her face. "The witch made it sound like you needed us for something *important*." Your face floods with heat. The stabber, who is clearly the leader among them, shakes his head sadly. "Perhaps there's been a misunderstanding." As the heroes turn to leave, you stumble up out of your chair. "Wait!" The stabber looks back at you. "What?" (set: $story to "truth") --- [["Pitmire pelts are valuable."]] [["Pitmire pelts will save lives."]] (if: $story is "truth")[Grumbling and muttering,](if: $story is "lie")[Chattering excitedly amongst themselves,] the heroes head off down the road towards the Squirewood. As you watch them disappear, a moth flutters into view and with a small *pop*, a breathless Sally stands beside you. "Looks like the heroes are off on a mission! What did you tell them?" she asks. (if: $story is "truth")["The truth," you say, curtly. Sally squawks. "What for?" "Shouldn't have to lie," you mutter. "My father never did." The hedgewitch's face turns bright red. "That's because your father had a silver tongue that could sing the green out of grass, you mud-mouthed oaf!" "The hides they bring in will help the village," you blurt out. "And b-bring us a bit of gold, too." "A bit of gold, a fine hide," the hedgewitch mocks. "Is that all you care about? We had the chance to bring our village back into the realm of glory and you squandered it!" You bluster. "You didn't give me a lot of time to think! What else did you expect of me?" "You're right," the hedgewitch sneers. "My expectations were clearly too high. If your father were standing here right now, he'd be ashamed! His only son, a good-for-nothing, jelly-hearted, pile of unbuttered brains!" The witch storms off, leaving you alone in your smelly shed.](if: $story is "lie")["Told them about the Emerald of Tea'oth," you admit. "You didn't!" You shrug. "Of all Da's stories, that one was my favourite. Well, except for the real ending." Sally throws back her head and laughs. "Brilliant! They'll be hunting for that thing for weeks!" An unpleasant thought occurs to you. "But they're not going to find it. Won't they catch on eventually?" "Don't worry your sweet, empty head over it," the hedgewitch replies. "All we have to do is keep them here long enough for them to solve our actual problems. Once the swamp dragons start humping and the undead start organizing picnics they'll be too busy to worry about some imaginary pebble. And Shurwanott will be able to celebrate with a harvest untainted by draconic bodily fluids or rotting limbs." "Okay," you say, uncertain. Lying doesn't come easily to you. And it's still so tempting to think that something bad will happen because of it.]The heroes don't pause, but they slow down. You jog after them into the fresh air. "A pitmire's fur is resistant to spells," you blurt out, scrambling to remember your father's training. "A-and if cured properly, their hides are tough enough to withstand arrow fire. It'll even turn a blade if it's not aimed true." You point to the sparkler. "That cape of yours is pitmire fur." "True enough," the sparkler admits, drawing it closer to himself. "Bet it cost you a pretty penny," you say. A hot blush spreads across the magic user's cheeks. "That's none of your business." "I'll make you a deal," you say. "If you bring me back twenty pitmire hides, I'll craft something for each of you. For free." The stabber rubs his chin. "For free? Really?" You spread your arms, and the heroes flinch back from your occupational stench. "The gods know I can't hunt them myself." The three heroes confer amongst themselves - although it sounds suspiciously like they're just making whispering sounds for dramatic effect. When they turn around, the stabber holds out his armoured hand. "It's a deal," he says. [[The heroes set out.]] The heroes don't even slow down, so you have to run after them. "A pitmire's fur is resistant to spells," you blurt out, scrambling to remember your father's training. "A-and if cured properly, their hides are tough enough to withstand arrow fire. It'll even turn a blade if it's not aimed true. "The people of this village don't pretend to be rich. We can't afford armour or fancy blades. Between brigands, wolves, and undead farmers, a coat of pitmire leather could mean the difference between life and death." "Life and death, huh?" the stabber asks. "Undead what now?" says the sparkler. "This sounds too easy," the shooter yawns. "You're heroes," you say. "If it's so easy, and it'll make life better for the people around here, why *wouldn't* you do it?" The three heroes confer amongst themselves - although it sounds suspiciously like they're just making whispering sounds for dramatic effect. When they turn around, the stabber holds out his armoured hand. "It's a deal," he says. [[The heroes set out.]] *That* gets the heroes' attention. "Did you say *emerald*?" the shooter asks. "E-everyone around here knows the story," you say. That's technically not a lie. "Around 20 years ago, before the Kritt Path was paved, one of the Emperor's caravans passed by our village." The words flow more freely as you warm up. This was always your father's favourite story to tell. "Just as they were leaving Shurwanott, a band of robbers attacked them. In the chaos, one of the wagon was overturned, spilling the Imperial jewels onto the road. While everyone was scrambling, a pitmire wandered into the fight and ran off with the biggest stone of all in its mouth!" "The Emerald of Tea'oth," the stabber finishes for you. His eyes are rapt. "Pitmires can live up to 30 years, you know. It could still be out there, scampering about with a king's ransom in its belly." Or at least, it would have if it hadn't choked on the stone and died not twenty paces from the site of the robbery, as had actually happened. You decide to omit that part of the story. "So what is it you want?" the stabber asks. (set: $story to "lie") --- [[I want revenge.]] [[I want the pitmires.]]You spread your hands. "Our village is small, and practically defenceless. The money the emerald would bring would only put us in more danger. If you could just bring back the hides of the pitmires you kill, that would be enough for me. Keep the emerald." "That's more than fair!" says the shooter - her eyes glittering more than any jewel. The heroes confer among themselves. After a brief 5 seconds of discussion, their leader holds out his hand. "We have a deal." [[The heroes set out.]] "Revenge?" the shooter asks. Her eyes narrow in suspicion. Why did you say that? You think quickly. "Uh, the Emperor was furious that his caravan had been attacked, and he blamed the people of Shurwanott for the jewel's disappearance. Yeah. That's it." "So if we find this emerald...?" the sparkler begins. "It will clear my village's name. Prove that we were telling the truth. What you do with the jewel would be your business." The heroes confer among themselves. After a brief 5 seconds of discussion, their leader holds out his hand. "We have a deal." [[The heroes set out.]]