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[indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][h3][sup][sup][color=a9a9a9]The humid Swampmuck air clung to your clothes as you thought over the ramifications of what you'd just heard. The sound of construction and shouting voices surrounded you, as people made final preparations for the village faire tomorrow.

1000 gold - each! You had never heard of so much gold in all your days. There were people living in Swampmuck who had never so much as seen a gold piece in the worst cases, and this dwarf was offering you a thousand? All to yourself?

It was the kind of gold even adventurers would take note of. It was the kind of gold that made someone a noble, that could change a life - nay, a dynasty - forever. And all the dwarf was asking was that you play around with a bunch of fancy sticks?

[color=cccccc]"They're wands of magic missile, actually."[/color] he had said slowly, opening up a nearby crate. It was chock full of them, from the bottom to the top. Each wand was finely crafted, looking whittled almost, two hands in length and ever so slightly tapered to one end. You'd heard of magic items, of course. Swampmuck had none as far as you knew, but there were plenty of raunchy ballads and tales of woe and mischief that leant a certain awe and distrust to the situation. Woodsworth, the next town over, had it's own magic chicken that had won first prize in last year's autumn faire. It's feathers made great arrows, but the owner had refused to let anyone take them unless they brought with them a hefty sum of coin. Coin no commoner could ever hope to get.

But you could pay to pluck the whole of Pilsner's chicken, that's how much money you would have - nay, more! You could own all the chickens in the world! You could be... the Poultry Prince. People would come from far and wide to gawk at your sightly feathered hat and pluck your chickens and win your favor with fancy struts and dances.

Oh dear, the dwarf had been talking all this time. [color=cccccc]"-horribly dangerous. There are about 300 of them to be tested and they will all fire magic missiles. The thing is, the Mage's Guild reckons each has a unique and consistent-"[/color] he hesitated and articulated slowly, [color=cccccc]"...quirk... that happens when the missiles are fired as well. So that would be your job, testing out all the wands of magic missile and working out their quirks. Ideally, returning them safely to the Mage's Guild once the job is done. I wouldn't lose them if I were you. So what do you reckon, up for the task?"[/color] You quickly scribble down your name or mark on the parchment in his hand, and while you didn't like using your own blood for ink it seemed a small price to pay for near limitless wealth. A few other villagefolk you recognised had gathered around you take up the mantle of Wand Custodians as well, and soon the Dwarf seemed satisfied.

[color=cccccc]"Well then, folks! My wagon and the crates are yours. Any last questions before I head down to the cracking Adamant Tankard for a good long drink?"[/color] he said with a wink. [/color]
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