It was a cool Autumn morning as the fog settled in the fields that rolled on for ages outside the Floating Log Inn. Mr. Loamsdown was brushing the bits of dirt and longbottom leaf from between the cracked porch planks that had seen hearty dancing the night before. From over the distant horizon approached a slow moving carriage which billowed with dust and smoke. A tall grey figure sat atop the cart. A pointed hat and long grey beard, this man was certainly far from home. As the stranger approached the Inn, he muttered down to Loamsdown, who was already wary of the traveling foreigner.
“Excuse me kind sir” said a scruffy voice as he looked at Loamsdown from under long bushy eyebrows that stuck out further than the brim of his shady hat. “Could you please tell me directions to the Bagg--”
“That will be enough of that” Interrupted Loamsdown. “No adventures today, PLEASE AND THANK YOU”. As he turned his head and went about cleaning the faded planks.
The wise looking fellow turned his head, somewhat flabbergasted at the Innkeepers harsh response, and continued down the road… in search of an adventure of sorts.