II: Spot The Plot Device
The Inn buzzed. In fact it positively vibrated with the life of the newly formed. Not unexpectedly, the archetypal fat innkeeper entertained his guests with his as yet limitless supply of bonhomie type barman tales. Typically luscious bar-wenches with cleavages out of Boys Own Fantasy scampered about with foaming pots of ale between tables full of happy, smiling customers. A typically merry time was being had by all.
At the stereotypical corner table, our party of adventurers sat merrily quaffing fine ales and other assorted alcoholic beverages paid for with the coinage of the inevitably fat cleric’s, typically fat purse. The paladin excepted, of course; Virgil sat moodily supping a large orangeade mumbling something about..., “One’s body is a temple, you know”.
“Look”, Wilson slurred, “I can’t stand it any more, I’ve got to ask; what the heck is that thing sticking out of your backpack?”
Abel Zeek puffed his cheeks haughtily, “It is a ten foot pole. What does it look like?”
The party, except for Virgil the paladin, “Laughter is the hiding place of fools”, fell about laughing hysterically.
“What’s it for?” asked Shana the ranger, wiping tears from her eyes, “baton twirling!”
“Well there must be a use for it, or else He wouldn’t have chosen it for me to carry would he!”
“Don’t you have trouble getting through doorways with it?” asked Spud the thief merrily, “I mean you can just barely squeeze through as it is, mate”.
“No, I do not”, returned Zeek coldly, “and I’ll thank you not to...”, Zeek was cut short by the appearance of an old but extremely well dressed man. Pretty much your archetypal rich merchant type plot device.
“Look out, lads”, said Mango the Magnificent, “we’re on”.
“Gentleman...”, the old man began.
“And lady”, interjected Virgil.
“Erm, yes quite. As I was saying, gentlemen and lady, I...”,
“Here, old man, take the weight off”, interrupted Mango.
“Er, thank you”, said the man, sitting, “My name is...”,
“Here, buy the old geezer a drink”, said Spud.
“Thank you, but I would prefer...”,
“What!” said Zeek, “looks like he’s got all the money. Let him buy”. The others nodded in agreement.
“Yes, I’ll gladly buy you all a drink if you would just let me fin...”,
“How rude”, Virgil protested, “he’s our guest, we should...”,
The old man rose to his feet. “Will you people SHUT UP!”
Silence fell on the group except for Virgil who mumbled under his breath, “Just trying to make a point”.
“Now, as I have been trying to say for the last ten minutes, I came here to ask you to undertake an errand of mercy for me”.
“We knew that”, said Mango.
“Right up our alley”, said Virgil.
“Touchy old bugger”, said Spud.
“Your buy!”, said Wilson, hopefully.
The merchant sighed resignedly and ordered a round. Drinks in hand, the party fell silent again. “As I have been trying to say, my name is Ergmund...”,
“Lucky b@stard”, Mango grumbled.
“... and two days ago my daughter, Rowena, was captured by a roving band of orcs who have taken her to their lair to have their wicked ways with her, or worse still, to attempt to extort large amounts of cash off me”.
“Yeah, heard that one before. Two more pints of ale here, ta love”, Wilson said with typical lack of interest.
“And I would like you mighty adventurers to return her safely...”,
“Yeah, love to, but we’re a bit busy right now, see”, explained Wilson.
“Seem to have missed an important piece of the business here”, butted in Shana, “the question of price...”,
Virgil rose to make a speech, puffing out his chest. “Come now, my worthy fellows, and lady, we cannot reduce this man’s sad plight to such tawdry levels as pecuniary interest”.
“Too bloody right we can. How much?” Spud chipped in.
“I can offer you 100 geepees each”, replied Ergmund, his face turning red as the group burst out laughing. “Times are hard, business is not what it use to be, you are my last hope...”,
“Really?” Shana giggled, “that wouldn’t even pay my lingerie laundry expenses for such a task, let alone recompense the dangers faced”.
“100 gold pieces for facing a band of raving orcs? Bugger off!” said Spud.
“Another pint of ale here”, Mango added to the discussion.
“I’m sorry, old son”, Wilson patted the merchant on the back, “but the general consensus appears to be a big NO”.
The air chilled. Sounds of merriment reduced and then inn faded slowly into darkness until only the party remained, bathed in an intense circle of light. The atmosphere took on a distinctly icy edge.
“Oops!” Zeek buried his face in his tankard as the others looked around in consternation. A frail, painfully thin, bespectacled gent appeared above the centre of the table. Around his neck a thick chain of multicoloured polygons clinked together with a sound like the rapped knucklebones of the about-to-be-dead. Cold, myopic eyes froze the group.
The voice of one who knows exactly how many angels can dance on the head of a pin, and how to deal with the silly prancing buggers, spoke out. A voice of ice, honed to razor sharpness by years of splitting hairs; hairs still attached to heads, mostly. “It would appear there is some reluctance to follow the plot in this group”.
“Erm, not really”, attempted Wilson.
“SILENCE!”
Wilson bit his lip and wondered about his next half dozen saving throws.
“You all know who I am?"
“Well no, not really”, answered Virgil. Shana elbowed him in the ribs with an audible clank.
“He’s new”, Mango explained.
“I am the Keeper of the Manuals!"
Thunder crashed. Lightning flickered, flashing off the rims of the Keeper’s spectacles, and other hackneyed effects played in the background. “I am the Lawgiver and you will obey my commands to the letter".
“But I can’t read”, Mango complained.
“Whose round is it?” yawned Wilson.
The Keeper sighed heavily. “For your benefit, puny and insignificant ones, I will again explain the first and most important Unwritten Rule of Adventuring. When I introduce a plot device leading to an adventure what do you do?"
“We take it!” chorused the group.
“Good, that’s much better". The figure faded as the sights and sounds of the inn coalesced back into view.
Mango turned to the befuddled merchant. “Ere, that deal of yours, Ergmund, start tomorrow early enough?”
Poor guy, heh 
