“What?!?”, you exclaim, flabbergasted, “Not even a farthing for the thing?”
“Not so much as a prayer-note for what you hold, friend”, grins Grovtin, the stooped over old fencer of goods known to many in your line of work.
“And why is that?”, you reply, incredulous.
“You really don’t know, do you? You must be brand new to this town”, laughs Grovtin.
“Okay, true, so—“
“This is an Amulet of Murgoth, my young friend, and you didn’t take it. Rather, it has taken you! You can’t sell one of these in New Forazio, and you can never be free of it until the Festival of the Fountains, which is held at the Palace of Janux the High Pasha a mere two nights from now.”
“B-But why ME?”, you sputter.
“Oh, it’s a great honor indeed! You’ll play an important role in the feasts and pageants commemorating the coming of Springtime! Why, should you survive—“
Exasperated, you interrupt, “Should I survive?!?”
“Shhh! Hush!”, and Grovtin listens intently, an ear towards the door to his shop, “Quickly! Behind the counter! They are already searching for you!”, and it’s then that you too hear the commotion in the alley outside.
You swiftly dash behind the counter and down a trapdoor in the floor that Grovtin holds open for you, wondering all the while what exactly you’re getting pulled into, and whether you’ve made a single good move since arriving in the city, as you are plunged into total darkness, clinging only to the iron ladder at the top of a circular shaft.
Then, you hear the shop-door open above, and the muffled greeting of the old fencer Grovtin. The muffled voice of the visitor is too low and sinister for you to hear, but it is obvious from long into their conversation that Grovtin is nervously backpedalling as he tells the guest loudly, “Oh, them! Yes, of course! I sent them on their way a good ten minutes ago. I purchased this amusing trinket from them, for the orphans -- of course. Ahem.”
Then you hear the visitor to the shop quite clearly, as if they are leaning over the counter, sniffing you out, “You had better not be lying to me about the Chosen of Murgoth, old swindler, or it will be my pleasure to devise any one of a number of hideous, unthinkable ends for you!”.
You hear the door to the little shop slam shut, as the visibly shaken Grovtin helps you out of your temporary hidey hole.
“You must leave here immediately, friend. You are indeed one of the Chosen of Murgoth, and your fate is already aligned with the Festival!”.
“So, I’m cursed to be at a palace full of feasting and fun? Why again is it I am running away from this?”, you inquire, a tad sarcastically.
“Few of the Chosen have ever survived the Ordeal of the Feathers, as the Amulet unerring points to those who are of a particularly sensitive nature, matched only by their excellent physical conditioning. I must say, I would not have taken you for the later, as you look far too slender to endure the entire lengthy Ordeal.”
“Enough of this nonsense. How might I be rid of this cursed amulet, then?” You question.
“You can either try to leave the city and make a run for it, hoping not to be caught by the select Seekers such as Rondor, my last visitor, before the Festival commences.
Or, you might try the Oracle of the Tombs, who it is said can provide an answer to every question.
Finally, You can try to stay moving for the next two days, hiding in the sprawling city, hoping the Seekers don’t catch you. Heaven help you should they catch you.
Now, be gone from here and all fortune to you, young thief. You’ll need it.”
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