Quellers of Quixhill

The burgomaster smacked his fat lips together. "It's the villagers, you understand... it's been a hard winter, and spring has been difficult for them with the rains. It's impossible to get the crop in when the fields are so swamped. But... They're getting restless."

"How so?" the hooded man whispered.

"Oh, the usual sorts of talk." He paused to drink deeply from his wine goblet. "Complaints in the tavern about how they're starving while I make sure my poor family is well fed. You can't rightly expect us to starve as well, now can you?

"Of course not"

"Indeed." He gently places a square of rich chocolate on his wine stained tongue. "Now, we need them to realize that I am not the enemy. That their, my this is truly wonderful. Are you sure I can't interest you in any? No? Very well. They need their attention to be redirected."

"Do you have any ideas where to?"

"The elves are a natural choice. Weird, insular, but... they make the best wines." He smiles and again drinks deeply. "No, I was thinking something more... I don't know... demonic?" 

"And where would this demon have come from?"

"Oh, it could be anything. A wandering witch, an ancient curse, even a long buried jar in some farmer's field."

"And do you want adventurers to arrive to take care of it?"

"Good heavens no! I want the villagers to worship it. Form a cult or something around it. Then the adventurers come in and take care of both problems. By then the weather should turn and things can go back to normal."



Most adventurers will never stop to really ask where the demon came from. And that fat mayor who just paid them so handsomely? Clearly a sleaze, but he just paid them to take care of a demon cult, so he can't be all that bad. Right?