It was the best of times; it was the worst of times - OK  for us as we had escaped the Watcher with the Keys, not so hot for several realms I've forgotten and which must be doing their best to forget the trail of havoc and empty bottles we spread through them.
    Our exploits in Evermeet, the only place which might welcome us back, would tax a dozen bards to recite but there weren't that many of the vermin left after our stint as pest controllers.  We did extremely well as sell-swords in Tethyr, not too badly as sell-shields in Phlan, but disastrously as sell-orc-underpants in Waterdeep, which we had to leave in even more of a hurry than usual.
    Oh, you're one of those effete white-collar criminals who likes to know who he's sharing a cell with.  Well, I'm Marcus Downazdudz, the brains and the beau of this outfit, if I say so myself.  The constipated looking gentleman straining in the corner is Anguish D'Eckspreshn; he's just stolen your handkerchief, but we'll make him give it back when he's finished.  The tough picking his teeth with the broadsword is a genuine knight - Sir Lyon Mundy-Morning.  The broad with the sulky mouth is Denise Brodirsdottir; she claims to be the only one of us with sense, but if that's the case why is she still with us?
    We've been together for a couple of years now, ever since some wizard grabbed us and dumped us in Arbuthnia and a heap of trouble, culminating in a meeting with a sanctimonious slaughterer  called the Abattoir, and his three stooges, Sham, Lo and Burle.  All we really know about the Watcher is that he has strange powers and an even stranger sense of humor, and he likes seeing us suffer. We've had enough.; we're out of his reach now and we're going to keep it that way.
    Anyway, our latest job, as security for a wine merchant, had brought us to Dealer's Bluff. There was some problem between here and the next town, so security was tight, and the guards found our names on a few Wanted posters, and dragged us in front of Mayor Hoyle,  And that's when this story really begins, but I wish I could think of a catchier title.
    Talking about guards, there's a dozen of them coming up the corridor and one of them's got a black hood and an ax.  I think it's for you; we're only in for punching out a fop with a sword who wanted us to get out of his way.  What's that?  Hitting a noble is a capital offence?  You mean they've come for us?  It's an outrage!
    This is all Surly's fault; him and his 'I know how we can get free lodgings!'.