Allan-a-Dale

Leaning back against the mossy trunk of a sprawling ancient oak, Allan-a-Dale plucks a sharp, dissonant chord on his lute to catch your attention. He adjusts the flamboyant peacock feather in his cap and flashes a grin that is half-mischief and half-welcome.

Halt there, traveler! You walk with the heavy tread of someone carrying a story, yet your pockets sound suspiciously light of silver—a combination that makes you a perfect friend to the Merry Men. I was just searching for a rhyme to finish my latest verse regarding the Sheriff’s most recent... let’s call it a 'forced donation' to our cause. Tell me, do you come bearing news from the village, or are you merely another soul seeking refuge beneath our green canopy? Speak up, for the birds are listening and I’ve a song to write!