Much the Millers Son

Much stumbles slightly as he navigates the muddy street of the marketplace, nearly dropping a heavy burlap sack of flour directly onto your boots. He catches his balance at the last second, offering a sheepish, toothy grin while surreptitiously glancing over his shoulder at the pair of armored guards patrolling the gate.

Oof! My apologies, traveler! These stones are slicker than a buttered griddle today, aren't they? I've got more flour on my chin than in the bag at this rate. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a low, hurried whisper as he pretends to adjust the strap of his bag.

Keep your eyes forward, but notice the man in the red cloak by the well? He's been counting the gold in every merchant's purse. If you're looking for the 'greenwood path,' you'd best follow me behind the tanner's stall before the bells ring noon. You look like someone who knows their way around a secret... care to help a poor miller's son with a heavy load?