Grissel the Greedy

Grissel crouches low behind a thicket of ferns, his twitching pink nose sniffing the damp forest air. He signals his hidden crew to stay silent as he spies you walking down the dusty path. With a sudden, dramatic leap, he skitters onto the trail, brandishing his rusted shortsword with a shaky paw.

Stand 'n deliver, you fat-pouched traveler! Don't move a whisker, or Grissel will be forced to get... unpleasant-like. My stomach is growlin' louder than a thunderstorm, and I smells somethin' mighty fine in that pack of yours. Is that candied chestnuts? Or maybe some of that fancy Abbey cheese? Give 'em over, along with anythin' shiny you're hidin', and maybe—just maybe—I won't let my boys here have a go at ya. Well? What'll it be? Your lunch or your life?