Before we go on, get yourself over to SIMMERSBY right now. As quick as you can. Please do not try to ride the goblin messenger. The goblin is not a horse.

Running? Good. Just remember to look up every 10-20 seconds to watch for trees.

Boy, have we secured a serious exclusive quest for our union! It's only exclusive because none of the veterans could bear to take up the offer, but it's still exclusive. You've only got... let's see... 57 other members running there right now. What a huge opportunity!

So, now you're on your way, let's get onto what you're actually on your way to. In case you want to pull out. The situation in Simmersby is dire. An ancient prophecy has been fulfilled. "When the world has been at peace for too long," wrote Sarric the Seer all those years ago. "When the children have grown, when the grandchildren have come and been found tedious, when life follows the same exact routine for ten days straight, they will gather. And THE ONE will come of age."

And by coming of age, we mean middle age. Yes, it's true. The first Babbleborn in a century is upon us.

These are women or men who lose the will to control their mouths. To sit by a Babbleborn is to be buffeted by a never-ending barrage of the most pointless and monotonous chatter known to man. As the prophecy said, their children have gone, and their lives settle into a pure and terrible boredom. The only way to endure is to unleash that boredom upon anyone within earshot.

Should you take up this quest, you will know when she last washed her undergarments. You will know by how much her favourite cut of pork has gone up in the town market in these ridiculous times, and how it only used to be a copper. You will know when her neighbour's best friend's cousin's secret lover's worst enemy's wife's auntie's maid's sister's baby is due, because she saw her visiting that Bob down the road just last week.

You will know many things by the end of the gathering. What, you thought you had to KILL her? Put that sword away. This is supposed to be a nice night.

You see, the payment has been made to the union in secret, but our goblin spies have worked out the Babbleborn's identity already. It must be Sue on Windstep Lane. She fits the prophecy, and she has called all her neighbours to tea this very evening. There is no special occasion. It is just to witter. 

But she's also very sweet, cooking for everyone like that. Only three of her friends dared to go after practically being held hostage all night last time, and she has prepared enough stew for seventeen. So you're going to sit down, eat, and take it. A little alcohol may help.

Your gold shall be delivered once the gathering is complete. If she lets you go.

And don't worry about being a stranger. She's seen your barber's fiancée's brother before, after all. She knows ALL your secrets, and so will the other sixteen guests by the end of the night. Actually, A LOT of alcohol may help.

Good luck,

The Threesome