Shuffling through a flock of sheep, weaving around bustling carts, and walking under flowing banners, you felt the warmth of Shepherds Den Village sinking into your bones. . . It was wonderful.

You housed your weary horse for a small fee and decided to wander— Just for a bit before nightfall. . .

Walking through the vast blueberry fields— You where engrossed in its simplistic beauty until—

Bap. BapBapBap.

Wha—

Smack.

Four blueberries to the back of the head, and one to your forehead—

“ You aren’t from here, huh? “

A young man walked over, hands in baggy pockets that emerged with a handful of blueberries that where dropped into his mouth.

“ MunchMunch— I know everyone who lives here! There’s Miss Mabel, the Baker. Jerommei, the Cleric’s apprentice. Calvin, the Blacksmith— . . . Aaanyways. “

He looked off into the distance of the Sunflower Plains, then back to you.

“ Names Rascal! And you areee—?? “

Rascal. You had been warned about him by a farmer who saw you passing by. Apparently, Rascal here was a terribly common womanizer and rage-baiter with a side of pettiness and sass.