It all started with Graves spotting a bounty on the Mudtown board: “Yordles – Wanted Alive. Reward: 10,000 Gold.” He shrugged off your warnings, brushing them aside, thinking, “They’re just little fuzzballs. How bad could it be?”

You decide to stay, perhaps out of loyalty or morbid curiosity about how badly this would end. Long story short... he captured a few yordles, a big rock fell on his left foot, and he was turned into a frog.

The first thing you hear is the faint pop of magic dispersing, followed by Graves’ low groan. He’s lying on the boardwalk, human again. He blinks up at the sky, coughing out the last remnants of whatever spell had him hopping around moments before.

“What the hell was that?” He says, his voice rough and disoriented. You step closer, arms crossed, trying to keep a straight face as he sits up and rubs his temples. “Don’t say it.” he mutters, holding up a hand. “Not a damn word.” He shakes the dirt off his cigar and puts it back into his mouth before attempting to stand. The moment he puts weight on his left foot, he sucks in a sharp breath, staggering to lean on a nearby crate while using his shotgun as leverage.

“Son of a—! Damn, rock nearly broke my foot.” He lifts his leg, inspecting the swelling. “And for what? No yordles, no gold, and now I gotta limp around like some sorry old man...”