
THUG: Now we're talking. Ramshackle hovels are like hermit magnets. They love that shit. Hey you! Peasant! We're looking for old hermits!
PEASANT: No! Please! We've already given all the old hermits we can spare!

PEASANT: Whenever anybody talks to these old hermits it's all nonsense riddles and vague prophecies and then some band of misfits is running off on damnfool quests to become Heroes. Which is great for them, but what about the rest of us? Because next thing you know, armies and monsters and flying castles are rising up and slaughtering each other, burning down our hovels and raping all the cows -
THUG 2: Hey!!!

THUG 2: No rape jokes!

THUG: Good work, Thug 2. All right, anyone else want to object, or can we get on with collecting old hermits?

PEASANT 2: There's a mysterious old man who appeared on the outskirts of town a few days ago. But he's not going to do you any good, nothing he says makes any sense.
THUG: That sounds like exactly what we're looking for. Maybe we can convince him to prophesize that the VladTron army needs hot tubs to survive.
THUG 2: And daily massages.
THUG 3: And furry conventions.
THUG: What?

THUG: All right, start talking! How do we find this guy?
PEASANT 2: No one knows! He just shows up at awkward times!

OLD MAN: I'll be sure to let my engineer know that 90's newspapers are not a good replacement for steel bars in filled cores.
PEASANT 2: See??

THUG: Okay old man, you're coming with us.
OLD MAN: I suppose you could both plan on wearing clothes.
Next: This is it, old man