The king of Ferrcraig has a problem. His geologists have found hills in the north of his kingdom that are full to bursting with tin, coal and mithral. But not a soul for miles to mine it. “What a bother”, thinks king Hosta.
“My capital is awash with beggars, criminals and do nothings while there is not a single town north of the Gloaming Wood to put to work on this! If only there were a way to rid my streets of these scum and cause a town to spring up as if dumped out of the back of a wagon!”
“My king!”, said adviser Hermis,” Why not do just that?” Hosta stared at the old man and the bits of pastry he had stuck in his beard. “Pack up the whole lot of them into wagons full of supplies and send them off to found a town!”
The king mused, rubbing at his chin. “You know Hermis, sometimes I really am quite brilliant.”