The kingdom of Midlemore was in dire financial straits. The late King Giles had just finished a war with the smaller neighboring kingdom of Porrenhausen before he suddenly died of unknown causes, and had cost Midlemore thousands, if not millions, in lives, financials, and property damages. Giles' son, Cedric was panicking because he didn't know how he was going to pay for his royal lifestyle, which mostly consisted of being a glutton and sleeping with anyone he could his hands on.

Now, the poor and working class alike in the town surrounding the castle were starving as a result of Giles' war and Cedric's stupidity and selfishness, but there was nothing anyone could do about it, because whenever anyone tried to protest, they got their heads chopped off. Oh, yes, King Cedric was a little too axe-happy for comfort.

The king was sitting dejectedly on his throne wishing he had more money when the throne room doors creaked open and a servant announced "Someone to see you, Sire."

"Who is it?"

"He looks to be a nobleman, but hasn't given his name, Your Majesty."

"Send whoever it is in."

"Yes, Sire."

The servant opened the door, and in walked a slightly-shorter-than-average man with cunning, bright yellow-green eyes, dressed in mahogany browns and dark grays with a semi-floppy, wide-brimmed brown hat that had a ridiculously flamboyant red feather attached to the side.

"Greetings, Your Highness," the man said, sweeping his hat off with a flourish and bowing so low that he could have licked the floor if he'd wanted. "I have come with a proposition for you."

The king looked at the man, bored but unwilling to show it. "State your business," he said.

"I will be happy to help you out with your... financial problems, give you all the gold you could ever possibly want or need..." the man paused, his eyes sparking. "...if you would be willing to, say, hand over your name and title?"

The king looked at the strange nobleman for a moment before shaking his head. "No, I'm afraid I will have to refuse."

The noble man's green eyes seem to glow with something akin to frustration or anger before returning to the same brightness as before. "Very well, then, Your Highness," he said, smiling widely with most, if not all, of his teeth, "I will take my leave of you."

He was just about to walk out the door when he turned back to the king, his eyes sparking again. "I am a bit hurt that you refused my proposal. But that's no matter. For me, at least. You, on the other hand..." he looks at one of his hands, seeming as bored as the king felt. "Well, unless you can, oh, I don't know..." he paused again, his eyes suddenly obtaining a knowing look in them. "...spin straw into gold, your kingdom will eventually crumble to pieces."

The king sat there, watching dumbly as the strange man left. When he finally worked up the nerve to have the servant call the man back, the servant reported that the man had mysteriously disappeared.

Just outside of the town, there was a mill, in which lived a Miller, who spent more time at the bar than he did at the mill, and the Miller's Daughter, who, when she wasn't working the mill, would spin in her free time. She'd gotten rather good at it over the years, and her father had gotten good at telling tall tales.

One day, as per usual, her father was in the town's bar, when he overheard a newcomer talking. The stranger was dressed modestly, in a mixture of browns and grays with a wide-brimmed brown hat on his head. The stranger finished off his drink, paid, and left, muttering something about "spinning straw into gold".

The Miller turned the phrase over, trying to figure out what it meant. He was still mulling it over when he left the bar, wandering aimlessly until he found himself at the gates of the palace. Hesitantly, he knocked on the gates, which opened slowly to admit him. He was escorted to the throne room.

"The Miller to see you, Your Majesty,"

"Send him in," the king said.

The Miller stood there, swaying slightly on his feet, trying to figure out which of the three figures on the throne he needed to focus on. He rubbed his eyes.

"State your business," the king ordered.

"Your Majesty, I..." his mind drew a blank, and he couldn't think of anything to say. His daughter was probably—wait. "I would like to speak to you about my daughter." the words were coming faster now. "She... she can—she is—a wonderful spinner, weaver, and she is so amazing, she could spin straw into gold!"

"Straw into gold?" The king perked up, watching him closely.

"Uh, yes, sire. Straw into gold, yes."

"And just where is this daughter of yours?"

"At the mill we own, Sire. She's working."

"Bring your daughter to me, and we shall see if she is as wonderful a spinner as you say," the king said, a look that spoke of greed in his eyes.

"Y-yes, Your Majesty." The Miller said, quaking in his boots.

"But," the king said. "If she is not, and you have lied, then your head will be on a pike come morning."

"Yes, Your Majesty. I-I understand, Sire."

He practically bolted out of the throne room, running like there was no tomorrow.