[Anguirel]

At that moment-just as Kuru unveiled his cunning theory-there was a slight distraction up at the Tinsel Bank. There was a smash of broken glass, a sound of a flailing blackjack, and the voice of the banker could be heard begging for mercy. Normally, this would have been a masterstroke of stealth; but with the villagers all huddled close by, it failed somewhat, and an angry mob of Tinsellers charged to the defence of their meagre accounts. They were just in time; they found the banking staff trussed to the walls, and a rangy, thin, man with sparkiling, untrustworthy eyes, a knife, and a bag containing the village's savings, about to mount a weary looking horse. He wore a cloak of some unspecified grey furry material; he liked to boast it was werewolf, but the disappearance of a local stray dog made that claim rather unlikely. This was Anguirel, self-appointed Gaurwaith; and now he was regretting his publicity.

"Er...greetings, friends," he muttered. "I was just...er..planning to redistribute funds for, er, the town's defence. Honest." He was as honest and true as a black rat...

***

Well, thankyou very much. I attempt to be public spirited and you confiscate my hard earned goods. No, I haven't a clue who the wolves are, though give me a quart of yon whisky and might get some ideas...