"I'm Basileios, chieftain of the Tribe of the Red Bear," you proclaim, drawing yourself to your full height and trying to look as impressive as you can in your muddy boots and stolen uniform. "I demand you treat me with the respect I am due. In the Great Steppe, I had my pick of a thousand horses."
"Well, you ain't got your pick of a thousand horses now," the farrier replies with a sigh. "You've got your pick of two, and both of 'em are mine. Look, though, maybe there's another way."
"What do you mean?" you ask.
"Been a bunch of livestock thefts around here lately," he says. "Mainly sheep, but I lost a horse of my own, too, and it don't show no signs of stopping. You look like resourceful sorts. If you find out what's going on and put a stop to it, then these two horses are yours. You think about it while I get those clothes."
As you change into the rough tunics the farrier provides you with, you consider what to do.