A sylvan fellowship of itinerant castaways met for a drink in a blackened oak overlooking a smoking bay, hazy in the light of a winter sun.
Before long, they were drinking with the prince of the manor himself. He told them a sad story of a lost sister many moons ago, who jeweled broach had been returned that very day by a peddler who peddled in the foothills of the Klarkasch Mountains.
Happy to help, the group walked a day and a half to a pile of rocks that cleverly concealed an ancient dwarven watchtower.
They were moved by the tears of a small girl who was not an elf. They chased the Fawn into the rocks where they were ambushed by soporific old man. He mustn't have seen the pointy ears, for his spell did naught to the fey folk, who approached him straight away and demanded an apology. The old man was smitten by a strong willed white witch and invited them in for tea.
Upon crossing the furrowed threshold a bratty voice shrieked and complained and ultimately commanded a rusty old clockwork robot to assail the group.
It was rough going for a moment as the young martial artist Q went toe to toe with the thing, but then the White Witch snatched little Elsbeth's chain and the Red Wizardess charmed the girl and soon enough the situation calmed down.
The wizard disappeared. The elven princess was brought home to her father to his great joy and chagrin, and the party was handsomely rewarded, with blue jewels and with the wizard's ill-gotten gains (a magical Bag of Holding was procured, the shopper's dream!)