My daughter's hands be strong & supple & more than one man or wife complaining of witchshot or other aches of the back have come to her greatly troubled and left at ease. If hard work in the fields has got you hunched like an over-burdened ox, come to our hut & find relief.
P.S. Waste not your time nor ours with lecherous proposals.
There's a vile and dangerous spook, beast or devil of sorts causing no end of trouble near our village, Honorton. We promise our profoundest gratitude - and a sizeable reward - to any brave lad who can slay it.
If you're looking to learn more, come pay us a visit. Ask for the ealdorman, Sobemir.
To Whom It May Concern: Let it hereby be known that whoever kills the shrieker, the monster that's wove its nest near Crow's Perch and has taken to killing both men and beasts, will be given a sizable reward. Take heed that she's a dreadful dangerous creature and killing it'll take a trained fighter, not just a pack of peasants with pitchforks. -Chet at Crow's Perch
My wife, Hanna, she's missing. A few days ago she went into the woods and hasn't yet returned. I'm near out of my wits with worry and will pay any price to the man who brings her back to me, or at least tells me where to look for her.
Time has come to supplement the castle watch with new recruits. Every family must provide one sound man able to bear arms. Any family with no such man under its roof must pay a waiver in silver or goods. Any clever coward thinking to shirk this duty by cutting off his thumb shall have both hands chopped off as a lesson and mark of shame.
I've the knack and kit for fixing roofs. Any man neglecting to care for his own hut's a fool. A couple such sots in Midcopse refused my services. Their huts burned to ash. Must have been fate sending fire to say it ain't wise to skimp on such things. So think it over, kind folk.
I've many a year behind me and have been through much in each. In return the gods have granted me the gift of sight. I need but take a hand and gaze upon it and before my eyes comes a vision of what awaits that hand and its owner and all it touches.
Some call it witchcraft and unnatural, this gift, but to my reckoning it's the same as how some swim strong or play fiddle masterfully while others sputter and screech.
If you don't fear knowing what fate has in store, come pay a visit to old Rakche.
My daughter Bilberry, a lovely girl and the apple of our eyes, died this year, the fourth of her short life. We buried her in the graveyard, by the crooked birch. Whoever wants to place a lump of earth or light a candle for her, that's where to go.
May it hereby be known that any man shirking delivery of his feudal dues to the castle will be punished, and harshly. For hiding foodstuffs, fifty lashes shall be delivered, without mercy or delay, to old and young, men and women alike.