The Black Wyrm of Brandonsford

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An OSR Explorers Adventure run by Harrigan
Starring Aline, Drgwen, quilltid, squid, and SudoDragon

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PART I: THE TOWN OF BRANDONSFORD

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The river is low and slow-moving as it winds past the remote town of Brandonsford. Sitting near the untamed western edge of the country of Vald, it has long nestled deep within a gnarled and hoary wood. It is most easily reached by pole and barge on the meandering waterway that comes down from the mountains in the north; the village is perched on the east bank and surrounded by old forests that are rumored to be filled with ruins, faerie circles, and ancient places of power.

Normally a pleasant if humble and slightly back-woods place, Brandonsford has a problem: a monster prowls its woods. People are missing, there have been a number of deaths, and there are rumors of other things creeping through the forest now that the fearful villagers have holed up and shut their gates. Reportedly, the Marchguard has been dispatched to help, but its unclear when that contingent might arrive. As a result, the local Reeve has offered a bounty of one thousand golden coins!

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The sun is low as Wren poles her barge up the shallow, reed-edged river. She has a helper, so transporting four other people and their belongings is not as arduous as it might be. She and these others — Nessa, Sable, Rowan and Gann, all have their reasons for coming to Brandonsford, which comes into sight as they round a final bend in the murky, wood-lined river.

A single wharf extends over mudflats and out into the water; tying up there will allow the travelers to walk to the stone-walled town. Above the ancient-looking wall’s eight-foot height are visible the thatched roofs of houses and at least two larger, two-story structures made of plaster and timber. The gate is visible, and it’s heavy doors are closed. A pair of watchmen man the top, and wave to the arriving adventurers.

A gravelly voice calls out to another man on the raft: "Gann, please tell me this is our stop."

Sable crouches as close as he can to the middle of the barge while still having a viewpoint to the shore to make brooding looks. He is wrapped in a frumpy, oversized cloak and his hood is still drawn up despite the low sun. He turns towards the front when they begin to approach the wharf. His hood slips a little, revealing a pale face and some noticeable birthmarks on his neck. He quickly moves to push the hood forward again, covering his fair curly locks and dark eyes. His experience as a prowler has only emphasized to him how important it is to be as nondescript as possible among others. He usually would not approach the town in such an obvious manner, but he is accompanying his nephew and finding a job has been difficult of late.

He begins to pet the little wolf pup next to him and his shoulders relax a little. It is quite thin, with sunken cheeks and appearing almost hollow in its appearance, but it is clear from the man's affection towards it that the thinness is not due to lack of care. In times of danger or just wanting to dig, the wolf pup grows back to an adult size.

Wren guides the long, narrow flatboat toward the dock with her sturdy wooden pole. With one foot on the rail and the other on the floor of the craft, she takes in the view with a smile and satisfaction at another journey successfully completed.

She stands about 5'9", with broad shoulders and a strong body. Her hair is brown, short on top and shaved on the sides and back, though sporting a few days' growth. She wears a brigandine vest and shirt of antique design, with unusal embroidery and faded colors -- perhaps a family heirloom or salvaged find. She is in her late 20s, with pale skin tanned from long days in the sun, and her face bears distinctive tattoos and scarring.

As the boat slides quietly into the shallows next to the dock, Wren sings a song quietly, a song of arrivals and journeys completed.

O’er waters deep with plank and pole,
We traveled swift and sweet,
So now we stand on shores anew,
The river’s tale complete,

With a gentle *thunk* the pole boat reaches the dock. Wren leaps from the craft, rope in hand, and ties the vessel off, securing it well to the dock, and begins to help her passengers to disembark.

She looks to her traveling companion, another rill runner like herself. The older man is Dalian, an experienced river hand whom she recruited to travel with them to Brandonsford. He wished to see his niece, who resides here, but is currently between boats. Wren needed the help for the trip with a boat of this size, so it was a perfect deal. Throughout, he worked tireless to do his part, and more. Plus, he is an excellent cook!

To her disembarking passengers, Wren says, "Welcome to Brandonsford, everyone! OK now, mind your step here! It might take you a spell to get your land legs back ... no worries! And don't forget your parcels and packages! If you care to do so, perhaps we can all grab a pint to celebrate our journey's end and to invite the next journey with peace in our hearts -- and ale in our bellies, eh?"

Wren tursn to Dalian and adds, "What will it be, Dalian? Join me for a pint or straight to your niece's?"

The older man laughs and smiles, stepping out to help Wren finish securing the craft. "Well you know I'm not one to turn down a wee tipple! Asides, me niece is like to be tendin to her crops at the moment. She's a vegetable gardner, ya see, and sells 'em at the market here. Which is to say, you'll need ten men to keep me outta the pub!"

Nessa had not been very talkative during the trip. Nor did she show much interest in her traveling companions. Sable had been the sole exception, as she did seem to feel a certain affinity to the pup that accompanies him. She did not reveal much about herself though and dodged any questions regarding her motives with vague answers. Mostly cryptic remarks about finding a lost family.

She did spend a lot of time gazing in to the forest though. Not nervous, as if expecting an ambush or something of the sort. More as if waiting something or some one to show up. Nothing ever came of course.

Once disembarked and standing on the dock, she takes a moment to get her bearings. It had not been that obvious before, or maybe everyone had gotten used to her during the trip, but now the young woman really stands out like a sore thumb. Her oddly pale skin would be remarkable no matter where she went and her fine dress does not mesh well with the rustic environment at all.

"If celebrations are in order, I shall gladly partake in such." She responds to Wrens invitation. Though without much enthusiasm.

Gann's heavy footfalls hit the wharf with more force than his small frame would imply. He has a spring in his step despite a few wobbles from coming off of the river. He whistles along the last few bars of the rill runner's song and straightens out the long sword slung across his back.

"Looks like Brandonsford to me, uncle. Not much else for miles. I'd say we're here," his voice booms out the obvious, not seeming to notice that Wren's announcement has already answered Sable's question. The man is short and wiry with taught muscles packed on top, the sort of build that speaks to a malnourished youth followed by too much hard work. Gann jogs to catch up with Sable, thudding down the deck while his eyes scan the town.

"No sign of the 'Guard out here. There should be at least a captain and a few with him, plus any others they called." Gann scratches the scar on his face and looks to Sable, "I hope I'm not the first one here, I'm no good talking up the townsfolk on my own." He produces a small compass from his pocket and checks it before tucking it quickly back in his frayed overcoat.

Rowan waits for the boat to stop jostling after being moored before he stands. He's been sitting hunched over, picking at the boat, feeling uneasy about the surrounding woods he's been observing all along. It's not right. There's something about this wood is wrong. It's too... still. he thinks to himself as he steps off onto the dock. He stretches, observing the others, taking in their details with idle curiosity. He's never been one to go out of his way for social connections.

He's tall, messy hair and wearing a cloak that looks like it's been handed down for generations, the fur lining his shoulders is ragged and matted. Under the old cloak is a well trimmed frame. Years of being in the woods has kept him lean and strong, something he'd rather not make obvious just in case there are some hooligans around looking to prove a point.

He's traveled to Brandonsford with what he possess, which isn't much. He's hoping to find opportunity for a woodsman here. There's certainly enough woods here that there should be something for someone with his skills. He throws a quick glance around taking in the odd aura he can't identify. He shakes himself free of the thought then looks to Wren, "Wren, thank you for the trip." he nods as he walks past her. When she suggests stopping for a pint, the familiar hunger pain overpowers his introversion. "Actually, a pint and a bite to eat sounds like a good idea." he adds.

As the six travelers leave the boat and head for Brandonsford's main gate, they see a number of other villagers walking in the same direction. They look like farmers, and they are bringing their families and livestock inside for the night. Chickens and goats, dogs and pigs -- quite a noisome barnyard collection gathers at the gate before they open.

The two guards from up top have come down and opened the heavy doors, allowing the families and animals in.

"You six as well?" the taller of the two guards calls out to the grove as they approach. "The safety of our walls will cost you each one silver... plus one for that mutt, and one for every trunk or chest you have with."

The man is no professional soldier, some are able to tell, but likely a villager doubling as a watchman. Handed a spear and pressed into service. Through the stone archway, the town proper can be seen, humble as it is.

"'Ere to do in the dragon, are ye?" the shorter man asks nasally as people dig for silver. He does not look the part of a guard; his quilted gambeson fits him badly.

Wren digs into her beltpouch and pulls out two silver coins, one for her and one for Dalian. She hands them to the man and says, "Hi stranger! Here's yer coin for me and the old gaffer here. So other folks been coming to take a shot at the dragon, have they? And where might they be spending their time when they're in town? Is there only the one tavern, or...?"

Dalian walks beside and murmurs, "Well I was gonna thank you for paying my way and offer to buy you youre first pint, but calling me a gaffer to my face? I think you're just outta one silver, missy!" He chuckles.

"Couple of like-minded have come, yah," the tall guard answers.

The shorter one nods at Wren and gestures. "Two places to stay in Brandonsford, there is! That one -- the Clumsy Fox... and that one. The Golden Egg! Just be ready, as Bentley and Quinn don't much like one anovher."

Wren smiles and says to her friends, "Oh we have two choices!" then she turns to the guards and asks, "So, do you fancy one over the other?"

Rowan swallows hard, "Wait, you said a dragon?"

He hands his silver over.

"Hmm.... I would prefer a quiet place to stay at." Nessa mumbles while searching her pockets for a coin.

Once they are on the wharf, the little wolf pup paws at Nessa's dress for one last head pat. However, his little paw has been muddied a little and leaves a little dirt on her dress.

"Sorry about that miss."

Sable scoops up the pup and waggles a finger at it, but it just nips his finger instead.

"Urk. Glad to be on solid ground again. Thanks for navigating Wren and Dalian."

For a moment he is at full height and quite tall compared to the villagers heading towards the gate, but he slumps down again and soldiers on. Gann will surely catch up.

Once the young man does and finds no answer to his question from his compass, Sable shrugs his shoulders.

"I'm no good with townsfolk either, but the latest news is always in the tavern. Let's follow these folks and learn more about the area."

Again, without a second glance back, Sable strides toward the gate. He narrows his eyes at the price and tales of dragons, but it would be too time-consuming to cause trouble now. He pays for himself, the wolf pup, and Gann.

"Let's be on our way nephew."

Gann claps Rowan on the back and laughs heartily, "Oh it's always a dragon in these places! Big and frightning, fire and claws. You'll see big fella, massive ancient wyrm it'll be! Or more likely a bear or a couple of fae with a torch."

He looks visibly relieved seeing Sable pay his way and flashes a smile as he passes the watchmen.

"Ask ten villages for their troubles, and they'll claim eleven dragons." He gets in a good chuckle at his own joke before waving for the man to follow. "Come on friend, we've got drinking to do. We'll sort this 'dragon' after we sober up."

"Well," the taller watchman begins to Wren, "most folks like the Clumsy Fox just fine. One of Bentley’s girls has quite the voice!"

The smaller speaks up. "A dragon indeed, with fangs and fire! I’s prefer the peace and quiets of the cracklin’ fire at Quinn’s, meself. Peoples don’t gives the Egg a fair shakes!"

A gruff voice sounds behind the crew as they pay their silver and make they way into Brandonsford proper. "You’ll be too late for the wyrm."

That voice comes from a barrel-chested farmer, a man bringing in his mule, a duck and a pair of goats for the night. "I fought it off last week — it’s a beast, it is. But my boys are on the case now. They’ll make short work of that thing."

"Shut your trap, Gill!" the leaner of the two guards says as he allows the farmer entry. "No one believes you fought the thing!"

Wren turns to the others and says, "Sounds like there will be more folks to chat up at the Fox, but maybe better conversation at the Egg. What do y'all think?"

She then turns to the farmer and asks, "I believe ya, gaffer. And whereabouts did this happen?"

Gann shrugs. He glances between his uncle and the group, happy to go whichever way the wind is blowing.

Nessa pays the guards their due but she is much more interested in the farmers tale.

"Really? A wyrm? A dragon? Did you see it? Did you fight it? How big was it? Did it breathe fire?" She excitedly interrogates Gill out of the sudden. She had not been this lively the entire ride. Now she seems oddly energized, almost a bit too much.

Farmer Gill, his mule and other animals are the last through the gates before they are shut and barred. The two guards in often-patched, quilted armor resume their positions on the walk above the gate; it is clear they are militia, pressed into service, not professional soldiers or guards.

Then, as the adventures move into the village proper, they see that is is a humble place, with a single, muddy main lane striking through the middle of the place. Perhaps two dozen people have come in for a the night; their looks to be a temporary camp set up in the market square, right in the middle of Brandonsford.

Farmer Gill heads for the camp with his quacking, braying entourage, but he casts a squinted eye at Wren and Nessa from beneath his wide-brimmed hat.

"Yes I saw it, lass. It tried to carry off Turnip here from my farm," the man says, patting the rump of his slow-moving mule. "I drove it off. Requires a stout heart to face a dragon, but my father taught me well the old tales of Brandon and others. You have to stand tall and not flinch!"

When Nessa presses for more details, the man moves off towards his tent and says, over his shoulder, "Big! And aye."

As Gill keeps walking, the group has come to the two inns, across the street from one another. As expected, The Clumsy Fox is well-lit, sounds lively, and emanates delicious smells. The Golden Egg is in decent enough repair, but is smaller and quieter. A man, perhaps the proprietor, stands in the doorway. He's older, with a white beard and a boney face.

"Hello! Travelers!" he barks from his covered porch. "You must be weary, and famished! Do you need shelter tonight, and food, and drink?! Come inside, come! We've warm beds and hot stew at the Golden Egg!"