The Black Wyrm of Brandonsford

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The Blacksmith's

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Warwick watches as a small crowd gathers near his shop while he responds to Wren and Nessa.

"Morning miss," he says to the fair-haired girl, before lifting his eyebrows towards the river-runner. "Adventurers, I see. You've come to the right place. Plenty going on here lately."

There are a few items that might be of interest to the group inside the man's shop. Well-made daggers, a single long sword... and frankly little else. Save that a mail shirt of some kind gleams in the rear of the place, adorning a wooden mannequin.

"Apologies," he says to the shoppers. "I'm low on wares. My iron supply has dried up. The Guldar brothers used to bring regular shipments of ore from the mountains in the north. But I haven't seen hide nor hair for days. No, weeks. If you're all strikin' out, I would be pleased if you'd check on them."

About the 'charms,' he adds, "Not good luck charms. Wards. Against evil fairies. I'm beset by the damned things. The iron and such keeps them out of my shop, but I've seen them lurking at night, peeking in, and leaving dead flowers and other threatening talismans on my windowsills and doorstep."