The Black Wyrm of Brandonsford

As Nessa checks the surrounding woods warily, there is always the sensation of something or someone watching her—and movement at the corner of her eye that seems too quick to follow whenever she shifts her gaze. Some of the flies and faintly glowing moths that flit by in the distance, further away, well… they don’t really look like insects. These woods are thick with fae magic, the young woman concludes as Gann steps up and declares we’ve got you now.

That statement frightens the little thing in the helmet, which shrieks briefly and then disappears with the sound of a popping soap bubble. A few seconds pass before the group realizes that they have the helmet back… and that the suddenly fae nature of their surrounds is subsiding.

As the fey pops out of sight and Kitt calms down, Sable can also feel the atmosphere has changed.

"I'll scout ahead to the rise, see if that giant is nearby before we head towards our destination."

He will wait a moment for input before heading over without another look back.

Wren nods to Sable and hands Gann the helmet. She says, "Good idea, Sable. And here you go, Gann!"

"Thanks Wren. Sorry I almost started a fight over it."

Gann takes the helmet, inspects it one more time for any lingering visitors, and pops it back on.

Sable moves silently up to the ridge as the others move a bit closer, but give him room and time to properly scout the area. The trees thin quickly on the other side of the ridge, a slope that leads down to a rough clearing in the wood. Many trees have been freshly if crudely felled, and in the middle of that clearing stands a stone and timber cottage. A cottage three times the size of a typical such structure. The rough foundation is made from enormous stones, the front door is is fitted with heavy tree bark, and the mud brick chimney belches out a column of greasy smoke. A lone window marks the near wall of the place, high enough that it would not be easy to reach from the ground unaided.

Cocking his head, listening carefully, Sable detects a faint rumble that comes from within the building...

Wren awaits Sable, either for his return or a sign for them to follow. Or, of course, a shout or the sound of battle, which would send them running up the hill!

As they wait, she consults her compass and looks at the map, and the crude drawing she made last night with her Song of Thrush and Meadow.