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!"

Sable looks at his nephew and then the group. He shrugs his shoulders, but quirks a brow and gives a slight nod towards the Golden Egg innkeeper and his advertisements. The busier Clumsy Fox tavern may have more news, but after paying exorbitant prices to get in, he is more interested in getting a good deal on lodgings. Perhaps also the positive feelings from a large influx of customers may loosen the man's tongue.

Rowan eyes the the Innkeeper then glances at his travel mates. "I think a more relaxing environment may be a good thing after the long trip." He subtly pats his coin pouch and is concerned about how little it contains. He'll need to be mindful of the room and food prices else he'll need to offer his services as kitchen help to get himself out of debt. He thinks to himself, I don't want to go broke the first night I'm in Brandonsford. Maybe the Innkeeper will know of a job?

Wren regards both inns and says, "Now that I see the both of them, I must say that the Fox is more appealing. The food smells delicious and I wouldn’t mind sharing a song. But if the rest of you want to try the other place, I’m game."

Wren approaches the Innkeeper of the Golden Egg an says, "Ahoy friend! Me and my friends are hungry and tired, but frugal. How much coin for a bed to sleep in for the night? And know that I'll be asking the same of the Clumsy Fox too."

And a hot meal as well. I’d wager we’re all looking for something hearty after so much time on rations and river fish.

Wren withdraws her hand and discretely wipes it on her armor. She then looks to the others and says, "The Egg, then?" And she heads in, pulling out a few silvers for food, drink, and a room.

A bit disappointed with the farmers rather brief explanation, she follows the others in to the inn. "An actual fire breathing wyrm. I would love to see that." She muses to herself as she does so.

Rowan pays Gill for the room, a bite to eat, and an ale to wash it down. He pulls up a stool next to Gann while waiting for the food and fiddles with his cloak a bit while chatting. When Gill brings out the food, Rowan takes a moment to ask, "Gill, what do you know about this dragon we've heard tales of?" Then he nudges Gann, "Hopefully it's just a rumor, aye?"

Nessa pays the innkeeper for the room, ale and soup.

"Curious curious!" She interrupts his explanation. "You think some one made up the story about the dragon? The old farmer claims he saw it as well. He must be lying as well. A proper conspiracy. I wonder who else is in on it. How curious." She delivers the entire bit with a sense of sincerity and without any hint of irony or mockery.

Wren's eyebrows arch a bit at the prices; here on the frontier, she expected it to be cheaper. She says, "OK, I'll splurge tonight; it's been a long trip. I'll go back to being responsible tomorrow. Give me the cheese and bread, and a bed for the night."

She hands over 8 silver coins and then asks the proprietor, "So the farmer claims he and his sons saw this dragon. have any adventurers or hunters encountered it and returned?"

"Or maybe the Marchguard? I was expecting to see a Captain here but there's no sign of 'em." Gann piles on to Wren's question.

Dragon or no, there's something out there causing trouble. Anything else near the town that could have been stirred up?

He take another sip of drink then pops his Oath Compass out of his pocket, inspecting it carefully beneath the table before tucking it away again.

"Lying!?" Quinn says as he captures Nessa's smooth hands in his own rough ones. "Well I didn't say that, no, no I didn't say that. Just that whatever is going on, I bet Bentley there is smack in the middle of it!"

Finally releasing the girl's hands, the wooly-faced man gestures to the table so his helper can set down food in the right places. "Oh I'm sure the farmer saw something!"

Then, pointing at Wren with a bony finger, he claps her on the shoulder and adds, "She has the right of it! If you want the real story -- go to the hunter's hall, yes, straight to their hall! It is very near the market, you cannot miss it! Several of them went stalking for the monster just recently. I haven't heard the result -- too busy trying to find out how Bentley and his brood are robbing me blind! My best wine and spirits, taken right from under my nose!"

To Gann, the old man shakes his head. "Marchguard! No sir! You are the first I have laid eyes on in an age. In literally years!"

The compass in Gann's hand is steady -- the needle points to the south, firmly, just as it did before when the GM forgot to mention it.

Paying close attention to the conversation and sipping on the broth, Rowan ponders the old mans take on things. He nods to Wren when Quinn suggests we go to the hunter's hall. "That's a right good idea Wren. I'm sure hunters will have some good information on whatever is lurking in these wood. I'm sure these people huddling inside the walls at night aren't here for the company." He thinks a little more on it. "Actually, we could go talk to some of the farmers who came through the gate with us. Other than the one who said they stood up to it."

Sable spends the rest of the change from his gold coin on a bed and the soup with bread (Removed 7 Silvers). To be sure there is nothing in the soup that could hurt the wolf pup, he gives him the bread to eat while he drinks up the soup.

"Any bones for him Quinn? Don't want him chewing up furniture instead."

He gives a wry smile to the proprietor as he finishes the soup, noticing its watery texture with a distinct lack of spices and ingredients.

"Yes, if the hunters are gathered together now, it would be better to visit them before they wander off in the morning. But that is odd, old man, how can you be out of wine whilst the inn across from you is topped off? Wouldn't the lack of shipments hurt both of you?"

Wren nods in agreement and adds, "yeah and it looks like my merchant contacts aren't here, either, perhaps on account of this dragon problem, or whatever it is. I'd like to get to the bottom of this. I'm game to go when y'all are."

Gann finishes off his meal and drains the last of his cup (7 silvers paid).

"Well I was hoping for a quiet night of rest before we start the work. Or a loud one, but rest all the same." Gann stands and circles around behind Sable while he talks. He grabs his uncle and feigns like he’s going to try to knock him off his chair before laughing and stabilizing him.

"Always so eager uncle! But you’re probably right, let’s get to it. You mind handling things with the hunters? I’m headed to the church, I’ve got some words for the powers that be, and the preacher might have a sense of the trouble around here." He shakes his coin pouch and everyone can hear three distinct coins hitting against each other, with no hint of the comfortable heft of gold either.

"Besides, if I play the honorable guard maybe he’ll have a pew for me to sleep on when our fine host turns me out tomorrow. Or work." After a quick glance around the room, he turns and heads for the door, calling out behind him.

"Any of you are welcome to come with, of course. But let’s make a move, eh?"

"I suppose, if anyone knows anything, it will be the hunters." She glances in the general direction of the kitchen and scoffs. "Anything beats drinking.... whatever this is supposed to be. So let's go."

Wren nods in agreement with the others and heads toward the Hunters Hall, near the market. As she approaches, she greets anyone she sees with a friendly wave and smile.

Rowan follows Wren and Nessa to the Hunters Hall.

Sable involuntarily grunts as Gann messes with his chair, but has a grin for his nephew afterwards.

"I'll be fine with the hunters. And the sooner we get started, the sooner you can pay me back for the silver."

He lets out a barking laugh and puts a hand on the young man's shoulder as the group walks out.

"Yes, yes -- we have a hambone in the back!" Quinn says to Sable when the man asks after something for his dog, er, wolf. The man's helper nods and heads back for the kitchen, but then the innkeeper practically jumps out of his skin when Sable asks about the wine situation.

"Exactly! Someone has been stealing from my stash, over and over, practically every night! It's that awful Bentley, I'm sure of it!"

Then, as the group finishes their food and drink and makes plans to see what more they can find out about the situation in Brandonsford, Quinn sees them all out, saying, "Good luck! Come back! And if you -- if you catch whoever it is that's preying on my stores of wine and spirits and beer, I'll reward you richly! Richly I say!"

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The sun has set and the evening's shadows are lengthening outside the Golden Egg. It's not far to either the Hunter's Hall or the church, and not difficult to see that things in the village are slowing down for the night. The squatters in the market square are tending cookfires and talking, looking after their animals and families, and more than a few eyes find and linger on the strangers as they walk.

The stout stone church is dedicated to Aon, the All-Father, a deity who is purported to claim dominion over all others. To be an Aonist is akin to being monotheistic, and it's notable that no other chapels or temples are present in the town.

The Hunter's Hall is barely such, a structure of wooden poles and rafters that is largely open to the elements. It is in a clearing near the town's wall where cook and smoking fires can be lit, where butchery and tanning happens, and where a man with wild red hair sits quietly, contemplatively. A squat, empty wine bottle lies near the man's feet.

Sable happily accepts the hambone and gives it to the wolf pup.

"Put it on my tab Quinn. Maybe we can even it out when we find what is happening with your alcohol."

Before they leave, he tries to take a quick look at what labels of wine the innkeeper carries.

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As Gann moves away to the church, Sable continues with the rest of the group to the "Hunter's Hall." Not the worse he's seen. He is about to address the man they meet when he sees the empty wine bottle. Instead, he lets the others take the lead as he tries to determine if the bottle's shape or label looks the same as one at Quinn's place.

As they approach the hunters hall, Wren greets the man in a friendly tone. "Ahoy, friend! Mind if we join you for a spell? I'll buy you a round next time we meet for your time."

Over at the church, the priest has gone inside but the door is still open. Gann stops for a moment and steadies himself.

"Always make nice with the local gods," he mutters the words under his breath, wisdom from an older 'Guard.

Gann enters the church the same way he would enter the den of a wild animal, with all the care and attention he can muster. He knows the All-Father, and remembers the rites just well enough to muddle through them. He goes about his business, speaking some private prayers and doing his best to let the God of this place know of the good intentions of himself and his companions. When he finishes, he looks around for the holy man he saw when they first came through the gate.

"Preacher. Glad I caught you, thanks for letting me say my peace to our Patron. I just arrived, the Marchguard was called to deal with some dragon you might have. There was supposed to be more of us, but I'm sorry to say that I'm all you've got, plus maybe the travellers I came in on the raft with." True to his word, Gann is not good with people. Despite his clear attempt at respect, his words are too loud and probably too informal.

"Anyway, if you have any needs can be met by a strong back or a couple of blades, you just let me know. We're staying at the Golden Egg while our coin lasts."

As the group leaves the Golden Egg, Sable casts an eye on the dark green wine bottles he can spy here and there about the bar. They look to be delicate vessels used for Quinn's tables, filled from the cask, not the sorts of heavy bottles that might be used for transport from the winery itself.

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At the Hunter's Hall, the lone man there, gazing into the ashes of a former fire, turns and looks as Wren calls out. His hair is unkept, his beard scraggly, his eyes bleary and his clothes disheveled. He is also injured, Wren and the others see. Several bandages are visible -- and the man is missing an arm from the elbow down. The cloth bandages on that wound are spotted with blood.

With his remaining hand, the man wordlessly gestures to the benches and chairs that are arranged around the cold firepit.

Sable notes that the bottle on the ground is unlike the ones he saw at the Golden Egg. If the same blower made it, it's a different, squatter, longer-neck design.

Rowan quietly takes a seat while observing the mans injuries, then asks. "Sir, it appears you had a rough day. Do you need any assistance? Also, would you like us to stoke the fire?"

"We are here to learn about the dragon! Do you know about the dragon?" Nessa blurts out with no apparent sense of tact whatsoever.

At the church

"A man of the cloth, out there on his own? Where’d you send this Brother, and when? I fear for the man’s safety, but chasing after his fate will depend on me getting some straight answers on this "dragon" you’ve got. Can you tell me more about the troubles plaguing this town, everyone I hear from seems to have a different tale."

Fascinated, Wren stands nearby, listening.

Sable goes to help Rowan with gathering more fuel and stoking the fire, but pipes up: "My condolences, friend. We are actually here to confront that monster. But perhaps we can talk more while you drink and eat around a good fire? Where did you get this?"

He pauses and crouches down, picking up the squat bottle, very unlike anything at the Golden Egg.

"Wait, we are going to kill it?" Nessa asks, genuinely confused. "I just wanted to see it for myself."

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The Church of Aon

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"No, father, I haven’t heard the tale." Gann makes an effort to slow himself down.

"But I’d be keen to listen if you care to tell it."

Rowan drops some logs on the fire and pokes them around trying to coax some flames out of the dwindling ashes.

"I'm sorry to hear about your fellow huntsmen. What can you tell us about the beast? Where did you locate it and was it being territorial or actually hunting?"

Rowan continues pushing at the logs, seeing a small flame lick at one of the pieces with more bark on it. "That sounds terrifying. As you fought it, did you notice anything about it which may be used against it? Any weakness or tendencies?"

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The Church of Aon

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"Its a curious thing, a long dead creature coming back to terrorize the same village." Gann sips at his wine, lost in thought. He comes back to himself, and raises his cup slightly in thanks.

"Does the tale speak of what became of the fabled sword, or the fae princess? Some say their kind can live on for an age."

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The Hunter’s Hall

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"What a shame. I would have loved to see a real proper dragon. Did it at least spit fire? The old farmer claimed it did when he fought it." She asks insistently.

She continues without giving the huntsman a chance to answer: "Right! The old farmer! If we want to defeat it, maybe we can get that guy to do it? He said he was fighting it on his own and was fine. With a bit of support he will make quick work of it!"

"Can't help wondering how you followed the trail. Obvious destruction in its wake or did you stumble on the missing caravan?"

As the man coughs up blood, Sable can't help but flinch back a little.

"Seems you need more than a warm fire and a full belly. You need a healer. Is there somewhere we can take you, like the church, an inn, or elsewhere?"

When the group leaves the area, Sable answers Nessa's perhaps rhetorical question that hung in the air.

"From what I hear and see, it looks like we may have to kill the dragon miss. But it cannot hurt to hear what kind of 'dragon' this farmer fought off. Perhaps it was too full to bother with him."

Nessa continues her line of reasoning:
"Well, it went after the farmers mule. So it was probably hungry and would not just give up without putting in some effort. Right?
I know! Maybe that farmer is really a retired warrior. Maybe he even has a tragic past and now he does not want to fight anymore, but when it looks like all is lost he will rise one last time and slay the dragon. Oh! That would make for a fine story."

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The Church of Aon

---

Gann nods, always happy to accept a drink. He hands over his goblet for the priest to fill.

"Thank you. What is this about a hag east of here? Perhaps it would be prudent for me to speak with this Ingrid in the morning, in case she is indeed interfering with the quest for the sword. You said this hag is east of here, and Sir Brandon’s tomb northeast, so there could be cause for concern.

"And two leagues is a short distance, it shouldn’t take more than a day to cover that distance, even in dense woods. When did you say he set out?"

---

The Hunter’s Hall

---

The hunter shakes his head when Rowan asks about the monster's weaknesses. "Hell if I know! It's eyes, maybe? The thing's scales are like iron, turning aside arrows and spears, even big Jond's axe, swung his hardest."

When Nessa asks further questions, the redhead sighs. "No fire that we saw, girl, just that stinking cloud and its poisonous maw." He is about to ask about the farmer she references when Sable chimes in, wondering about how the thing was tracked.

"It travels on the ground, and it's big. It's not a difficult trail to follow."

He then waves off attempts to get him better care, then returns to the subject of the brave farmer.

"I'll live, I've already been tended to as best we can in his village. And who is this you're talking about, lass? Which farmer says he fought off the dragon? Because that sounds a load of horseshit."

In reply to the hunter's question, Wren steps forward and speaks. "'Twas a farmer, Gill his name. Master hunter, I am Wren, the rill runner. What shall we call you?

---

The Church of Aon

---

"Alright then. We’ve a path forward." Gann’s speech is slowed by the wine, but not quite to slurring. "I’ll speak to Ingrid in the morning, I trust I’ll find her somewhere in town?

"After that I’ll do my best to convince others to join me in going after Brother Dirk." He pauses a long moment before adding, "you say it’s a tangled path, can you provide directions to the tomb?"

Wren rests her hand on her chin thoughtfully. She asks George, "So, across the river, north through the woods, near the base of the mountain. it leaves a clear trail and travels on the ground. It has hard scales, a powerful poisoned jaw, and spews acid. Its eyes might be weak points, but that's all we know. Yeah? And this was during the day that you encountered it, yeah? It's a day hunter? Thank you, George."

Wren nods, smiles warmly, and says, "I think you've earned it George! I'll grab you a pint. But I think I'll be trying the Fox; the stuff at the Egg is swill! That ass keeps saying his good stuff has been stolen, but I'm skeptical. Anyway, I'll be back!"

---

The Church of Aon

---

"Gann—," he makes to continue then stops himself abruptly. He smiles to mask the mistake, but the result is more of a grimace. "Just Gann. There used to be more to it, but not since the Oath. The 'Guard's my family now, or so they say."

Gann's hands tremble slightly with the admission. He quickly set down his goblet and clasps his palms together to mask the tremor, looking more like a child now than the wiry man who came through the door.

"I thank you Father William, for your kindness and your guidance. I've been at this over four years now, facing off against all sorts in the borderlands and I..." he struggles to find the right words, and shakes his head when can't. "I've just not done this without the rest of the 'Guard before; I don't know if they're coming, and I don't know if I'm brave enough to go out there without them."

The last words fall out of his mouth unbidden, and with them he casts his eyes down to the stone floor of the church. His cheeks are flushed, either from drink or shame.

Sable nods in agreement with Wren's statement and succinct summary of what they have learned of this fabled dragon, as well as in acknowledgement of George's assertion and request. He quickly turns so his hood hides his knitted brow and frown of concern from those around him. He strides towards the church without faltering. In a gravelly voice, he calls back to the group.

"I will move ahead and collect Gann. Meet you at the Fox."

All leads seemed to be pointing towards the Fox next. Gill the Farmer was probably there, they would fetch a strong drink for George, and investigate more into the Fox's fine wine while the Egg settled with swill.

As Sable enters the church, he sees his nephew and a holy man, wine goblets at hand. He silently moves forward, not wanting to interrupt the conversation until Gann appears finished.

---

The Clumsy Fox Tavern

---

It's fully dark outside by the time Wren, Rowan, and possibly Nessa arrive at the well-maintained two story building that is the Clumsy Fox Tavern. The place is all lit up and there are the sounds of eating, drinking, and conversation. Behind all that, perhaps someone is playing a lute?

Once through the front door of the place, they see that quite a number of townsfolk are gathered here, eating, drinking, talking -- and listening to the girl seated near the hearth who is expertly playing a rather melancholy tune on her lute. The mood is lively, but not festive. This town has just lost several men to the menace the adventurers have been talking to George about, and many curious eyes turn towards them as they enter. Conversations settle, supping slows, eyebrows are raised.

"Ahoy, welcome in!" calls out the proprietor from behind the bar, a well-groomed man in his forties who gestures towards an open table.

"Please, sit! I'll have a server right with you!"

"Already on it, dad!" quips a messy-haired redhead of perhaps fifteen. But before the limber-limbed girl can reach the new arrivals and guide them to their table, her mother calls her off with a word from the door to the kitchen, which stands open and fills the place with delicious smells.

"Tam! It's fresh water we need, not your help in the tavern. Rosalind will see to our new guests. Fetch the buckets, girl, and get to the well!"

Tam slinks off, clearly wounded and perhaps staring a dart or two at her older sister, who nods at her mum and comes from serving another table to greet the small group.

Rosalind is quite fetching, often called the village beauty, and a young woman who dresses to show off her impressive bustline. Many eyes are on her as she smiles.

"Hello folks, I'm Rosie!" she says brightly, leading her customers to the large table her father indicated. "Will it just be you three, or are there others with you who will need food and drink, perhaps a room for the eve?"

The lute-player near the fire, still playing gently, in the background. Presumably the third daughter.
A stout, round-faced woman with a pleasant expression. Looks like she might know a thing or two about fighting.
A thin man with a long nose and a broad-rimmed hat. Wears robes and a bit of a disdainful look.
A man with a tangle of hair and a permanent squint. Looks long at the party.
A sturdy, handsome man with a large mustache. Is dominating the conversation he is having with others at his table.

Nessa tags along in to the Fox, although the busy atmosphere seems to make her a bit uncomfortable. "So many people." She sighs. "That farmer is not here though, maybe he really isn't a warrior with a tragic past. If he was you'd expect him to drink his sorrows away."

Wren enters the Fox and smiles. She exclaims, ""Now this is a tavern! Not that sad excuse across the way." When Rosalind approaches Wren does her best not to stare. She asks, "Uh, hi. Yeah, there's a few more of us, but... how much are rooms? And food and drink?"

---

The Church of Aon

---

"Aye," he says quietly and fingers the familiar hilt of his sword. He doesn't seem very convinced, but the moment's pause has given him a chance to collect himself. He takes in a deep breath, then wills himself to stand.

"Thank you again, Father." Gann picks up his goblet and downs the dregs before offering his arm for the priest to shake it. "I appreciate the help. We'll get this figured out." His tone is once again masked with a tinny joviality.

Sable likes to take every opportunity he can to not make a fuss. He will try to quietly sneak up and listen in to know when he can reveal himself. It was always fun to surprise his nephew as well.

---

The Clumsy Fox Tavern

---

Rosalind smiles warmly, but Wren’s eyes are elsewhere for a split-second — it’s difficult for them not to be given the barmaid’s plunging neckline!

"We have our famous Fox Tail Brew for three silver coins a mug, or a pitcher for eight! It’s delicious! A hot meal comes with fresh-baked bread, and that’s five."

Rosie is used to roving eyes, and so waits patiently until eye contact is again made before she continues.

"All of our rooms are on the second floor, and are warm and tidy. They each have a fireplace, bed and blankets, washbasin, desk and chest. The door locks and we’ve a strongbox in the back if you have valuables that need securing. Each room costs ten silvers per night. Not cheap, but you’ll find them worth it!"

Calling over from the bar, where he’s pouring two mugs of beer, Bentley has clearly been listening in.

"Access to the strongbox is extra, and we have rooms that sleep two and four as well. Those are fifteen and twenty silvers, respectively."

Rosie grins as she seats the troupe. "I was just getting to that, father!"

Then, canting her head and putting one hand on a rounded hip, the attractive barmaid asks, "A pitcher of Fox Tail Brew, then?"

Nessa follows up Rosalinds sales pitch: "Your prices are rather steep." She does not seem upset or anything of the sort, just stating her observation.

Wren blushes when she realizes what she did. She says, "A hot meal, a pitcher of beer, and a bed in a shared room of four, all for 17 silver, is more than we’d pay across the way… but I like this place! I’m gonna stay for a while at least. Rosalind, I’ll take that pitcher and meal! I’ll decide about the room later. Anyone wanna help me with this pitcher?"

Sable silently curses his clumsy feet, still unaccustomed to land. He had better get it together when they leave this village.

"Thank you, I have actually come to collect."

He looks meaningfully at Gann and observes that he is trying to stand tall and unbothered, but is still a little flush from drink. He sees the set of his jaw indicating the dark thoughts the young man has been ruminating over. He tries to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, unsure if it helps. He has seen this look before when Gann thinks of their family. Poor Bala. The wolf pup, Kittridge, feels the gloominess from the young man and rubs against Gann's leg.

"It appears the man needs his rest and the rest have gathered at the Fox. Ready to go?"

"Yeah. I'm ready." Gann says to Sable before turning back to the priest.

"Sorry to keep you so late, Father William. I'll do my best to follow your advice." He nods before moving to join Sable and guide him out of the church. Despite the drinking, Gann is still reasonably sure-footed. When they get outside and feel some fresh air, he starts to sound more like his usual self.

"I'm starting to feel there's more to this dragon than I first thought, uncle. Apparently all the town's hunters went after it and only one came back. I'm hoping maybe he's a coward, deserted and lying about what he saw? If not, I think we're in for hard time."

"Did you meet him? How'd it go?"

Wren finds a table large enough to seat everyone, even though some folks aren't here, and might not come. She chooses a seat where she can look over the room, as well as see and hear the music.

"The missing extremity unfortunately suggests we have a hard journey ahead, nephew."

On their way to the Fox, Sable fills in Gann about the description and dragon information they gleaned from George the Hunter and how it sounds very different from what Gill the Farmer claims he fought. They hope to see him at the Fox to investigate more. He is very interested in hearing Gann's information on multiple leads for a weapon, information, and the Brother.

"It sounds like we should rescue this missing holy man first."

Once they arrive, Sable has no qualms joining the group for better drink and passing any meat he receives to Kittridge.

"I'll cover this meal Gann since you did tell me about this job."

Since Gill the Farmer is nowhere to be found, he is focused on the claims of stealing booze from Quinn. He will politely interrogate the Fox's staff, starting with Rosalind when she stops by, then Innkeeper Bentley while asking about a recommended drink for George, finally Gwenyth when she takes a break as her quiet observant ways may notice something amiss about the stocks between the two inns.

---

The Clumsy Fox Tavern

---

As the whole group gathers and shares what they’ve learned of the dragon, of the tale of Sir Brandon, and of Brother Dirk’s mission, they quickly learn that while the mood in the Fox is not festive, it certainly appears to be the beating heart of the town. With men missing or dead, with animals vanished from their fields and with talk of the woods being increasingly fae-haunted, there is naturally a damper on things. But with Gwenyth’s singing and playing, Tam’s mischievous antics, and Rosie’s spirit and natural charm the place just seems warm and welcoming. The food is hearty and delicious, the bread fresh and plentiful, and the beer, wine, and Fox Tail brew simply excellent.

Many conversations are had with strangers — people are of course very interested in why the five travelers are in town… and if they perhaps plan to do something about this dragon business. Rumors are plentiful: a supply shipment that was supposed to arrive by land from the north is more than a week late, and there’s been no sign of the brothers who own and operate the mine in the mountains up north for several fortnights now. Those burly young men normally deliver ore to Warwick the smith on the regular, but now word is that the man is desperately short on raw materials.

More outlandish tales are heard as well. That the witch in the east woods — Vivian being her name — turns trespassers to shrubbery with nor more than a look. And that a giant has been spotted in the woods east of the river, north of Vivian’s hut. Long-legged hounds with antlers, too, some townsfolk say they’ve seen at dusk and dawn.

Gwenyth, who plays barefoot, does little more than smile shyly and disappear into a back room when she’s between songs and sets. She’s difficult to catch for a conversation. As is Rosalind, for different reasons. The curly-haired barmaid is busy throughout the night. Her sister Tamsin helps here and there, but mostly prefers to joke, daydream, and hear stories from the tavern’s patrons.

Towards the end of the night, many folk have gone home or turned in. Cheeks are reddened by alcohol, but things are winding down. Gwenyth plays somber and gentle ballads on a lyre while Rosie cleans tables and Tam pretends to help.

Sable and Wren have both been looking for a moment to speak with Rosalind, and now would appear to be the time. Kittridge has been the subject of much attention, especially from the Fox girls, and he’s currently curled up near the fire, tired from the day’s journey.

Rowan has been quiet, and he sits with Nessa and Gann as they discuss their next moves, bellies full and backs warmed by the late-night fire.

Tamsin approaches to clear off their table, but sits down instead.

"So!" The redhead begins, resting her chin dramatically on her hand. "You’re dragon-slayers, is that right? That’s why ye’ve come to our little backwater?" Before anyone can respond, the girls adds, to Gann, "You’re a Marchguard, is that right? Shouldn’t there be… more of ya?"

During the evening:
Wren finishes her meal and decides to walk a bit. So she stands and takes a lap around the place, looking around for no other reason than it's interesting. Her eyes fall on the stout lady in armor. Immediately, Wren thinks, Yep she knows a thing or two about fighting! If she was approachable, then Wren would do so, ask her if she's heard the dragon rumors, etc


With Rosie:
Wren enjoys the evening and eventually catches Rosalind in a free moment. "So, Rosie, tell me. What's the deal with the guy, Quinn, at the other tavern? He had nothing but angry words to say about this place. Accused you guys of stealing his beer!"

Nessa never really acclimatizes to the mood in busy Fox. She has a bit of ale, a stark contrast to the sludge she had earlier no doubt, and a bite to eat. She is not very talkative and amongst the first to leave in the evening, returning to the Golden Egg without detour. She had payed for the room, she might as well get her silvers worth out of it. Hopefully it would not be another disappointment.

Interacting with the villagers was well and good, but not what she had come here to do. Witnessing the dragon would make for an interesting tale, but was it worth all this hassle? The stories of the villagers were interesting as well, but nothing she had not heard before.
After everything was said and done, she was pretty close to where she needed to be. She took another look at the letter. Her purpose was clear and she refocuses on her next steps.

Sable had already paid for his cheaper room at the Golden Egg and planned to still retire there tonight, but Kittridge looked like he wanted more than just a hambone so he was happy to oblige. Kittridge certainly enjoyed the attention and scraps he was getting because of it. Once his belly was full, the day had been enough for him and he curled up by the fire until it was time to go.

When Wren catches Rosalind at a quiet moment, he turns to join the conversation.

"Yes, he was very insistent about wrongdoing. By the way, George mentioned you gave him something to drink and he would like another. What do you suggest?"

Gann has already had enough of the evening and is eager to get back to the Egg to turn in, but he can't say no when Sable offers to pay his way. He sits with his new companions and tells them what he learned at the church, and making a case that they should set out after Brother Dirk in the morning once they make preparations.

He speaks with his Uncle about Quinn's missing stores, but wants to take a more direct approach. "I've half a mind to sleep in the storeroom, if the old man will promise not to blame me for it..."

Things finally start to calm, and Tamsin sits to talk. But right as this happens, Gann sees Nessa start to leave he takes the opportunity to excuse himself too.
Gann looks at her, mouth wide in mock offense. He lifts both of his wiry arms and flexes, deliberately misinterpreting her question. "I may be small, but there's just as much of me as there should be!"

He gives the girl a playful wink before chasing after Nessa, catching up just as she gets out the door.

"Hey, I'm heading back too, I'll walk you across the way." He pauses a moment, and trys to quiet his speech a bit in the relative silence outside the tavern. "So, do you think you'll join me in going after Brother Dirk, fae sword in the tomb of an ancient hero and all that?"

Gann pauses, then considers the woman he's speaking to, and chooses a different question. "I hope you don't take offense to this, miss, but you seem a bit out of place out here. Do you mind me asking, what's your interest in all this?"

---

The Clumsy Fox Tavern - Earlier

---

"Hilda!" the rosy-cheeked brunette says to Wren as they meet. "Hilda the Bold sometimes, Wren! Though it depends how I’m feelin’ at the time!"

The pair has a short conversation, and Wren discovered that Hilda is pleasant enough, professes to be a sword for hire, and that she found her way to Brandonsford just a couple of days ago — hoping to sign on with some other dragon-hunters.

"Doesn’t sound like a real dragon," she says before drinking a frothy mug of beer. "No wings and that, no fire-breathin’. At least that’s what I heard."

Wren smiles and engages in some pleasant chat with Hilda. Learning that she is a sword for hire, Wren inquires about her rates. "We might need another strong arm if we're gonna venture out, you know?"

Wren makes a note of Hilda's rate and thanks her for her time. Wren shares the info with the others, but admits she doesn't have the money to hire her.

With Gann

"Well yes, I am out of place here. It does not take a sage to see that." Nessa answers, maybe taking a bit of offense after all. "I do enjoy listening to folktales wherever I go though. I might not look like it, but I am a storyteller by trade after all. Still, that Inn is a bit too... uhm... busy for my liking." She sighs.

After a brief bit of awkward silence she continues: "I have my own business to attend to here in the woods, though if our paths align on the way there, I would not mind sharing the road with everyone once more. That being said, I doubt I can be easily convinced to do a service for the church." The last sentence is delivered surprisingly sharply.

"A storyteller? I'd love to hear a story sometime if the right mood strikes you!" Gann opens up the door to the Golden Egg, letting Nessa through first. "We'll need a map. I heard the mercantilist might have one, Cedric I think, should be in town tomorrow. Maybe your business is near where the Brother wandered off to?"

Gann glances around the room. He's looking particularly for Quinn, but curious if anybody comes here at all.

"And I'm not really doing it for the church you know, I just think he's not gonna last long out there on his own."

"It has been a while since I last got a chance to share a story with someone, I hope I have not grown rusty. Suppose I ought to ply my trade more often, my funds are quickly dwindling and I'd rather not suffer the indignity of tasting the Eggs ale again." She says as they enter the Golden Egg, uncaring if the Innkeeper overhears her complaint about the ale or not.

"Though..." She continues, giving Gann a suspicious look. "...Why are you going after that brother, if not out of piety?"

"Appreciate it miss."

As they wait for the mug for George, Sable continues the conversation on Quinn.

"Perhaps it is jealousy, but pretty bold to accuse your competitor of criminal activity. He claims someone comes every night and steals his best alcohol."

He pretends to take a long look at the alcohol around the room and behind the bar.

"More interesting, how do you stay so well stocked? Poor ol' Quinn was saying he was still waiting on his shipment due to the 'dragon' in the area."

"We all do what we do, Nessa. You tell stories, Uncle Sable has a knack for finding coin, and the Marchguard protects the borderlands." He takes a deep breath before continuing, more serious than his usual affect. "Except, we're sworn to it. I have to do this, you see?" He looks for some understanding, but sees he's not being very clear.

"You stop telling stories, you end up poor. I don't help these people, maybe I leave or I just get a job at the tavern? That makes me a deserter, and the 'Guard always finds their own. That's not an option for me." Gann shakes his head, as if trying to knock the thoughts out and recenter himself. He comes back with a smirk and a lighter tone, both clearly forced.

"So I'm gonna help. Only choice is whether to face down the thing what ate all the hunters, or else go after the lost holy man." Gann turns and enters the Egg proper, looking for Quinn and asking Nessa a question over his shoulder. "Can't blame me for feeling a bit pious, can you storyteller?"

---

The Golden Egg

---

The Golden Egg is quiet as a tomb as Nessa and Gann enter. Earlier in the evening there were a few patrons, people either staying at the inn or the few who preferred its atmosphere to that of the Clumsy Fox. Not so now. So when Quinn suddenly speaks up, from a corner of the room where he stands with a broom, it almost makes the duo jump.

"Well I've been wondering where you all were!" he says as he approaches. "It's not often I fill so many beds and then don't see anyone for hours!"

His eyes dart a little, and the man's fingers shift on his broom handle. "So... so where are the others? Are they coming back? They're coming back, yes?"

Before either can respond, the man curses lightly. "Rat droppings! I knew we'd watered the beer and wine too much! I've no choice! It's that or no beer and wine at all! Blast that man! Blast his eyes for what he's done!"

Nessa mulls over what Gann had said for a long moment. Then she smiles.

"I appreciate your honesty. For a moment I feared you'd tell me you are doing this out of pure altruism. If you did that, I don't think I would have been able to trust you any more."

Sable gratefully takes the stein with both hands.

"Very kind, miss. Clearly your family's business acumen is what keeps the Clumsy Fox so successful in comparison. I hope our dragon hunting helps you both. Have a good night."

He is clearly very close or has overstayed his welcome. He nods to Wren and Rowan, whistles for Kittridge, and sets off to give George his beer.

Wren shrugs at Rosie's surprise and says, "He insists someone is stealing his booze, so he is watering it down, I think. And he believes it's you all, since you're competitors. He's loud about it, too, accusing you to anyone who will listen. I'm surprised he hasn't gone to the guard about it yet. He's so insistent I'm beginning to think someone actually *is* stealing his booze! But I can clearly see that you wouldn't bother; you have a very successful place here already. No need to stoop that low." She smiles and looks around, noticing that most of her traveling companions have gone. She looks back to Rosie and explains, "So, the food and drink, music, and company here is all superior. But I already paid for a room at the Egg. Mistake, I know! But hey, a bed is a bed, after all, so I guess I'll be going shortly. "

She smiles and finishes her ale, but lingers, hesitant to leave. Instead, she sees if Gwen will sing one more song.

As Sable walks back to George, he recalls what he saw when he looked about the Clumsy Fox. The most interesting note to him was Eloise from the kitchen listening in. Though she may have been watching to protect her daughters, maybe she knows a bit more about the situation and how they brew their special Fox Tail beer.

He looks down at Kittridge for a moment.

"Should we? But maybe we shouldn't. It won't be comfortable. But perhaps we should sleep in Quinn's wine cellar tonight?"

He frowns deeply as he would rather have a nice soft bed to sleep in tonight, but a job is a job. Perhaps Quinn would refund some of his money if he wasn't sleeping in the room. Doubtful though considering the man's lack of customers.

Gann lets out a small chuckle and nods to Nessa, apparently agreeing with her cynical take. He makes his way over to Quinn.

"Hi Quinn! Yes, yes no worries friend, they'll be back soon and ready to turn in. Sorry if we kept you up." Gann destinctly omits any mention of the Clumsy Fox, not wanting to brave whatever reaction that would bring.

"Before you show us the accomodations though, I had an idea about your missing wine and spirits. What would you say to me sleeping in with your stores tonight? If a bit goes missing most nights as you say, I'd have a good chance of catching 'em in the act."

He puts his hand on Quinn's arm, looks him in the eye, and does his best to sound the part of the honorable Marchguard. "But if I do this you need to promise you won't accuse me too. You'd have to trust my Oath as a Marchguard to help you in good faith, you follow?"

---

The Golden Egg

---

It is nearly midnight when Sable returns from delivering beer to a very appreciative one-armed hunter, and when Wren and Rowan finally return from the Clumsy Fox, perhaps a bit aglow.

At the Golden Egg, Quinn is still bending the ears of Nissa and Gann about his supply woes. He heard the blonde mention his watered-down drinks, and has been lamenting his need to stretch his supplies until another shipment comes in! Gann has just made his offer of standing guard -- on the condition that the man does not accuse him as well of theft!

Wren finally rolls back into the Golden Egg, rosy cheeked and smiling. "Well, hello, denizens of the Egg! How is everyone doing? I must say, they have the *best* ale over there at the Fox... Oh, sorry Gwynn.... Flynn? Whatever..."

She giggles and flops down into a chair and smiles at people.

Rowan follows Wren through the door and takes a seat. "So, we have some decisions to make, although I wouldn't mind making our way to the Fox in the morning." He gently nudges Wren and says with a smile, "Scenery is better over there, eh?"

Wren hiccups and replies with a goofy grin. "Oh yes. Much nicer than Flynn’s mug, that’s for sure. And what’s this about sleeping with the booze? … Oh no, that doesn’t sound like a very good idea for me… Hmm maybe I’ll sleep right here…"

Sable adds to the tumult of conversation.

"Unfortunately, not many clues from the Clumsy Fox, Quinn."

Looking to the group, "I’m inclined to help Gann find this Brother. I’d hate to think he’s injured and we waited too long to find him."

As Gann mentions he offered to sleep with the wine stores, he nods in approval.

"I was planning the same. Glad to hear we are on the same page. Do you think you want me to join and split the watch or instead take Kittridge’s assistance? Perhaps a refund on a room Quinn for any that sleep downstairs tonight?"

Couldn’t hurt to ask.

Wren waves at the two as they head to the cellar and shouts, "I'll just be resting my eyes for a minute. Holler if you find out Rosie's down there stealing the liquor! Or whatever..." She puts her feet up on another chair, crosses her arms, and rests her chin on her chest, dozing intermittently.

Gann hesitates at first, thinking the group wanted to discuss their plans. But seeing Wren wave them on he turns back to Quinn.

"Okay, show us. But first, your word. We’re not your thieves, yeah? We’re just in from the river, can’t be us. I’d like to hear you say it in front of all these fine people, if you don’t mind." He is ready to follow the man, but waits for his response first.

"You'd think one hundred gold would buy a decent lock." Nessa quips. "Do you even have that much of money around?"

Wren sits up at the mention of 100 gold. She shakes her head and smacks herself on the cheek. "Whoa whoa wait. 100 gold to catch the booze thief? Heck yeah! I promise not to drink any! I've had too much tonight as it is..."

She jumps up and immediately has to lean on a chair as she wobbles a bit. She breathes slowly and then stands up straight and says, "Whew! Ok, I'm ok. I'm in!"

Nessa tags along, at first reluctantly, but upon seeing the lock she becomes more engaged."Well, I'll be damned. He has a proper lock. Now this is an interesting mystery. How would some one get in there without the keys, without damaging the lock and without making any noise? I guess we will have to keep watch and see who comes. Curious that our host has not thought of just keeping watch himself. Maybe he gets very sleepy at night?"

She looks at the Innkeeper, grinning ear to ear. "If some crafty thief can get past this lock, they can get past anything. Do you keep the one hundred gold pieces in a strongbox or something? Maybe we should check up on that as well. Just to be sure everything is still there."

Sable secretly smiles as Nessa interrogates Quinn, but glad someone else has asked what he has forgotten. Clearly it was time to sleep.

While the two "negotiate," he takes a moment to look around for any clues such as footprints in dust, errant clothes scraps, or other obvious clues. He lets Kittridge have a go as well, sniffing the area.

Gann gathers up his belongings and asks Rowan to keep an eye on his things for the evening, not wanting to bring bulky armour down into the cellar. "Mind sticking these in your room, friend? I'll keep the lamp and the knives with me."

He considers for a moment, then grabs the massive sword as well. "Not like I could swing it in a tight space, but it'll scare the color right outta our thief, among other things!" Gann laughs at the thought of it, a bit too loudly, as he approaches Sable.

"What're you thinking Uncle? Lock us both in, or do you want to keep watch up here and hold the keys?" He looks around to the rest of the group, "unless one of you is planning on keeping watch this side of the trap door?" He looks to Wren, who seems to have just volunteered.

"If one of you will watch the key, I believe it would be best if two of us can switch off watch."

He tilts his head at Gann to check out the chair with the crumbs. A clue or pests?

He wrinkles his nose at the "credit" offer, but maybe they could get their full reward if Quinn's business picks up. He does not care this time if anyone sees this expression.

He feels the wall around the chair just in case of secret passageways or small mouse holes.

"Sure, I'll watch your things Gann." Rowan takes them from him. He notices Sable's expression which echos his feeling regarding a credit. He turns to Quinn. "Perhaps there's a middle ground here? Payment and credit? After all, we are potentially putting ourselves in harms way here. We may need to replace some equipment and unfortunately a credit here won't be of use."

He then looks to the others, "I can take a watch in the cellar when ready. Just let me know when and who I should relieve."

"If we're all so keen, maybe we do two up here and two down below. Two watches ought to do it, so someone will be awake both sides until dawn."

Gann then looks to Quinn with a disapproving look, but doesn't pile on to what the others have already said so clearly.

"Do you want to see the cellar?!" Quinn asks, fetching the lock’s key from around his neck. He has the padlock open quickly, then is lifting the heavy trap door wide. "Oil lamps keep it lit so you won’t be climbing down into the dark!"

Indeed, there appears to be light in the cellar, which can be reached by descending a rickety-looking ladder. The place looks both expansive and packed with crates, furniture, and supples. On one side of the room, anyone who pokes their head down can see barrels of wine, casks of ale and jugs of beer. It does not look like a comfortable place to spend the night…

Wren shrugs and says, "I'll sit up here, I guess. Just holler if you need us to come down." She finds a spot on the floor near the cellar entrance and looks at Quinn. She says, "Hey, least you can do is provide a blanket at pillow, yeah?"

Wren stops, too, and realizes the man has a point. "Yeah I guess that makes sense. You have a pantry or cupboard I can rest comfortably in, something out of sight? Maybe under a table with a tablecloth hiding me?"

Gann heads down, not surprised that it looks like an awful place to sleep. He finds a spot not easily visible from the trap door and settles in.

"Ill take first watch, you get some rest."

Kittridge lazily sniffed about, but didn't find anything of interest and crawls back into Sable's arms. He yawns, still sleepy from his belly full of treats from the Clumsy Fox. At least he wouldn't be making trouble during the night. He nods at the others, letting them decide the best plan above.

Sable gathers Kittridge up and sweeps his frumpy cloak around him as he looks for the darkest corner in the cellar. Even leaning would be fine, he is used to it. This is why he has a big frumpy cloak to rest on and blend into the darkness. The man gives an appraising look over Gann considering his flush of drink from earlier, but the thief probably would came later in the night anyway.

"Tap out the signal when we are ready to switch then."

"So instead of paying in gold you pay in promises of stale ale. Normally I would consider this to be fraud, but since the mystery is rather intriguing, I will forgive you for now." Nessa Announces with some semblance of gravitas.

"I suppose I will hide up here with Wren. Intriguing or not, no mystery is worth lingering in that damp hole."

Considering Quinn's point about being conspicuous, Rowan tries to think of other ways to be useful in this stakeout without overcrowding the area where Wren and Nessa are setting up their lookout.

"Quinn, is there somewhere outside that would give a good vantage point on the building but still be out of site? I'm wondering if the person who's doing this is coming from the outside, I may be able to see who it is and where they're coming from. If they go in, then I could be on the outside to block their exit if they run."

Quinn looks wounded by Nessa's words as Sable and his nephew climb down into the downright chilly, damp cellar. It's a big space with a lots of crates and supplies and junk. There are plenty of places to hide, and few to sleep or rest comfortably.

"Fraud!? Fraud! Oh, oh girl with acid tongue! With flames for breath! Don't say such a thing! My ale is stale because I have none left on account of that rat across the way!"

When Rowan asks about keeping watch outside, the innkeeper recovers from the dagger to his heart.

"Well -- yes! Great idea, provided you also stay out of sight! The front porch overlooks the street and we could drape a blanket over two chairs that you could hide beneath! Or -- or! Out back, there's the privy! It's a double, so plenty of room and you could keep watch on the rear of the place!"

Rowan wrinkles his nose at the idea of the privy, however, thieves probably don't walk in the front door, so he decides to check the privy.

With some semblance of a plan, the troupe hunkers down for the night. Nessa and Wren in the kitchen once Quinn provides some blankets, Sable, Kittridge and Gann in the basement, and Rowan out back. The innkeeper expresses his thanks again and lets everyone know there will be a delicious breakfast in the morning.

Wren takes up a position beneath the table, concealed by a tablecloth, with a pillow under her head and a blanket to keep her warm. She was nearly asleep in the chair out in the common room, so it isn't hard for her to rest her eyes here either. Indeed, the challenge is not resisting more drink so much as it is staying awake, or at least sleeping quietly!

EDIT: oops. Whelp...

By process of elimination Nessa picks the pantry. She uses the blankets provided by Quinn to build a comfy little nest in there and closes the door.

"This isn't too bad. I don't want to jinx myself but I could get used to sleeping like this." When her attempt at small talk does not spark any reply she giggles: "Guess the old fraud was right, staying awake is difficult."

---

The Golden Egg -- The Wee Hours

---

Some hours later, The Golden Egg is quiet as Sable and his companion sleep in the dimly-lit cellar, as Wren snores softly beneath the table in the dark kitchen, and as Rowan, Gann and Nessa keep watch as best they can.

There's a chill in the air outside, and Rowan has his cloak pulled around him as he watches the rear of the inn. A sound twitches his ears -- someone muttering or mumbling to themselves. He's not able to locate exactly where the sounds comes from, and is surprised when he sees the back door shudder slightly and then quietly swing inward, into the building.

Inside the kitchen, Nessa hears the lock and latch on the back door working before there is a slight creak as the door opens in... then quietly closes. Looking through the cracked pantry door, the young woman sees that no one has come in... but it surely feels like someone has!

When hearing the voice and seeing the activity at the door, Rowan rubs his eyes thinking maybe he was in a state between wake and sleep. As the door closes he realizes he's not imagining/dreaming what he's seen.

As quietly as possible, he approaches the door, grabs the handle and pulls on it for a moment while listening for any activity inside.

Rowan moves quietly to the door, which he then holds fast. Was he hearing things? Seeing things?

It didn't seem like it.

Not wanting to give away the game just yet, Nessa stays put. With nothing to see, she listens intently instead.

Nessa has a perfect view of the trap door that leads to the cellar from her hiding spot, and so her eyes widen when the padlock suddenly jostles and opens, seemingly on its own. Then, lifted free of the hasp it was securing, the bronze lock floats in the air briefly before it appears to be carefully set-aside by some unseen hand.

A sound reaches the young woman’s ears then, a musical humming, quite soft and quite pleasant. There’s a soft grunt as the trap door slowly opens on its hinges as though someone is pulling on it from above — despite the room still looking quite devoid of a booze burglar. The door is of sturdy construction, and thumps when it’s placed in its open position.

Below, Gann hears the brief rattling of the padlock, then watches as the portal above creaks open!

Nessa looks around the pantry for some flour, hoping to throw it at the unseen burglar and reveal them that way. To her dismay she finds the flour bin empty. What a joke of an inn, it deserves to be robbed at this point.

With her plan foiled she sits back down and waits for some one else to make the first move.

Gann watches intently as the trap door opens. He shakes his head slightly to clear the grogginess, but he otherwise sits in silence. He leaves his sword where it is for now, preparing a more hands-on approach. He runs through his plan in his head.

"Okay Gann, whatever it is, you tackle it. You need a win, or you're sleeping outside tomorrow. So focus, alright?" He gives himself a little pep talk in his head, and gets ready to act.

"As soon as their foot hits the ground. No hesitation, just go. Might be some fey, maybe one of the girls from across the street, could be that dragon. Doesn't matter. Keep your head low, and take them down."

Nessa fumes at the sight of the empty flour bin, while down below Gann tenses in the seconds after the trap door opens. He watches and listens for any creak on the old wooden ladder. None comes, but a muttered voice does reach the man's ears.

"I think its time for a drink, oh yes yes yes. What'd it be tonight? Well wine and beer, for I hold both quite dear!"

It's perhaps a man's voice, though there are childlike and altogether strange and unnerving qualities about. It seems to emanate from somewhere in the cellar, but it's hard to tell where!

Gann blinks, unbelieving. "Did I miss it?" he thinks to himself, baffled that someone could sneak past. But then he hears the voice further in the cellar and knows something has.

"Oh hell." Gann improvises a new plan.

He grabs his knives, the unnerving voice having him reach for a lethal option out of caution. He then jumps up from his hiding place and hurtles forward with force, rushing towards the ladder.

"Close it up. Close it Nessa!" his voice booms out, loud enough to wake the dead. He closes the gap and scales partway up, trying to pull the trap door closed from the inside. "We’ve got company, uncle! And it’s a sneaky one too!"

Sable, half-asleep leaning against his cover, almost falls over as Gann shouts and barrels forward. He blinks a few times to remove the sleep from his eyes and sees his nephew wildly running towards the trap door. He whistles for Kittridge to wake up and go after their prey. He pulls the tarp out of his pack and surges forward to the stairs, looking for a solid target to barrel into and wrap up in the tarp.

Grr, should have remembered to set up a trap earlier...

Wren awakens to Gann’s yelling, because indeed.m, she was dead asleep. She immediately rolls out from under the table and dives at the trapdoor, hoping to make it inside before it closes, so she can help with the issue.

Of course, she has no idea what the issue is…

Sable and Nessa hear Gann's shouts easily enough when the man starts bellowing. Wren too, in fact, is woken from her boozy slumber -- and even Rowan, at the back door, hears a ruckus in the cellar.

A second before the man moved to action, a jug of wine had jostled and then floated up into the air... and it now smashes to the ground as the still unseen intruder drops it and screams. It's a shrill, shocking sound, full of panic and hysteria, filling the room!

---

Round 1 at the Golden Egg

---

Wren pls herself to stand.. but is still wobbly and now a little woozy. It will take her a moment to get her bearings.

Rowan starts when he hears Gann's voice from the cellar. He whispers to himself, "The best stories start with 'probably shouldn't do this, but...'" as he swings the door open, quickly steps inside being sure to block the exit with his body then slams the door behind him.

He takes in the scene, trying to gather his bearings and determine the best course of action.

Kittridge is well trained and quickly wakes up with Sable's whistle. He grows bigger and, seeing no obvious prey, begins to sniff after a strange scent to locate their target.

Sable thinks he is only slowly blinking his eyes awake, but he stumbles rather badly forward as he grabs the tarp before he can move forward to capture the thief.

My eyes can't be that bad yet, right? I don't see who I'm capturing.

Nessa jumps out of the pantry, rushes towards the trap door and pushes it shut. To make sure it stays that way, she stands on top of it.

"Alright! They aren't going anywhere!" She shouts, loud enough to be heard through the closed door.

Seeing the trap door slam shut above him, Gann pivots and heads straight for where he saw the floating wine jug smash to the floor.

His mind slowly churns over what he saw, the pieces glacially clicking into place as he charges forward. "Is it invisible?" he calls out to his uncle.

Gann hopes that the screaming means this thing was too scared to move yet, and commits to the half-baked plan. He tucks his head down, spreads his arms wide and goes for a blind tackle.

As Rowan comes in this back door, it's just in time to see Nessa slamming shut the wide-open trap door that leads to the basement. The girl, who might blow away in a strong breeze, then quickly stands atop that door and shouts out a response to Gann.

Below, Kittridge begins to bark and even growl at the area where Gann heard the intruder speaking, and when the door slams back into place about, he launches himself at where he believes the thief must be!

There's a crash from the basement as Gann slams into some crates and barrels, but he finds himself empty-handed as he staggers back from his failed tackle.

"Hoo hoo woo!" a voice that's hard to locate says, and suddenly it seems like the lamps in the basement flicker and gutter for a moment. From the shadows of one corner, opposite where Sable is getting to his feet, something takes shape, seemingly pulling itself together from the blackness around it. White fangs gleam in the dim light, and big black rat-eyes blink. The thing is as tall as a man as it hisses and comes forward -- some kind of giant shadow-rat!

Everything seems to be going in slow motion in his head as Sable watches Kittridge and Gann focus where the jug has fallen. Gann crashes into the inventory as Kit continues to bark and a strange voice echoes in the basement. He unfurls the tarp and surges forward, but as he does so, he sees a monstrous figure emerging from the guttering lamplight!

Down in the cellar, Gann is smarting from accidentally smashing his hand into a crate, but he has little time to think about it before the shadow-born, man-sized rat-thing looms up before him, snarling and snapping at the air!

On the other side of the room, Sable sees Kittridge growling and approaching a different corner of the room, off to Gann's left inside of the man's right, where the monster has emerged.

---

Round 2 at the Golden Egg

---

Wren approaches the trap door, and asks Nissa, "Lemme in. I want to help them. Whoever they are fighting they shouldn’t do it alone."

Rowan quickly figures out what's going on when he sees Nessa momentarily holding the trap door shut and Wren asking to get down there. He quickly locks the door to ensure whatever this invisible thing is will be slowed down if it makes it this far. "Yes, we should get down there. Whatever that is could be trouble. We may be able to overwhelm it with our number. Maybe it will surrender instead of putting up a fight."

"Close the door, open the door. Trap them down there, join the fray. Just make up your minds." Nessa complains. She complies though, stepping away from the trap door and opens it for Wren and Rowan.

Am I still dreaming?

As Sable finalizes where he will tackle with his tarp, he finally decides to head to the corner Kittridge is barking at and capture whatever invisible thing is there. Hopefully, his action will interrupt its summoning?

"Gann, I think that's an illusion! Look where Kit's barking!"

"You better be right uncle." Gann takes another terrified look at the rat thing, then rushes back to retrieve his sword. As he goes, he calls out again with false bravado.

"Nice trick buddy! But it’s over. Give it up right now, or mark my words-" the sound of steel scraping on stone fills the space as Gann drags the two handed sword off the ground, and heads to the corner where Kit is barking to help Sable block it in. He raises the enormous blade dramatically over the seemingly empty space, "I will split you in two."

Wren rolls out from under the table and drops into the trapdoor, grabbing hold of the ladder and hurrying down. At the bottom, she draws her dagger and looks for a foe. "Where is he? Where's the booze thief?"

Wren rolls out from under the table and drops into the trapdoor, grabbing hold of the ladder and hurrying down. At the bottom, she draws her dagger and looks for a foe. "Where is he? Where's the booze thief?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Sable sees a figure drop down from the trapdoor. However, he decides to let Gann handle their new party guest as he now stretches the tarp wide and pounces on hopefully something solid in the corner Kittridge growls at.

As Wren climbs down and Gann draws his impressive Marchguard sword with a ring that resonates in the cellar, Sable springs trying to envelop the unseen thief in his tarp!