The Black Wyrm of Brandonsford

---

The Church of Aon

---

Gann's more tempered approach seems to please the old priest to some degree, and he nods as he moves about, lighting candles here and there around church. The man takes his time, certainly.

"Mmm. A most interesting tale it is, given the plight the village currently suffers. You mentioned hearing of a dragon. Well there is one! One that has eaten our livestock, and threatened my flock! Incredible as it seems, we are beset by a fearsome creature of myth... and are virtually without hope. With none of your order present, our hunters banded together with the intent to find and slay the beast. They did not accept my counsel, and it went poorly. Only George survived, and he is now a man broken!"

Coming closer after filling a pair of silver goblets with aromatic red wine from a crystalline decanter, the bearded man continues.

"An age ago, there was a lone village on the edge of a grand kingdom of knights and castles and ladies. And to this remote village came -- a dragon! It terrorized the poor folk of that place, but the King turned a blind eye. You see, they were among the first to see Aon's Light. To know Him, to Understand. And so they suffered... until there came a lowly man-at-arms who too saw that radiance. Brandon! Young he was, yes, but he gathered a company together of brave heroes. Heroes who ventured into the wilds to slay the beast."

He drinks, deeply, satisfyingly, and urges that Gann do the same.

"Ahhhh. So! Back then, dear Marchguard, these woods were still fae-haunted. Elves and sprites, goblins and will-o-wisps -- everywhere! Yet they too were plagued by this dragon. But a rare bargain was struck, an unlikely alliance made. A beautiful fae princess lost her heart to Brandon, and she armed him with a magical sword, which Aon also blessed. And with that holy blade? Well just like that he lopped off the beast's head! Yes, it's head, boy!"

Taking a moment to refill the wine goblets, and waiting to make sure all of that had sunk in, Father William sits heavily on the front pew. "Brandon and his men were knighted for those deeds, and that village? Well it took on his name."

---

The Hunter’s Hall

---

The broken hunter lolls his head towards Nessa. "You don't want to see the beast, girl! It's jaws slaver with poison! Stinking gas bellows up rom its wheezing lungs! The thing is hideous, not some majestic creature from a fairy tale!"

Coughing suddenly, blood flecking his lips, the man glances at Rowan. "We found its trail, and followed it north through the woods, west of the river. We were near to the mountains -- surely it must lair there... when it fell upon us."

---

The Church of Aon

---

Leaning forward, the perhaps slightly inebriated priest jabs a thick finger at Gann.

"Yes! Precisely, curious indeed!" he half bellows. Then, sitting back, swirling his wine for a moment, he adds, "It's the witches, I'm sure of it. There's always been something strange about Ingrid, and Brother Dirk has told me that she cavorts with the old hag that lives east of here, deep in the woods. They have summoned the beast to their own dark ends!"

When Gann asks what became of the sword and the princess, the heavy-set cleric makes a dissatisfied noise. "Of the elves I have no knowledge. People whisper the fae have returned with the dragon, but..."

Finishing his goblet with a gulp, the man stifles a burp and rises, walking back to his decanter. "More?" he says without looking at Gann, pouring himself another glass. While the crimson fluid gurgles slightly, he continues.

"I believe that famed sword was buried with Brandon. His tomb is a mere two leagues from here, through the woods to the northeast, on this side of the river. This is Brother Dirk's mission -- to retrieve that very sword."

---

The Church of Aon

---

The priest has to think for a moment about Gann's question. "Brother Dirk left... not yesterday morning... but the day before," he says eventually. "It's a tangled path, but aye -- I'd hoped to see him back here by now. With a magical sword!"


The mention of Ingrid colors his face, makes him scowl. "That one I wouldn't trust. Might be good, yes, to see what she knows. Press her!
About the sword, and that crone we shouldn't allow so near the village."

---

The Hunter’s Hall

---

The crippled hunter narrows his red-rimmed eyes at Wren, but he nods.

"George, Wren. You can call me George. Last of the village's huntsmen. And I've never known Gill the farmer to fight off so much as a horsefly, let alone an acid-spewin' dragon!"

---

The Church of Aon

---

Father William nods as he considers his wine.

"She's an herbalist. Some say alchemist. Be careful with that one, lad. She comes to church, but I don't see conviction in her prayers." Then, gesturing to the east side of the village, he adds, "She has a shop. Should be open in the morning."

The large-headed man with the wine-stained beard nods at the mention of the tangled path.

"You'll want to buy a map if you're going north into the wilds... I... I don't know that I caught your name, Marchguard. But you can find such a thing at our mercantilist's. Cedric's his name, can't miss him and his wares on the main thoroughfare."

---

The Hunter’s Hall

---

"So you can listen as well as hear, that's good," George says as half a smile creases his face -- causing him to double over in a coughing fit, as though the mirth pained him.

His rheumy eyes flick back to Sable, and the others.

"Now if you want to help this old, broken hunter... get me more to drink. A jug of wine, a cog of beer, I don't care which..."