The Black Wyrm of Brandonsford

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The Church of Aon

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"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.

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The Clumsy Fox Tavern

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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?"

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The Church of Aon

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"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.

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The Clumsy Fox Tavern

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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.