The Black Wyrm of Brandonsford

Vivian is a small woman, with a kind face, discerning eyes, and a wild tangle of gray hair. She waves the party into her house as Gann heads to the back, searching for wood. He finds a neat pile and grabs an armful.

"Welcome, welcome," the woman says as four strangers and a wolfling come into her home. The hut is crowded, packed with all manner of projects the so-called-witch is working on. She's been embroidering, brewing, painting, sewing, curing, reading, pickling, baking, sketching... her pastimes, it seems, are many.

She claps thrice when Wren finishes her ditty, then goes to a shelf to collect earthenware mugs for the strong-smelling herbal tea that's boiling in a cauldron pot hanging over the fire. Ladling the liquid into the mugs, she presents steaming cups to everyone.

"So!" she says brightly, "you know my name and something about me, while I know but one of yours. So who is it that I've welcomed into my abode? Wren the river girl for true, but... I see a wayward Marchguard, a silent hunter who normally travels only with the furred companion who knows better than to pee in here, and this little unhappy beauty. My dear. Why so sullen?"

"That," Vivian says with a grin, "is a magic I have not yet mastered, Miss Nessa!"

She then raises an eyebrow to Gann and Sable, as well at the wolfling.

When they are done with introductions, the woman gestures for the herbal tea-drinkers to sit. It's not easily to find a clear spot, but Vivian continues regardless. "So why have you come? Ingrid is a gentle soul. Is she alright?"

"Oh!" Vivian exclaims at Wren's news, "and how did you do that?! The poor girl's mortified of her own shadow, let alone a conversation with that stone wall of a blacksmith! She's been wringing her hands over him for months now!"

When the dragon comes up, the old woman squints one eye, looking more like the frightful witch some of the townsfolk described. "A fearsome beast, for true. Now I don't know anything about a Brother gone missing, but chances are good as not the dragon ate him if he was wandering outside the town walls."

Drinking deeply from her own tea, as though soothing her nerves, she goes on. "The people of Brandonsford are scared. Some of them have died, and now they're afraid to walk their paths, cut their wood, fish the river and more. And... I too have seen evidence of some fae goings on in the woods lately, and I don't mean just the mischievous nixies in my pond. I mean elves and goblins. And a giant, north of here. Big one. I don't know what any of that might have to do with the dragon, but it could be they're connected in some way."

Taking a moment to eye the party, looking from Nessa to Gann, from Wren to Sable and his wolf, she then asks, "What have we here, then? Am I looking at some would-be dragon-slayers?"