The news of an apparent attack against The Sentinel Church traveled fast. As it traveled the story grew more and more unbelievable. Some declared that the bride was a sorceress or possessed. Others spoke of a monster raid on the village. A few simply thought she’d run off. Regardless of the cause, they all agreed on one thing, The Church was offering a bounty.

Her disappearance gave credence to the village’s old saying about cloudy days as it led to months of activity in the village. Many adventurers were drawn by the promise of gold should they find the missing girl. People would venture into the woods in search of clues as to what happened. Those that returned were always empty handed. They spoke of being misled by spirits, or changing trails, and the eerie whispers which gave the forest its name. As the months passed, fewer adventurers came seeking the bounty and most presumed the girl was dead. Life in the village returned to normal, the only change being a semi-permanent bounty on the job board.

Then one morning a man was found waiting outside the gate. One of the farmers heading to the fields spotted a strange bundle of fur leaning against a nearby tree. He cautiously approached, fearing a sleeping animal of some sort. As he poked at it with a long handled hoe, he was startled to have the tool knocked from his hands as the bundle lurched to alertness.

The bearskin cloak was effortlessly thrown back to reveal a wild looking man in leather armor. His bestial eyes seemed to pierce into the farmer’s soul, and a loaded crossbow was carefully aimed at the farmer’s heart. As the sleep left his expression, his eyes lost their predatory glow and he carefully lowered his weapon. “Didn’t yer parents teach ya not to poke a sleeping bear.”

With a look of shock the farmer stared at the man. His expression was a mix between fear, insult, and confusion. After a few stuttered false starts he managed to speak. “What brings a Wildling like you to the village?” He almost said something quite different, but he couldn’t erase the image of the crossbow from his mind. Though it was but a moment, it was held completely steady. This was a man who could easily have killed him without hesitation. The very fact that he was waiting outside the gate meant he was there for a reason and didn’t intend to cause trouble. Still, he acted more like a beast than man, so caution and disgust was justified. These thoughts all rattled through the farmer’s head when he chose his words.

“Tracking.” The man spoke a single word as if it justified everything. He rose to his feet and shook the dust and leaves from his cloak. He slung the crossbow, still loaded, on his back, and approached the gate.

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” The farmer sputtered. “Tracking what?”

“Dragon.”

“A Dragon?” The farmer couldn’t believe his ears. “Why would you be looking for a dragon here?” He felt fear starting to gather in his chest. Dragons were legendary monsters and this stranger spoke of one calmly. He was either a fool, fearless, insane, or a mix of all three. Regardless, he was dangerous.

“The missing girl. This monster abducts women from all over, and all signs lead towards these woods.” The man still had a predatory gleam to his eyes, but as he spoke more much of the wildness seemed to fade.

The farmer still felt deep in his bones that the man was dangerous, but he was slowly realizing that despite his barbaric appearance he was in fact an adventurer. “If it is about the bounty, you will want to talk to the chief. He can tell you what we know. I’ll take you there.”

The man nodded and the farmer breathed a sigh of relief. He did not want to consider what would happen if the man wandered the village without an escort. At least it wasn’t overcast so it was unlikely a second girl would vanish.

The farmer led him to the chief’s house as quickly as possible while avoiding the more crowded routes. He couldn’t avoid everyone’s eyes though, and cringed every time someone’s whisper carried on the breeze, terrified it would make the stranger lash out. People stared and talked. The words “Wildling” and “savage” could be heard fairly regularly. Fortunately the man didn’t seem to care, nor even to notice them.

When they reached the chief’s house, the farmer knocked. “Chief, we have a Wildling...” He trailed off and quickly corrected himself “an adventurer here about the bounty.” He paused as he searched for the proper words to describe the man and warn the chief what to expect. “He appears to be a woodsman of some sort.”

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The man spoke, “Woodsman, Ranger, Tracker. Call me what you will. The name’s Dover and I already wasted a night waiting outside the village. Let’s get this over with.”

The man who opened the door moved as if he were broken. Though he still maintained the remnants of a strong figure, his eyes were marked by weariness and a permanent frown was etched into his face. He had the air of someone who was defeated and had completely given up. Though most of the village were surprised by Dover, the chief didn’t even react.

Leaving the door open and walking inside toward a pair of chairs by the fire he simply began his well rehearsed speech. “As you have undoubtedly heard, the Sentinel Church has issued a bounty of...”

Before he could continue, Dover interrupted. “Forget the speech. I don’t give a damn about the Church or the gold.”

His words completely stunned the farmer from earlier. His fear of Dover was the only thing which kept him from protesting. Though, as he choked back the instinctive retort, he found himself questioning what exactly the Church did to earn such loyalty. They’ve had monster attacks in the past and the locals were the ones who drove them off. Even when the chief’s daughter went missing the Church did nothing more than throw gold at the problem.

The chief trailed off at the outburst. He blinked twice before taking a closer look at the tracker. The cloak was roughly stitched and patched many times over. It was practical but certainly not something a seamstress would take pride in. The leather armor was masterfully crafted, but the material itself was low grade and inconsistent quality. The man wore a similar quality sheath with an axe at his hip. It was clear that nothing he wore would have been purchased from a shop. The axehead was well maintained, but old, while the handle was fresh wood. Everything, except his boots, spoke of hand crafting by someone who only cared about practicality. It was obvious that gold was meaningless to this man.

Dover wasn’t an adventurer. In fact, he was the first person who might actually find out what happened to the chief’s daughter. The chief abandoned his script and spoke as a father instead. “What do you need to know?”

“Which way did it fly? Did anyone see it arrive? Did anyone notice anything strange?”

“You probably haven’t heard of our village’s history, or its traditions. We live on the edge of civilization bordering a haunted woods which few dare enter. Our village’s history is shaped by disappearances like this. Though we hide this from our own people, we have records of similar events stretching back to the village’s founding.”

These words were a surprise to the farmer who had remained to listen. He knew there were secrets only the chiefs knew, but hadn’t expected the records to go that far back.

Looking at the farmer, the chief continued. “You are welcome to listen, but you may be happier living in your ignorance. If you value your life in this village, nothing you hear can leave this room.”

The farmer paused, glanced towards the door, but stood his ground. With a nod the chief continued. “Best we can tell, the woods are enchanted. The path through them is clear, and even protected from beasts, but once you stray off the path the mental attacks begin. Something lives there and it doesn’t welcome visitors.”

Dover listened respectfully with a serious look on his face. It seemed like this revelation fit with what he expected.

“Those who have ventured off the trail return with stories of ghosts and being lost. Some have claimed to be chased by monsters. I don’t think any of that is real. The woods are full of game, those who go hunting have never returned empty handed. If there were really monsters, food would be much more scarce and we’d see more attacks.”

At this point the farmer spoke, “Doesn’t the Church protect us? Isn’t that why we are safe?”

The chief shook his head. “No. Aside from the Priests who arrive for tribute, they have never set foot in the village nor the woods. Sometimes I think they are all part of a secret and we are merely the last to know. Whoever, whatever, calls those woods its home is our real guardian.”

“Tell me. What do you want?” Dover demanded.

For the first time, the hint of life could truly be seen in the chief’s eyes. “I want to know if my child is happy.” His reply was simple but heartfelt.

“What of the dragon?”

Anger pushed out the next words, “if he harmed her, I want him dead.” The emotion quickly passed, and his next words were much calmer. “Based on our village’s history, I think she is still alive. Most who vanish return eventually. It may be years later, and they may barely be recognizable as the girls who vanished, but they return safe and happy. They also tend to carry these...”

With that he placed a carefully wrapped object on the table. As he unwrapped it, the light reflected off it, making its surface shine. It was a fairly large gold coin. One side had a five pointed star, with an arcane symbol at each point. The other side had a large pair of reptilian wings and more symbols below them.

Once the coin was fully visible the chief finished his thought, “... Dragon coins.”