The Black Wyrm of Brandonsford

The man on his stoop narrows his eyes, then smiles. "Oh! Oh! Shrewd patrons, I see!"

Then, walking out onto the street, he extends his hand to Wren. He holds on a few beats too long if she takes it.

"I'm Quinn, proprietor of the famous Golden Egg!"

The bald, bearded man's eyes dart across the street, and narrow again. "And I'd rather not talk about that place, if you don't mind. Rest assured your costs will be lower at my establishment! Five silvers for a bed, my dear!"

When Gann speaks up, Quinn grins. "Ah! That depends on what you order, son! We have dishes for those counting coppers, and meals fit for lords and ladies!"

Then, lowering his voice and leaning in towards the man, he extends his hand for another shake. "We can get you fixed up for just a few silvers. And if the man across the street has better prices, well Quinn will beat them!"

Quinn lets a single cackle loose as the group decides to give the Golden Egg its patronage, then he leads them inside -- where they see that the place is not only quiet, but nearly empty. There are a few tables occupied, but the travelers essentially have their pick of where to sit."Yes yes yes," Quinn says as coins begin to change hands for beds, and as Rowan orders food and drink. "One silver for broth and a small beer! Two for soup and bread, three for stew with cheese and bread!"

When Rowan worries about the dragon, Quinn bristles.

"Well I don't know about all that! If it's a dragon at all! I wouldn't put it past Bentley to have orchestrated this whole Black Wyrm affair! To fill his rooms while raising his prices!" Scowling as he collects money, he then adds, "I will tell you, I've been expecting a shipment from the north for a week, and there's been no sign of them, no word! Most troubling!"

From the back room, through a pair of swinging saloon doors, a nearly bald man with a terrible combover and quite the limp slowly brings out the food and beer.