You defeated the bandits, finding little of value except for a necklace with a black, fang shaped pendant.
After dealing with the bandits, you party enters, where introductions are made and food and drink are served. A rowdy dwarf barges in, and begins to tell a tale…
“Bartender! A round for every man, woman, and heck, child – if they can stomach it!”
“Come round, come round, I’ve a tale of riches to tell you all!”
“Aye here, how many you folk been to Sandbridge? None? Well I guess there’s not much to it, standard river trading town, occasional monster problems… But one day, not too long ago, something was different. The villagers could feel it in the air. Even as the farmers awoke they knew that day held a bad omen. As they all went to their sheds and retrieved their tools, they couldn’t help but notice things were… missing. A sheep here, a pitchfork there, that they could’ve sworn just yesterday was present.
But then they found it…
Blood hung on the grass like dew, hides lay in torn fragments about the small meadow, and there, in the centre of the mess, was the fly-ridden carcass of Deverin, Farmer Dale’s prize-winning bull. The very same beast that, when a worg came down from the Fangwood, had defeated it and saved the cattle, now lay with it’s ribs cracked and broken, it’s eye’s pulled from it’s sockets, and the center of the carnage, the blow that had struck the beast straight through it’s heart, stood a long, black fang.”
“Immediately a search was set out for heroes. A group of adventurers strong and daring enough to find this beast. A reward of 1000 gold pieces was offered for it’s other fang, and immediately the guard of the town set watches.”
“In the days following, guardsmen began to go missing. Sometimes they’d just go out for a whizz, other times they’d doze off, but each morning, they’d find one. Puncture wounds in their mail, green ooze frothing from their wound.”
“For four days this occurred, until on the fifth day, four individuals rose to the challenge of finding this “Black Fang.”
The first, a half-elven ranger, with an odd gift for the arcane. He wore a Raven across his back, and had the look of a man with a checkered past.
The second, A Half-Orc Druid, wise in the ways of nature, and built like an oaken stump.
The third, a crooked young rogue, who was probably in it for the money more than the satisfaction of a good deed.
And finally, a stout, handsome, strong-willed Dwarf, who could carry a tower shield like a tin pan, and a warhammer like a twig.
And so the four set off to slay Black Fang."
“They encountered every manner of beast, foe, and trap. Leapt across flames, drank from fountains of gold, and finally, they entered a dark cave. cobwebs lined it’s walls, and the remnants of cattle and man alike were caught in their sticky trap. And there, in the midst of the webs stood a spider, taller than a man, with ten glaring red eyes. In it’s mouth sat a single, black, fang.”
“It leapt toward them, sinking it’s remaining mandible deep into the rogue’s chest, and grappling him with all four legs. Poison began to spew from the wound, and the party feared the worst. The ranger shot an arrow, which true to it’s mark, landed straight in the spider’s eye.
Disoriented, it fell to the ground, where the druid summoned entangling roots to bind it’s limbs.
With a thundering roar, the Dwarf brought down his hammer to the spider’s skull, and with a screech the arachnid’s brains spattered about the rough stone floor.”
“And standing before you today is that very fighter.” He proclaims. He takes a bow and applause arises from the audience. “It is rumoured today that treasure and monsters alike still dwell in the cave of Black Fang! An’ if you don’t believe me story, just go ask farmer Truscan!”
With that, he thanks the bartender, and leaves.