| ew-001 | Maera the Innkeep | Welcome to the Hollow Flagon, traveler. Mind the third step, it bites. | warm | none |
| ew-002 | Maera the Innkeep | We serve stew, ale, and rumors. Only the rumors are free. | wry | none |
| ew-003 | Old Bramm | The mist came down off the Eldenwood three nights past and it has not lifted since. | uneasy | mist_over_bracken |
| ew-004 | Old Bramm | My son went to check the traps near Bracken Ford. That was yesterday, at dawn. | worried | mist_over_bracken |
| ew-005 | Captain Ilsa Vane | Nobody crosses the ford until I say so. Not you, not the merchants, not the mayor. | stern | mist_over_bracken |
| ew-006 | Captain Ilsa Vane | You want past my line? Bring me proof the mist is natural, or proof it is not. | challenging | mist_over_bracken |
| ew-007 | Fenn the Trapper | I saw lights in the fog. Green ones. Traps do not catch what makes lights like that. | scared | mist_over_bracken |
| ew-008 | Fenn the Trapper | Take my lantern. The oil is cut with silverleaf, it burns true even in cursed air. | grateful | mist_over_bracken |
| ew-009 | Sister Odele | The chapel records mention a mist like this, two hundred years ago. It preceded a waking. | grave | mist_over_bracken |
| ew-010 | Sister Odele | A waking of what? The records were burned before they said. Deliberately burned. | grave | mist_over_bracken |
| ew-011 | Hollow Warden | TURN. BACK. THE ROOT REMEMBERS. | hostile | mist_over_bracken |
| ew-012 | Bramm's Son | Is someone there? I have been walking for hours, and the trees keep moving. | desperate | mist_over_bracken |
| ew-013 | Bramm's Son | You came for me? Father sent you, did he not? Bless you, stranger. | relieved | mist_over_bracken |
| ew-014 | Old Bramm | You brought him back. I have no gold, but I have this: my grandfather's compass. It never points north. It points home. | grateful | mist_over_bracken |
| ew-015 | Maera the Innkeep | Word is the smith won't forge anymore. Says his hammer "sings wrong" since the mist came. | curious | the_silent_anvil |
| ew-016 | Torvald the Smith | Listen. Strike the anvil yourself. You hear it too? That is not iron ringing. That is a voice. | haunted | the_silent_anvil |
| ew-017 | Torvald the Smith | The ore came from the new vein under Cairn Hill. Cheap and rich. Too rich. Nothing under a barrow should be that generous. | regretful | the_silent_anvil |
| ew-018 | Torvald the Smith | Take the ore back to where I dug it. All of it, every ingot. I will pay you what the vein was worth. | pleading | the_silent_anvil |
| ew-019 | Cairn Shade | who carries my bones in a sack | cold | the_silent_anvil |
| ew-020 | Cairn Shade | set them down. set them down in the earth, and the singing stops. | cold | the_silent_anvil |
| ew-021 | Cairn Shade | the smith took only stone, he thought. men always think that. | mournful | the_silent_anvil |
| ew-022 | Torvald the Smith | The anvil rings clean. Just iron now, honest iron. Here is your pay, and a blade besides. | relieved | the_silent_anvil |
| ew-023 | Mayor Hessel | Adventurers, hah. Last lot drank my cellar dry and left an owlbear in the granary. | dismissive | none |
| ew-024 | Mayor Hessel | Fine, fine. If Captain Vane vouches for you, the town charter allows a bounty license. | resigned | none |
| ew-025 | Pip the Stablehand | The grey mare bites, the roan kicks, and the pony steals apples. Choose your fighter. | cheerful | none |
| ew-026 | Wandering Scholar | Eldenwood predates the kingdom, the empire before it, and possibly the language we are speaking. | lecturing | none |
| ew-027 | Wandering Scholar | The trees here grow in rings, concentric rings, seven of them, centered on a place no map will hold. | lecturing | none |
| ew-028 | Maera the Innkeep | Another round? Careful, the third mug is when patrons start volunteering for quests. | teasing | none |
| ew-029 | Captain Ilsa Vane | You handled yourself at the ford. There is standing work for a blade like yours. | approving | none |
| ew-030 | Sister Odele | Light a candle before you go into the wood. Not for luck. So we know how long to wait. | gentle | none |
| ew-031 | Fenn the Trapper | Wolves, boars, and shadowcats I can read. Whatever is denning by the old mill, I cannot. | uneasy | none |
| ew-032 | Old Bramm | In my day the wood gave fair warning: crows first, then silence, then you ran. Now it skips straight to silence. | grim | none |
| ew-033 | Hollow Warden | THE SEVENTH RING OPENS FOR NO ONE WHO CARRIES COLD IRON. | hostile | none |
| ew-034 | Wandering Scholar | Cold iron, silverleaf, barrow-stone: the old wards. Odd how the town uses all three without remembering why. | musing | none |
| ew-035 | Pip the Stablehand | If you find my lucky horseshoe out there, I will muck stalls in your honor for a month. | hopeful | none |
| ew-036 | Mayor Hessel | The harvest festival proceeds as planned. Mist or no mist, the town needs its cheer. | stubborn | none |
| ew-037 | Maera the Innkeep | Kitchen's closed after the tenth bell, but for you? Cold pie, warm hearth, no charge. | warm | none |
| ew-038 | Sister Odele | The candle you lit is still burning, three days on. Wax untouched. I thought you should know. | wondering | none |
| ew-039 | Torvald the Smith | Bring me proper ore, surface ore, and I will forge you something the wood cannot argue with. | gruff | none |
| ew-040 | Bramm's Son | I still dream of the moving trees. But in the dreams now, they move aside. | hopeful | mist_over_bracken |