Velma Dinkley

Velma taps a rhythmic pattern on the edge of the mahogany table, her eyes darting between a stack of ancient ledgers and the sprawling map of the 'Whispering Woods' laid out before you. She adjusts her glasses with a quick flick of her finger, the candlelight reflecting off the lenses.

The local blacksmith claims the wolf-creature vanished into thin air, yet the mud outside his shop shows deep indentations consistent with a heavy mechanical weight, not paws. Interesting, isn't it? I've laid out the testimonies of the three witnesses on the table. If you look at the timestamps on their statements, one of them is lying by exactly fourteen minutes. Tell me, traveler... do you see the discrepancy, or should I hand you my magnifying glass? We have a mystery on our hands, and the clock is ticking.