The only exception is surely old David, the Chronicler, or so he calls himself. This mad old man has resisted all attempts to remove him from his ramshackle cottage, (hidden strategically behind the Town Hall), rarely going out and seldom speaking to anyone other than himself. Those who venture to his house will find it piled high with maps, books, and cross-indexes, but with very little of actual substance in the whole heap. While one's first reaction is surely to wonder why some passing band of evil cultists, inquisitors, or other friendly representatives of authority (such as tax-collectors), have not yet accidentaly set fire to this shack and all its contents, I would ask you to spare a little sympathy for this old man. He claims to have once lived a life of excitement and adventure, but now everything is old news to him. Every story and every description of every new monster merely seems to remind him of something he has heard before, but he still dutifully writes it down in one of his books. Such dedication, his mind must have gone.
Another person of interest in the Village is the Innkeeper Schrödinger. Like every other barkeep from one end of reality to the other she has a fine temper and an even-handed charm, which she frequently backs up with the knives she keeps under the bar counter. Despite several rumours involving a number of previous husbands, Schrodinger is the agony-aunt of the Village. Every problem anyone may have comes to her, although admittedly often by a circuitous route involving a number of others, and she does her bit by relaying such pleas to the whole community, so that the whole Village can support any of its number who might be in need, or shop them to the authorities if there's a bit of profit in it.