Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: Greater Avonshire Township Action: Studying (mostly), Rituals (Find Familiar, Phantasmal Steed), Note of The Dead Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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Victory. They won. Blood was spilled, which she was not overly fond of in normal circumstances, but they emerged alive. It was even quite profitable. In fact, it was the spoils of this battle which kept Victoria holed up in the Hayloft despite the availability of other places of lodging. It provided a mostly undisturbed place of refuge for her to study the books and ritual materials which used to belong to the late, not-so-great Constable as well as the similar items handed over from Sheriff Arbalest. There was a lot to go through, and some of it - quite a bit of it, actually - she could understand. Knowledge was one of her weaknesses, and her new reading material had it in droves. So instead of participating in epic celebration, or even making herself readily available to those she helped to save, the Bard of the Grey Requiem kept herself mostly sequestered, more resembling a well-dressed Wizard than her actual occupation.

Ambient light aided her studies during the day; extra fuel was placed into the available brazier at night for the same purpose. She was feverish in her devotion to knowledge. It was a side of herself which the rest of the party had not, until then, witnessed.

Her intensity and minimal sleep seemed to take a physical toll, but that wasn't all. As the days progressed, her skin paled and dark circles formed around her eyes. Victoria's crystal blue irises gleamed ever the brighter in comparison, especially when the shade of necromancy passed over her features, resembling patterns of grief and determination as it sometimes did with this woman's spellcraft. Ritual after ritual unlocked themselves to her, yielding their secrets and fueling her with arcane power of a style not quite Bardic, but not quite Wizardly, either. Some of these new ideas helped her realize a greater potential within herself, while others flatly gave her another tool in her arsenal of spells and abilities.

It was during one such moment of revelation that she paused, cleared her throat with what was still a melodic noise, and announced to no one in particular, "I can speak with the dead." The words were quiet at first, followed by a laugh and a more confident repetition of the sentiment, "I can speak with the dead." But that wasn't the extent of her new abilities.

Music - sweet, sad, and jubilant all at the same time, issued from the Hayloft one evening. It maintained for far longer than any single song had a right to, changing melody every so often from the familiar to the foreign and finally coming together with arcane precision. This process repeated a handful of times as the hours progressed. There was purpose and there was power behind the notes, the details of which were knowable only to Victoria Belmont.

After very studiously murdering a passing goose with psychic damage and consuming it following simple preparation, Victoria stalked over to Kathryn's drinking hole and gifted what might have been a useful translation for her, if she did indeed have some connection to Giantkin. Be it a longshot, the tall, powerfully constructed woman appeared to accept it readily enough. But this favor wasn't the only reason Victoria made this public appearance. It provided an opportunity to borrow one of the brass candleholders on the tables in the Public House. Its tiny handle and bowl-like features made it perfect for her next, recently acquired ritual spellwork.

Back in the loft, Victoria could begin in earnest. The ritual materials scavenged from Cavendish's pack and some of the basic ingredients negotiated from Gregory went into the brass dish, along with an orange-hot glede of charcoal. This was arcane magic, not bardic, but she used her violin as a supplementary component - and her divination bones. This was a very personal spell, and Victoria felt the need to put a lot of herself into it. At least for this initial ritual casting.

Over an hour was spent in this buildup of power, controlled to a trickle with every passing moment. It was a summons to draw something toward, yet also an offer of her own energies, both coalescing in the rising smoke of her makeshift brazier. Throughout all of the spellwork and music, casting of bones and mellifluous vocalization, there always lay the opportunity of choice. The option to mold this incoming power to suit her preference. But she did not, instead opting for instinct and the whim of the powers she wielded, or even served indirectly, to take the guiding hand here. What she acquired in return was virtually unheard-of for a Bard.

From the last of the smoke, a spiritform emerged. It was tiny at first, a small corner of spiritual energy poking through the ashen haze over the brazier, but quickly assumed physicality. Black feathers and a throaty, croaking "caw" manifested, followed by the flapping of wings. Dark, intelligent eyes, tinged an unnatural purple in the firelit gloom of the Hayloft regarded Victoria momentarily as the spirit fully solidified into a large, ebon corvid. The bird cocked its head to the side and flapped closer to its summoner. Instantly, a bond jolted through the two of them. With it came extreme mutual understanding.

Victoria gasped, smiling, with joyous tears slowly moving down her prominent cheekbones. This creature was birthed of her essence as much as bidden energies, influenced by the nature of who and what she was. It was a new companion, and yet somehow, completely familiar. The raven angled its beak to move a lock of red-auburn hair from Victoria's face, and she reciprocated by tenderly stroking its glossy black feathers. "Well hello there, my glorious new psychopompic companion. What shall we call you?"

*****

It was on the last day that they would spend within the roughhewn walls of the Township that Victoria ventured back out into the streets proper, her new, feathered companion keeping near to her, either by flitting from rooftop to rooftop or lighting directly upon her person. On instances like the latter, the magical creature would lightly preen the necromatic-leaning Bard, once picking a stray leaf from her particularly jaunty hat. They seemed to have an unspoken agreement in their movements and act in concert. Naturally, Victoria needed to replace her Morty with something a touch more hardy. The previous one had received some damage and had its animation displaced after being hit with a touch of the divine. Maybe she could have recovered it, but honestly, it was time to replace the poor carcass anyway. That was not to say that she could not make a tiny bit of profit from the creature. The mundane preservation aside, the magics which animated it had maintained its form quite nicely.

In the end, she walked back out of the Farmers' Market with a whole, drawn and dressed, smoked and cured boar. It was a touch larger than her previous beast of burden, with more impressive tusks, but bore all of the indicators of the former, animated servant. It was even wrapped tightly with fresh linens and burlap. Of course, she called this one "Morty," too.

*****

There was shopping of a much more mundane variety to be done; in Victoria's case, an update to her wardrobe in small ways was in order, as well as acquiring something fresh and hot for breakfast. She might have purchased more in the way of foodstuffs for extended travel, except that she remembered that the Vineyard wasn't amazingly far away. Pushing themselves, they got their fully loaded cargo wagon almost all the way from their home to the Township overnight. Why they would risk that was beyond Victoria's reckoning, though she figured they had their reasons, and those were likely compelling. As the group of adventurers were their guests until Spring, loading up with large amounts of rations was unnecessary. But a little something for now, and maybe something for around lunchtime sounded just right.

A little gold here, a little gold there, a few tiny purchases of cosmetics for her kit, maybe a small repair on her errand cart, but otherwise the Bard was as ready as ever to pick up and move along, as suited her overt profession. Prestidigitation cleaned her gear and brightened her colors. It even gave her the faint scent of orchids for a time. She was good to leave whenever everyone else was.

*****

Approaching the prearranged meeting spot for their departure, Victoria was precisely at the agreed upon hour. One does not make a positive appearance with excessive earliness nor tardiness, regardless of what social speculators may say about being "fashionably late." Naturally, she reserved the right to completely back out of this philosophy if it suited her needs. For today, it did not.

Victoria made her way up the last of the thoroughfare, her legs crossed side-saddle atop a majestic, if haunting looking horse. The animal appeared as if carved of pure, white marble - statuesque and pale - with eyes which reflected a glossy purple in the sunlight. The otherworldly mount had high, oil-black stockings, mane, and tail, the latter two of which rippled and flowed as if underwater. Victoria's particularly jaunty hat had returned, now resting over a set of fashionably adventurous clothing in her signature colors of purple, grey, and black; sturdy upper-middle class attire suitable for travel, swashbuckling, or entertaining in a reputable Inn. Adventure worthy, one might say. A silver raven skull brooch (possibly her favorite personal accessory), was pinned straight and tastefully upon her long, high-collared jacket like a smallish badge.

Her violin was raised to her chin, and sweeping notes carried through the wind in front of her, giving off waves of confident optimism as only a musician of her ilk might. Eyes were drawn to her and cheery laughter erupted from the townsfolk, interspersed among the expressions of awed regard. Victoria could certainly make an entrance.

Behind Victoria, traveling in the wake of her otherworldly, phantasmal steed, trotted the newer incarnation of Morty, pulling along her errand cart which contained her travel chest, packs, books, and notably her stash of wine. The animated beast was slightly more passing that its predecessor, but only barely. Nevertheless, it moved with the same obedient stride and lack of personality.

When she came upon the staging area for the party's departure, the showlady gave a rousing finish to her song with a grand, long held note from her violin. She kicked out her heels and slid effortlessly from the phantasmal beast, onto the ground upon steady, dexterous legs, bowed at the waist as to respond to applause (which she was richly awarded by the townsfolk in atttendance to her performance), and unslung her instrument case from her back. The instrument quickly made its way into the protective interior of said case, and Victoria held it out by her side by its carrying strap, a contented smile and accenting her knowing expression.

The great, black corvid that Victoria had summoned earlier took to wing, swooping from the high wall and gliding effortlessly down to its mistress, whereupon it maneuvered into a stall just above the violin case. Black talons plucked the precious cargo up by its strap and (with a little effort) placed it with the rest of her belongings. The creature then flew to nearest vantage spot to Victoria, the top of the covered wagon, and croaked a single, avian exclamation.

Victoria gave her warmest parting words to those assembled, gifting the occasional embrace to a handful who seemed to want it and avoiding others who appeared a little put off by her with impressive social gymnastics as to appear gracious. Finalizing matters with Sheriff Gregory, however, she left to others. The Bard had no stake in what went into his paperwork. Moreso, her inclination of thought took her to the possibility that her own notoriety would spread to ears more expediently than that of the name of a just-formed, and probably temporary, adventuring company. So she intentionally left the question unanswered except by a shrug, and noncommittal facial expression. A folded note was pressed into Gregory's hands, paired with the request to make sure their Cleric, Marita, received it.

It was perhaps no surprise when volunteers loaded Victoria's belongings into the party's new wagon. She gave the appropriate expressions and socially expected utterances of gratitude, as one does. But no matter how exotic-yet-approachable her sylvan features and bright, welcoming smile, no one lent their assistance in loading her latest porcine acquisition, Morty, into the back of the conveyance. This task, the poor, animated swine had to handle for itself.

Concerning Sheriff Gregory Arbalest, Victoria did have parting sentiments. "My thanks, good Sheriff, for the opportunity given to us upon this fine Harvestide. Should you ever be in as dire need, you've my permission to send for me. For greater ease in this regard, I am called Victoria Belmont, of the Ashhaven Belmonts, True Bard and student of the Grey Requiem. Please do keep in touch, good Sheriff."

Victoria considered riding her new, phantasmal mount out all the way to the Vineyard, but stopped short when she noticed the lack of driver for their wagon. Kosara, who she had just taught the basics of the vehicle, had taken a comfortable-ish spot in the back, leaving her no other option than to climb aboard and pick up the reins for herself. As they prepared to set off, Victoria dismissed her mighty (if slightly offputting) steed. "I'll see you again soon," she whispered. It faded away over the course of the next minute.

Their departure was otherwise like many she had experienced in her life. The road stretched out before them as they followed Cecily and Lizbeth's wagon. She would occasionally pull the wagon to one side to get a better lay of the land before them, sometimes to engage in small talk with their seasonal hosts. Always, her new raven companion was nearby. This did not feel like an end to their adventure; rather merely an end to their prologue.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Well then! Here we all are; me writing this and you reading it, having just a big ol' time. It's been about a half a year or so since we've graced the shores of Avonshire with our presence, but if we ask our characters, did we ever really leave? Ah yes, the bonds of everlasting forum rpg-ing truly bring us together, in only the way that collaborative, slow paced, dice intensive storytelling can, no?

Okay, that mushy bit out of the way, those with approved updates to their CSs are free to post. Let's start this off easy, as we might be a hair rusty with our characters, so the first couple of updates are just going to be interaction. Remember, we are all on the road, en route to the Rose River Vineyard with Cecily L'Rose, her neice Lizbeth, and the rest of the party. Our Cleric is staying behind to assist with the aftermath.

And if another potential player wishes to put forward a CS for consideration (or an existing one resubmit), now is a nice slow part for it.

As a quick notation - alteration to character art or images will be allowed past the initial posting mark, so don't necessarily worry about having that done before you get back into the shenaniganry. So, Act 2, posting timer starts ...

NOW. Go get 'em.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

Skip to Act 2

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Opening, Act 2

A cool and uncertain dawn rose over the township of Avonshire. Pale illumination crept across the dewy landscape and over the rough-hewn walls with the surety that comes from a lifetime's observation of mornings. So was the dark; then was the light. Metaphorical as much as anything else. For most, a sleepless night had passed. The evening was punctuated with screams and fire, reaching a culmination with death and the revelation of something truly horrific.

But dawn did come. The unnatural noises of the night before slowed to eventual cease, and a bitter numbness spread throughout the Township. Few people could bring themselves to venture out of doors during that early morning, and fewer words were exchanged among them. Avonshire was a mess. The brunt of this could be witnessed at the town center, where the roads junctioned around a now still fountain with smouldering pools of pitch and in what remained of the Municipal Building, although signs were all around town. Claw marks deep in wood, broken windows, tattered festival banners and the like were abundant.

But again, dawn did come.

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Throughout the Township of Avonshire, the reputations of the Adventurers shifted from cautious indifference to something more Heroic. It can be argued that the party has performed a good deed, and in the end they did save the lives of at least a few of the taken citizens of Avonshire. Order was put to a night of malevolent lawlessness. The Township was turned into a battleground and the outsiders pulled themselves into victory through force, clever actions, and no small amount of blind, stupid luck.

As a matter of technicality, the Harvestide Festival was still underway, even if many did not feel like continuing the celebration with quite as much gusto. Still, others were giddily excited that the nightmare was over and wished to share this feeling. For some, it was a time for mourn their losses and/or be grateful for what - and who - remained.

The next couple of hours were a blur of partial disorganization, attempts to locate loved ones, and no small amount of kickstarting the rumormill of the previous night's events. Those who chose venture out into the streets for information found less than they desired. Those who were in the know of the full events kept to themselves for the meantime. Despite this drought of information, no one dared to get too close to the scene of the battle, preferring to spy what they might from afar; let alone maneuver anywhere near the Municipal Building. The Adventurers themselves, if out in public for too long and away from those places, might find themselves in high demand for news.

One detail which could not be overlooked was the continued, lingering presence of aromatic woodsmoke and caramelizing pork fat in the air, just as strong as ever (and seemingly moreso now that the pitch fires from the battle were extinguished), especially when the wind gusted in from the west. Those crazy bastards working their smokers near the Farmers' Market apparently put their swinecraft above their safety.

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Epilogue/Wrapping Up Loose Ends

The silversmith, Jacques Mallard, proved true to his word. When dawn broke, he could be seen driving a wagon, loaded down with the bulk of his wares and equipment. For those present in his shop, he very distinctly mentioned having sent his family away and declared his intent to join them as soon as the sun was up, having completed a special order for Robert, the proprietor of Neil & Bob's Public House. While rolling down the main thoroughfare, he bid a curt but well-meant farewell, and tossed a smallish stone to Baronfjord, the party's Dragonborn Monk. "You all make good use of those," he intoned, nodding to Kathryn (who held the other in the set). "I shall see you again, I'm sure." His haggard appearance looked a hair more relaxed now. Less crazed. A simple wave later and the Silversmith continued his egress.

***

Robert looked haggard. A more respectful individual might say "sub-optimal", but haggard was much more on point. He had locked himself away for the horrible night of blood and fire after receiving the custom work from the Silversmith and did not reemerge until the sun had fully risen. Aside from looking like he had gone a few hours of bare knuckle boxing with a raging Half Ogre, distinct lines of contusions circled his wrists. "I'm grateful you did what you did," he begins, signs of actual emotion present on his wearied features, "But this isn't over for me just yet. I'll figure this out, and in the meantime let me know how I can help." From inside of his business, he sets up a couple pitchers of ale, a stout bottle of decent wine, and a good, hot meal for the party and also his staff. They would not be open for Harvestide business.

***

Throughout the aftermath of the battle, word made its way back to Fort Darenby by means of egressing townsfolk. Unfortunately, the armed response was a little underwhelming, all things considered. The ever busy Sheriff Gregory made his appearance personally, bringing with him a single small squad of armed soldiers. That's soldiers, not town guard, although they swiftly moved to fill that role in the broken and bloody absence of the former constabulary. When enough information was passed along for the Sheriff to make a basic situational assessment, he sent for a few items back at the Fort.

For starters, Gregory made sure to get all remaining members of the party together under one roof - in this case the Public House for comfort and privacy (with the exception of Lea who busied herself with refreshments, and Daisy who kept to the kitchen anyway) for the purposes of settling up his debts. Twenty gold coins of the realm were put directly into the hands of everyone who came to the Infamous Pear with a letter. _{(legitimate or not)} To continue, the specific items negotiated for in the initial bargain were likewise handed over. Kosara got her book, that she may journal or scrapbook, or possibly pen her adventures in a style of her choosing. Kathryn acquired a long coat of sturdy chainmail, in the style of an earlier era. It was older but strong amazingly cared for (details given via dm). The silver-tongued Victoria negotiated for more upscale materials; pen, inks, books, and access to certain rituals, to continue her personal studies.

The absence of the party's original Monk, Hugh, did leave the older Sheriff at a loss. On the one hand, monies set aside for him would not have been legitimately placed in the hands of his apparent replacement, as such things were not done. On the other hand, the slender fellow did attempt to control their conversation and gave strong suggestion that he should abandon his lawful principles to hand over specific hypothetical magical items that he might have had in hypothetical evidence storage for crimes which may or may not have been committed. Hypothetically. Plus, he didn't complete the job and this Dragonborn analog, in fact, did. So, Sheriff Gregory had no problem handing over the promised twenty gold coins into Baronfjord's hands. Likewise, the items promised the former party member - quills, ink, blank book of fine quality, and an Herbalism Kit, were offered over. He bid the Monk to do with them what he will, with a mildly apologetic look. "If this is not to your liking, we might come to other terms later. Expecting another, this is what I brought."

Sheriff Gregory, in an act of continuing gratitude, offers the covered wagon and the draft mule pulling it as further compensation. He makes the offer to the group as a whole, not to any one person. Going along with this is a stabling voucher, good for a year while within the region of Avonshire and redeemable by any guard or soldiery post.

Following gratitude, the Sheriff asked for a favor. This was directed solely at Marita. An Order Cleric with firsthand knowledge of the situation could help with many things involved with righting the horror that was the Municipal Building and recording a legitimate accounting of events, not to mention seeing to those deceased in a respectful manner. One might note that, despite her willingness to associate with this kind of work as well as decent professional experience, Gregory did not look to Victoria for this task. He offers a shrine, humble as it might be, dedicated to Pholtus in their rather open place of multi-deity worship so that she may have a proper spot for her holy observations and duties. The presence of a little more Law in Avonshire would not be unwelcome.

Before Gregory left to attend to his official duties, he brought up one last topic. From his personal gear, the older Sheriff produced a metal rimmed, handled, ceramic container with a lovely floral design. "I believe I mentioned this as potential compensation during our last meeting. You have obviously earned more than the investigation fee."

***

At the green-roofed Bed & Breakfast, Cecily and Lizbeth L'Rose prepare for an eventual egress. Their past few days have been less fun than the average citizen of Avonshire, and that statement carried a bit of meaning. Cecily left a decent amount of coin to secure the cost of their room and services, but declined to remain. After some light discussion, they agreed that Marita should remain in the comfort and convenience therein while she handled her business with Sheriff Gregory in the Township. "Remember, Miss Bärbel: You are just as welcome as you can be to join us at our vineyard for the winter. Our doors are open whenever you can get away from here." The features of the woman were tired, strained, but also relieved, at least in part.

The proprietor of the B&B, a moderately heavyset Human lady with a touch of grey showing in otherwise brown hair by the name of Mrs. Ines Cuvier, confirmed that room and board had been secured the Cleric, and that future billing (within reason) was to be applied to the Rose River Vineyard.

***

Anyone taking the initiative to visit Madame Marcie's Honey Barn will note the flamboyant yet commanding Halfling (?) getting her house in order. Women residing in or near the establishment are hurriedly moving from task to task, some domestic and others personal as things were packed away, orders for supplies were written, and a general sense of getting ready to receive a great deal of business permeated the interior. Hired laborers made small repairs, including damage to the doors and a couple of smashed windows. "Not a lot of time, dearies. There's a carnival coming to winter nearby and we have a lot to do before then." A pause, headscratch, remembered thought, and quick swig from a crystal tumbler later, she came back with, "Say, didn't you lot have performers in your group? Even a True Bard? We were supposed to come to an understanding, I think..." She did not press the issue right then, busy as she was managing the setup for the expected bump in business. Despite a girl or two missing and the nearby proximity of a horror show occurring, The Show Must Go On. Or something like that.

Character Specific Events:

Kosara

- The night following the battle, Kosara's dreams were visited by a warm, welcome presence. Radiant, celestial images ebbed and flowed, ever changing yet with the promise of solid security. The mortal mind often has difficulty processing the ephemeral, especially when delivered through the conduit of one's subconscious mind. It stabilized into a familiar, single-horn-bearing shape, not quite touching the ground and bathing the room with a soft, golden glow.

Words - or rather concepts - formed within Kosara's thoughts unbidden. The source was obvious. I am proud of you, child. I am proud that you chose this path and found these people. You heard a call to action and responded, and you helped to make real change for the good of goodly folk in a land that was not your own. In doing so, a piece of yourself has been revealed. It will be frightening at times. I cannot promise your safety, but if you keep your course and prosper, you will be made whole. Being "whole" will change you. This is fine. Life is about development. I am excited to see the woman you will become.

In the short time you have been with your new friends, you have shown greater maturity. Their influence has been good for you in ways mine cannot, each in their own way. Nurture this and you will soar. You will always have a home with us. And now, as you settle in with your victory, I must depart with a confession:

"I ensured that 'Arbalest's letter' was set in your path. I gave you an option, even if you did not know it in the moment. You answered the call. I am very proud of you." Calm positivity radiated from the softly glowing, golden form as it faded, leaving behind a scent of spring water and jasmine in its wake. The remainder of that night gave Kosara the most fitful sleep that she had experienced in months.

Victoria

- The books acquired from both the Constable and Sheriff proved to be far more useful than initially anticipated. Some study was needed to realize what a "Pact Of The Tome Warlock" was, let alone find out what a percentage of all those salvaged Rituals were about, but as soon as one called Comprehend Languages was transcribed, it fell to Victoria's inquisitive mind readily. Not all of the information could be processed at that time, but enough could to give her hope. And dread. When she wasn't doing some task or another with/for individuals she personally got to know around town, the Bard remained in the Hayloft around the burning brazier, huddled in blankets against the cold, plundering this new knowledge.

Almost obsessive pursuit of the books and scrolls available to her (which seemed to rail against her usually outgoing, social, even cheerful demeanor) raised some eyebrows of concern among the townsfolk. This was redoubled when they found out that she was looking into Cavendish's writings. When she was out of the Hayloft to visit the market, take a meal, or lend a hand with her music or spellwork, an almost viral determination coupled with a faraway look gleamed in her eyes. She could barely wait to get back to her studies.

At one point, she stepped out from the loft's main door to the sound of passing, migratory geese. She smiled in a manner most predatory and, as soon as they were overhead, let out a venomous utterance of, "Longnecked pigeons!" One of their number suddenly seized and dropped from the air, hitting the sloped roof of the Hayloft and sliding off for an easy catch by the Bard. About a half hour later, the smell of roasting goose could be detected wafting from the Hayloft.

Marita

- Pholtus smiles upon those who maintain Order. He also smiles upon those to set chaos back to order, especially if it maintains a Lawful community which holds up a generally Lawful region. If those two conditions are met, then he positively beams when one who betrayed their position of authority in the service dark and chaotic masters is brought to the far end of justice by one of his own.

And now, a shrine. It was not a grand temple, but it was a piece of himself set into a place where he previously did not have a notable presence. When Marita went into her own thoughts and supplications at the humble shrine, constructed in a place where other such shrines were long dedicated to deities significantly more established in this area, a sense of well-being and acceptance washed through her. Without words, a more profound connection between herself and Pholtus was communicated. The Lord of the Blinding Light spared a mote of his grand and divine attention for the direction of Avonshire, and gave his follower there the ascended planar equivalent of a knowing nod of his head.

Marita had done well, working with a group that served Pholtus's will even if they did not share their values completely. Such variances could be allowed. One uninitiated cannot be expected to live up to the standards of the faithful, but can still be useful. Even provide greater insight from unexpected origins. His Cleric had provided a good example, and might yet, still.

Baronfjord

- The presence of a Dragonborn in the Township was about as rare as a Tiefling. With that came a series of stares and whispers from afar throughout Baronfjord's time in the region. Following a night where their friends and neighbors warped into massive, flesh-rending rodents and incited a battle, the locals realized that the strange, blue-scaled fellow wasn't so bad after all. Comparisons were wonderful things with a little extra perspective. That said, BB began to acquire himself a little bit of a following among some of the children in the area. Several questions involving his disfigurements were launched, spoken through the twin lenses of innocence and curiosity. A few even asked if he could breathe fire, "like a real dragon!"

A Halfling lady, at one point over the next couple of days, approached the victorious Dragonborn with a bundle wrapped in decent, deep red cloth. The wrapping held Baronfjord's shortsword, which confirmed the young woman's identity - this was the one who he helped escape from the Constable's cage, and gave his sword to so that she may continue hacking it open and free the others. The weapon had been very recently cleaned and sharpened. She held up the wrapping and went on to explain, "I don't have a lot to give you in return for saving us, but you can have this. Winter is coming on quickly this year, and, well... it's a scarf." And indeed it was a scarf. Very wide, very long, and it could probably have a myriad of uses when fully unfolded and unrolled. The color was a little garish, but crimson dye was relatively expensive and the Halfling woman wished to express gratitude.

Kathryn

- Knowledge came to Kathryn from an unexpected source. As the others took insight from Patrons, Deities, or the homespun, caring wisdom of the locals, the tall Knight of Arcanaple was paid a visit from one of her adventuring companions while catching a drink at the Public House with her newfound acquaintances: Lawrence, Maurice, and Curly. Victoria had taken a rare break from studying. Her voice had a faraway, distracted quality to it as she spoke, coming quickly to her point. "Good afternoon, Kathryn. Or is it morning? I find it hard to tell recently... Yes, I'm here for a reason. Um, I found this," The Bard handed over a folded piece of paper containing highly illustrated runes, surrounded by more mundane-looking writing. "It was among the papers from the Goblin cache."

The writing was in a language not understood by either woman without aid of some manner, which Victoria obviously possessed as she immediately held out another sheet of paper with the translations in Common. They were of great interest to Kat's tablemates even if they couldn't make heads nor tails of it. The very tall noblelady of Arcanaplian origins did catch tiny bits of it - a rune here or there - without the translation page. The Bard looked on, offering, "It's Giantish, I'm fairly sure. And even though I have the words down correctly, I cannot make sense of them. Perhaps, if you really are part.. ?" Victoria allowed herself to trail off. It was silly. Kathryn didn't actually have Giant heritage, did she? Nevertheless, the paper spoke of the magic of Runes, and warriors which may use them. And Kathryn understood.

As the group assembled to make their trek south, to the Rose River Vineyard by proprietor invitation, Sheriff Gregory Arbalest arrived quite unexpectedly. "Adventurers, I must delay you for one moment more. I must make an accounting of this incident. For my records, how shall your adventuring company be addressed?"

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Act 2: Wintering In Wine Country

It has been a few days since the fires went cold in the Township's Center. A mass of darkened cobblestones and a single, blackened, stump limbed tree trunk paid solemn tribute to the fight which occurred there. The worst of the bread-thick fog had relented, leaving a respectable, but fully navigable amount remaining in the chilly air.

It was morning, the group was headed south, and Mrs. Cecily L'Rose was handled her wide, mercantile wagon like a seasoned professional. The party had their own, draft mule pulled wagon, formerly possessions of the local garrison but now theirs, free and clear. Where the road was wide and accommodating, both traveled side by side which helped initiate a round of pleasant conversation. For the most part, however, the start of the journey was quiet. Even reflective. The last week or so had been eventful, to say the least.

The air was crisp, with frost still clinging to the grass from the night before. Broad-leaved trees had dropped a more than fair amount of their brown, orange, and yellow weight upon the ground like a great, autumnal carpet. In some places, the road was difficult to make out because of this. Despite this, the site of the Drunken Goblin Skirmish was readily visible, if more sanitized than their last visit. Soon, they passed through the wooded area and into the open, rolling hills of the region. It was a sight of beauty in its own right, with seas of grass as far as the eye could account, dotted with arboreal islands and the occasional agricultural structure.

The last roadway signpost pointed out the town of Southmoor, pointing (as the name might imply) down the major southerly road of the region. To one side of the road, the river which ran through Avonshire Township continued to wind its way down, lazily at times and noisily at others. For those familiar with the region, their winter destination, the Rose River Vineyard, was a short distance from Southmoor and its satellite villages. Neither Cecily nor Lizbeth seemed particularly elated to return to their home. Anxious at times, possibly. It is true that they had just been through more than a tiny amount of trauma recently, on top of losing a loved one.

As the river looped back into view of the main road south, one could make out a male, Human figure attired in common clothing, with a large, floppy hat, and stout fishing pole at the ready. From his position at the bank, he cast a line into the flowing water and waved at the passing party. A big grin decorated his face as he called out, "Mornin'! Nice day for fishing, ain't it? Huah huh!"

That greeting (of sorts) and snatches of conversation with the L'Roses as the width of the road allowed aside, it was a quiet journey. Clouds made the day rather overcast, and a bite to the air promised eventual weather of the white and fluffy variety. Coats and cloaks were clutched a little closer around people as they settled into their traveling routines. It would be a while before they neared their winter destination. A perfect time for, among other things, reflection.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Act 2: Wintering In Wine Country

In a show of gratitude, the last of a renowned family of Vintners have invited the victorious adventurers back to their estate to spend the coming winter in comfort. While they appear sincere, even lavish with their hospitality, they have yet to answer old questions, even as new mysteries - and possibly dangers - arise.

The Rose River Vineyard lays nestled in the heart of the Avonshire region, near the town of Southmoor, and produces some of the finest wines in the kingdom. The master of the estate has perished and his only direct living heir is too young to assume the responsibilities of family affairs. This detail, sadly, is the least of their difficulties.

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Welcome back to Avonshire.

AND WE'RE BACK. There are a couple of things to get out of the way before I open the IC for new posts:

First off, I am opening the RP for one more player to join us, provided a fit can be found. Said player's character must abide by the rules as set in the initial post of this OOC. Second, the character must have a logical entry point and their presence must be believable, based upon setting and characters, PC and NPC alike. No dropping in your fire-tattooed mountain clan Half-Orc Berserker with ties to the great criminal enterprises of the islands of the Great Central Seas unless they have a hell of a reason to be in a (until recently) quiet and prosperous agricultural region in the heartland of a great Human and Halfling kingdom.

Secondly, due to the abbreviated rules concerning training, Kosara the Celestial Warlock gets a shiny new proficiency with "Vehicles (Land)", thanks to her studious observation and willingness to learn from our resident Bard. This is in addition to whatever else she has gained from the level-up.

And Third, as we get into Act 2, please detail in your first post how you spent the few days after the conclusion, work out any character interactions among yourselves, and let me know what interactions, if any, you need with named NPCs. Shopping goes by the PHB prices, as applicable. Let me know what you're getting before you make it official - I reserve the right to veto if I don't think this location will have the items in question. How did you acquire your new levels? Did you celebrate the victory? Mourn the dead? How did you train? Reflect upon your character's thoughts and actions during this time. But please make sure to end your initial post with your character en route to the Vineyard with the whole of the party.

One more point, and I cannot stress this enough - The setup for this part of the adventure, indeed all of the parts, is a bit railroady. These are the realities of forum RPGs, as opposed to usual TTRPG experiences. This Act takes place (mostly) in the Rose River Vineyard, estate, and lands around. Maybe a little in the small town of Southmoor, nearby. If your character doesn't accept the invitation to Winter in Wine Country, no problem. They will not be joining in on the adventure. Much like Curse of Strahd, you have to go to Barovia or the adventure doesn't happen.

Please, DO NOT POST IN THE IC UNTIL YOU HAVE PERMISSION TO START. When you have the go ahead, by all means, go ahead. Just remember to meet post minimums, though I doubt that this group will have a problem with that. Make sure to check with each other in our Discord before involving each others' characters in you posts. And above all, have fun with it.

Thank you very much for your patience while I got my migratory waterfowl in straight queues, and once again, WELCOME TO AVONSHIRE. Time to update those character sheets.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Sigil@Arty Fox

Due to matters discussed in our Discord, I need to go on a temporary hiatus from posting in roleplayerguild, among other things, before we can get into Acts Two and Three of the Avonshire campaign. Again, I apologize for the abruptness.

Before this, there are a few loose ends to tie off, starting with LOOT. We can assume that Victoria ritual casts Identify a few times and hands the items back in a timely fashion:

Baronfjørd: Cavendish's shortsword is, as descriptions imply, a Vicious Shortsword per standard rules.
Marita: The ring is a Ring of Protection +1, if we haven't all reverse searched the image yet.
Victoria: Her newfound books contain Ritual Spells, components, and spellcraft inks. Some of the rituals she can cast. There are also mundane but plot relevant writings to be revealed later.
Kathryn: Has acquired a Warhammer +1, Moontouched, which may have additional qualities to be discovered.
Kosara: The pendant functions as a Figurine of Wondrous Power, except that it summons a bright, very agreeable rat named Chauncy for two hours a day. I might increase that duration in time, depending on factors.

Sheriff Gregory will make good on his end of the bargain; 20 gold coins plus the special items requested individually. He will also offer (to the party as a whole) the wagon you borrowed to get to Avonshire and the draft mule pulling it, plus a stabling voucher honored within the realm.

Now, to leveling:

This has run far longer than I had expected, there is an abrupt cutoff, and now a hiatus before we continue so that I may get my personal affairs in order. So, EVERYONE GETS TWO MILESTONE LEVELS. Thank you for your patience, and here ya go.

I will remain reachable on our Discord. Please be in contact there with questions, concerns, help with character build, etc. I will still be there for the foreseeable.

Thank you also for coming along with me and helping tell this story. Act One is done, but we still have two more to go in the greater tale of Avonshire. When we return, I hope to see you all there.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 3 HP: 10 / 23 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: Township Square Action: Skill Check (Arcana) Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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"I see. Well, I agreed with Marita," remarked Victoria, ever-so-slightly offhanded of comment. There existed the tiniest amount of annoyance in her voice as she wondered whether or not their Cleric made the decision to explore the Municipal Building purely to be contrary. "No, she doesn't seem that petty," came the thought, voiced only in the confines of her mind. All the same, Victoria was on the injured list. This did not feel like the best time to go poking around, and she steadfastly wished to retrieve Cecily, returning to her niece Lizbeth as they had promised they would. Then again, this wouldn't be the first promise that Victoria had broken in her life. She did wish that it wasn't as much of a risk, especially considering her near-exhausted abilities.

As it turned out, the mention of defiling corpses elicited no response, positive nor negative, from the Necromancy enthusiast. She still had ethical lines in the sand, as it were, even if they were flat of feature and grey of hue.

Naturally, everyone else fell in line with exploration and Victoria did not feel like standing in the open by herself. So she took stock of what she had left, that being a the ability to cast a single, low-powered spell, and a fine rapier enhanced with silver. "Very well, then," she finally said aloud. "Prioritize escape." The words mirrored Marita's from just a moment earlier. She twirled her cloak about her and buckled on her new knapsack with its contents safely inside. Girded as best she could, Victora joined the others with sword at the ready. This time, she made sure to keep behind their vanguard. Let the ones with heavier armor take the first volley, and retaliate with superior agility.

It was odd at first as Kathryn's new hammer fought against Victoria's natural darkvision. After a while she contented herself to keep back out of the brightest of it, extending her ability to perceive even farther. The trade of bright light for dim and dim light for darkness was useful and allowed her to keep their rear from being exposed to a surprise encounter. It was a little surprising when it was all for absolutely nothing. No attacks came, no traps triggered. This fact did not keep Victoria from nervously pointing her sword in the direction of the rats scurrying around the trash more than once. A tiny smile did creep upon her lips once during this short walk through a huge rats' nest, when Kathryn, who took issue with pulling loot from a fallen enemy for her own ethical reasons had no problem whatsoever robbing (what Victoria assumed was) the Township's armory. She kept silent. It wasn't like the Guards were doing a bang-up job with these tools, anyway.

Briefly, her thoughts drifted back to the boy with the recovered Guardsman's spear. Yeah, really good care they were taking of them.

But the jail is where her demeanor cracked a little. "Why?" she questioned aloud, even though she knew full well why. "Yes, this is obscene," she spoke in measured words, responding to Baronfjord. Victoria held herself to react instead of initiate while she took everything in, attempting as best she could to figure out a more exact explanation - or at least fill in details. Bad lighting, overwhelmed senses, or instinctual knowledge that she was trying to deny prevented her from logically putting everything together. She remembered the books resting on her back, and resolved to give them study when she was able. She could put a few dots together on other things, however, and did that with studious intonation.

"Probable to assume that these are the missing ones, yes. But what of the ones who came back? Can we speak to Robert, now?" Logical words, fair question, all with whispered dispassion. Then an answer to Kosara's query, "Um, Chauntea. And the Lord of the Dawn." Gods primarily worshipped in this area. "They were giving praise to Liira, of Joy, in the festival," she continued, if in fairness it wasn't just her. "And the man I buried, Monsieur L'Rose - he followed Olidammara, the Laughing One."

When Kathryn's missile struck the not-alive thing on the table, Victoria exhaled her relief and followed with, "I doubt there is much we can do here. Maybe we might see to the abandoned horses." Of course, part of seeing to the horses involved leaving, which she was quite okay with.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Sigil@Arty Fox

So yeah, that happened. First things first: Everyone has one additional day to post for this cycle. That out of the way, yah... Welcome to a more narrative experience. Have your characters react however they need to, request whatever roll you want in our Discord, and enjoy the semi-plot-relevant descriptors. If you did not intend for your characters to enter the Municipal Building or stay to one area, don't worry about it and just go with what is logical for him/her/they to experience.

Also, be thinking and discussing among yourselves how you're going to want to divvy up found items/treasure, if you're wanting anything. And of course, have in mind which direction to go next.

Thanks!

EDIT:
Kathryn's net didn't survive the onslaught of necrosis and death throes of the Constable. Just throwing that out there.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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The pitch-blaze crackled on with constant intensity, sizzles and pops forming an irregular cadence in the otherwise stillness of the chilly, flickering night. Even the once heavy roar of the tree which burst into flames quieted somewhat as the majority of easily consumed leaves were exhausted, leaving a giant, spindly-armed torch in its wake. With luck and the damp conditions of the evening it had not spread to the other trees, and the sticky blaze upon the cobblestones had not moved appreciably enough to give additional worry than was already present. Call it a stroke of luck in an otherwise down situation.

The prisoners, all of them freed from their hastily constructed wooden cages, had already made their way out of sight by this time, all headed along the western road away from the town center. Though a Halfling was among their number, the "guests" of the right hand cage were making excellent time escaping as a group nonetheless. Horror makes for a powerful motivator, and some carrying might have been involved. If the nerve-wracked survivors heard the call to come back, they weren't responding.

This was not to say that someone hadn't heeded the call to assist. A cry of FIRE can get people running, even in horrible situations, it was a primal beckon. Though it did not seem that anyone was going to show at first, but as the party discussed options as to how they might handle the continuing conflagration, the first of tentative steps made their way nearer to the Township Square. A muttering of cautious voices could be heard from the far side of the eastmost spilled flame; casual inspection showed wavy orange illumination on a few of the locals' faces, and hands carrying tools repurposed as weapons. And some kid who picked up a dropped Guardsman's spear earlier that day (great parenting, there). Scattered questions split through the air, each having something to do with the level of safety present for them: "...they're gone? Are they dead? Did you kill the ratmen? Where's the Constable..?" Others wept, for their fear, losses this night, and sheer stresses of living through terrors that an agrarian society was simply unprepared to face.

All could tell that an otherwise intangible weight had lifted from the area, like a great emotional breath could be taken in relief from a trauma they were uncertain was torturing them - until it finally let up. Many let tears of relief fall. but that jackass kid with the appropriated spear caught sight of the flaming Wererat Abomination who had fallen back onto the barrel and gasped, "Eewww! What is that? It looks like someone shaved a bear and left it in the oven!" This got a couple of nervous chuckles from the townsfolk, right up until they caught sight of what he was talking about. One of them vomited into his hat. Another vomited into the first man's hat, too. Others started in alarm, but one corralled them into some sort of applicable action.

"Pine tar fire. Come now, let us get sand first, water after it's down," he suggested abruptly. The others, given something to do that did not involve shaking in their boots, fell in line. Throughout the chaos of the last few hours, having a task that they could handle readily gave a sense of control they were lacking, even if the task was relatively simple. The first man gave a wave in Kosara's direction before heading back off to locate buckets and fill them with the appropriate materials. In retreat, one could clearly hear the query of, "...and where in any Hells is the fire brigade?" Mysteries abound this night, apparently.

*******

The search of Cavendish's dusty remains does in fact net a set of keys, which Kathryn was able to find in a rather conspicuous spot (for keys), but the search did net other things. In and around the body lay a nicely crafted dagger with matching sheath, 50 gold coins of the realm (a rarity in a place like this as the common coin is a silver Argent), the sheath for his shortsword, a belt with covered holster for (what used to be) his hammer, and a whip with curious metal slivers braided into the fall and popper of said weapon. The powdery former Constable wore a set of leather armor standard to the Guards of this area, though this one was now scarred by necrotic energy, and a brass insignia suitable to be worn as either a badge or cloak pin bearing (among other things) the title CONSTABLE.

*******

The keys present numbered six, each of which were similar in construction and heft. All blackened metal on a ring of the same material, and as it turned out, all completely pointless as the party approached and entered the Municipal Building. To start, the gates on the main wall were open. Not thrown wide open so that one may guide a laden wagon inside, but just enough so a Human-sized person might step through. Maybe even a plump one. Entering is an easy enough affair.

This far away from the fires outside and behind the walls, lighting is almost nonexistent. The full moon provided just enough light not to stumble over what is directly in front of one's feet. Those with a viable light source or active darkvision are greeted by something less expected - Neglect. The courtyard between the walls and the front of the building proper bore the appearance of a once decent spot, now turned shabby from a lack of upkeep. Bits of trash and scraps of wood lay scattered among the unmown grass and ill-tended bushes. To the right side of the courtyard is an open-front stable with eight stalls, two of which contain horses in dire need of care. And a good shoveling. They look miserable. There stood a spot nearby which may have had carts, wagons, or the like, but now stood empty, save for some wheel tracks, bereft even of grass.

The main doors to the front of the building were also open, this time battered open. The red-painted wooden doors splintered around where a door lock might have been. They open without a struggle, but with a startling, tinny squeal of hinges that begged to be oiled. What they reveal within is an awful continuation of what lay outside.

This was far worse than neglect. It was a willful and long-term vandalism of a place which was once the seat of civil authority for the region. There were no internal doors visible. None standing, anyway. Ripped from frames which stood as regular apertures in walls which had long been defiled with copper-brown stains and gruesome handprints. Trash littered the floor in places, kicked into piles in larger rooms or shuffled into corners. There were the usual features which one may expect to find within a Municipal Building; a small courtroom, a town hall style meeting place, a couple of studies for persons of official occupation, all of which were ransacked and destroyed. There was even a decently sized room containing records, either pressed into books or tucked away in scroll cases - or what was left of them. Pieces of things ripped or used as impromptu personal cleaning devices, treated in the same manner as the rest of the building.

Sounds of tiny feet and shuffling garbage could be readily detected off and on as one progressed through this place. It was unnerving, given the evening everyone had just experienced, but nothing could be detected except for the occasional rat. Normal looking ones, perfectly comfortable in these environs. Otherwise, there were no signs of life.

But what was worse in this place was the smell. It was urine and rot, mixed liberally with the oppressive reek of mold. It seemed to get stronger the farther one went back in the building. As near as one could tell, far behind the courtroom in this building stood a mostly intact armory. It was still a hotbed of neglect, but less rubbish littered the room here and it was not entirely cleared out of useful things. Two sets of leather armor remained, as well as several truncheons, a couple of spears, and a decent enough light crossbow. Three shortbows remained as well, and a fair amount of ammunition for the ranged weapons. The place could use a good dusting, overall. But that smell got so much worse here. It was like a butcher's shop left to fester.

The highest concentration of this came from a single, closed door (possibly the only one left in the building), toward the back of the armory.

The aroma shifted into something resembling embalmed death as the door opened, revealing a set of stone stairs descending into a pitch dark basement. With light applied or with darkvision, it revealed much the same sight, this being dark splotches and streaks of something once liquid, dried to flaky stain upon the walls and steps. The descent of these fetid stairs brought with it another sense of quiet, if not calm. Not even the rats wanted to be down here, it seemed. The scent of rot and wrongness persisted, reaching a crescendo as the steps opened into a wider area, still just as devoid of a light source of its own. Maybe it would have been for the best if sight was left unused. Sadly, between the party's ability to see in near total darkness and the magical, light bearing hammer, this could not go unseen.

A grievous outpost of the Abyss, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, met the eyes of the party. Regular prison cells lined the walls of this circular room, some with guests inside and some without. None of the bodies were moving. Some were in advanced states of decay. Some were only partial corpses. One was split cleanly in half, lengthwise, from crown to crotch, hollowed out otherwise. Another was merely a torso. In one corner, a bucket of eyeballs of various different sources floated in dark liquid. Hands occupied another one. Scents of preserving fluids mingled with the rot here. In the center back of the room, away from the staircase, sat a series of three raised tables. Each were soaked and stained in corpsefluids of various kinds, but one, only one, still held an occupant, of sorts. There were assembled but not attached, many select portions of reclaimed body parts, all thick of muscle and all bearing the same myanthropic features of the Abominations from the fight in the Town Square, above. It was incomplete. Still, even in death the bodies had not reverted back to (Demi)Human form.

Symbols and ritual circles were painted all over the floor here, and there remained a few trappings of lengthy ritual work. There were tools here, created no doubt for legitimate medical purposes but obviously not wielded by the hands of a healer.

There was no resistance to the party's entrance, nor egress. No traps to be sprung. Nothing that impeded any of their movements whatsoever. This building was, like the many dead in that basement, simply discarded after it failed to be useful anymore.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 3 HP: 10 / 23 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: Township Square Action: N/A Bonus Action: . Reaction: N/A

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Victoria was just fine with the idea of heading back to someplace with walls and good lighting, for the obvious protection and ease with which she may study her new prize. The fire was beyond her ability to affect, and while she might have some core skill to track over land, it was highly unlikely that she could be of much help with locating the wererat guards who seemed to have eluded them. Even if she had her Morty ready and animated, it fell beyond its senses and cognitive function to play the role of bloodhound. Basic animations were a multitool, not an omnitool.

Furthermore, popping into the Municipal Building at night in her condition seemed like a huge risk, considering that the group was fresh out of a pitched battle and were not at their best, by far. Maybe everyone had fled. Or, as a tiny part of her mind suggested, there could be survivors among the missing inside. Or treasure! Both were respectable arguments. However, a personal factor came into play when Marita mentioned Cecily. They had people that they came here to help, specifically. Little Lizbeth, back at the Bed & Breakfast, was promised her aunt back. Victoria saw Cecily head down the western thoroughfare, supporting another townsperson with a small entourage and that strange fisherman bringing up their rear. She could travel in that direction to meet with the survivors and tell them the good news. Then reunite the L'Roses.

"Very well, then," piped Victoria, very near to cheerfully. She carefully replaced the book she was just perusing back into the haute knapsack and secured it closed, after which she slung it over her shoulders. It was with a little too much enthusiasm, as the jostle reminded her of her injuries with sharp notes. All the same, it didn't blunt her apparent optimism as she adjusted the straps to better suit her frame and readied herself to move. Her sword found its sheath, her violin its case, and that case slung low about her side. It was a shame that her very jaunty, bardy hat was not present; she would have liked to flourish it upon her perfectly coiffed, red-auburn locks (even post battle it shone with a healthy, silky bounce), but one must endure these little obstacles to live the life of an Adventurer.

Upon recovering her fine, charcoal cloak, Victoria sauntered to Marita with a smile. "My, but you look underdressed for the occasion." She offered over her garment, keeping a welcoming look about her visage and studying the Cleric with her sylvan, crystal-blue eyes. "Please do borrow my cloak. I would bet that it highlights your naturally flaxen hair admirably. Oh! And I might have something in my trunk that would fit you, if you haven't an appropriate spare set of clothes. Do you like purple?" Her smile flashed into a grin for just a second, equally warm as it was mischievous.

"I agree with Marita," announced Victoria, as if she had been asked to weigh in on an issue at a Town Hall meeting. "We came to rescue Cecily. I say we complete that first, but..." Her face gave a look of consideration, "We will eventually have to take a peek inside the Municipals. It seems the right thing to do." She nodded, adding her two coppers to the discussion. The Municipal Building would still be there later. Preferably, to her thinking, with the morning light.