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[h2][color=darkorchid][i][b]Victoria Belmont[/b][/i][/color][/h2][i][b][color=9932cc]Half-Elf, Bard, Level 3[/color][/b][/i]
[color=9932cc][i][b]HP:[/b][/i][/color] 23 / 23	[color=9932cc][i][b]Armor Class:[/b][/i][/color] 15	[color=9932cc][i][b]Conditions:[/b][/i][/color] N/A
[color=9932cc][i][b]Location:[/b][/i][/color] Cemetery -> eastern Avonshire Township, middle bridge
[color=9932cc][i][b]Action:[/b][/i][/color] Performance, [i]Prestidigitation[/i] 
[color=9932cc][i][b]Bonus Action:[/b][/i][/color] [color=black]Morty[/color]
[color=9932cc][i][b]Reaction:[/b][/i][/color] N/A 
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[right][img]https://i.ibb.co/DRgDxdw/Victoria-III-Funerary.png[/img][/right]
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	The bottle of local wine was still held near to Victoria's lips as the people of Avonshire embraced the spirit of the occasion a little too well. True, the name Olidammara was known far and wide, heard of among those who knew little about specific gods and the proclivities thereof, but this sudden oneupmanship certainly fell in line with the jovial chaos that the deity in question seemed to appreciate. Maybe the Laughing Rogue had a hand in the festivities; it was not likely that his name was invoked in a rural, agricultural community such as this, and even the gods had to get bored sometimes. In fact, the thought of that particular god setting his awareness to Victoria's doing gave her equal parts of amusement and anxiety. She was no Cleric, not by any means, but this was not a power she wished anything from aside from passing interest. They were on a serious investigation. So she shook the momentary "worst case scenario" thoughts away and took a long pull from the wine bottle in her hand. 

	It was nice. Clean. Floral. Just a note of citrus. 

	Aside from the wine, one thing that piqued Victoria's interest was Cecily uttering the name [i]"Ela"[/i]. The young Half-Elf gave a single, mildly surprised chuckle at this but did not engage with the sentiment further. She had heard many things about those faithful to Ela, some of which prompted her to make sure her coinpurse was still on her person. Luckily for her, Victoria managed to maintain an unchanged demeanor in the process. 

	With the mirthful boasting form the peanut gallery winding down, Victoria took another quick sip from her bottle and then set it aside, deftly plucking up her violin's bow and setting it to the strings. As the first beautifully haunting notes swelled from the expertly crafted instrument, Victoria called upon a thread of magic from the Weave about her, aligning it with the music which she called into being and channeling it to the bones, below. It was no act of Necromancy, of which one might accuse her, but a simple conjuration of fire to caress the canvas which swaddled Monsieur L'Rose's osseous remains. The glow outlined his bones for the briefest of moments before the cloth caught alight, giving an eerie but quite pretty show, prompting the silence of all present. 

	When the fire began to subside, Cecily took up a handful of soil and tossed it upon the remains. Lizbeth followed. Then the nearest townsperson. Then another, and another. This chain continued to the musical talents of the macabre-looking but still amazingly fetching Victoria Belmont. The already light wind stilled; the setting lit eerily by softly hissing and crackling torchlight refracting off of the now denser fog. Despite being out in the open, it gave a sense of privacy and formality to the ceremony. 

	Once everyone present dropped a handful of graveyard soil, the caretaker saw to a more formal filling in of the hole. He might have waited for the "guests" to leave, but this was very last minute and there was a desire not to leave remains exposed throughout the night so that stray dogs could get at them. People understood and accepted this. Even so, the gathering had become more morose, muted even, as funerals tended to get. This was to be expected. Lizbeth, still swaddled against the cold in Victoria's too-big purple garment, tugged at her black vestment and asked quietly, [color=darkgray]"Do you know any poetry? Grandpa loved it. I think he would want someone to recite something over him. Please?"[/color]

	Victoria gave a small, quiet smile, looking into the child's eyes. There was something familiar about the look that Lizbeth had. Very familiar. She just couldn't place it. Maybe it was something about her own formative years; a sense of greater understanding of death and loss mixed with an instinctive leaning toward the needs of the living in the face of death. Deep inside, Victoria did have some wish that the little girl did not turn out quite like she did. There was a loneliness to her life that was hard to quantify. [color=9932cc]"Yes, child,"[/color] she responded sweetly, [color=9932cc]"I know some poetry."[/color] Indeed she did. Many verses went through her thoughts right then, some belonging to acolytes of The Raven Queen, some venerating the Jasidan faith, and a number of Elven verses, none of which were really appropriate to a person of this background. Finally, she chose to speak an excerpt concerning death in a more general way: 

[color=9932cc][i]"Here the stars no longer shine,
And bitter is the wine,
That flows between my lips,
In our garden that withered so fast.
Two roses, red and white,
The princess and the knight;
We'll always be here.
We will be waiting for,
Now and forevermore.

We are the evening's curse,
For better and for worse,
For you left for your ghost,
And I am the reaper of souls.
The pyres burning bright,
Flames reaching for the sky;
Now you are gone but,
I'll write the eulogy for you."[/i][/color]

	The caretaker wrapped up his work and patted the soil down with the flat of his shovel. His efforts finished, all that was left for him was to depart. Slowly, some of the townsfolk shuffled up to pay a final respect to a man who they probably didn't know personally, and return to what remained of the party back in town, or to their own places of rest for the evening. The three of them spent a few long moments around the freshly moved earth. There were quiet tears and whispered comforts. Victoria and Cecily shared a glass of wine from the many bottles left by the others, with Lizbeth getting a single sip for herself purely because of the occasion and the customs involved. 

	On the way out, the caretaker was kind enough to allow Cecily the use of a lamp, with the promise of its return the next day, and the three of them made their way back to the relative security of the walls of the Avonshire Township. The entire time, Lizbeth kept looking to the side of the road, straining her eyes and ears as if she noticed something out in the fog and darkness. Worried, she clutched closer to her aunt. They did make it inside without incident, much to Victoria's relief. The Bard had kept a confident face about her, but chose not to draw their attention to the fact that her hand was on the hilt of her slim sword almost the whole walk back. 

	The party atmosphere had died down considerably in this part of town, though Victoria was almost certain that she could hear something going on in this section, a little farther south of their location. The Honey Barn, maybe? It was around here. They hadn't quite crossed the bridge spanning the river which cut through town before Cecily stopped and said to Victoria, [color=darkgray][i]"We're at a boarding house near the Silversmith's, there."[/i][/color] The lady pointed toward a building with light glowing dimly through curtained windows. It was a polite way of letting her know that they were about to part ways. Still, Victoria had every intention of staying put until she saw them actually enter the building. Cecily continued, [color=darkgray]"Are you very sure that I can't give you anything for... well, for doing what you just did for Papa L'Rose?"[/color]

	[color=9932cc]"No, don't you worry [i]even a little bit[/i] about that, Mrs. L'Rose,"[/color] came Victoria's immediate response. [color=9932cc]"I told you before that I already have all the compensation I require from you. And from Monsieur L'Rose. Our account is settled. It is very kind of you to offer nonetheless. Just please get yourself and little Lizbeth indoors safely."[/color] Her words were warm, kind, and delivered with the surety of a person granite in their belief. 

	Both Cecily and Lizbeth gave the Bard a heartfelt embrace before leaving, the younger offering back her purple coat immediately thereafter. Victoria accepted it with a smile and waited on the bridge, as she had planned, for them to get inside. That handled, Victoria began to fold her coat to stash in Morty's pull-cart when she noticed that the hole in the sleeve was gone. Just gone, and she didn't see an opportunity for it to have been repaired since Cecily took it from her. [i]That[/i] was curious. Instead of packing it, she shuffled off her cloak and slid the coat back over her svelte frame. If was her favorite one, after all. The cloak then covered this, hanging heavily in the foggy gloom of the night. It was getting colder anyway. 

	Victoria was now faced with a decision: Should she check out the noise south of her, maybe get involved in some more fun? Should she find the rest of her party? Safety in numbers was a factor. Or should she drop off her cart full of varying wines and [i]maybe[/i] her burlap-wrapped, hickory smoked companion in the hayloft they were using for their lodging? Decisions, decisions. While she quickly thought on that, Victoria's hand absently found its way into a pouch on her belt. It contained a set of diviners' bones - small bones and/or teeth, among other relics of finished life for the purposes of divination or necromancy - and brought out one of them. It looked very much like a phalange, or human fingerbone. This one was scorched black along half of it, quite near exactly. She rolled it around in her hand for a moment before replacing it in the pouch with the rest. Yes, she had already received her compensation. 

	Having made her decision as to where to go next, Victoria looked to her beast of burden, intoning, [color=9932cc]"Let's go, Morty."[/color] Their day wasn't quite over yet.