[center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center][center][img]https://i.ibb.co/Hx8gW4q/IC-Opening-Header-Text.png[/img][/center][center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center] [center][img]https://i.ibb.co/vm3xBpq/autumn-impressionism.jpg[/img][/center] [center][h3][color=ffd700][i]Opening, Act 2[/i][/color][/h3][/center] [i]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 [i]did[/i] come.[/i] [center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center] 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. [center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center] [center][img]https://i.ibb.co/VpHzK5s/Avonshire-Township.jpg[/img][/center] [center][h3][i][color=gold]Epilogue/Wrapping Up Loose Ends[/color][/i][/h3][/center] 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 [url=https://i.ibb.co/NSgwdJv/Oof-Sending-Stones.jpg]stone[/url] to Baronfjord, the party's Dragonborn Monk. [color=darkgray]"You all make good use of those,"[/color] he intoned, nodding to Kathryn (who held the other in the set). [color=darkgray]"I shall see you again, I'm sure."[/color] 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. [color=darkgray][b]"I'm grateful you did what you did,"[/b][/color] he begins, signs of actual emotion present on his wearied features, [color=darkgray][b]"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."[/b][/color] 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 [i]soldiers[/i], 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. [i]Twenty gold coins of the realm were put directly into the hands of everyone who came to the Infamous Pear with a letter.[/i] [sub][color=dimgray][i](legitimate or not)[/i][/color][/sub] To continue, the specific items negotiated for in the initial bargain were likewise handed over. [i]Kosara[/i] got her book, that she may journal or scrapbook, or possibly pen her adventures in a style of her choosing. [i]Kathryn[/i] 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 [i]Victoria[/i] 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 [i]did[/i] 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. [i]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.[/i] He bid the Monk to do with them what he will, with a mildly apologetic look. [color=darkgray][b]"If this is not to your liking, we might come to other terms later. Expecting another, this is what I brought."[/b][/color] 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 [url=https://pixl.varagesale.com/http://s3.amazonaws.com/hopshop-image-store-production/66860354/b1a98e0ebd8d050433775ecba390bbe6.jpg?_ver=large&w=1500&h=1500&fit=max&s=6c0a1039a5e0f3687a461fc9e5839a70]container[/url] with a lovely floral design. [color=darkgray][b]"I believe I mentioned this as potential compensation during our last meeting. You have obviously earned more than the investigation fee."[/b][/color] *** 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. [color=darkgray]"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."[/color] 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. [color=darkgray][i]"Not a lot of time, dearies. There's a carnival coming to winter nearby and we have a lot to do before then."[/i][/color] A pause, headscratch, remembered thought, and quick swig from a crystal tumbler later, she came back with, [color=darkgray][i]"Say, didn't you lot have performers in your group? Even a True Bard? We were supposed to come to an understanding, I think..."[/i][/color] 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, [i]The Show Must Go On[/i]. Or something like that. [center][b][i][color=gold]Character Specific Events:[/color][/i][/b][/center] [hider=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. [color=gold][b][i]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."[/i][/b][/color] 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. [/hider] [hider=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 [i]Comprehend Languages[/i] 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, [color=darkorchid]"Longnecked pigeons!"[/color] 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. [/hider] [hider=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 [i]was[/i] 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. [/hider] [hider=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, [color=darkgray][i]"like a real dragon!"[/i][/color] 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, [color=darkgray]"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."[/color] 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. [/hider] [hider=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. [color=darkorchid]"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,"[/color] The Bard handed over a folded piece of paper containing highly illustrated runes, surrounded by more mundane-looking writing. [color=darkorchid]"It was among the papers from the Goblin cache."[/color] 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, [color=darkorchid]"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.. ?"[/color] Victoria allowed herself to trail off. It was silly. Kathryn didn't actually have Giant heritage, did she? [i]Nevertheless, the paper spoke of the magic of Runes, and warriors which may use them.[/i] And Kathryn understood. [/hider] As the group assembled to make their trek south, to the Rose River Vineyard by proprietor invitation, Sheriff Gregory Arbalest arrived quite unexpectedly. [color=darkgray][b]"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?"[/b][/color] [center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center][center][img]https://i.ibb.co/Hx8gW4q/IC-Opening-Header-Text.png[/img][/center][center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center] [center][img]https://i.ibb.co/mN25CKd/Wintering-In-Wine-Country.jpg[/img][/center] [center][h3][color=ffd700][i]Act 2: Wintering In Wine Country[/i][/color][/h3][/center] 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, [color=darkgray][i]"Mornin'! Nice day for fishing, ain't it? Huah huh!"[/i][/color] 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.