“The evening continues to elevate itself to greater and greater heights.” BlackBerry grumbled, more at the drizzle than anything else. “If left unchecked we may find ourselves giddy in the clouds.”
He retrieved the scabbard Lady Kathryn had pointed out to him and after attaching it to his belt transferred the new short-blade to it, and it rested much more securely in it’s own home than it had in the other scabbard. Still he kept the first scabbard on him just in case, at least for now.
Following the part, he grimaced at the damp, and squalid state of the neglected courtyard. He kept looking over his shoulders expecting an attack, to hear the cries of a last stand or the poor fools left to defend the place, and was met with only the sound of the parties own footsteps upon the slick cobbles. BlackBerry stuck close to Lady Kathryn as they all filed into the building through the door, his eyes noting the broken lock, as the hammer in her hand lit up the entrance room they found themselves in. Casting his eyes around what little was illuminated he wasn’t terribly impressed; broken furniture, rubbish, leftover food, and various other unsavoury or unmentionable sights littered the place.
“My word. This place has seen better days, no doubt about that. No wonder those ruffians were so brutish. A place such as this would make anyone forget their manners.” He tried hard to pierce the shadows further past the dark portals to other rooms which the hammers light didn’t reach. “I do wonder just how long Cavendish had been running this operation.”
He followed after the others as they began the descent further into the darkness, deeper into the bowels of the building. The further they continued the stronger the smell of death and decay became, the smell so sickly sweet it turned rancid in the back of his throat. He pulled his scarf up over his mouth and nose in an attempt to block out the smell but it still found a way into his lungs.
The final room they found themselves in was the worst by far. BlackBerry felt his earlier meal threaten to return as he saw the grisly garlands decorating the old prison cells. BlackBerry could only nod in agreement to Kosaras suggestion to burn this place down, and hopefully ridding this plane of any trace of it. Trying his best to avert his gaze from the worst of the grisly sights and instead focused intently on the remaining Beast laid before them all on the centre table.
“This is obscene.” Horror, disgust, fear all poured out of his mouth in one muffled sentence from under his scarf.
He jumped when Lady Kathryn fired her crossbow at the Incomplete Beast and his eyes locked onto its rotten form expecting it to leap at them all in fury. But it didn’t and when he tentatively drew closer, emboldened by it’s stillness, he noticed in the meagre light it wasn't even stitched together like the other two had been; it was incomplete and forgotten.
“It appears this one was left incomplete. Regardless, I agree that we should get someone in here to cleanse this place of such a foul desecration. But of whom the locals worship I am uncertain, and even more so of how they would even go about such a task. Someone of Tyr’s flock at the very least I would suggest” Holding his breath he bent down to examine some of the arcane circles decorating the floor while taking care not to step upon the lines, or even worse the suspicious liquids splattered about in the dark. He tried hard not to shiver when his foot dipped into something he didn't want to know about. “What these circles and markings are for I am at a completely loss for as well. Likely they are something Cavendish and our a ‘Interested Party’ devised to bring those Beasts to life and do their bidding…Perhaps it is Necromatic in nature?”
The grimace of disgust was near audible in his voice when made the suggestion and pulled himself back upright.
“We might have better luck trying another room, Marita, if we are looking for clues. This may have been where the work was done but actual plans may have been drawn up elsewhere.” He suggested, already treading his way over strains and remains backwards the stairway.
"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.
If there was one thing to be glad of, it was that for once the townsfolk of this (formerly) accursed place came out to help for once, rather than merely gawk and cause more problems. Turns out all it took was the threat of a potentially all-consuming blaze after everything else remotely dangerous had been dealt with. Despite having just risked her life for the sake of these people, Marita found herself growing almost more angry with those who had been content to cower as their neighbors were caged and nearly killed than the villains who had perpetrated the crimes. Luckily for everyone there, Kathryn answered all their questions before she could tell them off. Regardless, the pitch fire was being dealt with so they could focus on other things.
For Marita, it was taking a moment to step aside and unwind a bit. The past several hours had been a series of increasingly tense and traumatic moments building on each other, and only the gods knew what they were about to find at the Municipal Building. While they had a moment of relative peace she could bring her emotional state down closer to something approaching normal. Primarily this involved taking several deep, slow breaths and realizing that her back, neck and legs were all held tense and to manually unclench them.
After this brief reset, Kathryn called her over and presented her with a pouch. The cleric wasn't sure why Kathryn couldn't just hold it herself, but didn't see much of a reason to turn down such a trivial task. When she took hold of the sack, the weight of the bag along with the feeling of the contents jostling inside told her that there was coin inside, and a not insignificant amount either. Although she still didn't understand why the warrior didn't just hold onto it herself, she immediately understood why she was the one being entrusted with the goods. Kosara would only bring more unwanted attention from the townsfolk, and Victoria would simply pocket it and pretend like she lost it. Blackberry... well he could also probably hold onto it, but they had only known him for less than a day and it was a lot of money.
All their business at the town center finally taken care of, Marita followed behind Kathryn, relying on the light of her hammer to lead the way as one of the aphotically-challenged members of the group. She never put away her mace. Although she had said that if they were to run into any trouble that they should focus on escape, if it came down to it, she was one of the ones best suited to making time for the others to evacuate. It never had to come to pass, but the lack of any signs of life were more unsettling.
The smell, that foul, rancid stench. Marita seemed to be far more sensitive to it than the rest of the party. She could barely stand it even at the building's entrance, and it only grew more putrid as they ventured further. She had to cover her nose with her arm to limit the amount of air she could breathe in at once. Even if she had access to a free hand to hold her nose closed, she dared not inhale the filth through her mouth. As distracted as she was by the sensory assault of the municipal building, she tried to study their surroundings as best as she could as they made their way through.
And then they came into the jail. It would be a lie to say that she was surprised at what lie in store for them, after all, to create the abominations that they had just battled, one needed a lot of materials, and they were not cleanly put together. But she was not prepared to see the grisly details of how that sausage was made. All the filth she had been forced to confront up to this point already had made her nauseous, but it was at this point that Marita was very glad that she had not eaten much over the past few days. Beyond disgust, the next overwhelmingly powerful emotion was the regret that Cavendish had only died once in an extremely painful manner, and that she could not Spare the Dying his pre-melted corpse and add to his suffering herself.
It took a very long time for Marita to feel comfortable enough to speak, but when she did, she had much to say. She expected to have to inform the others on the nature of the gods worshipped in the area based on her trip to the temple in Darensby, but Victoria beat her to the punch. Perhaps she had made a visit there before she had.
"Although this town would likely be better off with this place burnt to the ground, we are not going to commit arson, especially without consulting any of the locals. Secondly, as horrific as this place is, it's important that it remain intact at least for now as evidence for what's been going on in Avonshire. We could likely return to Gregory and simply tell him what Cavendish has done with the testification of Robert and the others, but having hard, irrefutable proof of the atrocities committed will make the legal end of things much cleaner and safer for us."
"As far as purification of the premises goes, I'm likely the most qualified person in the region for such a task, and this feels beyond my capabilities. Victoria gave some names, but to those unfamiliar, the patrons of this area are mostly of the agricultural sort, not the type who would have much experience dealing with this profanity. As for what the ritual circles are for, this is simply a guess, but I think they were used to animate these things from being a mere mass of flesh and filth into mindless puppets to be wielded by Cavendish. I do not wish to remain here long enough to properly study them."
"And of the ones who came back? We don't know who all came back. Even of the missing persons we accidentally stumbled on Mr. Porter. Perhaps a more thorough search of the township could find them, I'm not confident given our limited manpower and with the harvest festival still technically in swing. Robert... we should wait until the morning sun before trying to seek him out. Rather than trying to dig further, right now we should probably return to Lizbeth or Mallard. I, I've just had enough of this place." Marita's voice cracked a bit at the last sentence. In hindsight, it would have been better had they waited until morning to come here, but this trip did tell her that there was likely one or more other hideaways in town for the wererat population for them to root out. The guard house was likely one. Any others? Well that was likely a problem better solved by someone else. Someone with more resources at their disposal.
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.
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.
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:
- 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.
- 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.
- 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.
- 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.
- 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?"
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.
The worst was finally over. Cavendish was defeated, and his goons scattered to the wind. His patron had backed off for the time being, and the party was finally allowed to breath. Though the battle was a disorganized mess at points the party came together and saved the day. The rest of the morning was a blur for Kathryn. She spent a lot of the morning getting herself cleaned up, and keeping the answers to those who asked her questions vague. She gave a wave to the silver smith Jacques Mallard as he moved on to take care of his family. She gave him a friendly smile and wave as he left. She found it funny how their relationship started at the tip of a crossbow bolt, where she became the tart that stole his ring, to now rather solid allies. He had given them tools to help fend off the monsters, and they had been able to finish the job. And finally given the town a little hope to get through the night. Robert still had a ways to go before things would improve for him. Kathryn wouldn't pry him on it. But she hoped the man would finally get the break he needed soon enough.
Kathryn would find herself in the public house a lot over the coming days. Firstly, to check on Robert as he worked through his problems. But as a whole, he still seemed a bit closed off. Sheriff Gregory had also arrived with some reinforcements. Granted, Kathryn had hoped for more. But maybe that was all they had to spare. The region didn't seem like it needed a huge military presence to maintain peace, or conquer lands. That is when they were all gifted their rewards. Apart of Kathryn wanted to refuse it. She hated accepting gifts from people who needed help. Even if they were rewards for her work. Then she saw the set of chain mail and held it up in front of herself. There were more pieces to it, but the main coat was something that excited Kathryn in ways she didn't expect. At a quick glance, it was clean, well maintained, well made, and most of it, it looked like it would fit. And fit comfortably at that. The set she wore now was also older, but it had also likely passed through a dozen other owners before it got to her. It was battered, beaten, chipped and patched in countless areas, and far from fit comfortably on her person. Though it did protect her enough to prevent normally fatal blows from being as such. What made things even better, she didn't watch the previous owner get brutally killed in it before she had to wear it herself. She fell in love with the new armor instantly. "Thank you." She would mutter to the Sheriff as she collected herself, and set the armor so the side to change into it once the meeting was over.
As things began returning to normal, or as normal as they could after such events take place, Kathryn attempted to make the most of her time in town. She would continue to work on her physical training to help keep herself at her peak potential. At one point tying ropes around a bunch of hay bales in the barn, working on dead lifting them, and adding more to lift via rope over the rafters. As she found the tasks easier than they were a couple months ago, she hoped that meant she was getting stronger. At one point she had laden the party's new wagon with as many heavy objects and any volunteers who wanted a ride and would begin to regularly pull that across town in an attempt to find a more physically demanding workout routine. Strength training aside, Kathryn would take time to enjoy herself too. Enjoying the various meat products, games, and avoiding questions about what had gone on inside the municipal building when people approached her on it. Though some games she would get banned from due to most being designed for people of smaller stature, and who had more average physical strength, Kathryn still had a fun time.
At one point while going about she crossed a jewelry stand made of mostly things imported from up river! Working quickly to finish her current turkey leg she began to ogle over the shiny materials when she noticed a rather ornate pair of rings. A set of rings clearly meant to be worn by a pair of people. "Got someone special you're looking for?" The kind jeweler asked while Kathryn eyed the rings. "Yeah, I have this friend who has really helped me be more... Well she's... It's hard to explain." Kathryn said sheepishly. Struggling to describe the friendship she had with Kosara. "She makes me feel more... Like I can be myself ya know?" The jeweler clearly seeing a chance for a good sale pressed on. "Oh is that right? How long have you been with this lucky lady?" Kathryn picked up the rings and looked them over. No way in hell these would be cheap. But!! She thought it would be a great way to really kick off the friendship she had going with Kosara. Kathryn didn't really have a lot of friends when she left home. Just Ser Lucas, and people she worked with. So she wanted more than anything to keep this friendship going strong. "About a week or so. But I have such a good feeling on her ya know?" Kathryn said giddy as a child. The jeweler clearly had thoughts on the matter according to their flabbergasted face. But as he likely wanted to keep the sale, nothing came out of his agape mouth. "How much for the rings?" Kathryn asked as if she were a giddy school girl preparing for a date. "Uh... Three gold... each." Kathryn was a bit startled at the cost, but the rings were rather fancy, pretty, and she was sure Kosara would love to enjoy this matching set with her. Fishing out six gold from her pouch, she handed it over to the jeweler hoping she wasn't getting ripped off. And hoped she would be able to make some of that money back soon enough... She would be given a box for the rings, and move on her marry day to explore more of the festival.
Kathryn enjoyed her breakfast beer with her new found friends when V had walked in. Kathryn stood up to meet her new bard friend and gave her papers a good once over as she talked about them. What really got Kathryn going, is she was familiar with the writings. "You said the goblins had this?" She asked, mild concern in her voice as she spoke and looked over the papers V had brought to the public house. Kathryn did role her eyes at the part giant comment. "My dude, that was a joke. I was honestly surprised anyone took that seriously when I said it." Kathryn chuckled surprised that the joke was still being brought up. But as she read it... "Huh... I don't know about Giant speak. But the untranslated words are oddly close to an old tongue popular with the mountain clans of Arconaple. You can still find traces of it in their villages and keeps. My uncle had a ton of that sort of thing back home. It's... definitely familiar..." Kathryn eyed the paper closely, and debated about filling in a lot of potential pieces of her training. Though, now she was regretting not studying the old tongues more when she had the chance.
She wouldn't sleep much that night. Attempting to write down whatever she could remember of her rune training and her speech lessons on the old tongue she could remember. Though if memory served she wouldn't need to vocalize commands once she had things down. By morning, she looked like she had slept maybe 2 hours, held a whole kettle filled with hot tea, and held a plank of wood with the crudest looking runes carved into them. Collecting anyone from the party she could, and any passerby who may wanna see what cool tricks she was about to pull off, she would attempt to show off just how great this form of alternate magic would be!
Had it worked. As she began her trick, she spoke a string of vocal commands, and the crudely carved runes on the plank began to glow. Flickering as if they were a candle threatening to burn out before it could really kick off. Kathryn instantly began looking woozy, but the effects were immediately visible. First only a couple inches, then soon enough a whole foot. The half giant of a woman would grow to a height of nearly 9 feet by the time the rune burnt out, explosively cracked the board, and shrinking Kathryn close back to her normal height. Not before last nights dinner, beer, and breakfast came back up. Glowing as if it were still possessed by what was left of the rune's magic. "I'm gonna... I'm gonna go back to bed..." She would mutter before stumbling back into the barn, limping as if she had just suffered some sort of grave wound. The glow from the contents she left behind soon fading away as well.
When she woke, Kathryn decided she needed answers. Firstly, she needed to know why the runes didn't work. Was it her craftsmanship? Her skill with the runes? Their summoning? Maybe she wasn't properly trained with it yet? She would need to practice more to know for sure. One thing for sure was, that was a miserable experience, leaving her so unwell she felt like she was fighting off the worst hangover of her life. Annoyingly ontop of that, she was pretty sure she was taller than she was before trying out the runic magic. Like any sane person who just had their body violently reject a magical injection, the first thing Kathryn did when she was dressed and cleaned up was prepare to travel. Not to the vineyard yet. No, she wanted answers. Kathryn now dressed in the armor given to her by Gregory, and the hammer she got from Cavendish, she returned to the goblin attack site. Now it had been cleared of goblins, corpses, and much of anything else she left behind. She needed to know where the creatures had gotten such notes. And if they had more. Maybe whoever supplied them had known more about this? When Kathryn remembered they had found something akin to a deer trail leading away from the camp, and she was determined to find it again. But when she looked now, she couldn't find it again. "Fuck me life." She uttered. So they may never get more information on the goblins, or who had sent them here. Apart of her was still convinced of that. That someone had wanted the party to face off against the goblins. And that Mr. L'rose just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Even with Marita's reassurances, she couldn't help but wonder about them. Shame none of the goblins could tell them more on who hired them, and how the hell they got Runes from the old tongue of Arcanaple all the way out here in Avonshire. Ideal as far from Arcanaple one could get while still being attached to civilization.
In the remaining days before leaving for the vineyard Kathryn would wrap up some smaller loose ends. Practice with the runes more, make herself sick at least once more, enjoy some more festivals, spend time with her new drinking buddies and giving them all a good farewell before preparing to leave herself. She would wish Marita a good fair well before heading out. Thank Sheriff Gregory again for the armor she now wore proudly, and let him know to reach out if ever he needed assistance again. Not looking for another chance to earn more coin, but to genuinely try and assist the good people here in such uncertain times.
Kathryn would help load any party supplies that no individual had claimed into the wagon. Things including short bows, spare daggers and short swords, and some food stocks that they may have had left over. As well as any packs the party didn't want to carry. Kathryn did eventually end up with the whip the constable recently possessed in her pack. Not open or at the ready, but close enough that if she wanted too she could look it over some more. Still working on strength training, she would keep her pack well loaded up. Not that it was heavy enough to actually weigh her down. But she thought it was the idea that counted.
Walking on foot besides the wagons, helping them navigate for the road as needed, and in one case helping them pull out of mud tracks. "Southmoor. Interesting name for a town." she spoke up as the party and wagons passed the road sign. At that moment! She remembered the rings in her pouch! Making sure to return the wave to the fisher as they passed, Kathryn ran over to find Kosara. Her poor friend seemed to have been struggling a bit since... well... everything. But the constable's patron really seemed to push her over an edge of some kind. Kathryn hoped she could help, but she worried the most she could do would be to just let her friend know she would be there for her should she need or want the help.
Kathryn found Kosara 'lazying' in a wagon, snapping head around in almost paranoid and nervous manner every now and then as if hearing or seeing things at the edge of her vision and her attempts to write in her journal turning in a lot more jagged lines than her usual writing style (Thanks Riv for the description). "Hey Kosara." Kathryn spoke calmly with the biggest smile she could muster. "I got something for ya, thought it would be really cool to get us something cool like this." Kathryn said excitedly, trying to approach without spooking her friend. Then! handing her the box with the ring in it. A giddy smile across her face as she did so, and also reached into her pocket to pull out a matching box.
The time following directly after the battle was a bit of a blur of fatigue, pain, stress and not a small degree of general mood drop, especially for Kosara who had taken some pretty serious hits during the fighting and whatever happened at the end with the spooky voice. Mind you she didn’t even remember the spooky voice, but it didn’t make her feel any better with the growing fatigue in the following day. Bidding goodbye to some people, helping others, generally try to make sure everything was mostly safe now… very very tiring day following a deadly struggle with little to no sleep.
In the end though by the time that they had went to bed the next night, with only SOME paranoia on Kosara’s part, she was so dead tired that no amount of potential ratmen lurking around could keep her awake.
Only rather than the expected nightmares or mayhaps the blissful oblivion of dreamless night, her dreams were filled with the warm golden presence of a familiar being. Her Grandpa had reached out to her. His words filled her with much pride and happiness in ways that few things could. She truly considered him as her family and his opinions mattered a lot to her. His admittance of interfering to get a letter was something that only made her let out a knowing giggle. The words about the future change and how it would be both scary at times made her afraid, but as a whole as the dreams settled down with a scent of Jasmine and Spring water, she was finally allowed to rest. The first true rest she had since she left home and the last one she was going to have in a while…
The following days when the Sheriff arrived were once more very hectic, which was expected all things considered. They did after all arrive in town for an investigation only to end in a fight to the death for the presumed survival of the townsfolk against wererats of all things and apparently undead rat abominations or something along those lines of those big ones were to be considered. The arrival of soldiers to bolster defenses and settle the order in Avonshire were a thing that Kosara approved off a lot though. People needed safety and in difference to Cavendish’s men these folks seemed serious about their job.
Their rewards came with probably less than ideal fanfare, well scratch that, for all the fatigue and general stress that Kosara was suffering in silence, she took to her journal with very much a lot of fanfare as she got a hold of the empty book and spun around with it in her arms a few times. The gold was also taken with a bit of an afterthought as she rushed to make the first page on her new journal. Old one was almost done, just a couple of pages left, she had to prepare the opening page of this one well in advance with neat writing and maybe a drawing.
A visit to the Honey Barn was more or less mandatory for Kosara who wanted to check in on the women working there. Much to her relief, it was MOSTLY safe from damage even if some people might have been missing. The talks about performing there didn’t bore fruit though because of everything that transpired and Kosara not really being quite in the mental condition to perform, but she did bid everybody there good luck and best of health before departing with her utmost sincere apologies that she couldn’t perform. Luckily Madam Marcie didn’t press the issue for which Kosara was grateful.
In the days following the fight as Kosara found herself a bit more settled down even if just as much stressed and she could swear there were things around always out of sight, but taunting her at the edge of her awareness or the way everything just felt… different, even herself. In any case she had eventually figured to take a stroll around Avonshire to get some shopping done for souvenirs and general goodies. She had the gold now and felt very right to buy some trinkets and general accessories. So she spend a day shopping before returning shortly before sunset, not wanting to be outside during night alone. By the time she had returned back to the others, her bag was now filled to the brim with all kinds of various things. Chief among them the nice set of tools for cooking so she could show the others some of the cooking from her home later. That had cost her a nice shiny gold coin, but all things considered she was pretty sure it was well worth the cost. With that there was also a bag of ball bearings. Now what a tiefling dancer might do with all the shiny balls you might ask? Well.. she wasn’t sure, but they were so many, and shiny and she figured she’d find them a purpose later. That was another gold coin spent.
Finally the last… well many last purchases were the all kinds of knick-knacks, jewelries and accessories for a total sum of around 10 gold coins that she got from around town in various stores and carts. Nothing like what dancers wore back home, but there were all kinds of shiny chains of various makes, bells and many more. Would make for good gifts back home.
When they had finally departed down the road, Kosara had just stayed riding on the wagon, sitting in the back, holding her old journal, trying to write something at the final pages, that despite the rocking shouldn’t have turned out as jagged looking as it did. All the while since they left town, she felt like there were things hiding in the surroundings. A distant shadow here, a closer shadow there, some low noise that sometimes turned out to be a forest critter and others seemingly nothing. It was putting her on edge, stressing her out ever more.
Her head snapped to the side just as something… maybe… no maybe it was nothing. She grit her teeth and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to compose herself. Ever since the night that her grandpa had visited her dreams, she hadn’t had a proper rest. It was affecting her and it showed on her general looks too. Maybe the rest at the winery would do her a lot of good… or maybe she could get drunk. People back home always said alcohol solves most issues…
She felt a presence approach and her head snapped towards the source only to come face to face with Kathryn. The tiefling woman blinked at the warrior, taking a few tired moments to process that fact and nodded.” Hey Kathryn.” She greeted the woman back with a smile, putting the stress and everything aside, focusing on the moment and her friend.” Ohh?” She made a questioning sound as she shuffled over in curiosity.
She curiously picked the box from Kathryn, it looked nice. Inside the nice box was an equally nice ring. She blinked at it with a grin, her inner self really liking the shiny in front of her eyes. When she saw that Kathryn had a similar one though… She let a loud squeel of joy.” Friendship rings!” She exclaimed happily as she hurriedly put the thign on. Her sisters all had friendship rings from many people, but then again they got a lot of gifted jewelry all the time.” Thank you! My sisters have all kinds of frindship rings and now I have too! We are VERY GOOD friends indeed!”
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.
20 Gold Pieces. The little bag the famed Sheriff Gregory Arbelast had given him contained 20 gold pieces.
The number still him somewhat dumb and when he had counted the pieces in the little bag he was give, his mouth had flapped soundlessly for a few moment before his voice decided to make an appearance.
“This is rather generous Sir especially as I wasn’t even under your employment. Not to sound ungrateful of course.”
His conscience wrestled with itself for a moment. He placed the bag of coins onto the table alongside the other offerings he had inadvertently received. He wondered who it was the Sheriff had otherwise been expecting given the collection of quills, ink bottles, a book, another smaller satchel of various implements he had only a passing understanding of, now tucked safely away in his backpack.
“If I may. There is actually another matter I had hoped to discuss with you.”
He gestured towards a more private area of the Public House a little away from the rest of the group. It was nothing personal, as he had already informed the others his whole journey had simply been to find their employer, but he didn’t see any reason to inform them of the specifics. He didn’t wish to burden them at this point
“I do hope that this is not unseemly Sir, but I was hoping to ask if not for aid then perhaps for some information. Though I do not know if the stories are true I had heard tale that you travelled the Celadon Coast on some of your adventures.” His words tumbling out towards the end of the sentence before he took a breath to compose himself. “I Apologise I appear to have misplaced my manners and neglected to introduced myself. My Name is BlackBerry, a Monk of the Hiltoszin Monastery, one that is on the very edge of the coast itself.” A polite small bow with a hand to his chest.
“Unfortunately there has been come trouble brewing. A…ah.” His voice faltered for a moment. His thumb tap, tap, tapping along his fingertips. A breath rattled out of his chest. “A creature of um…A creature has been terrorising our waters now for several years. Decades, even. Unfortunately, very little is still known about it as it appears to attack only during storms, however I have no doubt it is responsible for many more of out ships which have gone missing.”
“And so I was hoping that you may know something…anything.” He shrugged and slowly shook his head. “I assure you that there nothing too small or insignificant about the creature you may know that I wouldn’t want or need to know. I…you…you are.” He gestured weakly towards the Sheriff. “Please.” There wasn't anything more to say.
"Rumors, mostly. Rumors and stories about events affecting a nation that was not my own. I gave them as much consideration as I would other rumors. My campaigning years were mostly spent on land, fighting in the Southlands and a bit near the eastern expanses. Was on saltwater but a handful of times, and nothing came of it - not to what you were speaking about. And I have retired to the quieter life of a regional Sheriff for many years now. I apologise, Adventurer. There is nothing I can offer here."
Admittedly, much of BlackBerry had expected Gregory’s response. But even more of him had been so desperate for another answer. As Gregory continued, BlackBerry’s face shifted took on a mask of neutrality. Each of Sheriff Arbelasts words grinding away at his hope without malice or unkindness, but with plain explanation and sheer honesty.
“Nothing?” BlackBerry whispered. “Nothing?” He said. “Nothing?” He snarled the mask fell off, sparks crackled but died just as suddenly as they arose.
“Sir. You…Do You. How could.” Frustration quickly turned to anguish and strangled the words in his throat. . “Sir please.”
BlackBerry then caught himself and took back the few steps away from the Sheriff he hadn’t realised he had taken. He drew a breath in through his teeth, an audible wince at his own embarrassing, practically shameful outburst at a man who had given him several marvellous gifts.
“I…I apologise Sir I appear to have forgotten myself. I had rather…hoped for another answer as you can plainly tell. I…I thank you again for your time and your generosity. If you have any need of assistance or hear anything…I…well…”
The words died in his throat caught and choked between despair and shame. He quickly excused himself from the Public House. He was as good as back to where he started and with only one more option left to him.
—
The days following the battle, and BlackBerry’s outburst at Gregory Arbelast, were relaxed and calm despite the fear and the baseless rumours of a revenge attack by Cavendish’s escaping allies which thankfully never came to pass.
And with the Harvestide Festival back in full swing there wasn’t even time to contemplate such worries for long. BlackBerry took every opportunity he could to enjoy the Harvestide Festival and all the games, music and food such an event entailed. On more than one occasion BlackBerry found himself as a not-entirely-willing participant to the various street performances on display, for equal parts to his apparent rarity in the area and the role he played in defeating Cavendish.
On top of this excitement there were also the townships children, the youngest of whichc would rush towards him with their parents either dragged along or hurriedly running over with frantic apologies as he was beset upon with furious questions. He would of course laugh away the parents concerns every time; “It is no worry. A child's curiosity is to be enjoyed and nurtured.” He let the younger ones touch his scales and horns absolutely fascinated by the colour and texture. The older ones of course kept their distance with a feigned air of disinterest which was quickly forgotten when he demonstrated his extraordinary breath, except one who insisted that “real dragons breathe fire.”
Of course, he hadn’t been the only one to have spent the past few days exploring the Township as he had bumped into Kosara also been buying her own set of cooking utensils. Now granted having multiple sets of anything seemed somewhat wasteful, but it was better to be overprepared than under prepared. Additionally, BlackBerry had spent enough time on the road with nothing but rations or leftovers and was determined not to do it again. Besides, having multiple sets of cooking wear meant they could make more complex and tasty meals, and he had no doubt Kosara had some interesting recipes up her sleeve even if some may just be a sandwich by another name.
Between all the festivities, and consoling a child he had accidentally upset after suggesting a lack of vegetables made his arm drop off, he was able to find sometime to himself to sit back and simply be in the moment. Sitting atop a low wall in the cool sunshine he also let himself enjoy one of the many, many treats he had found at the market.
Not long into his snack break a vaguely familiar halfling woman came up to him with a parcel in hand. When she unwrapped the package to reveal his old sword in much better condition than he ever remembered it being, he then realised where he had seen her before. As an added bonus the wrapping it was in was also a gift! A marvellous scarf dyed a beautiful crimson colour. He expressed his joy to see the woman again in much better condition than last time, as well as thanking her repeatedly for the gift and returning his sword. He wasted no time trying on the new scarf, not even bothering to take off the other one, and wrapping it around his neck and even his entire head half a dozen times.
“Oh this is marvellous.” His voice come from somewhere within the scarf.
—
BlackBerry was looking for someone. After stopping a few merrymakers to ask where he might find the person in question he was pointed towards towards one of the few pubs within the Township. He glided past the clientele who had spilled out determined to enjoy the last rays of morning sunshine of the season and entered the Pub, casting his gaze around the easy conversations taking place over breakfasts. Above them all though Lady Kathryn still managed to tower above them all even whilst sitting down and leaning into her own breakfast with gusto.
“Ah, Lady Kathryn.” His voice energetically crashed through the conversations around him as he drifted over. “You are well this fine morning I trust?”
“If I may trouble you for a moment I do have a request.” Still standing before her he continued, barely waiting for her reply. “After…acquiring some new equipment.” He patted the Viscous Sword in its sheathe hanging on the left of his hip, his newly returned sword hung on his right. He thought it best not to mention where he had gotten it from within ear shot of the townsfolk. The puzzled frowns of recognition it had already gathered over the past few days probably weren’t for the best. “It struck me that I likely didn’t take the best of care of my last one, or even knew how best to wield it even. If you might have some time to spare I was wondering if you could train me further in the art of sword fighting?”
Kathryn perked up hearing her name called. Despite not being as lady like as her title would imply, she still answered to it when she heard it. Looking over, she found Fjord calling out to her. Having just finished her breakfast, a nice bunch of scrambled eggs, bacon, and a breakfast beer, Kathryn met her new travelling companion with glee. "Some assistance can be arranged." Though the blade was still in it's sheath, she understood the weapon well enough.
"It's used a bit differently than what I am used to, but I'm sure I can give you a pointer or two. Just looking for tips and tricks? Stances and advice? We can practice a bit in the barn if you'd like?" She asked gleefully, excited to have a sparing partner who could provide her with an interesting challenge.
“Marvellous. Well, all of the above if there is time and you are able?” He smiled with his arm out wide in then added with a kind chuckle. “I assure you that however unfamiliar with such weapons it will likely still be leagues above my own, being more accustomed to uh more martial practices.” He then gave the air a few quick jabs to demonstrate. “Truth be told, however, I had based my assumptions upon your dress; rarely have I seen anyone with as many weapons upon their person.”
“Shall we begin presently or would later be more suitable?”
Kathryn chuckled at the assumption. Though it was an accurate one. She carried an abnormal amount of weapons on her person, and was well versed in all of them. Watching Fjord jab at the air, and seeing how he handled himself in the fight, Kathryn knew the foundations were there. "Come on, let's try it out. A lot of it is handling. SO I'm sure you'll pick it up quickly enough." Kathryn would lead her new ally towards the barn, and either make a master bladed warrior of him, or they may both walk away bruised and beaten.
Once they were both inside the barn, Kathryn would turn and draw the dagger from her boot. The closest instrument she had to his short sword on her person. Though she was sure that the other blades and daggers were about here somewhere. "It's important to note that a short sword is more a stabbing instrument than a slashing. Quick decisive stabs to break defences, and dish some punishment before your enemy can react. Making sense so far?" Kathryn asked as she planted her boots into the dirt floor of the barn. Bringing her right hand forward as if she were holding a shield, the metal glove held high ready for defence, and her left hand holding the dagger ready to close the distance.
BlackBerry nodded as he followed Lady Kathryns example sinking into his usual stance; somewhat side on to her to reduce contact area, left foot forward, right sliding back across the dirt and hay, and his knees loose. In his hand the short sword was raised to the challenge and glinted wickedly in the sunlight stabbing through the barns seams
“Ah I see. Not quite as the tapestries and tales of mighty heroes slashing through their enemies then. Not too dissimilar to Boxing then in fact.” He commented as his thoughts wandered to several fights held before Kathryn's advice. Thinking his arm was resting too high he let it fall so the swords point was aimed lower towards Lady Kathryns stomach. But their weight of the sword made his wrist begin to ache at that angle so pulled the point higher aiming more towards her chest. “I must admit I had never given my sword fighting form much thought beyond ‘hit before being hit’. It feels rather strange to have my arm resting so low.”
He tested the path of the sword, striking hard and fast into the air in front of him.
Kathryn would take the dagger in her hand, and use it as if a guiding rod to straighten Fjord's blade and approach angle. Taking extreme care to make sure the blade never touched her friend himself. Merely the weapon he held. "Don't get me wrong, you can use it as a slashing instrument. And skilled fighters do. But that is not it's intended role. Clansmen from Arcanaple used to tell of soldiers they would fight in tight formations, short blades piercing into them mere inches at a time. But always landing true as the formations they faced would continuously hold true. Brutal stuff really." Kathryn would step back again attempting to show a few different stances one could take.
"You can fight with weapons like these in all sorts of ways. But the original piercing styles seem like they would suit you better. Easier to get into a weak point in armor, between ribs, links in chainmail, and harder to parry against an inexperienced fighter. And can throw off an experienced once assuming you know how to handle said blade. Though make sure you watch yourself yeah? Knife fights are a great way to find yourself cut to bits and near dead before you even realize it. But I've seen ya fight in melee. Honestly, you can probably keep doing a lot of what you're doing as long as you're handlin' that blade with a bit more precision." Kathryn would step to the side of the dragon born, slightly correcting his stand, though this time with her hands and boot. Before guiding his hand with the blade to show good potential approaches with it. "Honestly I think you got most of it already. Just make sure you're practising with a blade as well as that fist of yours. Lots of similarities, but the differences will show when you got some goon trying to gut ya in return ya know?"
BlackBerry nodded enthusiastically as Lady Kathryn explained all this to him, committed it all to memory as best he could, and he allowed her to nudge him limbs into the correct position. He rocked back and forth slightly on the balls of his feet as he tested the new stance. Throwing another jab with the blade it practically sang along its new path. Giving a few more forward jabs he found the movements Lady Kathryn instructed him on were surprisingly similar to his own Martial fighting style; pushing off his back leg towards his imagined foe and then just as quickly pushing back, or even continuing the forward motion to press the enemy into a corner.
“Why that is very kind of you to say Lady Kathryn. I should indeed be saying the very same of yourself during the battle against Cavendish you fought most valiantly and thought on your feet. There is no doubt that you are a testament to the fighting prowess of your people.” Taking another few moments he tried slipping from side to side, to the right he stepped moving his right foot first and similarity moving his left foot first to move in the same direction. Giving another few jabs he found holding his arm at the angle Kathryn suggested was much more comfortable and steady than the one he had initially tried.
Becoming more comfortable with the initial motions he then gave a few testing jabs at different angles trying to imagine a foe before him and aiming for their weak points and even around their own attacks as Lady Kathryn had mentioned. “I must admit that I did receive some lessons many years ago. However, they simply pale in comparison next to your tutelage and you can trust that I will be practising as much as I may.”
The pair spent a few more hours as BlackBerry was put through his paces with the new sword, and under Lady Kathryn's diligent teachings he found himself able to wield the viscous blade with, at the very least, satisfactory precision. And as the lesson came to its natural end with BlackBerry earning himself a few nicks from his own mistakes, Lady Kathryn also passed on along several tips she had learned to keep his blades in decent condition when on the road. Overall, a successful lesson with a bag of animal feed as the only fatality.
—
BlackBerry walked alongside the mule as it heaved the wagon along the path, choosing to spend much of the journey walking rather than sitting inside the wagon not because he didn’t want to, (though Morty II did take up a lot of room and raise a number of questions BlackBerry didn’t want answers to) but because it was a rather fine day, and he could never sit still for very long. Instead, he ambled with the other adventurers along the road as they all talked about nothing of consequence, or otherwise enjoyed the sounds of the world around them. The chill winds that would occasionally rush by them reminding BlackBerry in no uncertain terms that the season were beginning to change and he rubbed his arm trying to convince some warmth back into it. The scarf he had been given sat at the bottom of his backpack unused for now as he couldn’t quite bring himself to give up his current scarf. Regardless he was thankful to himself to have taken the halfling woman's warning of the cold and purchased a worn though still respectable muted red shirt and grey sleeveless fur lined jacket . While neither articles were as brightly coloured as he liked, he couldn’t complain as they did the job keeping him defended against the worst of the winds biting chill.
He had initially found it somewhat surprising that he had received an invite to their current destination, but as far as he knew none of the other party members had protested. Though BlackBerry did wonder if it was likely down to Marita being asked to stay in the Township to help it recover, and from the sounds of it other members had left before then. He debated asking about the members who had since left. Regardless he was enjoying having the company on the road again.
But the otherwise uneventful journey left his mind to wander to more…concerning matters and even more concerning thoughts. The message from the Voice and it’s offer was never far away from BlackBerry’s mind.
Kosaras squeal coming from the wagon shattered his thoughts and dragged him into the present, to her excited cries about Friendship Rings. BlackBerry turned mid-stride and started walking backwards so he could face Victoria atop the wagons seat.
He gave Victoria a puzzled frown and repeated, “Friendship Rings?”
“Well, I suppose the pair are getting along. How are you doing Victoria? If you require a rest at all I’m sure no one would protest to find somewhere for lunch.“
- cooks utensils 1gp - foods - dried meats 3cp - cheese 1gp - jam 3sp - shirt and jacket (travellers clothes) 2gp - replacement bag of feed 2gp - various days spending 2gp - total: 8gp, 3sp, 3cp
Ambience: The chill doesn't quite get to freezing temperatures, but it seems like it wants to. Winds kick up a bit, bringing with it the bite of an approaching winter.
*****
My Lords and Councillors,
I shall try to be succinct. There is a great weight taken from the shoulders of the citizens of Avonshire this day. The outside aid which was hired to investigate the recent troubles has quickly succeeded in solving the problem outright. There are continuing issues which must be addressed by skilled professionals and backed up with considerable force of arms. However, because of these brave people, no more of our people will fall victim to Cavendish nor the intentions of his master this day. I can only apologize on behalf of my family for the actions of my cousin-by-marriage and reaffirm my promise of service to Avonshire and the Crown.
I have sent formal requests for additional personnel and supplies with this letter. While the greatest threat has been extinguished, there are lingering but important concerns which require attention. Some of Cavendish's minions remain at large. Other innocents are infected and require divine aid. Individual investigations must be started concerning related issues. The Avonshire region has experienced an above average year of production; perhaps our superiors may be persuaded by a temporary increase in taxation in return for additional assistance?
To the matter of the adventurers - I wish to retract my original assessment and suspicions about them. They are foreign help and unorthodox to be certain, but have proven to be decisive in action and took some initiative for the common good unprompted. They may deserve greater recognition from a higher placed dignitary than myself. I regard their presence with curiosity as I sent only three letters and more than three arrived; moreover none of the individuals I expected to meet were among their number. Nevertheless, they succeeded.
As none of the adventurers have given me an answer as to how I should address them collectively, I have taken to referring to them as the Company of the "Letterbearers of Avonshire." More colloquially among my staff and to the originally dubious nature of their presence, they have been referred to as "The Ones Who Answered." They weren't the ones I intended. But they were the ones who answered the call. Until I receive paperwork stating differently, I shall refer to them as such in future communications.
To summarize, we require specialized assistance, an increase of soldiery to keep the peace (these two points outlined in the enclosed proposal), and hopefully recognition for the company of adventurers.
Ever in service,
Gregory Arbalest, Sheriff of Avonshire
*****
Sheriff Arbalest,
I am unable to meet most of your proposal at this time. Issues elsewhere have diverted resources and manpower to places of greater strategic importance. Unless you have fully drained Avonshire's coffers hiring outsiders to help you do your job, perhaps you may do so again.
Office of the Provisional General
*****
The caravan of two wagons continues steadily southward, the constant sounds of shod hoof and rimmed wheel upon the mostly level roadway beating out a rhythm familiar to most travelers. Cold air whips up every so often, bringing with it an occasional damp sting, heralding the eventual arrival of early snow. An autumnal rainbow of leaves scatter about the ground, blown by stronger winds from places of arboreal shade to the open, rolling hills and paths among them as a quiet last warning for those still out in the greater world to find their winter place before the coming snows.
Cecily and Lizbeth both remain fairly quiet, barring small talk and descriptions of the Rose River Vineyard. The latter they discuss from the perspective of a home rather than a fully staffed and functioning regional producer of wines, grapes, and related goods. "...and this cove by the river where I used to play, and the plum trees that smell just delightful when they flower..." This from Lizbeth, who continued, "...and the whole world opens up on the moors past the old parts of the vineyard, but Grandpa doesn't like for me to go..." The young girl's words trailed off, apparent memory that her grandfather had passed away and mostly consumed by Goblins prior to burial returning with solidity. She quietly sat back in her seat on the merchant wagon, staring forward.
"It's getting to be about lunchtime," remarked Cecily, noting the abrubt change in her niece's behavior and speaking loud enough for the group to hear. The road was quieter now of traffic and there stood open ground to either side of them, prompting the lady to continue, "Shall we stop for a rest or eat as we travel? It is a way, yet, but we should make it before suppertime, regardless. " She awaited an answer but handed off the reins to Lizbeth while opening her pack to locate some travel worthy edibles.
Kathryn found herself excited and extraordinarily gleeful when Kosara seemed to have fallen in love with the ring Kathryn gave her. For Kathryn, it was like she was living a piece of her childhood that she wasn't allowed to have. Kathryn had to be well educated, so when she married she wouldn't be a dim witted trophy wife to some lord looking to snag up lands from her family. To her father's annoyance, but her mother's encouragement, she was allowed to learn to fight. Albeit, in limited capacity, and with the understanding that she would never be allowed to ride off to war like her uncle had. And by the time of becoming a preteen, she had to grow up, and become the voice of her family. Forced soon after to travel on the road as fast as possible, fending off bounty hunters, mercenaries, and goons loyal to those who'd benefit from removing a potential claim to recently acquired lands. Even if weakened through years of lies and misconceptions. But having a friend now? One she could be giddy with, laugh with, have arguments with no stakes to them, and comfort each other when they were down, was something that Kathryn was glad to have. Even if they hadn't known each other for long. It's like a piece of her life that was taken from her is being finally returned.
"I'm glad you love it!" Kathryn blurted out, unable to withstand the anticipation. "AND! It matches mine!" Kathryn exclaimed with glee as she opened her own box with her own ring in it. A perfect match to the one she gave Kosara. "I saw them and thought it would be a cool way to show our friendship with each other." Kathryn said trying to hide her excitement on her face, but clearly failing. "OOoooh I'd love to see their rings too at some point!" Kosara clearly lived a very different than Kathryn. From vastly different cultures, vastly different people, and vastly different life styles. Kathryn, wanted to learn so much about it all. Kathryn wondered about the holdings her family had gained, she had no clue where those lands were, but she did remember her uncle complaining about how hot the desert and plans near it were. Well, he used more colorful words. Words that even her mother wouldn't tolerate. Apart of Kathryn wondered if the land those holdings were apart of would have been like Kosara's home. The way her uncle described it, it sounded like a resource rich hell. The way she hears Kosara describe her home? It sounds like paradise. Kathryn was definitely curious on seeing Kosara's home someday to form her own thoughts.
Speaking of exploring new lands, Kathryn was finally able to see more of what the greater Avonshire region held! She found Avonshire to be an odd place as a whole. In many ways, it held a lot of similarities to Arcanaple. But in so many other ways, it was a totally different world. Kathryn wondered if settlers from both lands held common ancestors? And if so how far back? Or if the somewhat comparable climates set up the two distant cultures to develop with a few comparable foundations? Kathryn did know that Arcanaple was a far different place hundreds of years ago than it is now. Hundreds of years of wars and trade with neighbors, joining empires and splitting up. With the most recent big influence being the raiding clans. Some sea based, most mountain based. But in the last couple hundred years have become relatively melted into Arconaple culture. Kathryn wondered if Avonshire had a history like that too! She would need to follow up on some of this at some point. maybe the L'rose's had books? She should ask at some point...
Kathryn wanted to ask some questions about the lands now, and watching little Lizbeth go on about her home was an adorable sight! Until her grandfather came up. Kathryn found herself lost for words, being far from good at comforting people when they mourned. She could barely care for herself while she was mourning, and spent most of her time drinking when Ser Lucas passed on. Which annoyingly took an expensive amount of booze. And she doubted that Cecily would approve of Kathryn sharing her mourning habits with little Lizbeth. "I think Lunch is a very good idea. Can I help set up at all? Stopping to rest may be the best thing to do. A chance to set down our packs, and for us riding to walk around a bit." Kathryn approached the small human girl. Trying to help her find something else to focus on instead of her recent loses. "Hey, since you're our local expert of the lay of the land, wanna help me find a good spot to sit and enjoy our lunch?" Kathryn asked Lizbeth hoping she would agree. "I could help ya secure your wagon if you'd like?" She offered, having no clue how to do such a thing.
Kosara looked very gleeful indeed, double so when the rings were revealed to be a matching set!” Best friendship rings ever!” She exclaimed happily before quickly putting it on her left index finger. It matched very well with the rest of her decorations for dancing she decided. Well it was clearly of different make and style, but it was shiny and that’s what mattered in the end as far as she was concerned. Glittering gold, trinkets and baubles, paid for in blood and sweat! She blinked suddenly at that last loose thought that randomly ran through her mind before dismissing it for the time being as unimportant thing as at the end of it all it didn’t matter. Adventures were usually paid for in sweat, tears and blood as their recent experience confirmed. It wasn’t something that just hearing it could prepare you for though.” Thank you~! I will treasure it always!” She confirmed again.
“Ohh you should see them, yes! They have so many and not just rings, they got all kinds of friendship trinkets! Headdresses, earrings, anklets and all other sorts of jewelry. A lot of it gifts!” She explained very enthusiastically.” I don’t have though… I mean I got some, but it’s mostly from grandpa and my sisters. It’s my various accessories I wear when dancing. I guess I wasn’t making too many friends with the travelers, though they did buy and gift me all sorts of foodstuffs since I was a child. Maybe after we finish with traveling the north, we can head south?” She reminisced about the past, it seemed so… peaceful and she felt oddly wanting to go back to it as something nagged in her mind just beyond awareness, as something was just at the edge of her view and her head snapped to the side, but nothing was there. The lack of sleep might have been getting to her… probably.
Suddenly she poked her head out and extended her arm besides V who was driving the wagon.” Hey, V, look! Kathryn got me a Friendship ring!” Kosara hurried to show her new ring right away because of course she did. It was shiny! She took a look at the bird that V had now too." Lil birdie got a name? Something Morty worthy?"
“Lunch sounds like a good idea!” She commented when the topic was brought up. Kosara was very much an appreciator of food.” Hey I bought myself some cooking implements back in Avonshire so I can help cook! I know how to make flatbreads! They are very tasty and can be prepared on the go on a cooking plate rather than an oven!” She exclaimed offering her own skills to the glorious task of cooking food. Because it was important, otherwise how was she to convince Kathryn what true sandwich was down the road.” Though… I kind of forgot to buy much in the way of ingredients aside some spices to go with the food rations… drat.”
The kid had come to grow on Victoria. She hadn't a lot of experience nor use for and/or with children, but something about Lizbeth L'Rose drew the generally detached Bard. Even before the little girl took her arrow-damaged coat and instantly handed it back to her fully repaired, without the use of a single stitch, Victoria felt drawn to her. Maybe, like Victoria herself, Lizbeth had a touch of an innate quality; a force of personality and social intuition, and she could see this within her. She might make a fine Bard one day, if it were her want, but Victoria wasn't the type to stick around in one place long enough to pass on the teachings of her College to a child. Besides, she would have to feel the calling of the Grey Requiem for herself before it would be warranted, and her future was way too open to narrow it down to a single possibility. It might be a long winter, though, and if she showed tendencies toward it Victoria could at least point her in a proper direction for Bardic or Arcane studies.
To wit, when Lizbeth began to choke up a little over her grief at the passing of her grandfather, Victoria wished to console her. She surprised herself this way. It was a professional courtesy birthed from her time as a Funerary Violinist, though always with a point of separation between herself and her clients. There were rules that she liked to follow for this, even if she liked to bend rules in other aspects of her life. That, and she wasn't a client. But the fact that she was driving the rear wagon and Kathryn was already on the job (she was surprisingly good with kids for a huge lady in metal armor, Victoria found) prevented her from following through.
Lost in her thoughts, it took a little bit before she realized that Baronfjord was speaking to her. "Apologies. Yes, I am doing quite well, thank you," she said in her melodic, sylvan voice. "And no, I am not particularly feeling the weariness of the road. Travel like this - seeing new places and getting out in the open, in the seat of a wagon but not bound to it - this rarely tires me so early in a journey. If I had not the responsibility of the reins, I might even pen a song." She smiled warmly, despite the obvious chill in the air around them. It did prompt her to pull her purple-lined charcoal cloak about her a little closer. "A little repast does sound pleasant, now that you mention."
The inevitable display of Kosara's ring also brought her flush with positivity. An initial impulse was to make some mention in jest about her and Kathryn's status as "very good friends", but she thought better of it. Forging connections, even for someone like herself, was difficult enough. So Victoria chose to be a more or less decent person about it. And the pale Tiefling looked so proud of her gift. "Lovely, Kosara. A nice example of local artisanship to remind you of your friend and your latest adventure. Keep it safe; I am sure sentiment will value it more than king's platinum."
At Kosara's mention of Victoria's new avian companion, she looked up to where it was perched at the edge of the wagon's covered roof near her. The black corvid fluttered its wings and descended to the seat next to its master with a throaty "Caw!" Victoria marveled over the connection she had with her raven, significantly more two-sided than with Morty. The latter was more of a useful tool which could make basic distinctions that she could mentally command, while the former was more of a partnership between sentient spirits (where admittedly she had the final say). "No, I've not found a proper name yet. I might, just for now, refer to my new companion as Mort, affectionately of course, because it is shorter than Morty. I daresay I might take a similar naming scheme with my Phantasmal Steed and call it Mortimer, but my Familiar spirit? Temporary. To address a related thought, I more fully understand why traditional Wizards appreciate them as they do." It was a rarity, to Victoria's experience, to hear of a Bard with a Familiar. Off the top of her head, she couldn't think of one at all.
"Oh, I have a few things to eat in my pack, if you would care to peek inside," said Victoria in response to Kosara's laments of a lack of preparable foodstuffs. "Not the pack with the magical goods, nor the chest in my errand cart," she continued, leaning back in the driver's bench to take a look back in the storage area. "There we are, in my old travel backpack. I'm afraid there isn't much in the way of food you have to prepare, but you will find some good bread, butter, preserved fruit and a few fresh vegetables, and, um..." Victoria paused for a moment, seemingly in contemplation. She cleared her throat lightly, smiled, and wrapped up the list of edibles with, "...and a goodly amount of seasoned, smoked pork. There's enough for everyone and extra, besides. You might find the flavor interesting." She let that hang for a moment before suddenly perking up, "Wine! I still have plenty of it from," Victoria glanced in Cecily and Lizbeth's direction as she spoke, "the services. Donations from guests, per tradition. It's in my little cart, back there."
BlackBerry was happy to hear that driving the cart wasn’t taxing for Victoria, in fasct she looked to be quite content sitting on her wooden throne. He smiled to hear her lament not being able to pen a song to the countryside which he agreed was rather charming in that simple and plain sort of way; his eyes hopped over the trees starting to turn, the passing fields recently harvested, and the browning shrubbery clinging to the edges of the road they travelled.
Much to his excitement it seemed the idea of lunch was catching on amongst the group. Lady Kosara had already made her way over to the other wagon to involve Lizbeth is choosing a suitable place to stop. Meanwhile, BlackBerry practically groaned in anticipation at Kosaras suggestion of freshly made bread, flat or otherwise.
“Freshly baked bread for lunch? Oh yes, do let’s.” Nodding enthusiastically, almost chuckling already with glee. “It will be just the thing to keep us going through this wind.”
“And worry not Kosara, for I did purchase some marvellous meat and cheese from the market.” He explained, still walking backwards with hand resting upon the mules harness for guidance. It would be rude not to face someone he was talking to. “And some bread also if we do not have the ingredients to make the flat bread. I was assured that it should last several days before being cut. However, I would be rather more partial to sampling this flatbread you speak of.”
“May I enquire as to how interesting of a flavour, you are suggesting?” He stared up at Victoria after she listed off her ingredients, and unfortunately possibly answering several questions he wished she hadn’t. “When a meat is advertised as interesting it rarely bodes well for ones stomach.”
“But otherwise it appears there is no need to worry about food, nor any lack of ingredients or rations at this present.” A simple shrug. He ignored the flag in his mind that he hadn’t bought any rations. “After all our destination is hardly far away from us. And once Young Miss Lizbeth and Lady Kathryn have found us somewhere suitable then we may set about making ourselves a wondrous feast, Kosara. Meanwhile our talented bard may perhaps inspiration whilst we work.”
“And then afterwards once we have allowed our food to settle, If you find it agreeable Victoria I could even give handling the wagon a try? Then you may put all the marvellous scenery around us to song if you wish.” He then spun around again misstep so he was back to walking forward beside the mule and called over to the other wagon with their travelling companions. “If all is agreeable to you as well Miss Cecily? I wouldn’t suggest we dally long if you and young Lizbeth are eager to make it home soon.”
“One more question actually Victoria, If I may be so bold, why do we not make use of your Phantasmal Steed? Forgive me I am not too familiar with such magics but it sounds to me it may be easier to handle a flesh and blood animal, and maybe even eat far less too.” Hurriedly BlackBerry addressed the Mule in question with his hand solemnly upon his heart. “Not that I saying you are eat more than your fair share sir, in fact you no doubt earn it given all the hard work you do.”
