Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Okay, everyone roll for Initiative. Ahem, sorry. The evening progresses as one might expect it to. I mean, it's perfectly normal to have people wait hand and foot on road-traveling adventuring types in a charming, rolling estate full of generational wealth and suspiciously successful grape harvests for large scale wine production, right? And because it's so normal, it's really a good time to get nice and sloppy on extremely fine wine they're just giving you, bottle after bottle, cask after cask. There's no reason to get paranoid at all, now is there?

Well good on ya! I'm proud of your levels of trust. Now to business:

The issues with room selection and topping off the meal are still on the table, if you want to get into specifics. To be clear, you have the full run of the Coach House, so if you really want to stay in the servants' quarters near the stable you can do that. Or set up a bedroll near the taproom's fireplace. Or crash in the kitchen. But the beds will be a lot more comfortable. It will be another tick in the Current Clack timer that I use behind the DM Screen before something awful happens something does indeed clack, so please continue on with the festivities. Unless I'm lying. I do that sometimes.

Per usual, contact me in our Discord for die rolls, questions, or sudden breaking revelations about your surrounding that you previously missed and have to voice so that you cannot be accused of metagaming later. Best of luck!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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Weather: Clouds blanket most of the sky now. The temperature begins a steady drop from the mildly uncomfortable to the genuinely cold. Anyone outside might even catch the odd droplet of precipitation, hinting at possible rain before the night is through.

Time: Early evening. The sun has dipped low, but this is difficult to tell from within the stone walls of the ground floor of the Coach House.

Ambience: The initial impersonal chill of the Coach House slowly abated as the fireplace did its work admirably. Lamplight did the rest of the work for illumination in the form of what one may assume to be grapeseed oil, from the light scent of it burning upon thick wicks. The clink of dishes highlights the meal laid upon the table nearest the taproom's fireplace, which carries its own inviting aromas around the room.

*****

Lizbeth took the odd string of words unceremoniously spilling from Kathryn with a grain of salt. Her tone was slightly amused as she looked to her wintertime mentor with an inflected, "Ew." She maintained a smile, however, and swiftly replaced the now empty bottle on the table with a fresh one from behind the bar. "It's okay, Dame Kathryn. I have my eye on the Tinker's boy, anyway. Or, I did, but Grandpa forbade it..." She seemed lost in thought for a moment, "I guess that doesn't matter anymore, does it?" The girl sniffled a little bit but quickly forced herself to recover.

The main door opened suddenly, admitting two of the vineyard's Human laborers in heavy coats. They were wheeling in the barrel of ale, moving wordlessly (though with a grunt or two) past the threshold and into the room proper. Further acts of leverage and strength of arm got the barrel onto the smooth, polished wood of the bar, whereupon they expertly hammered in a spigot and set it upright. _{"...enjoy your suds..."} said one in quiet, sarcastic tones. The second man took off his hat and slapped his companion's shoulder with it, motioning for him to return outside. As if the previous exchange did not occur, he addressed the party assembled. "We got any personal items from your wagon in the common room on the top floor, on account of us not knowing which rooms you wanted. Your um, armory? Is here at the bar, and those Ankheg parts are strung up off the floor with ropes in the outbuilding. Lemme tell you, when old Urmdrus heard you brought in intact Ankheg chitin, he got real serious. I guess that's how their kind shows excited. Expect a visit from that one, for sure." He shifted from one foot to another, "Unless there's anything else you'll need from me, Miss?" This last part was directed at Lizbeth.

"Yes please," she answered politely but firmly. "Do make sure that the drinking and washing water is fresh from the well. Take care to refill, do not top off. And please? Tell your friend to be nicer to these people if he wishes to come back for work next season. They are our guests. Aunt Cecily and I owe them our lives, besides." She fished out a silver coin and pressed it into the man's hand with a whisper of, "Thank you for helping us tonight. I know it's getting cold out there."

Lizbeth made the leap from bubbly teenage girl to Lady of the Manor very quickly, and returned equally as fast. She wandered over to the recovered weapons on the bar, taking stock of them. The daggers, she mostly passed over. She paused at the shortswords, one of which she was still wearing at her hip, and flexed a shortbow to test it. Then her eyes fell upon the spear and the whip. her fingers played across the haft of the first, but quickly moved on to the Constable's whip. She uncoiled it carefully and looked it up and down before carefully replacing it on the bartop. "I want to learn them all." she said aloud. No concern over who they had belonged to nor what they had been used for. By her tone, they were just the tools she needed to learn what she wanted. "And your sword, Miss Victoria! And the big hammer! I'm not so strong, but if I train really hard with you all... Well, we have a winter, if you'll help me." How to fight, how to think on her feet, strategize, put a weapon into something standing before her - these thoughts burned in her eyes just as much as the flicker of firelight. Some unknown quality was motivating her.

She broke out of it quickly, remembering her duties. "Oh, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. Lizbeth moved to fill water glasses and make sure soup was portioned. She garnished with a touch of fresh tarragon leaves and coarse salt, and poured glasses of wine all around. She giggled at Baronfjord's assessment of the wine on the table and nodded in agreement. It was indeed wine. It was white. And it was sweet. She also took Baronfjord's advice and set a place for herself at the table, complete with full settings and enough food to satisfy her fill. She only took a partial glass of wine, however, opting to mostly sip from a water glass."Aunt Ceecee doesn't want me having but a little, until I'm older," she confessed.

"Miss V is mostly right about the wine." Lizbeth announced, holding up a forkful of roasted pheasant. "It's the same sweet grape as our Honigblume, and it was early season, so it's a lot drier. No blend, though. We were experimenting with aging it in polished stone rather than oak barrels, so it's pretty neutral, and we added chestnut staves halfway through to mellow the flavors. It didn't catch on enough to warrant the expense. We still do some like that for just us." She shrugged, and dug into the food in front of her. With her mouth partly full, she added, "That other taste in the wine? Grandpa said it comes from the land. Like the ground flavors the grapes. He said it doesn't happen anywhere else like that. It's why our wine is special."

The laborer returned again, intoning that the water had been handled and that the containers had been wiped down with a stock wine prior to refilling, just in case. "Thank you!" Lizbeth said cheerily. The man departed, leaving the Coach House truly without presence aside from the party and their young host/guest. It seemed a little quieter within the taproom in the growing evening.

Completely off topic and a little late to the discussion, Lizbeth curiously inquired, "Yeah. What is a camel?"

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: Rose River Vineyard (Coach House) Action: N/A Bonus Action: Morty, Familiar Stuff Reaction: N/A

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The estate was impressive. No doubt about it. The lands around had the unmistakable feel of generational labor, capped off with generational profit. It was a grand enterprise from just a glance, seemingly separate from the rest of the region by orders of magnitude. If the soldiery of Fort Darenby had these kinds of resources, they would be a much more formidable force at arms than they were.

With this thought, Victoria's mind was left to wander back to the first morning she spent in the town surrounding the fort. Having visited the local cemetery and taken shelter in an open mausoleum overnight, her actions were noted, prompting a response from the constabulary. She then spent the next number of hours as a guest of Fort Darenby, eventually to be questioned by Sheriff Arbalest himself. On the upside, she was able to meet the man first and get in some impromptu negotiations before the actual meeting time. On the downside, Victoria was certain that the Sheriff's opinion of her had taken a sound hit.

But this was not a mausoleum, and this was not a holding cell in a country fort. This was a rustic but immensely comfortable set of circumstances for lodging, given to them over the worst parts of the year. Victoria had intended to make it to the coast before winter arrived proper; purchase passage on a ship headed north to more familiar ground. Maybe stop in on her home for a little while. Aside from her family's nigh luxuriously appointed home, there was a very comfortable suite in a highly respected Inn in Ashhaven where she used to reside, which may have been able to allocate for her a semi-permanent place to take some relaxing downtime with hot baths on the regular, excellent wine, and room service, so long as she helped fill the establishment regularly. Being here delayed her own plans, but to look at what she had available, Victoria didn't mind a bit. In fact, in an odd, rural way, it reminded her of home.

Victoria was happy to deal with room assignments after supper and their belongings were offloaded. She was specifically concerned with the spoils of their victory against the Ankhegs, and was delighted to note that they had a storage area, apart from the relative warmth of the main building. That last detail was going to be crucial in keeping their recently slaughtered giant bug meat as fresh as possible.

Be it a touch of defensiveness, Victoria waited until most everyones goods were offloaded before giving animation back to her loveable porcine companion, Morty. She wasn't certain how the concept of obvious necromancy would be taken by the laboring staff, and it was much easier to explain after the fact than to channel necrotic energies openly.

The question of the loot from the Goblin fight and other such skirmishes came to Victoria's mind, which was mostly weaponry at this point. It seemed like an opportunity was present, should Lizbeth take Kathryn's tutorials in the combative arts seriously. Mostly light weapons, couple of bows, arrows, and the like, but also a spear from another confrontation and one final item: a whip with minuscule silvery, metal barbs - the whip held by Constable Cavendish prior to his ugly demise. No one had claimed it. Maybe the budding warrior Lizbeth L'Rose could do something useful with the otherwise cruel device.

Within not too long a span of time, Victoria found herself in front of a table, laden down with what appeared to be a more than adequate if somewhat basic supper, and a few bottles of wine besides. The enigmatic Bard bid her Morty to a corner of the room, to stand motionless lest it draw undue attention. Briefly, Victoria considered draping a tablecloth or something similar over the salted and smoked beast, but eventually dismissed the idea.

Her great, black corvid, originally perched atop her forearm as she entered the main building, now fluttered it's wings in what amounted to a great, feathery hop over to a nearby table, away from the rest of the group. It's sharp eyes peered around until a higher perch was spotted along the mantle, whereupon it changed locations again. It cocked its head sideways, looking to its Mistress In Purple, who rewarded the ebon bird with a gentle laugh. "Yes. Right there is fine," she assured her Familiar.

The gift from Kosara fell definitively into the "thought that counts" category, yet the addition of local art (which is what Victoria assured herself it was) combined with the sense of joy she got from her Tiefling companion did bring a true and warm smile to her face. "Thank you very much, you dear, sweet girl. I regret that I had not the forethought to reciprocate." Victoria began fastening it loosely to her left wrist, declaring, "I shall wear it immediately."

There was a mote of disapproval from the Bard as Kathryn procured a bottle of wine for herself and took to it in a manner that was frowned upon by certain elements of polite society. She ignored the proverbial foot that the much more imposing lady was feasting upon, what with her less than perfect selection of words, instead to focus on the issue of the drink at hand.

"If you wish to down something quickly, Daughter of Arcanaple, there is a barrel of local ale procured for the occasion. Otherwise, if I may?" Victoria filled a glass with the wine paired to the meal, but only about a third of the way. She gave it a swirl, checked to see the cling against the glass, and inhaled the delicate vapors thereof. A small taste - no more than a few drops - followed by a short, abrupt intake of breath partially aerated the taste of wine, allowing Victoria to catch a more complete flavor profile. "Early season white. I cannot pick out the specific varietal, but this is the same grape as the icewine, or a blend, I'd bet. Oak aged or neutral barrels, one... and an interesting quality I can't quite put my finger on."

She paused for a second or two, her face showing a scrutinizing quality. "There is something else in here, too. It was in the Zinnoberrot, and the table wine at Neil & Bob's, which I believe was from here as well. This is early season, but there is an undertone of maturity. Like, noble rot or, or... fruit dessication from a young, healthy grape. It sharpens everything and the flavor is exquisite, don't get me wrong. One of a kind. But it seems so familiar..."

Victoria's thoughts, concerns, even train of thought took an odd turn as Kosara went into her discussion about the proclivities of people's bedroom antics and, oddly enough, camels. The Bard's scholarly visage dropped into something a bit more incredulous as she turned back to lock eyes with Kathryn. She wide-mouth downed the contents of her glass with a subsequent hard swallow and shake of her head. Looking at her tanky associate, Victoria gestured her free hand to punctuate the single word, "Nevermind."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Congratulations! You're there. The main setting for Act Two has been reached, and for better or for worse, you all have landed slap in the middle of the THERENESS of it all. So, as the Update says, settle in! Get comfy. Relax. Let your guard down. Get yourselves out of that itchy, heavy armor. You're probably safe here, right? Right?

Well, whichever way you play it, there are rooms to divvy up and decisions to make, a meal to be had, and Stuff. Lest we forget the Stuff. And the Things. It's important. But for now, per usual, any questions, concerns, or die roll request, please contact me in our Discord. And rememeber - courage.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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Weather: The winds are picking up, bringing with it the unmistakable tinge of colder air. Fall is falling; winter makes its approach

Time: Late afternoon. You still have the light, but not for very much longer.

Ambience: Wind blows over tall grasses and moves the occasional tree on what are the moors of the southern Avonshire region. The sun hangs lower in the sky to the west, providing a breathtaking view of the rolling hills, low vegetation, and hardy flowers which still showed their pinpricks of color dotting the landscape. Southmoor is behind you, and not too far away now sits the end result of your day-long journey.

*****

The southern road continued on for quite a way past Southmoor, but that was no longer the route taken by Cecily. Past the town lay a broad stone bridge which crossed the river, and past that a gentle split from the main road. While the southern road continued through the moors and to the mountains far beyond, Cecily expertly guided her wagon along this parting from the main with the surety of one who had made the trip on a regular basis. To emphasize the confirmation of a L'Rose homecoming, a smaller, not-quite-roadsign displayed for all to note that one was arriving at The Rose River Vineyards.

It seemed like nothing at first - simply another stretch of road painted with the colors of late afternoon - but the moment that the wagons crested the next rise, a veritable sea of still-green rows of vines, all cultivated to meander along regular segments of vertical framework, separated into differing areas and the road itself by low, rail fencing. It stretched as far as the hills allowed one to see, interrupted by the truly breathtaking bend of the river and, in the distance, a series of buildings culminating with what could only be described as a country mansion.

In hindsight, words were dropped and certain associations made concerning the Rose River Vineyard and its elder patriarch, the enigmatic and quite deceased Monsieur L'Rose. The wine was notable across this region and others, the family had smaller, related ventures around Avonshire and had some holdings (like the Hayloft). Even the more recent confession that the vineyard employed half of the people of Southmoor and a lot of the surrounding villages gave a proper hint. But the actual wealth of the L'Rose family, at least in sheer land and holdings, was vastly underestimated by context. In short, the elder L'Rose was (prior to his death) positively loaded.

The wagons' approach, once it got much nearer to the Big House proper, was noted and kicked off a flurry of movement from what remained of the service staff during what was essentially the main "off season". There was still a bit of time before crossing into the homestead portion of the estate, and so Cecily filled in the time with a little bit of a speech. "Most of our people have been dismissed until springtime proper, but we still have a base staff available for upkeep over the cold months. Not to say that we aren't still producing," she added, motioning in a grand, sweeping gesture at the cultivation nearer to the estate house, which still hung heavily with fat, white-green grapes, some of which looked like they were in early stages of withering. "We still have our late harvest and icewine grapes left to pick and process. And the little holidays we observe here." She smiled wistfully, describing, "With the new Icewine production comes the tasting from that day, five years prior. It's kind of a tradition. Oh! And of course, you'll be there through Frostival, too!"

Lizbeth added, "Yeah! Everyone thinks that the Zinnoberrot is the best wine we have, but the Honigblume - the Late Harvest Honigblume Icewine - is the sweetest white there is. Other wine people who visit have no idea how the grapes stay good while the vines wither in the snow, but we're the only vineyard that can do it." She seemed especially proud of this. It practically beamed across her face.

Cecily supported her niece's statement by continuing, not without her own touch of pride, "They are my favorites, too. But I think I like the Icewine a little bit more. From a grower's standpoint, even with seasonal product loss and almost nonexistent insect damage, we still get over a ninety-five percent crop yield. No other growers in the region have our numbers. Sometimes it feels like magic, but it's just good agriculture."

A little further up the drive, Cecily directed the cart away from the main complex. There were a couple of waves from the scattering of people noting their arrival, and two laborers started at a run to meet up with the wagons a little closer to their destination. Said destination, in this case, was what appeared to be a moderately sized, two story building with a walled-off courtyard and attached stable. "This is our Coach House," she explained. "In times past, it used to be an Inn, before the L'Roses expanded their holdings to include this area. Now it is a perfectly serviceable place for long term guests, even if it hasn't had much use in recent years. I've had the building cleaned and stocked for your stay with us. You should find ample firewood and provisions, fresh food, and a full stock of wines at your disposal. Everything will be refreshed weekly by our staff. Feed and stabling for your mule will be provided and the animal will be exercised with our work stock regularly. The well water is clean and safe. And, I shall have a clawfoot bathtub moved into the building for you before the week is out."

The two laborers caught up to the wagon and offered to handle the loading and unloading of supplies, personal or otherwise. After a brief conversation, Cecily turned back to the group, informing, "I am told that we are running behind at the main house and cannot accommodate you with a big 'Welcome Dinner' this evening. There is a lovely repast inside, comprised of roasted pheasant, pumpkin soup, and brown bread. And paired wines, naturally. Please take the evening to unwind and I shall make sure you get the grand tour in the morning. And that proper welcoming feast I intended. Maybe a nice brunch, at the Big House? Well, I shall leave you to it."

From the vantage point at the Coach House was spectacular. It sat at equal elevation to the Estate House, yet was separated by a dip between smallish hills. It afforded an excellent view of the grounds, stretching out a far distance, and of the nearby river. Outbuildings looked tiny in the distance, and one could easily imagine this place in full swing during a busy season. This was a location that not only grew grapes of many varietals, but also made their wine and other products on site. The green of the vines carried a little farther into the autumn than was expected, and of course the late harvest grapes were still on the vines nearest to the Estate House. The wind picked up a bit more, prompting the laborers into action with whatever the party allowed them to unload.

"Aunt Ceecee?" inquired Lizbeth, looking very eager in the fading light of the day, "Would you mind very much if I stayed with The Ones Who Answered this evening? To ...help them settle in?" She was a little unconvincing.

"That is up to them, and it is an imposition to ask me with them standing right there. It is their house until Spring arrives." Cecily countered. "Well, if you are to stay here this evening, then you will be of service to our guests. Yes?" Lizbeth nodded her head. Cecily looked to the Adventurers and suddenly remembered, "Yes, and I will send Urmdrus to meet with you concerning your successful hunt after supper."

In a tidy amount of time, the sun began to slip further down in the sky. The aroma of roasted meat and hot soup called heartily to the group, and there was time to do a little exploration of their new, albeit temporary, home. The Coach House had three stories in total: A top floor with (semi) private quarters accessible by a set of exterior stairs, the ground floor with servants' quarters, a taproom, spacious and stocked kitchen, storage, stables, and a classic stone well. A set of stout stairs led down from behind the bar to a smallish but clean cellar, for all of their cellar-ing needs.

Lizbeth, apparently choosing to stay until she specifically heard a NO, busied herself plating meals for everyone in the old taproom and began stoking a proper blaze in a nearby fireplace. "Get it while it's still toasty!"

She never once removed the shortsword from her belt. Not once the entire time.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: Southmoor Action: Ritual Casting Phantasmal Steed Bonus Action: Familiar Stuff Reaction: N/A

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The grand entrance left the impression that Victoria was going for, that being the social equivament of shock and awe. It was her forte, and often the overt nature of being flashy and potentially approachable served a more pragmatic purpose. The query posed to Cecily concerning soap was spoken loud enough to be clearly heard by those who were gathered around to see her performance, and she got her answer from multiple sources. More than that, Victoria was directed personally to a specific spot within a marketplace area to acquire said goods.

In the interest of maintaining these positive reactions, Victoria declined to animate her favorite Morty from its place within the wagon. (He didn't always make the best impression.)

Soap was on Victoria's shopping list, and whatever other sundries of personal attention might reveal themselves to her in the marketplace. The end of Harvestide left a few places wanting for product and others in over-produced or over-ordered abundance. She was able to readily locate a package of smallish, paper-wrapped soaps made with local, seasonal wildflowers. Scents of Avonshire's changing year wafted from the package as Victoria gave a satisfied smile, handing over her coins without a hint of reservation or the intent to haggle. "These are absolutely delightful, shopkeep!" she beamed as she accepted the basket of floral, aromatic goods.

Quite unexpectedly, something caught Victoria's eye. It was more than she wished to spend in this place, but it was an expense which she might easily afford. Another luxury item, of course, but in and of itself a necessary reminder of civilization: A tea set. Nothing particularly grand, not a thing which might grace the tables of landed gentry, but a respectable, functional, charming-in-its-folksy-craftsmanship set of cups, kettle, and a few small, associated pieces. Victoria acquired these at what she considered a deal, and threw in a little more silver for a respectable supply of packaged tea and a couple jars of honey. And by "respectable", the oft extroverted Bard acquired enough to sparingly last her the winter, in what limited variety a town like this might provide.

In what amounted to a the mental equivalent of a shrug, Victoria noted a group of stout young men loading a few barrels of an ale she recognized from her time spent at Neil & Bob's Public House back in the Township. A brief smile, a few choice words, and a few well placed coins later - one of the barrels began to make its way, via local couriers (though that might be a generous word to describe them), to the wagon. Victoria placed a silver coin into each of their hands, bidding, "Spare me a thought, gentlemen, as you raise the first glass this silver brings you tonight." The thought did occur that, unlike Victoria herself who was quite the vinophile, others in her party would have to ease themselves into only having wine available.

The time for her Phantasmal Steed's presence in the world was nearing completion. She could feel the ebb of magic as the spell wound itself down, and did not wish for its absence quite yet. Impressions had been established, and Victoria felt that it would really be a letdown to this impression were she to exit at the front of a the refurbished army wagon gifted to them by the Sheriff. To this, she spent the next handful of minutes with her recently acquired ritual book and reinforced her steed with more wizardly energies, essentially recasting the spell and changing none of the parameters. The great, hauntingly eye-catching riding animal was hers for another stretch of time, which would put them exiting the town in the same manner as they entered. Victoria wondered how she might vary the appearance of the creature in subsequent castings and vowed to experiment with this over the coming winter. Perhaps a semitransparent horse with wispy, ghostlike edges and a pronounced, opaque skeleton. Or something more like obsidian, with cracks of necrotic energy pulsing about its muscled form. It was worth study and experimentation.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: Road to Southmoor -> Southmoor Action: Ritual Casting Phantasmal Steed, Skill Check - Performance Bonus Action: Familiar Stuff Reaction: N/A

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There was a burst of spontaneous optimism from Victoria as they set out to continue their journey southward. As rallying as the fight was, and as potentially profitable as their spoils might be (provided she could find a crafter or a buyer in this very out-of-the-way region), it was a good feeling to be back on the road and in pursuit of a destination. Particularly a destination known for really good wine. Her thoughts went back to the Fortified Zinnoberrot that she had in the Township, and the fact that they were going to the place that made it. She was instantly curious as to whatever else they had stored in temperature-stable cellars back there. Not that she was a lush. Far from it; she might even be referred to as a bit of a cheap date. The truth was that her admiration for certain qualities of wines took priority over her desire for their intoxicating effects. Not that the latter was to be entirely frowned upon, of course.

Victoria had noticed the interesting way in which Lizbeth took to Kathryn's hammer. The valuable and magical spoils of battle against the Constable was being given no favors as the young lady made the air around her dangerous, as if it was the first time she had taken up a warhammer in her life. The last musing, Victoria figured, was likely accurate. It's not like the granddaughter of a vineyard owner had a lot of need to learn the use of martial weapons. And this one seemed to have her overbalanced. Victoria excused herself from the front of their wagon and checked its contents. After a moment or two, she emerged with a sheathed shortsword which had been collected from the Goblins they obliterated a week or two prior. The weapon was not made in a Goblin forge - as a matter of fact it looked like it was made in the same region that her own sword was, which raised questions for her unrelated to their current situation. It was Human craftsmanship, and fairly recently made.

After hopping down from the wagon, Victoria jogged up to speak with Lizbeth. She handed over the sword, suggesting, "Until your arm grows stronger, perhaps this is a little more your speed, Mademoiselle Lizbeth." She would have preferred to use the more familiar honorific of Miss, but she was the foreigner in these lands. Maybe when they knew each other better it would be more socially acceptable. "Your movements are more agile than they are powerful. Perhaps you might ask Lady Kathryn to start you with this, instead. There was also this lovely whip we acquired, if it piques your interest." Maybe it wasn't her place to offer, but no one had claimed it and, at least for now, it served a training purpose rather than a practical one.

News that they were close to a point of civilization was not surprising to Victoria, as she had glimpsed it from afar through the eyes of her new Familiar and had read the roadside sign like everyone else, though putting an expected time to it was beneficial. She was not accustomed to giving such estimations from a bird's eye view and it was immeasurably helpful. It also gave her time to prepare. A lady must make an entrance, after all; most especially if that lady was her. Victoria returned to the wagon and looked into her ritual book, refreshing her memory of the spell she had cast just that morning. The next few minutes were spent weaving together arcane energies in slow, steady amounts until it reached the appropriate composition to suit her desires. At the end of this time, her magical pursuits bore its inevitable fruit.

Materializing from wisps of mist and the stuff of shadows came an equine form. It was basic at first, cloudy, details shrouded in the fog of its own creation, but as the moment passed it came into clear, solidified view. The phantasmal steed from their initial outset reemerged from the ether; a majestic horse of truly otherworldly, haunting quality. The statuesque animal appeared as if carved from polished marble of the purest white, bearing eyes which reflected the post-midday sun in hues of ghostly, glossy purple. It had stockings, mane, and tail of oil-black, the latter two of which rippled and flowed as if underwater. It gave a great snort and shook its head in an almost ponderous fashion, then immediately accepted Victoria as its rider.

Atop her noble, if a bit unsettling steed, Victoria sent her raven ahead to seemingly announce their arrival. She did always like to make an entrance, for matters of drawing a crowd professionally as well as her own vanity. This town, Southmoor, wasn't as large as the Township to the north, but was just big enough to have some charming stores selling local goods, and to be frank, there were a couple of things that she had neglected to acquire for herself. Small luxury goods that she suddenly wished to acquire from local creators rather than from merchants along a trade route. Soaps came to mind. Cleaning up with the quick and simple use of Prestidigitation was useful, easy, and did a more than adequate job, but there was something about luxuriating in hot water with nuanced, naturally scented soap that was quite irreplaceable by the application of magic.

So as the short caravan of Adventurers and Vintners approached the town, apparently nestled within a rare copse of trees along the river, Victoria's raven familiar fluttered upon a signpost just within the settlement and gave its raspy call to those who would listen. Cresting the land to arrive in Southmoor then came the sight of two wagons and one purple-and-charcoal clad figure astride a great, phantasmal horse which moved forward seemingly without guided direction. The very feminine figure adjusted her especially jaunty, incredibly bardy hat upon her flowing, red-auburn locks, then drew a bow across the finely tuned strings of her impressive violin, allowing the honeyed yet powerful, stirring notes to ring out into the air and find their way into the souls of those who would listen.

The raven took wing again, riding the winds to circle above once, twice, and a third time to finally light upon Victoria's shoulder as her song continued. She swayed slightly in her saddle, moved by the enchanting force of her own music with eyes shut, simply experiencing the moment until they came upon the edge of the town, proper. She looked back to Cecily, on her perch in the driver's seat of her wagon, and declared, "Southmoor. This is just as lovely as you described, Madame L'Rose. Please, if you would be as considerate, where might a lady purchase soaps and other fine sundries in this absolutely charming hamlet?" Her smile radiated magnetic warmth just as much as simultaneous awe and approachability. Victoria scanned what she might see from her vantage point on her saddle and half-mused, half-projected, "Stunningly picturesque, really."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Update has been updated, which is probably plain to see in our IC via those lovely notifications we all get, so... yeah. This post is pretty redundant. BUT! Here are a couple particulars about this specific update:

The party has a final chance to do stuff before arriving at the Rose River Vineyard, so if you have any last-minute gift ideas or suddenly feel like cornering the market on toilet paper, here's your opportunity. It will be a fairly rural area for shopping or socializing, so don't expect those Big City Marketplaces. They will also be coming down from their own, much smaller version of Harvestide, so keep this in mind.

Anyway, consider arrival in town to be the end of the coming posts for this cycle, and the time before this on the road at a standard wagon's pace. There is ample time in the interim to get conversations worked out or introduce new concepts with which to foist bedevilment upon my plate as a DM. One can hop down from a wagon and traverse up to the other at a moderate jog, or hop down from the front one and wait a moment to get back to the rear one easily enough. Walking alongside will be a steady, somewhat brisk march. Or a leisurely stroll if you're seven feet tall, like Kathryn.

Per usual, send me a message via Discord for questions, dice roll requests, and the like. Huzzah!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: The cold air and occasional breeze remains unchanged. Winter is setting in.

Time: Mid to late afternoon. Since the last update, not a lot of time has passed.

Ambience: The more musk and acid scents of the butchered Ankhegs are likely keeping more natural predators at bay, if indeed any are around. A lighter mood seems to have settled on the recent field of skirmish in addition to the quiet along the settled moor.

*****

Putting the remains of the Ankhegs into the respective wagons wasn't quite so difficult of a task when many hands were put to it. This truth took an incremental and steady decline with the number of people who refrained from volunteering, but for the moment, Barbal Mosswater wasn't pointing any hard, deliberate fingers. Suffice it to say, the stuff got stowed properly and a thick, oil treated canvas tarp made its way to the L'Rose wagon for temporary use. The disarticulated corpses didn't seem to take up quite as much room as fully intact ones might, in no small part due to the Mosswaters laying claim to a large part of the bodies which did not involve the choicest cuts of meat and carapace. The gut pile, or piles, plural, remained where they were upon the field, possibly as food for scavengers brave enough to venture close. It was not very likely that the laborers would glean fallen grain from this end of the field.

The Mosswaters got themselves ready to leave after all was butchered and packed up. As far as they were aware the problem had been settled, even if a minuscule suspicion remained. Barbal announced, "We need to catch up to the ones who left for the Township. Cold should keep the bits and pieces fresh for a good while yet. We will be checking in after a day or two, I reckon."

Tarace added, with a moment of initial hesitation, "I say, ah... There's no guarantee that those three were all of them, and if I may? Something kept those things from settling in for the winter. And made them ravenous enough to devour half a flock of sheep. They mostly, hmm... They mostly eat dirt, you see." He left it with that final thought, though the implications were clear: Ankhegs might have just been a symptom of a bigger issue. And even if this problem was handled relatively easily by stout and stalwart Adventurers, there was possibly more to come for the unwary or underprepared.

The Halflings got their wagon back underway, rolling steadily back up toward the main road. Barbal gave a single gruff "Thank you," as they departed, barely offering a look back to the party or their hosts. Tarace waved with something bordering on histrionics.

The answer to Baronfjord's initial question to Barbal actually came from Cecily, who had since walked nearer to the fence to get closer to her niece. "Oh, I've heard talk of "queens" and "soldiers", like they were ants or something like that. But I believe Barbal was just being, um, well ...himself. And we do love him for it, even if he's a little more colorful with his talk than the next person." She shrugged, then turned to address Victoria's earlier question. "U cannot rightly say with certainty, but the Rose River Vineyard employs a Dwarf fellow - has for the past three or so years now - name of Urmdrus. He works our forge, does some carpentry, stonework, and the like. Wiry sort, for a Dwarf. He's proven to be excellent craftsfolk with almost any medium I've asked of him and works fast. But I must admit, the facial tattoos did throw me off when Grandfather L'Rose first hired him."

The older draft mule's slightly unsettled nature calmed down almost entirely when the Dragonborn Monk took a brush and a few soothing words to him. The former army mule appeared to take the attack better than many of the two-legged sapients in attendance did, and recovered with minimal support. A half-whinny, half-snort escaped him, which quieted to contented nickering.

Before it became time to leave, Lizbeth was having the time of her life, or so it appeared that way. She listened to Kathryn's words on the subject of the hammer and potential hammering, as well as advice on not hammering herself in the process. She did grip up on the device with two hands, as instructed, and gave a wince as she heard Kosara describe her accidental tail-ectomy. It even struck her as being a little dangerous when she added something about a properly sized weapon. This hammer was, at an exaggeration, almost as big as she was. This did not stop her from going out the suggested distance and giving a few two-handed practice swings before giggling a little and switching to extremely inexpert, overbalancing arcs with the weapon. In short, she was extremely not good with it. She barely had the strength necessary to hold it properly for any length of time. But she was having a genuinely good time. After a bit, she relinquished it to Kathryn.

With things loaded and nary a fly to swat in sight, a few moments of taking it easy/experimenting with weaponry, and animals settled down, Cecily and Lizbeth hopped back into their wagon and pulled forward enough for the party's wagon to have a easier time swinging back around to follow them.

Back upon the main road, one could barely make out the retreating form of the Mosswaters' wagon cresting a rise to the north, en route back to the Avonshire Township. The L'Rose's wagon turned in the opposite direction, following the simple signpost which read "Southmoor", and an arrow pointing down the road, quite oddly, to the south.

Cecily called back to whomever cared to listen, "We're coming up on Southmoor in about an hour, hour and a half. It's the last town before reaching the Vineyard by this road. Half of the people there work for us seasonally, and they comprise about half of our workforce during the busy months. We take laborers from the villages around the moors in this area too, but here's where the lion's share live. When it's not harvest, anyway." A moment or two of silence, and she mentioned, "Southmoor is the last place to make any purchases before we get home, if you need anything today."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: Laurent Farmland Action: Casting Prestidigitation. Probably more than once. Bonus Action: Morty, Familiar Stuff Reaction: N/A

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Progress with the Ankheg was slower than Victoria might have liked. Her experience with these creatures was limited to a few scraps of information one might glean from written materials, as befit something akin to formal education rather than a fuller, hands-on history of breaking down giant, chitinous beasts with a short blade. In fairness, the written word was good enough when coupled with basic survival experience. Be it that she was a cosmopolitan lady from a well-to-do family, her specialties of study recommended at least remedial, applicable knowledge of some grimier activities. As such, the naturally urban Bard handled the task with minimal difficulty - even if she would rather it take significantly less time out in the cold air without her cloak.

Hearing Lizbeth's vocal interest in learning the adventuring arts gave her a little smile, followed by a quick second of concern. Learning these things meant a desire to use those skills, and regardless of the stories she had passed along, being a Bard, only truly successful or truly tragic adventurers had their stories sung to crowds of interested people. Many of them - one might say the majority of them - did not even fare as well as tragic. As a Funerary Violinist and Adventurer herself, she had performed memorials for those whose lives ended in exactly that manner. So yes, a sudden score of worry came over her. Lizbeth was not quite a woman yet, by Human standards. But if she had her heart set on it she would indeed require proper training. Add to this the fact that Victoria was not her Aunt Cecily, nor was she her mother, and as such had no say in this course of action unless Lizbeth came to her personally.

Her thoughts on the matter were jolted someplace far away when the more aggressive Mosswater took it upon himself to help teach Kosara the ropes on Ankheg butchering. It would be a lie to say that she didn't try to eavesdrop, owing to her still incomplete knowledge on the topic, as she continued her work. She had plans for this dead creature and hoped that maybe Barbal might lend some insight.

When Lizbeth handed over the bottle and praised her singing (which in this case was the verbal expression of her spellcraft) and doubt in her ability to do the same, Victoria smiled back at her and was about to give words of encouragement, when she noticed something odd about the girl's expression. They didn't speak further, and the moment ended shortly thereafter. When she left, Victoria took a long drink from the bottle given to her. It wasn't her favorite way to consume wine, but it was refreshing and she was more thirsty than she was initially aware. As she brought the bottle down, she rolled her shoulders and got back to work on the corpse, barely noting the intact state of her slim coat.

When the creature was field dressed as best as she was able, Victoria gratefully accepted the assistance of the Halfling farmfolk in getting her portion of the spoils set aside in the L'Rose's wagon. In turnabout, she offered her assistance getting the agreed upon remainder of the corpse into his. Just as soon as she was physically able to, Victoria cast exactly as many applications of Prestidigitation as was necessary to remove the various unwanted bits of grime and bug from her clothing, freshen herself up, and then replaced her cloak and extraordinarily bardy hat upon her person. "A little blush, maybe have my hair reset, and I expect I shall feel more like myself," she said with a sense of overall satisfaction. Of course, the last part was unnecessary; it might have been impossible for her to have a "bad hair day," or at least it hadn't been witnessed by anyone who had spoken the tale aloud, to the best of her knowledge.

It looked to Victoria that her personal business upon the field had come to a logical conclusion, and so most of the concern with the place vacated her psyche without so much as a wistful glance back. Now was a time to look forward. To this end, Victoria extended a quick mental command to Morty, summoning the smoky, burlap-wrapped meat abomination to her side. She rested her hand upon its head, seemingly for balance, and extended another tendril of influence to the treetops, above. A throaty "CAW" sounded in response, and soon black wings fluttered, circling above.

Victoria got a faraway look to her eyes and a pleased expression as she gave a quick accounting of what could be witnessed from her new, magically enhanced vantage. "The main road is mostly clear of traffic farther out, and a town (I'm almost certain) over the next rise. No sign of other Ankhegs in the fields around us. At least, none above ground." The last detail might have been an important distinction to make, as there really wasn't tangible evidence of Ankhegs in the field in which they all stood until the ground was disturbed by a localized tremor.

The focus came back to Victoria's eyes and she looked around, noting what the others were up to. She was good to go herself but had no problems waiting on the rest of the group, as their quick battle turned into something of a social gathering, as one does, and far be it for her to impose upon a group having a positive moment. However, she did feel that it wouldn't hurt if one element of pragmatism was looked into. "Madame L'Rose," she began, getting the lady's attention with a soft, clear voice, "The carapace - I am curious as to whether there is anyone nearby with experience working this material. Or that barred, if there is a safe, decent spot we may store this until our departure?" Victoria knew some people personally who would fit the bill, but they were many, many leagues from her present location. They would also probably charge her an arm and a leg for the opportunity, as well.