Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A Location: Avonshire Township (Hayloft) Action: Spellcasting (Prestidigitation) Bonus Action: Morty, Nox Reaction: N/A

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Overall, Victoria couldn't find fault with Baronfjord's plan. It was simple. It made sense. Logical, especially the part where they get something hot to eat indoors, to brace for the task of the evening. Maybe a glass of wine - but no more until the task was done. Now, if the Bard wished to nitpick, she would have mentioned the points in this plan that called for a leap of faith, and/or were dependent upon their surroundings. One such point was the caravan of vividly colored tents and wagons between them and the cemetery. That was a wild card. Lacking intelligence on the matter, and unable to acquire any until they looked over the situation personally, this was really as good a plan as any they had. "Very well," she conceded, looking her traveling companion up and down for a moment. With a smile, she leaned closer to Baronfjord in a confidential, almost conspiratorial manner, "Though I dare think you've beaten the cold to it, Master Chedgusah." She glanced, pointedly, at the lack of arm attached to his torso, winked, and began to cut a path toward the Public House.

A silent mental command brought Morty following behind her, slightly to her left heel. He was certainly a well-trained little fellow, so far as anyone might casually tell. She opened the door to the hayloft only as far as was needed to step out. Having cultivated a little warmth and a decent campsite up top, she was not keen on diluting that trace of comfort by laying the doors open wide, even for an instance. Victoria made a mental note to attempt to find more firewood on their way back. They might need it. Victoria quickly wrapped her black and gold pashmina about herself like a scarf and adjusted her extraordinarily Bardy hat upon her head, its impossibly pristine purple feathers darting about in the cold but quiet wind outside. Her violin, her rapier, her hat, and her not-quite-dead boar thrall - all a charming young Bard like herself needed to make it in the world, when it really came down to it. This was how she entered Avonshire, and she was doing okay so far. Victoria jangled her coinpurse (at least, her most visible one) and offered, "First one's on me?" Not that she was planning on anything else after that first one. They had a job to do.

The warm reception from the Public House was nice to experience as she strode through the door. Performer that she was, Victoria couldn't help but give a quick spin which ended in a gesture that was best described as a heavily exaggerated curtsy with her feathered, wide-brimmed hat held out in a grandiose sweeping motion. She took note of the more familiar persons in establishment; Robert standing behind the bar per usual, Daisy taking a break at the bar, Lea looking flustered and making a her escape, and the three locals Lawrence, Maurice, and Curly. Victoria grinned at the those three first, who had addressed them with questions. "Gentlemen, hello! I'm so regretfully sorry, sirs, but Kathryn isn't with us and we're only in town briefly. But you know we couldn't stay away from here! Such an utterly charming place, synonymous with Avonshire itself." Victoria was curious to note that these three remembered Morty fondly, as well. This might be a new development. Nevertheless, she stepped to the side to allow her loyal thrall better access to the small gathering, very strangely to the cheers of the men at the table. She supposed being a local hero helped smooth over issues that might have gotten her chased away with torches and pitchforks elsewhere. "You gentlemen look great, but if you will please excuse me, I am in dire need of something restorative. Thank you, so much." A pause, a hand on a shoulder, a warm expression, and Victoria continued to the bar.

"It feels like it's been ages, Robert. You and your people," she looked to Daisy at the bar with recognition and to the suddenly reappearing Lea who, as promised, had put on a clean apron. An affectionate expression, generally reserved for people with whom she was more familiar, coupled with a slight flush of pink in her features was swiftly followed by the completion of her thought aloud, "are looking amazingly well." She leaned in closer and pitched her voice a somewhat quieter, inquiring, "...and I have been concerned, Robert, about how your condition is doing." She held his gaze for a moment, then returned to the cheerful, cosmopolitan, only slightly histrionic persona from just a moment ago as if to provide social cover or plausible deniability for her question, "But first, I am freezing and I am famished. If you would, please, a large plate of whatever you have already prepared (so long as it's hot), and a glass of something decent. I defer to your judgement, sir; I am not picky this evening." Ever the showlady, Victoria took the moment to manifest her Raven Familiar behind her in the air and refused to look toward it until it fluttered it's way down to perch on the back of the stool next to her. "And a little something for my friend Nox, here. Morty is fine, though. He is not especially hungry tonight." She added the last bit with a look of sly, dark humor.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Being as I am typing this in front of a screen I have already fallen asleep in front of twice, I shall be extremely brief. We're officially back to the posting rules for when we're down a player, because, well, we are now. Slot is open for people to apply. So far as the RP itself is doing, it looks pretty straightforward. No special conditions need to be met, some of us are Slice Of Life-ing it, which is cool. Some of us are rediscovering old locations with new twists, which is also cool. Just remember that we're building to something.

Also, remember that the Frostival holiday is swiftly coming upon everyone. Unrelated note, both sections of the party are very close to figuring out important stuff. Steady as she goes, ladies and gentlemen. Ride might get bumpy after a bit. Get with me in Discord if you have any questions, concerns, die rolls, etc. The same shtick as per usual. Good luck.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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L'Rose Hayloft

Coach House

Neil & Bob's Public House

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Weather: Winds transition to steady, giving an near constant, soft pull across the landscape. Clouds do what they do, interposing between the sky and one who might observe it, making sure that what little light issuing from the moon and stars only stretches between the two with decreasing frequency. There is no snow, thankfully, except what already lay thick across the moors. It is cold, it is dark.

Time: If the nighttime is the right time, then we are indeed in the right. No twilight's last gleam upon the horizon; the liminal nature of the fleeting day has fully turned to the dark. The night is young, but despite its tender age, the night in this area has seen some shit.

Ambience: Quiet, save the winter wind pushing steadily among the highs and lows of a frozen moor. The road is quieter than most, now bereft of travelers that anyone might notice. The dark of the night makes the usually notable, if few, structures blend into the background unless active illumination peeks from covered windows. The Rose River Vineyard stands as a possible exception, as certain structures most assuredly stand out, like the near regal Estate House. Even rows of grape frames stand buried across the landscape here, each bearing the sleeping, generational crops of the L'Rose bloodline.

The Coach House seems to have taken an almost familial ambience. Sounds and smells of food being prepared, the tended fires of kitchen and taproom both giving warm reassurance against the dark, and light conversation despite the grim times. For the first time in a while, the Coach House feels a bit like the Coach Home. Supplies are stocked near to full, with wood, water, and pantry staples, not to mention a few culinary luxuries and probably a literal ton of wine available. Were it not for the horrors of the season, this would be a truly ideal way to wait out winter.

Back in Avonshire, the old hub for the Harvestide incident was alive with business. By such general and varying terms as "Alive" and "Business," one might be forgiven to say that it was a slower night. Winter has a way of bringing people in during the day for warming things to consume, but sending all except the more aggressive extroverts among the locals back home when the sun went down. Such as it was in Neil & Bob's Public House. Nine square tables were arranged in the taproom, as well as two larger, rectangular ones along the wall on the opposite side, but only two of the tables were in use. A stage, which looked a little out of place in an establishment like this, was located just to the right of the entrance and took up the entire corner there, as if originally built for larger performances than a single minstrel. The place was hardwood and metal fittings, all of which had the look of near antiquity, as if it had all been here, settling in place for many a year. Behind the bar, among the barrels and bottles, stood a fireplace which opened to both the taproom and the bar along their shared wall, within which simmered something savory and fragrant.

*****

The few people within the Public House of Neil & Bob had a mix of the familiar and unknown. On the one hand, three local laborers rose and gave enthusiastic cheers upon seeing the entrance of Baronfjord and Victoria, pumping their fists in the air and shouting their names as if they were the favored competitors at a Professional Jousting Federation. One of them, a little stouter than most, asked two questions of the pair: "Heeeeey heya! Where's that big lady, Kat, what was drinking us under the table, huh? OOH! And Morty? Where'd that little sack of pork roast get hisself to? Aw, but it's great to se ya!" He slurred, as one does when they've been drinking for a little too long, but he was almost completely coherent, as were his associates. Astute people who were present for Harvestide may remember them as Lawrence, Maurice, and Curly, the latter being the one giving the poetic salutation.

Only one person sat at the bar, a Halfling lady who probably had to climb up the barstool to get there, with her hair in a bun and an apron which bore the signs of kitchen work. An older fellow stood behind the bar, absently wiping down drinking vessels with a lightly dampened cloth. The older fellow, Human, gave the tightest smile of recognition possible, while the Halfling lady raised a mug far larger than she should have been able to deal with and joined the trio at the table, punctuating her greeting with a disproportionately sized belch for her otherwise petite frame. "These folk, eh? Good to see you! Lea was asking after you, smooth talker." It was Daisy, the lady employed in the kitchen, who motioned with her huge mug in the direction of the other occupied table in the room, which held the first glimpse at the unfamiliar.

At this table sat three Gnomes (rare in these parts), two of which were dressed in vivid, cheerful colors while the third, in contract dressed down in muted earth tones and black. Joining them was a Human woman with ark hair, appearing to be in her thirties. She was attired in a hooded brown coat and a warhammer rested beside her chair, leaning against the edge of the table. All of them appeared to be in varying states of intoxication. Serving this quartet was the young Human lady, Lea, who was busy picking up used dishes and refilling stout mugs with rich, brown ale. She looked up to see who entered, thanks to the sudden increase in volume within the Public House, and smiled. A flush of scarlet hit her cheeks and she quickly turned toward the kitchen. She called behind her, "Just sit wherever!" It was just a couple of minutes before she was back out front with a change of apron.

Back in the Coach House, Lizbeth maintains a sense of initially tense politeness at the sudden reversal, being as she had been accustomed to serving, or at least preparing things for, the adventurers who presently resided within the Coach House. This had been done, seemingly, in an attempt to repay the lessons learned and protection afforded by their presence. Perhaps this was why it seemed strange to her at first. But as these first few moments passed, slowly, Lizbeth opened up to the possibility that this was just an evening between people of differing backgrounds who had come to get to know each other over the past weeks. It had been some time and she had already learned much, and was hungry to learn more.

In fact, Lizbeth was just plain hungry. It had been a good amount of time that day since she had a substantial meal, and this was a more interesting combination of food items than she was accustomed to seeing assembled. Comfortable with the flavors individually, she took the not-quite-worldshifting step into something a little new. "Oh, this is nice!" she exclaimed, getting better acquainted with the simplicity of bread, oil, and accoutrements. She was halfway through her second toasted slice before holding herself to manners, and slowing down. The items which remained to be sampled would be better served if she did not attempt the horridly plebeian practice of "horking," which she had come to realize through literary works could mean the rapid intake AND rapid out-take of food, depending upon usage. Lizbeth had no visible desire to commit herself to either action.

To help slow herself, she did initiate a bit of conversation. "Grouse Rise," sje started, suddenly swallowing hard to fully clear her speaking pipes, "...is a small village south of here. Past the bend in the river, and, um... I think I've only been there twice. Grandpa hires ...hired... people from there, but it's past the south end of the vineyard. He didn't want me playing near there when I was littler." The sentiment echoed something she had mentioned weeks ago, when everyone was making their initial journey from Avonshire Township to the Rose River Vineyard - almost to the letter.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A Location: Avonshire Township (Hayloft) Action: Spellcasting (Prestidigitation) Bonus Action: Morty, Nox Reaction: N/A

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"The hayloft?" began Victoria, skeptically. She remembered her way from the southern gate and could tell that there were only a couple familiar places in the direction that Baronfjord chose. She was prepared to make some snarky comment about Neil & Bob's Public House, which was within sight of this place and had actual beds to sleep upon even if they were in a common area. But Bob's place wasn't the intended destination. It was the hayloft. In winter. Victoria started at her companion and fellow adventurer for a long moment, then let out a breathy, "Very well. Why not? This should only be for one night, anyway." They had been able to ward off the cold of autumn in that place well enough, so Victoria surmised that they might find something between survival and comfort within the hayloft, even now.

The interior of the hayloft seemed quiet, just as it had been before. The same barrels upon the same stone floor, the same cart in the corner, and the same lift system for light cargo and hay bales. Up top, from her vantage, the same brazier that kept them warm, but different hay bales. Or at least different stacks, as it was rather difficult to distinguish one bundle of compressed fodder from the next.

Victoria's breath comdensed into the loft's still air as she carefully guided her errand cart off of the wagon and onto the lift. Some minor exertion upon a length of thick rope brought her cart, and her Morty, within fetching distance of the upper loft area. But before making her ascent to set up her borrowed campsite, she looked to Baronfjord, and then to the wagon, suggesting, "The man across the street at the farrier; charming fellow named Fields - and I do use the word 'charming' particularly loosely here - knows that we have a stabling voucher with Fort Darenby. He can make sure our noble beast of burden is warm and cared for. If you would do the honors, please?"

In the meantime, Victoria climbed the ladder to the upper level and began to set up their hayloft encampment as best she might, moving bales to spots strategic for keeping heat close while limiting the possibility of the lit brazier causing a catastrophic fire. She assembled appropriate tinder, kindling, and put what firewood remained in accessible stacks next to the brazier for use, but did not ignite anything as of yet. From her personal cart, Victoria produced two bottles of wine taken from behind the bar, back at the Coach House. And debated dipping into her non-perishables for supper.

"Baronfjord, my good sir, how would you prefer to handle this evening? We could attempt to speak with Monsieur L'Rose this evening, and see what that caravan is about, as its inexorably in our path to the cemetery. Or we might try tomorrow when we're fresh, which has its own drawbacks if we're pursuing secrecy. Whichever, we have a more pressing decision to come to: Do we dine in the loft, or do we get something warm from Bob's place across the thoroughfare, hmm?" An almost mischievous smile played across Victoria's face, as she had a preferred option from the bunch, but kept herself open should his opinion lead elsewhere.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox@Zman

Okay, we are updated. Things are mostly at a bit of a descriptive standstill, seeing as not a lot of time has passed from the end of the last update and the start of this one. If there are additional questions about the setting, do refer to the previous update's ambience or ask me a question. We're all good there. In any case, people have arrived where they're going to, and we'll move on from there without any major time skips for a while. The flow of events, for the most part, are in your hands.

You might notice a lean toward describing things in Avonshire. This is on purpose. It's been a while since we have been back that way and a refresher is necessary, otherwise this would have been a much shorter update. In any case, let's go with our usual bit about dropping me a line for questions, clarifications, die rolls, and the like in our Discord. And everyone have the spiffiest of posting cycles this time around.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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L'Rose Hayloft

Coach House

Vineyard Estate

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Weather: Winds remain slow and steady; less of a gust and more of a steady stroll of current, stopping every so often as if to admire the scenery. The skies are half covered with high atmospheric clouds which move quickly across its black, starlit backdrop, regularly allowing the moon to evade direct detection.

Time: It is early nighttime. We have passed the final moments of twilight, and now rely upon the half-covered celestial bodies above to light the way. It took a little longer upon the roads than expected, and travelers find themselves within the boundaries of their intended destinations after true night had fallen.

Ambience: Snow-covered hills make up the majority of the landscape. Even within the area of the Rose River Vineyard, this is mostly the case. Perhaps this helps to make structures stand out even more against the background; what can be seen when moon and stars make their way through the growing cloud cover. The Estate House stands out more than anything else, despite the drifts of snow which softened the bottom most portion of its silhouette. The largest building upon the land for a long way around, and only a couple of lights from within visible. Rows and rows of silent, sleeping grape vines upon frames have collected their own drifts of pale, frozen precipitation, forming strange, elevated lines across acres and acres of cultivated farmland.

Back in the Coach House, things seem a touch more homey. One would never have imagined that a life-and-death struggle took place here just the previous night. But the location is stocked full (and recently) with basic foodstuffs, preserved goods, lamp oil, and firewood. Bedclothes are changed and a general sense of tidiness has been restored, should there have been any untidiness to speak of. Only clothing that was set aside for the purposes of laundering have been appropriated by the domestic staff, one hopes temporarily. And the appropriate containers in the kitchen and behind the bar have been cleaned and refilled with well water.

The Hayloft was much as one would remember it. With winter on, it felt colder, darker, forgotten almost, even though it clearly was still being used to deal with the L'Rose family's business needs. These needs were significantly less during the winter months, and so things were pretty much as the party left it. Tightly fitted wooden boards were painted red-brown toward the exterior, with indoor facing wood either minimally treated or left as open, sanded wood. A ladder allowed access to the top loft, where the vast majority of the baled hay was rotated and stored. In this higher level, the metal brazier which once kept the party warm and cooked the occasional meal was still present, along with a meager amount of wood for fuel which hadn't been used from the hayloft's previous occupancy - and probably was only enough for one night. The block-and-tackle platform system remained here as well, capable of moving light cargo or deftly maneuvering multiple bales of packed hay from the ground to the loft, and vice versa. Upon the ground floor set very little, comparatively. It was the place where wagons loaded or unloaded bales, and so was kept mostly open, with water barrels and downstacked hay, and a smallish cart for moving light supplies. Large doors opened at each end of the building on the ground level which thankfully could be shut and barred from the inside, and one large, swinging door in the loft which was presently slightly ajar. In short, there were much better places to hole up during a winter night, but there were far worse options as well.

*****

The brief exchange with the soldier ended with the equally brief exchange of information. "Never got a name," he replied to Baronfjord as he waved in their vehicle. "Tall fellow. Big moustache."

From inside Avonshire, one could not see the occupying caravan. It looked quite like business as usual, for the most part. The Township was obviously still getting over the incidents at Harvestide, in the way of the people as well as the physical scars of the fighting. People weren't very quick to get into conversations with one another, at least not like they used to. And with the corruption of the town guards, the responsibility of law and order fell to an all too small detachment of soldiers of the realm, instead. Everyone, including the soldiery, hoped this was temporary. The path to the Hayloft didn't quite take the intrepid adventurers to the town center, where the big fight took place, but it wouldn't be a long walk to get there, were one to have a nostalgic moment about it.

Arrival at the Loft served as a reminder that other businesses were present in the area, specifically the farrier and stables run by a Human fellow named Fields, and next to that, the enigmatic hub of their previous adventure, Neil & Bob's Public House. Fields, a man in his middle years who looked like he was in desperate need of a shave and change of shirt, was toward the front of his establishment near where he would hammer horseshoes, seemingly packing up for the night. Over at the public house, lights were on and a little foot traffic could be seen entering and exiting. They obviously would be open for a ways longer, owing to their choice of business and clientele.

Back in Southmoor, the Family Toombes seemed content with the offering of wine and silver, the elder Mssr. Toombes beginning a word of protest at the need for a gift before he was shushed by other family members. The silver was already accepted, but the wine on top of it, well intended, might have been a little bit much, or at least a touch insisted upon by circumstance for a family of common means. It was not usual for someone of bearing to offer up fine wine, but there was an understanding that the customs of the area were not intimately known by the tall lady, and it was improper of him to make a correction. Instead, he voiced a polite word of gratitude and left it at that.

The passing of time and light travel brought the reunion of people back in the Coach House, and the preparation of food at the outset of full nighttime. Prior to entering, Lizbeth responded to her mentor's words of warning, stating, "If you prefer, I can stay here. If it's my choice, then I'll... well, I'll make it in the morning, okay?" She did seem of two minds about the whole thing, and genuinely looked like she was weighing her options. Inside, with the smell of cooking, she had a reaction similar to Kathryn and her sudden, horse-eating desire. A growl escaped her stomach that mere politeness could not force back down, and when asked if she needed anything, Lizbeth answered in a quiet voice, "I could really go for some bread and butter while we wait, if you don't mind, please." Lizbeth slumped in a chair at first, then rose once more to unbuckle her swordbelt and lay the whole apparatus, weapon and all, upon the table in front of her.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A Location: Avonshire Township, South Entrance Action: Spellcasting (Prestidigitation) Bonus Action: Morty, Nox Reaction: N/A

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The cold was officially a problem. It was easy to ignore at first, as the wonder and newness of their outing remained fresh for hours after the initial push toward Avonshire, but time stepped in to blunt those feelings. And so it was that she sought solace in her books, which were genuinely interesting, but even this began to dim. The light was failing, anyway, and her Half-Elven ability to see through relative darkness with greyscale detail didn't matter a whole lot when dealing with print upon a page. But the cold, to a woman who generally preferred spirited songs and a roaring fire while observing winter on the other side of the window, was a difficulty that she very much wished to overcome. Concentrating a tendril of arcane energy into her voice, Victoria softly vocalized a little heat into her hidden armor, which served quite nicely against the worst of the frigid evening. At least temporarily. To her credit, for purposes of estimating propriety, Victoria had chosen not to use the coffin to bolster herself against the cold.

...this time.

Getting closer to the Township was a blessing, with which anyone might agree, but which carried with it the baggage of certain realizations. The first one was benign enough, pointed out by Victoria with a positive tonal shift of, "Oh my, look at that! I remember a lady in Darenby mentioning a carnival, or come such, which was to arrive after Harvestide. How marvelous. I had quite forgotten." Another moment's worth of consideration struck her with a sharp observation, "They..." she sighed, "They are encamped between Avonshire and the cemetery. It will not be easy to have a private conversation with Monsieur L'Rose."

On the plus side, it was nice to be recognized by the soldier manning the southern gate. Usually, when she was noticed by someone she didn't personally know, it was because of her musical talent, or more shallowly, because of her "flawless-yet-approachable" physical appearance. Alternately, it might have been very negative, as it wouldn't have been the first time she was recognized because of some moral objection to the way she used her magic. Morty was an excellent example of this, even if he wasn't animated in exactly the same way as other Thralls. But this was probably the first time that she was recognized for "offing" someone, and treated positively as a result. "Think nothing of it, brave sir. This was all due to the careful forethought of your dear Sheriff Arbalest. It's really he that deserves accolades." Victoria smiled, broadly and with the very image of sincerity. She was good at this. But in the back of her thoughts, this was still a possible unknown situation. If positive, spreading the glory would make her look humble, and thusly more heroic, or at least a touch more favorable. If negative, well... An ounce of plausible deniability, or being seen as a neutral hired hand, allowed for the barest of wiggle room in tense social situations - areas in which Victoria really shone. And the Bard wasn't convinced that there weren't still a few people in Avonshire who supported Constable Cavendish, or at least his goals.

Once inside the log walls of the Township, Victoria climbed up to the driver's bench next to Baronfjord, turned to him, and inquired, "It's late already. We have a few options here; where do you want to go?" She still has the keys to the woodworking/furniture shop and was eighty percent sure that guy was dead. There was the Hayloft, which had surprisingly served them well during Harvestide. Then again, there was Neil & Bob's Public House, if you didn't mind a shared, communal sleeping area. There were more options available in town, Victoria was certain, as the rush of Harvestide was over and people went back to their respective places. Even Madame Marcie's Honey Barn was a possibility, though Victoria believes there was a matter of unfinished business. But all of those choices were dependant on the decision to stop for the night and rest from their travels. They didn't necessarily have to. Though the mule might thank them profusely if they did.

For the time being, the burlap-wrapped Morty stayed in his spot in the wagon, the undead version of a conversational piece of side furniture, next to Victoria's small errand cart. Subtlety, until they get to what they knew was anonymous and/or friendly territory. Nox circled overhead twice, before settling down next to Victoria.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox@Zman

Alright, I will make this as succinct as I can, all things considered. We have gone through the minor time skip as I said we would. Conversations which do not take place at or near to twilight need to be resolved OOC, or else they need to be wrapped up as a collab at the beginning of your next posts. However it is handled, everyone has moved forward to just at nightfall. If you are entering Avonshire, there are a lot of options as this is the closest thing to a city we have in the area. If you are still in Southmoor, stuff is more restrictive. However, one may always take the information gained and return to home base to ponder and plot for the next day. If you are coming up to the Vineyard/Southmoor for the first time (Looking at Aric here), you also have options. Try to find a place to stay the night in Southmoor, proceed to the Vineyard (and if you do, there's the difficulty of approaching the Estate House or getting sneaky and going for reconnaissance to get a lay of the land - though I will say that it is a touch more difficult at night, in freezing weather.

I suppose that Aric might be able to pick out the seven-foot-tall warrior woman in green plate and older style mail armor exiting Southmoor, if you all agree on the timing and such. Could be an opening to better introduction with the others. But do feel free to work out the details with those present, should you go that route. Or speak with me about NPCs doing NPC stuff to make stuff happen.

Otherwise, please be in touch for questions, concerns, and die rolls in our Discord, and best of luck to all parties involved. Huzzah.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Southmoor

Coach House

Vineyard Estate

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Weather: Winds begin to pick up with the transition of day to night. Temperatures are on the decline, as is to be expected during a winter evening. Clouds are moving in with with faster high-elevation winds, which occasionally block the enduring moonlight. At least the snow hasn't returned - yet.

Time: Evening. We have come to the twilight hour at just about the time our travelers begin to detect their destinations in the distance. Let us hope that our intrepid adventurers did not dally upon the road.

Ambience: Uncertain moonlight reflects off of a glistening white landscape, growing stronger against the purples and reds of the very nearly set sun; the vast skyward orb's radiant nature hidden by the horizon with only a whisper of its former glory coloring the sky. Winter makes for early nights, and this is on obvious display. Wind kicks up loose snow or other debris from the tops of hills, more notable in the distance as tiny elements of motion in one's periphery, across the high places of the moors south of Avonshire. The limited cover of the occasional copse of trees does nothing to blunt the gusts of wind, aside from giving physical markers of its intensity and direction. Thankfully, for now, it isn't insurmountable.

Within towns and estates, including Southmoor and the Rose River Vineyard, the few people who were out and about pursuing business professional and personal, have decided to get behind walls with hot beverages and hearth-fires. Distant lights of the Avonshire Township coule be barely made out, muted as they were. While the twilight made it impossible to make out the glow of early evening illumination behind the log walls of the settlement, a few of the structures outside of the wall have lights on within, glowing from behind frosted glass.

*****

There is one distinct difference to Avonshire that was not there even as recently as that morning, and it's demonstrably notable: Just outside of the walls, an almost literal stone's throw from the eastern gate, was a series of caravan-style wagons and a myriad of tents representing at least half dozen cultures, with coloration ranging from drab to vibrant hues. Despite the cold and the approaching night, this campsite sported ample illumination, mostly from lamps and the occasional bonfire. Approaching the Township a little closer showed that there were a few scattered people traversing the short walk between the campsite and the walls of Avonshire.

The mule (affectionately referred to as Old Boy) pulling the repurposed army wagon back into Avonshire was showing signs of discomfort. It was coming to the end of a long day for the poor beast, dragging a laden wagon across a snowy road in sub-optimal conditions. But at the sight of the town in the distance there was a sudden shift in resolve. Town was that way. Warmth and fodder lay in that direction. The veteran wagon-puller just had to get there. And so its steps showed a marginal amount of additional vigor, knowing that it was coming to an end soon. The southern entrance to the Township lay closer than any other point of ingress and was the eventual end to this road, so was the obvious choice to enter Avonshire proper.

Beyond the Township stood a wooded area, sporting the naked branches of as many deciduous trees as there were verdant and snowy evergreens, and to one side, interposed between the southern road and the large camp of caravan wagons lay a mostly frozen over lake. Where farmlands weren't, there were a good many more trees than the greater moors further south, as if one was gradually stepping into an altogether different place, connected by the same roads and waterways. The East/West road which ran to and from either side of the Township was wider and better developed than the road to Southmoor, as well it should, being the region's primary route for mercantile trade.

A brief exchange with the guards at the southern gate allowed for their entry with no difficulty. "Hey, it's two of the people what offed the Constable! You lot're famous, I believe." This from one of the uniformed fellows stationed at the gate, which was slowly swinging open to admit them. It should be noted that he was wearing the garb of a soldier from Fort Darenby, not the usual leather armor and tunic of an Avonshire Township Guard. "Someone's been asking about you."

The Township, looking much as it was prior to the events of Harvestide, opened to Baronfjord and Victoria.

Back at the Vineyard, things were most assuredly wrapping up. Kosara was the only person at the Coach House for a good bit of time yet. Plans to prepare dinner could easily be resolved, as the stores for the week were refreshed just that morning, as well as a good amount of tidying up by the Vineyard domestic staff. So long as one didn't mind that laborers had access to the place where one kept their belongings and slept at night, it was actually quite convenient. The oil stores for the lamps had been refreshed, seasoned wood refilled the storage areas for the fireplaces, and food stores had been replaced to the same levels the party had seen upon first entering this place at the end of autumn. The smell of fresh bread even permeated the kitchen and taproom, which made sense when one witnessed the reed basket which contained many loaves of differing, and some mixed, grains. Be it that Cecily had remained conspicuously absent for a long while now, she seemed intent upon keeping the party taken care of.

Southmoor, or a dwelling to one side of it, was more active than most places. Not because of any festival atmosphere whatsoever, but because of mourning and loss. Faces here showed waves of grief, interspersed with moments of grudging duty and even the occasional smile as a memory of the deceased was mentioned. This was family being looked after by community, in a rural place far away from more elegant urban or castle comforts. The cottage was simple stone, mortared and stacked upon more simple stone, with smooth but untreated planks of wood comprising the floor and supports. There was a small hearth with something bubbling in a pot over it, likely something involving beans by the starchy scent in the air which often warred with the boughs of evergreen branches.

Kathryn and Lizbeth were allowed entrance with no rebuff or other trouble, as those who came to pay respects seemed to have uncontested access to the private dwelling. Many could be seen eyeing the pair, as Kathryn was most assuredly a newer face in the area, and Lizbeth wasn't exactly known for wearing green, chitinous armor nor for carrying weapons from a bygone era. There were more than a few suspicious looks, but it didn't go beyond this. The way was open to the main area within the cottage, wherein one could see the grieving parents of the Former Master of Harvest, Toombes. The very same crate which held his remains back at the Vineyard presumably also held him at this moment, as it was sitting right in the middle of the room and flanked by two older people, to whom the townsfolk gave deference. Mssr. and Mme. Toombes, one could likely guess. And if the astute observer lent an eye in the direction of the crate, one might have seen pry marks on the lid, right alongside hasty, inexpert re-insertion of nails. There would be no open-casket ceremony for this man.

Kathryn's words did not fall on deaf ears, as it seemed to stir emotion from many of the people present. No one said anything for a long time, until Lizbeth spoke up with a diplomatic, "I'm really sorry we didn't come with a proper gift, coming to your house like this. It's my fault, really. Lady Kathryn didn't know better and I should have told her. Please accept this," she continued, pulling out a few silver coins and laying them on the crate. "It's not much, but maybe you can get something Master Toombes might have liked with it. I'm very sorry this happened to him. He was a funny, hard working guy. I liked him." The words were simple, and the elder Mme. Toombes seemed to accept it.

Monsieur Toombes still held onto a profound note of displeasure at the whole affair. Not that it was expected that he be in a jolly mood, naturally. Bitter words left his mouth as he responded to Kathryn. "Well, M'lady, I wouldn't know what strange thing happened with him that night. He wasn't with us, or even in town before the L'Rose's Fancy Wine Party." He nodded his head in a general direction and remarked sharply, "He was off with his new trollop, village girl name of Luci out in Grouse Rise, south of the Vineyard. Maybe she knows something. I know she ain't bothered to show herself here to tell us yet."

For those arriving in or around Southmoor or the Rose River Vineyard, you have a few options. Night is upon you as you close in on Southmoor. The Vineyard is a short distance beyond, but that short distance is going to be traversed in a whole lot of darkness. The town is closing its doors and dousing its lights, for the most part. Were one to brave the last stretch in the early night, they would bear witness to numerous structures silhouetted against what moonlight allows itself to be witnessed, past the copse of trees within which the town had been constructed. The largest such structure would be the Estate House of the Rose River Vineyard, being the most recognizable one in the area, built upon a rising hill overlooking part of the river. But there are others. In any case, were a light to be raised, signage indicating Southmoor, and past that, the Rose River Vineyard, could be readily detected. While this isn't the literal end of the road, it is the destination for now.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A Location: On The Road Action: Spellcasting (Prestidigitation) Bonus Action: Morty, Nox Reaction: N/A

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As the wagon came to a stop, Victoria was already removing herself from it, stepping deftly out of the back. She remembered this spot from what seemed like a long while ago, but in reality had only been a matter of weeks. A handful of weeks, yes, but not so long ago from an objective standpoint. The place was greener then, and tiny, gorgeous wildflowers bloomed nearby. Such was winter, she supposed.

Shooing that thought away, Victoria committed herself to the task she volunteered for. There was water in the back of the wagon, and feed for the frosty mule, which required her to turn back around and begin precariously sliding it toward her, eventually getting the appropriate containers to the edge of the wagon. Feeding Old Boy was easy enough; the bland but nourishing assortment of dry roughage could be easily set into a feedbag and hung for him, but water posed some difficulties. It had to be warm, or half of her problem would remain. Pulled from the well, it was insulated somewhat by distance underground. The same qualities which kept it a constant, cool temperature during the hotter months also kept it a constant, cool temperature during the winter, That is cool, not frozen. At least, not past an inch or two. But being stored in a barrel on the surface allowed more cold to seep in, causing a more robust layer of ice to form. What liquid water remained was undeniably not the temperature she, and by extension the mule, needed. Victoria poured a measured amount into a waxed, canvas bag especially for the purpose, and reached out a tendril of magic with a quiet, melodic, humming vocalization.

Not hot, but importantly, not cold. A mote of magic to draw out the smallest, yet most utilitarian of effects was enough to bring the temperature of the water just enough to make it give off wisps of steam against the winter air. The mule seemed immensely happy to get this. Being kind, and wishing for Old Boy to take in as much water as possible, Victoria extended another, similar mote of magic to flavor the water with notes of sweet apples.

With the horse fed, watered, and warmed, Victoria took a few steps back to review how Baronfjord was handling his tasks. Not that the Bard was any great zoological scholar, having merely a passing familiarity with handling animals as her training was mostly centered around driving wagons, carts, and the like, and seeing to their requirements. She knew some pressing basics about their care and nothing more. But she could spot a decent enough job being done. "Oh absolutely, Baronfjord. The past weeks have shown a remarkable improvement. If we are still in each other's company after the snows break, it will be nice to have another person to entrust with the reins. Excellent job." She smiled, despite the weather smartly coloring her cheeks, then returned the feeding gear back into the wagon.

Then she began to really regard the contents of the wagon. For the first half of the day, Victoria had been engrossed in the new books on anatomy and physical trauma that she had to replicate. It was riveting stuff. Far and away a different field of study than she ever figured she would have involved herself with as a Bard. But here she was, committing to this new intellectual pursuit because knowledge for the sake of knowledge was important, it helped pass the time over the winter (aside from the horrifying events of the land), and more importantly to Victoria, skill with medicine and anatomy would make her better with practical Necromancy. Of course, she would never tell Annick this. But concerning the contents of the wagon, she remarked, "We have been carrying this coffin since before you joined us, Baronfjord. It contained Arnaud L'Rose for a very short amount of time, then a Goblin who felt it best to steal his wine, eat his corpse, and fall asleep in his coffin." She gave a wry laugh, continuing, "I'm a Funerary Violinist and an adventuring Bard. I'd be foolish not to write a song about the Coffin Goblin."

Victoria shook her head, continuing to review the bits of collective, land-based flotsam and jetsam which had accumulated in the wagon. Then she paused, gave it a bit of thought, and came to a personal conclusion. "I wish to officially claim the coffin. Madame L'Rose doesn't want it back, after ...everything, and Lizbeth doesn't seem to want a thing to do with it. There are a lot of interesting things one can do with a fine piece of carpentry like this. If nothing else, I'm willing to bet it's a warm spot for a nap." The thought gave her pause, but just for a moment. "It's a bit macabre, I know. It does seem like a waste, otherwise." How she might transport it without the use of the wagon was beyond her at the moment, basically securing her position with the group for the time being if she did feel strongly about keeping it. Though, the idea that it was a warm spot to rest did ping the idea-oriented section of her psyche. She might be onto something there.

The thought was shaken away by the avian intonations of her Raven, who returned from the sky to settle on the wagon near to her. It brought Victoria's attention to her surroundings to the forefront, which was where it ought to have been in the first place. They were being approached. Nary a traveler had they seen for miles, and this one was arriving on foot. Armed. With a very dangerous-looking moustache. Victoria gave a glance in Baronfjord's direction and cleared her throat in a conspicuous manner to alert him to the approach, if he hadn't already noticed for himself. She then assumed a genial, even welcoming expression and posture. There was no sense in being inhospitable and/or rude to people she hadn't even met yet. All the same, she kept her instrument handy and her voice clear in case there was an insurmountable issue in their immediate future.

He stopped. She smiled. He greeted, noting the statement of the time of day - Afternoon, as it was, with "good" being the implication. Victoria gestured her hand in a sweeping motion offering up the landscape and weather as a response. With a hint of joviality in her voice, she answered, "Most certainly is, is it not?"

The next three words from the stranger came as a coincidence, seeing as he had named the location from where they had began their journey back to the Township. "Oh, the vineyard? You're on the right road. It's just past Southmoor, but I don't believe you'll get there before dark. Best of luck to you, of course."