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5 yrs ago
Current Malfunctioning Space Toilet (favorite death post in RPG) : roleplayerguild.com/posts/4…
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7 yrs ago
Example of a "Character Flaw": roleplayerguild.com/posts/32..
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Victoria Belmont
Half-Elf, Bard, Level 3
HP: 23 / 23 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A
Location: Rear Exterior, Silversmith's Shop -> Neil & Bob's Public House
Action: N/A
Bonus Action: Morty
Reaction: N/A

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Victoria's optimistic demeanor continued unabated during their short trek back to the Public House. It was a little disproportionate to the serious nature of their of their tasks, if one looked purely at her overt actions. She buddied up to Kosara after openly and slightly sarcastically disagreeing with her proposed actions just a couple of minutes before, smiled on as Kathryn stuffed the guard into a barrel, and even gave a supportive look in Marita's direction during her times of irritation. She looked downright cheerful, as if anticipating a public performance or personal rendezvous of note. But below the surface, was it really positive anticipation, or the light veneer of mild social deception necessary to further the events unfolding with as little friction as possible? People who truly knew the Bard - people who were not present in Avonshire - might lean to the latter explanation.

The open nature of her attitude belied a certain specificity of action. Each footfall was placed to cause as little noise or notice as possible, her cadence in this way occurring with the same frequency of another around her. It was subtle, and one had to look for it. Further, despite her garish dress, she was covered by a charcoal colored cloak (though her hat was marginally distinct, being fair) and kept toward the center of the group when possible. Her party did thing that would surely bring attention to themselves if casual eyes observed. This said, she strove to be the least worthy of remark amongst them.

Then she remembered that there was a walking feast centerpiece wrapped in burlap following her which probably didn't help matters any. Scoffing lightly at herself, Victoria quickened pace and contented herself with the outcome of merely getting to where they needed to go without incident, if at all possible. It was best to leave being sneaky for an occasion when her company was capable of, and had desire to, act with subtlety. The irony of this situation as not lost on her, being the flashy, performing type and under more standard circumstances would try to draw attention to herself.

There was a quiet sigh of relief when she finally entered Bob's place, doubly so when he gave his few patrons the boot and closed up behind them. After the simple, two word inquiry from the proprietor himself and Marita's summary to answer, Victoria spoke up in support of her overall concerns. "Oh quite, yes!" she began, removing her hat and knocking off the vanguard of precipitation from its treated felt brim. It was an excellent hat in very good condition, kept that way by regular care and several applications of Prestidigitation. Continuing, "Blood was spilled in the main thoroughfare and an enemy solidified, of this there is no doubt. Cavendish is more than a mere Constable, we have discovered painfully. Did you know, he used magic to slip away at the end, there?"

This reminded her of something she could not address before due to circumstance, and so she took the opportunity to turn her attention temporarily to Baronfjord, before she forgot to bring it up again, "That ...thing... with your arms? I admit fascinating curiosity. Is this a spell? A trait common to your people, perchance? I should be joyed to speak with you about it later."

She flashed a smile and returned to the more pressing topic at hand. "I agree with Marita. Some of us are rent about the edges and I have a venomous suspicion that we will want badly for any spellwork which would otherwise be dedicated to knitting flesh. A safe place of rest, if for a short time, would be delightful." Her cloak was already removed and shaken out, hanging over the back of a nearby chair. It seemed that she was hoping the answer was already decided, and to the positive.

@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Sigil@Arty Fox

Okay, update has been updated. A couple of things:

1) Yes, that stealth roll screwed everyone. The NPC was able to Persuade/Intimidate to buy you all a minute or two. (ahem) From the townsfolk, at least.

2) @Remipa Awesome, Kathryn is able to find a couple of places to ditch the stabilized Guard. An empty barrel (if you don't mind folding him), unattended cart, and yes, a large refuse bin for the festival all become apparent as you make your way down the side streets to your destination. Pick one and fit it into your next post. And if you change your mind about ditching him, let me know beforehand, please.

3) I was operating under the assumption that the group was sticking together after all that has happened and was all headed to Neil & Bob's Public House. If anyone wishes to go elsewhere, let me know and I will get with you in our Discord.

4) The streets are still mostly empty, despite the festival. We all have a pretty good idea why.

Fine. That was four things. Sue me. As per usual, please get with me if you have any questions, roll requests, etc, in the Discord and/or by DMs. Thanks for continuing with our collaborative storytime, and welcome to the final act. Huzzah!
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Weather: Light rain, but with a growing chill.

Time: Settled afternoon. One might say "prevening", that being a horrifying mash-up of Pre and Evening, which likely shouldn't have been mentioned. But seeing as this was already posted, it's a little bit late to change it now.

Ambience: The cloud cover was breaking up in places even as the slight rain continued its earthbound travel. The alley behind the Silversmith's place was mostly barren with the exception of the stack of crates, likely the castoffs of merchants and awaiting pickup from same. Occasional bits of worried chatter could be heard from the main thoroughfare on the other side of the building, indistinct enough that only the occasional syllable was discernible from the otherwise unintelligible droning. General awkwardness might have been the more pervasive feeling of the hour as attempts to read a generally righteous situation were marred by the dread cast about by recent events, not to mention the insular tendencies of rural communities. An opportunity to quietly exit a situation before it escalates is usually welcome in these instances, which seems to be the general consensus.

Somehow, unthinkably, and counterintuitive to the obvious danger and/or oppressive weather that day, the faint scent of pork and burning, aromatic wood can be detected in the air. Those guys were still at it.

*****


The southern path led the group past both the stacks of crates and the westernmost side of the building. Not as obvious as circling around the other side, whose only egress was to the main street, but an element of risk was involved. So long as all parties kept their wits about them and moved carefully, they would be able to reach the slim space between buildings that would lead them further into the southeast quadrant of Avonshire Township and closer to Neil & Bob's Public House. Unfortunately, fate had conspired to make this somewhat more stressful and less simple than that.

Most everyone was doing an adequate job at remaining unnoticed, some doing notably better than others, but even the noise of Kathryn's armor wasn't obvious enough to draw any attention from the townsfolk around the front of the building. In fact, everyone seem3d to have this latest challenge in the bag until sheer, dumb, inexplicable disaster struck. A single stray link of Marita's mail armor caught the edge of a crate - one nearer the bottom of the stack than the top - and held fast. The very next step that the Cleric of Pholtus took resulted in the sound of already damaged wood splintering further, creating an overall imbalance in the stack. From here, gravity took over, felling the simply shaped wood like skeletal timber and spilling them across the alley, a couple skidding into the aperture with the direct view to the main thoroughfare.

For just a second, time seemed to freeze.

"What the Hells is THAT, Jacques!?" came the familiar, if still nervous voice of the door-knocker from earlier. "They're sneaking in through the back, now!" Raised voices and the clearer path around allowed for better understanding of more of the conversation, such as it was.

"Pitor!" came an equally loud and much more annoyed voice. This belonged to none other than Monsieur Mallard himself, who had to have opened the door to speak, else it would not have been heard with the limitations of standard human hearing. "Don't be a fool if it is possible!" He was outright yelling at this point. "Those were guests and clients, and if you had only half of your head out of your ass you would mind your own business! GO HOME!" There was a brief pause and simple followup, "NOW." Conversation faded back to mumbles from the point of view of those in the alley, punctuated by the slam of a heavy door.

This exchange seemed to bewilder the small crowd of folks gathered, at least enough that no one came running around immediately. Swift feet would carry one away before the more curious ventured to the back, though one could never tell if a glimpse had been taken of the retreating group and their human(ish) cargo. From somewhere back in the direction of the street, one might hear the voice of a child exclaiming, "Hey, Mommy! I found a spear in the road! Can I keep it?"

The escape was not without a hitch, however, the overall potential sneakiness was just enough to allow the group to navigate - mostly unnoticed - around until they picked up on something more familiar. Coming up from the other end of the side street than the party had taken thusfar in their stay in Avonshire, a recognizable hanging sign could be spied in the distance.



Entering the tavern, one could see Lea standing by the bar. She had a towel laid across her forearm like she was expecting to provide pour or cleanup service, but her face struck one was being more nervous than anything. As for the proprietor, Robert, he looked downright feverish. Paler skin than usual was enhanced by beads of sweat and an overall visage of discomfort, yet an immediate (if only partial) change to relief flushed over him as the party entered his establishment. He walked to a window and peered outside before pulling heavy curtains shut. "You got it, right?" he half whispered.

Five other people were present; customers, by the look of them. Bob shook his head and addressed them all in brief, "I'm closing for a couple hours. Whatever you haven't paid for is on the house. Unless you have business with me, it's time to go." The people grumbled their complaints, but dutifully began to shuffle out. Once they were out, Robert turned his attention to the group of clandestine outsiders and hastily inquired, "What happened?"
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Victoria Belmont
Half-Elf, Bard, Level 3
HP: 23 / 23 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A
Location: Interior Silversmith's Shop -> Rear Exterior, Silversmith's Shop
Action: Arcana Check
Bonus Action: Morty
Reaction: N/A

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Victoria quietly sheathed the length of her blade when the lycanthropic Guard succumbed to forced unconsciousness, thanks to Marita. The feel of its heft was a little different. Still perfectly serviceable, still sharp enough to ruin someone's weekend plans with little pressure. And now much prettier. If Victoria retired tomorrow she would keep this someplace prominent as a conversation piece. But it looked like she was the only one with a completed weapon. Her desire was to remain there as it was warm and fortified, with lots of silver goodies that would make life interesting for whichever sort of rat-canthrope tried to stick their twitchy little whiskers inside, until the silversmith's job was completed and decide what to do from there. But it seemed that circumstances and her companions were not going along with this plan.

The debate lingered in her mind just for a short time after Marita expertly clubbed the guard near to death and immediately mumbled a divine supplication. It solved their problem but looked absolutely brutal. This brought a tiny chuckle from the Bard. Efficient, certainly. Not the nicest thing ever, but its effectiveness could not be denied. For a half-second, Victoria thought that the spell cast was related to Necromancy, thusly piquing her own interests, as it looked to halt the ebbing of the man's soul. It took a moment, but her experience with clerics of differing faiths in her studies revealed to her the nature of Marita's magic. It was true Necromancy, if one of the smallest motes of it like her ability to manifest unlife in baser creatures for a time. Dare she say it, Victoria might have actually been jealous. She did not think that she had the ability to do something like that. Yet. It seemed her preferred school of magic was also utilized by the straightlaced Cleric. That brought a smile to her face.

The further nail in the coffin of her staying came with the fact that everyone else was very dead-set on leaving immediately. Victoria might have argued that Jacques was confident he could rub social ointment on the worry out front, and so long as she could speak, she was likewise confident in her ability to help with this. In the end it mostly came down to two factors: First, a split party getting ambushed by Cavendish and the others might go badly. It might go badly with a full party, but every body counted now and they did not have the home advantage. There were only two silver weapons in the party's arsenal and if she stayed behind, that was only one. Magic was a finite resource when channeled though the bodies and minds of mortals. They might need her. Second, she had told Robert that she would assist in bringing the package back. Being strictly to her word was not always her forte, but that guy was alright. Gruff, perhaps, but alright. "Fine, let us go. But we shall be back before the setting of the sun, Monsieur Mallard. We still have a bargain in the works." And a lucrative one for them, at that.

Victoria grabbed up her hat and twirled her purple-lined, charcoal colored cloak about her shoulders. Her violin case soon followed. With an optimistic yet determined look about her face, she exited the back door, pausing to tip her hat to Baronfjord as he held it open. "Yes," she said to her Dragonborn ally, "Perhaps it is time to leave this place." But not for good. The others needed their equipment, as much or more than she did. An Kosara? To Victoria's estimation, she needed to get as far away from this place and Jacques Mallard as possible. Victoria slipped right up to their party Warlock and spoke with all of camaraderie and cheerfulness she may while keeping a respectable level of cautious quiet, "Hey girl. Tense in there, huh? How about we shake it off, grab a glass of something memorable, and rest for a time?" Her voice became sarcstic, even playful as she summed up, "I just happen to know a place here in town." A quick wink and she also made for the alleyway leading south, mindful of the expanse they had to pass in view of the street.
@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Sigil@Arty Fox

Why hello, all my Edgelords and M'Bladies!

We have come to an interesting choice, or couple of choices, to make. Time is a factor, though that is far from the only one. Several points known and unknown weigh upon the group, and believe me when I say that the list of Current Clack occurring within and without the town's walls will continue, though character decision can influence these events.

(Insert evil laugh here, make random comment to increase tension, pour myself a scotch and try not to pull a muscle patting myself on the back. Yay!)

As always, hit me up in our Dicsord by DM or tagging me in the OOC channel. I welcome questions, comments, and concerns, as well as requests for die rolls or other bits of game mechanic niftiness.
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Weather: The rain remains quite light, but this lessening of precipitation seems to come with a noticeable drop in temperature.

Time: Settled afternoon. Cloud cover remains, but it looks to be clearing up a little - just enough so far to get a good idea where the pale sun it located. While still freely in the sky providing all of the light that conditions allowed, it is heralding the oncoming moonrise, and with it, the dim twilight. Short hours remain.

Ambience: More acrid smells associated with burning metal flare within the shop as Jacques continues his work. It is still significantly more comfortable in this building than it is outside, even if a lack of conventional seating is apparent. The soft glow of the lamps illuminate with much greater ability than the glow from the flameless forge, though all do their part.

*****


"Hey! Who was that?" called a voice of alarm - the same voice that showed its own brand of somewhat cowardly concern for the goings on within the Silversmith's place. "What are you talking..?" The man seemed almost fully flabbergasted at the novice attempt at deception. "No, that's ... that's all wrong! There's something wrong about this!" he declared, taking a step backward and closer to ground level on the stair in front of the door. "I shall find help! Don't you worry!" Though there was a lack of retreating footsteps right at that moment.

Jacques Mallard, taking on a manner of pragmatism in this unsettling time, gave Baronfjord a nonverbal gesture to go ahead and open the back door even if his Dragonborn guest wasn't exactly paying attention. The use of the door did not run in conflict with his desire to have the Guard out of his place, nor his present stipulation on timing. As the awning-covered door swung open, a blast of chillier air swirled into the shop, reminding those inside that they were indeed into an advanced autumn season and the weather was not always their friend.

But speaking to weather - the rainfall was almost tolerable now and appropriate clothing would keep one more or less comfortable in the short term without getting soaked to the bone. Voices could be heard through this doorway, but their owners were not visible. Instead, this seemed to be an echo of the murmurings from people on the front side of the business, reflected from the stone wall of the next structure to them. This door opened to a wider alleyway, which framed around the building proper. One might be able to escape notice by going around this building to the south, though making such an attempt would temporarily put them within line-of-sight with the main thoroughfare in the process. It was a small gamble to attempt sneakiness rather than simply fleeing noisily. To the other side, one may simply walk around the building on the side opposite the door, though that would lead one in an obvious path to the front. For the more surreptitious, there was one shuttered window facing the alleyway which looked to be in some disrepair, though what lay in the otherwise featureless stone building was anyone's guess.

Marita's blunt assault of the Guard was not unnoticed by the silversmith. The only thing he scowled about, however, was the use of the unfinished mace. He waved it off and gave a quiet, ever-so-slightly annoyed "Pray don't mention it," before getting to the actually important topic at hand. "Yes. Robert's package is ready and boxed, please get it to him swiftly. And..." He took a single sheathed dagger from his collection and placed it upon the box, explaining, "In case you can't get back in time. It's a loan, I expect it back. Do you understand?" He eyeballed everyone remaining in his workshop with this statement. "If one or more of you choose to stay, I should have your commissions done before nightfall. The one may catch up to the others before the sun sets." If they could not, well, this building was safer than most. "I can probably talk Pitor down, so long as he doesn't think I'm being held against my will. Though I am obviously a bad liar."

Noting the manner in which Kosara left the place and giving thought to what he had witnessed concerning her just recently, Jacques commented, "Your friend, she is one of the goodly folk? I know her people have a reputation, but... I worry, is all. Keep yourselves safe. If we get through this alive, I might be more help to all of you yet."

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Victoria Belmont
Half-Elf, Bard, Level 3
HP: 23 / 23 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A
Location: Interior Silversmith's Shop
Action: N/A
Bonus Action: Morty
Reaction: N/A

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So much for unattached curiosity. What began as an annoying disagreement between adventuring colleagues quickly degraded into a potential melee within closed quarters right next to a craftsman plying his trade with molten metal. "Of course," Victoria thought wryly to herself, "nothing could possibly go wrong." More than this, the nature of her Bardic College and preferred school of spellwork meant that she was fairly versed in what could happen if a group of nervous townsfolk become united under fear, ignorance, or outrage. To her opinion, the situation which was fast shaping up with the people outside and the wily but blunt gambit of the Guard inside with them was the first domino to fall, the end result being a riotous mob assembling with torches and pitchforks unless it was nipped in the bud immediately. With a shake of her head, V quickly packed away her ritual materials in preparation for hasty movement, whatever form that would take in the coming minutes.

This was one of the reasons why her modus operandi tended to involve ingratiating herself to the public somehow when coming to a new area. For instance, when she performed a funerary service for a known and respected member of the greater community. Unfortunately, she was also associated with a barfight the previous evening and did perform some actions that might have spread necromancy-ish rumors about herself. The irony being that she used an illusion and a cantrip, not like they could tell the difference. And she hadn't been in town long enough to foster the appropriate goodwill and/or celebrity that might have saved her from a mob looking for a target, either. In short, her stance on non-involvement just got its legs cut out from under it.

Following this revelation, the first thing Victoria did was mentally alter the standing orders on her smoke and salt preserved undead swineservant, Morty. No change might be noticed from the burlap enswaddled beast, though a mote of concentration might have been caught coloring the Bard's sharp and nigh flawless features, if only for a half-second. The second thing she did was to buckle on her swordbelt. The slender and much prettier weapon remained on the counter in front of her for easy access (and because she still wished to examine the handiwork of the talented Mr. Mallard). Both an appreciation for beauty and a touch of vanity were hallmarks of Victoria's psyche, as any insightful observer might recognize, even in this potentially perilous moment.

Finally, Victoria's normally very controlled expression switched to one of disbelief and anger as Kosara ...Kosara-ed... In the most painfully foolish manner that she could possibly think of, and the purple Necrobard was no stranger to bad decisions, herself. "Are you suicidal?" she whispered through clenched teeth, forgetting herself and her composure for just a moment. It took a lot to truly surprise Victoria. This did it. There wasn't enough time to fully process what came after; to her estimation this was about to turn ugly and if someone didn't handle it, and soon, she was going to have to do something less civilized than with which she was comfortable. A slow hand gripped the hilt of her newly worked rapier even as she opened her soul to the lines and threads of magic within her. Even she wasn't completely sure what or who would be the focal point of her attention.
@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Sigil@Arty Fox

Update is posted! Here is the point in time that I say something pithy and banter a bit, but... I think I can summarize things with a quick and simple: Best of luck.

Find me in our Discord for questions, concerns, or rolls.
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Weather: Light rain, and though no one inside can tell, the temperature is beginning to drop slightly.

Time: Late afternoon. The cloud cover does not overly prevent the after-midday sun from illuminating the Township in any appreciable way though it's difficult to pinpoint exactly where it rests in the sky.

Ambience: In contrast to the dropping temperature outside, the silversmith's place is quite warm and just a tiny bit hazy. The two lamps lit by Jacques earlier and the constant dim glow of the flameless heat source under the pot forge provide adequate light to the room as a whole, though shadowy corners remain. The doors are solidly closed and barred with a heavy beam, front and back both. The fellow by the door is still there, and he's getting very curious.

*****


"Um, hello?" The knocking continued from the door, even more uncertain than before. "I, I, um, I don't... Who is that? Is Monsieur Mallard okay?" The words spoken came from a lower, male voice, though the lack of overall confidence did not make this person seem hostile. There were a scattering of other words spoken though they made a little less sense than they probably should have. These words halted as the people inside made their own statements as if listening. A bit fainter, one from within could the same voice, presumably calling behind himself, "I don't know! I'm trying to find out!"

Meanwhile, Jacques gave the smallest of attention to the door or anyone else inside of his shop. He was working, and did not seem to like the distractions. He shook his head and selected Kathryn's axe next, preparing the same silver wire as with his last inlay, but paused as Marita replaced her dagger with the larger mace. This rerouted his attention enough to make him change his next course of action. "Hmm..." he mused, giving a simple nod and turning to his small pot forge. The oil used to quench his glowing metalwork while maintaining its integrity found a different use as he quickly applied it to general areas of the weapon which would not, in a mixture of his opinion and common sense, require silvering. The process itself took little time. It took even less time to dip portions of the business end and pommel into the crucible of perpetually heated silver and quench them in rapid succession with just enough care not to lose a drop of his precious metal. During this process he lightly dusted the mace with an impossibly fine powder. One more coating overall and he looked to Marita, "This is still quite hot." Jacques picked up a small jewelers' rod and began tapping the piece again and again, leaving a dimpled, hand-hammered appearance in the softened silver. "Overlay, rather than inlay for you. When it cools more fully I shall remove the excess and rebalance it. Is there a flourish or symbol you would like in the metal? There is a time factor, but I was expecting to work on more than just these few pieces." He kept up his tapping, occasionally brushing the item with a piece of rough leather.

Concerning the Great Moral Debate of what awful things to (or not to) do to the prisoner, the silversmith voiced no opinion. he barely gave this a look of disapproval whatsoever until things began to get loud. Hoping to break up the more aggressive train of thought, he answered Kathryn's question. This earned her an odd look, as if he was explaining something he thought might have been obvious. "The full moon lasts for three nights. Tonight is the first. Tomorrow night is its zenith."

The prisoner himself was awash in a sea of conflicting instincts, even if this didn't show more than a general sense of apprehension on his face. The threat made to him - and as much as it was spoken with generalities it was most certainly a threat - was something that he didn't seem to react to past twitching his head in the general direction of the speaker, this occasion being the Dragonborn fellow he had crossed swords with earlier. One could almost make out a tiny change of expression; a nervous twitch at the corners of his mouth. It could have been either amusement or anxiety, difficult as it is to read body language from a bound and blindfolded man.

Kosara's gambit led to stunned silence from the other side of the door. At first, a stillness fell upon the whole of the place, inside and outside both, as the people tried to process this new event, relayed from an unfamiliar voice and delivered with a sense of mirth that did not fit a post-streetbattle between guards and outsiders in a rural town scenario. After this stillness wore off, several things occurred in rapid succession:

First, the man outside spoke loudly, with fear coloring his earlier concern, "What? What have you done with Monsieur Mallard? Can you hear me in there, Jacques?"

This was immediately countered by a VERY annoyed silversmith, shouting, "Curse it all! Pitor, yes I can hear you! I have friends over - they're obviously drunk. Please hang up my sign and leave!" It was not a cover story that would hold up with any critical thinking whatsoever but it was all he could come up with in the moment. Jacques shot a withering scowl at Kosara.

THIS was immediately countered by the prisoner, moving as much as his binding and injured arm might let him, and called out, "HELP! They're hurting us!" His face was split by a wicked smile.

Jacques responded tersely, looking at both Kosara and Kathryn, "Get him out of here. Don't care what happens after he's gone."

The Guard himself shook with restrained laughter.
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Victoria Belmont
Half-Elf, Bard, Level 3
HP: 23 / 23 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A
Location: Interior Silversmith's Shop
Action: Ritual Casting Identify
Bonus Action: Morty
Reaction: N/A

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Far from ignoring the smaller pieces of drama going on within the confines of the Silversmith's shop, Victoria noted them silently and moved to complete her ritual casting. She tried not to give it any worry as she (if forced to speak honestly) had no interest in interfering with whatever mistakes might be made involving a situation she wanted no part with to begin with. Either this would serve as a learning experience or everything would work out satisfactorily. Despite the uncertainty of this coin toss of options, Victoria had little choice but to finish her spellwork.

Illumination of the mind was a difficult thing to place when viewed on the face of another. Doubly so when that face splashed with the darker colors of an already grey school of signature magic. Clarity might have also been a appropriate term for the feeling, but such a concept mainly came from an act of self-realization, whereas Victoria's was the result of plucking the strings of the Weave, listening to the music therefrom, and interpreting the melodies and harmonies that were formed from its reaction with the object in front of her. In short, she divined scraps of useful, magical information about this item and pieced them together to form a cohesive whole. She smiled.

The color faded from her face and eyes; darker aspect of her hair reverted to the gorgeous red-auburn she was graced with from birth. Her overall demeanor maintained as it had previously, only now it was a little more believable that she had information and wished to openly share it.

"The Constable had a very interesting, very storied hammer in his possession," Victoria began. Her eyes lit up as she noticed the rapier next to her on the countertop, obviously threatening to derail her train of thought. She looked very much like she was about to melt into a puddle of saccharin gratitude until the caught herself, cleared her throat, and continued. "This does not appear to have anything malevolent upon it, to give that clarification. It is lightly enchanted for accuracy and damage, which is commonplace, but - and this is rare for a hammer - this otherwise carries similar properties of a moontouched blade, radiating soft, constant lunar light when held aloft in the darkness. There is no requirement to attune to a new wielder." Victoria thought for a second or two, then finally said, "There is something else within, as well. Locked away. Circumstances have to be met to unlock it. Whatever they are, I cannot tell."

Looking to Kathryn, she finished with, "This is a fine weapon, Lady Knight. I do not believe that it was originally made to enforce the ego of a small-town Constable."

Business out of the way (and still trying her best to remain uninvolved with the drama involving ...anything else... Victoria turned her attention to what had become of her previously stylish yet utilitarian sword. Her face was absolutely beaming. Whether or not she got to use it for its intended purpose that day was immaterial. This sword was stunning. Even a little personalized. Very much worth the small payment and the short wait. Victoria was anxious to see that became of the others' selections.

For the first time since entering the building. Morty moved to be near its creator. The Bard absently reached a hand down to scratch the burlap wrapping on its snout, still looking at her updated sword. She didn't even react to the knock at the door. Short of ducking out of the back there wasn't a thing she might do about the situation and just sought to see how it might resolve with unattached curiosity.
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