Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

And we have finally made it! I have noted the successes and delays of the characters by means of their dice rolls and declared actions in the IC and/or in Discord. If you're concerned that I didn't catch something in the update, let me know so I can confirm, deny, or wag an unapproving finger at the screen and not tell anyone about it. In any case, now comes the part where the more physical aspect of this event/challenge takes place. Meaning, the characters are all subject to the effects of the environment and work they're doing, and the only way to come out unscathed is to announce that your character is pulling out or quitting. I will be making die rolls in the background for each of us. Those with a low Con score beware.

Now, there are things one can do to help out with this. But I'm leaving that up to your imaginations. It's the middle of the night and well below freezing. You're participating in manual labor. There isn't exactly a burgeoning amount of steady, overhead light to make things easier, and the available firelight is going to mess with darkvision. Good luck.

Oh, and as always, get with me in the Discord about plans of action, die rolls, rulings, etc.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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Weather: The snow has, for the time being, ceased, leaving an otherwise quietish landscape. The winds are barely present, meaning that whatever conditions of temperature are, for the present, static. Lucky for you, these conditions are cold, as if the air itself was still, intangible ice, ready to crack and splinter as the barest tap.

Time: Nighttime. And as we all know, the nighttime is the right time.

Ambience: The stillness of the evening is severely marred by the action cascading upon the grounds of the Rose River Vineyard. Bodies, too few of them, move from place to place as their livelihood for the season depended on it. Thick snow remains, even around the braziers and buckets between the rows of grape vines, though it is retreating slightly. Speaking of which, many small, controlled fires have already been lain equidistant in hopes of maintaining a merely frigid environment, as opposed to a catastrophic one.

*****

It is understandable for the adventurers to not quite comprehend the nature of what needed to be done. Even among agricultural folk, this sort of practice goes against most established norms, but grapes were a unique growing experience that had, like many things, their own set of rules. This particular rule invoked the vintner's need to maintain a balance of conditions and the ability to adapt quickly, which unfortunately was made difficult by the diminished staff, let alone experienced hands. With this in mind, the feel of the evening is "no ideas are bad ideas", even if we know that this philosophy isn't wholly accurate.

And so, we have our scene.

Cecily and Lizbeth both remained in the fields, the former doing her best to direct the activities of the laborers in the dead of night, while the latter joined the labor pool dispensing what portable sources of heat they could. Flint and strikers, tinderboxes, and the like were busied toward the purposes of ignition just as fast as they got the braziers down. The going was demonstrably slow. A lack of light and fumbling commonly associated with the cold made absolutely certain of this. Despite the best people for the job applying the skills of their trade, things were not progressing optimally.

The query posed by Baronfjord concerning the lack of workers was taken seriously by Cecily, who had been giving this no small amount of consideration, herself. "I truly do not know. A lot our usual workers are sick. There might be others on their way, but we won't know until they get here. I don't suppose we might beg, borrow, or steal people in the dead of night from the villages around Southmoor - but there isn't enough time to raise a labor pool from the Township and get back here in time. Not in time for it to matter, anyway." She looked to the edge of the field, hoping to see the first of the carts returning with braziers, only to give an impatient sigh when nothing was forthcoming in the darkness outside of the reach of the meager firelight. "We've worked too hard to lose this crop now."

Delays above and beyond that which was already delayed made matters more hectic. The disappearance of Kathryn for the sake of speeding up the process of getting their equipment to them was noted, as was the sudden absence of Victoria, also hopefully to lend aid to the ordeal in front of them. It was an unpleasant mixture of hope and worry - one assumes that the adventurers had left to gather resources, but the default Madame of the Estate and the younger Heiress Apparent might have felt better with all hands available on site. Still, all they could do was wait and work with what they had, little though it was.

Ever attempting to manage the emergency, Cecily took Kosara's words into her planning as best she could, considering that her knowledge of spellcraft seemed to stop and start with how to spell the word "magic". She gave a quick look in the Tiefling's direction and proclaimed, "Yes, well... Okay. Forgive me; I don't know what that means. I can see that you're very well lit, which I am sure will be of help to anyone around you tonight. I hope it helps your unseen servants, too. If it means more hands, then please have them offload the braziers in the same pattern as the others, if they ever get here." The last bit came with a scrap more of impatience.

As the hour progressed, the first of the wagons Kathryn was loading up began to arrive. There was a delay, true, brought about by the difficult terrain of snow as well as the tall lady getting a touch lost in the process, but just as soon as the vineyard's carts reached the proper storage shed (and the workers got over the fearful novelty of an actual giant loading them up) they were on their way back to the unfolding emergency in mostly quick order.

Shortly after this, Victoria arrived in the driver's set of their covered, mule-drawn army wagon. Next to her, jerkily navigating the uneven, frozen ground was her burlap-wrapped companion, pulling the Bard's now emptied errand cart. The cart itself would not haul any great loads, but it might help between the rows as suggested by their Monk associate earlier. The timing of her arrival coincided very near to the arrival of the vineyard's hauling vehicles, implying that the lady had her own delays. Hopefully, the presence of the tireless, not-quite-dead Morty and their more maneuverable, much smaller cart would help make up some of this time.

Lizbeth, for anyone giving her notice, had grown quiet, apparently immersing herself in the work of setting up what equipment they had alongside their present workers and getting fires going. Many carried their own sources of fire, in the form of torches, tinderboxes, or the like; each getting this initial field lit up as best they could. Lizbeth seemed to take to it with remarkable speed, spending no more than a couple seconds at each brazier/bucket before a decent blaze was going. Cecily pulled her own weight as well. Yes, she was the lady who handed out salaries and signed papers now, but her familiarity with the task at hand marked her as a woman unafraid of getting her hands dirty. Temperance and stubbornness had replaced a shaving of the vigor she might have had a decade prior; to her credit, she maintained herself respectably. When the carts carrying more braziers arrived, she exhaled her relief and called to anyone in her vicinity, "Gods above, they've arrived! Let's get started in earnest! There is so much left to do!"

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: Rose River Vineyard (Fields Near Estate House) Action: N/A Bonus Action: Familiar stuff Reaction: N/A

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The approach to the field was not particularly long for Victoria, but it was illuminating, both literally and metaphorically. true, she had run off practically mid-sentence, but felt a bit better about it when she heard the heavier footfalls of Kathryn behind her. She was without her usual cadre of thralls, even if most of them were recent of origin. It might not have been fair to categorize her Raven as a thrall, persay, as the spirit-made-flesh was bound to her by ritual as opposed to manifested with Necromancy. And her Phantom Steed wasn't exactly a thrall, either, so much as a ritually invoked force of semi-real shadowstuff, formed partially from her own imagination. Victoria was a Bard. She was good at imagination. Morty, on the other hand, was most assuredly her thrall. The forces which animated the formerly living (and now potentially very tasty) swine were an arcane extension of herself, utterly loyal but ultimately temporary of animation.

But this line of thought was alien to the scene at hand. Knowing virtually nothing about agriculture, nor the growing of wine grapes particularly, all she knew was that an alarm was ringing and fires where burning where they generally, instinctively, really shouldn't be. Moreover, through the illumination of the fires and moon above, cloud cover notwithstanding, she cold detect the arrival of the rest of the group, plus Lizbeth. Logically, if she was not maniacally trying to put the fires out, then it wasn't quite the emergency she assumed it might be. And she would have the answers, being winefolk, even if she was a bit young. So her footfalls altered in direction just enough to bring her into her presence. As Victoria ran, she summoned up the mental fortitude to call upon her newest spiritual assistant. Her raven appeared beside her in a silent spark of necrotic energy, already to wing and flying higher as seconds passed. An spoken command was sent to the creature to keep an eye out in their periphery, hopefully to let her know if anything or anyone unexpected might come upon them in the gloom outside of the firelight.

When she arrived, Victoria listened to the explanation and filled in as best she could from context. They wanted the fires. And Cecily wanted them to do the things that adventurers stereotypically might for the betterment of their crop. It wasn't the worst thing that she had been asked to handle. However, she has no idea how her magic, somewhat specialized as it was, would be of help here past the odd parlor trick. If nothing else, magic aside, she was an excellent lifter of morale. The power of her voice in the most mundane but talented of application could work wonders with one's resolve. Never underestimate the ability of a Bard to motivate. Beneath the fancy hat and death-oriented spellwork, Victoria was a Bard at her very core.

However, Victoria was also tired. A full day and more of work, from sunup to nearly sundown, her emotional outburst, light hike to the watchtower and centering performance there had left very little time to rest, and from what she was hearing this was going to be an all-night affair. She would really rather be someplace warm right now with a cup of something warming and lightly spiced. Victoria was not known for her prowess with manual labor, nor as her ability to pass as a workhorse. Nevertheless, she did not immediately leave the L'Roses and staff to their own devices. With a sigh, and subtle corrections to her expression to suppress any lingering exhaustion or emotion from her features, she adjusted her voice to be heard over the movement of the workers in their vicinity and stated, "I know not what special service I may provide, but I am open to direction until I can think of one."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Oh, we're all optimized for combat and/or social gatherings, full of good stories and quirky personalities galore, aren't we? But what if the challenge has absolutely nothing to do with any of that? And so, here we are. Granted, an uninvolved person can just as easily go back to bed and not help a widowed lady and an orphaned girl save their last harvest of the year from the punishing and unexpected cold of the season, but what would that make you? Let us add to this the fact that they recently lost their family patriarch and lived through a traumatizing experience involving megalomaniacal wererats, AND you're a guest of their estate. But no, you go ahead and get some Zs. It'll probably be okay.

Take to this challenge in any way that you wish to. Possible avenues include (but are by zero means limited to):

The proper equipment for this is still being offloaded for delivery in a storage shed elsewhere on the property. It's taking a while so the workers present are improvising. One might assist in the improvisation somehow, or conversely attempt to locate and assist the people going after the equipment. One might attempt to go to Southmoor to rally people to help; conversely there are other, smaller villages scattered throughout the area who might not have been touched as much by the illness running amok. Or, as Cecily suggested, the player characters have abilities beyond your average Larry the Laborer. Perhaps some of these can be made to suit the task somehow. Also, as she suggested, just being there to do physical work will be of good, respectable help. Whatever task you undertake, in fact, much of this will be needed per character before this is over. Even mundane support like fetching hot soup or the like would be useful.

There are bound to be complications. In fact, I've already made a list of stuff that can go down, and will improvise. Skill checks are open for grabs if applicable to the task undertaken. Get with me and we can work something out, regardless. Per usual, hit me up on Discord. I'm curious to see what you all will decide to do.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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Weather: The weather outside is frightful. But the fire is so delightful. No, you're not having a stroke (probably) and I didn't copy/paste the last update (also probably, it's been a rough week). But it remains true, the weather is indeed frightful. The fire being delightful is a whole other matter. But to basics - It is frightfully cold, in comparison to even the last few days of consistent snow. What might have been, and indeed was, a picturesque winter landscape remains, with fat, quiet flakes of snow drifting downwards with only small, occasional gusts of biting wind. Just not in the direction that draws your attention.

Time: Evening. The sun is firmly set and night has fallen across the landscape.

Ambience: There is indeed fire spotting the field nearest to the Estate House, but don't let that detract from the gentle snow and illuminating moonlight across the moors of southern Avonshire. With that one, tiny detail aside, it's actually rather pleasant outside in a crystal cold sort of way. Thick snow had accumulated over the highs and lows of the Vineyard, supplied quietly by the continuing drop of picture-perfect crystaline flutters of winter precipitation. One's breath practically steams dragonlike in the cold, cold air, when it isn't taken away by the beauty and majesty of the moment.

Then you look straight ahead of you. The image, ironically, darkens.

*****

Nearing the field, one can see that this isn't a horrifying fire out of control, at least not yet. Nor is it one single fire stretching across the landscape. Instead, this is a series of metal braziers and smaller buckets, a couple burn barrels which the laborers would use to warm themselves while working during the cold season, really anything which can be tasked to the purpose of holding a fire within it. These implements appeared to be placed with intent by a slim few number of workers - even less than the skeleton crew that the Rose River Vineyard had for the winter harvest of icewine. The overall atmosphere is tense.

Lizbeth, running ahead of the group from the Coach House, did slow to a jog as she neared the scene unfolding. Her head jerked from side to side, looking for some sense of order to it all, or at least someone she might ask. The hustle of bodies moving and general din of the occasion make it difficult to pinpoint a single voice, but the young lady's words ring with a shrillness similar to desperation, if not an amazing amount of clarity. It takes a few moments, but she is finally answered by her aunt, whose skirts are gathered up in her hands in front of her to assist in a speedier approach. The first words which were understandable to Kosara and Baronfjord as they approached came from Lizbeth. "Aunt Ceecee, this is weeks too early, isn't it?"

Cecily looked quite like she was only half put-together. That is to say, a traditional person of the upper classes would say that she was "not dressed to receive" in any appreciable manner. Another, more common person might say that she looked like she rolled out of bead and threw the first thing on which might secure her modesty before bolting out of the door. She also looked winded, not to mention touched by both smoke and frost. The Lady of the Vineyard appeared pleased to see Lizbeth, not mentioning the fact that she was still wearing that armor and carrying her new weapons at all, as more important things were happening. "The river is freezing, Lizbeth! The hard cold came early, and we haven't harvested a single grape yet!" She looked behind her niece and spotted the adventurers, trying to explain in elevated tones, "Honigblume grapes - we need them to freeze in the winter! Kills off the noble rot, makes them sweeter!" A pause for a breath, "Deep freeze will ruin them! River, running water. If the river starts to freeze, the entire crop can be lost!" The explanation was a bit stiff, but Cecily knew what she was talking about even if others didn't.

From the more distant point of view of Kathryn and Victoria as they ran down from the watchtower, more could be observed of the field. Specifically, as they got a little closer, the light which obscured those below from a broader view of the area actually assisted the Knight and Bard. They could pick out Cecily, Lizbeth, and their fellow party members meeting just to one side of the main field nearest the Estate House, and were they to move to approach, the two of them would arrive to witness the conversation at about this point.

Lizbeth reached out to help steady her aunt and took over explaining as tersely as she might and still pass on relevant information, "The river is our indicator. We try to harvest before the deep freeze gets here, but it comes early sometimes. If this happens, we have to set up fires to keep as much of the crop as we can. Otherwise our late season is lost. We have a small staff for the winter harvest, and so many of them can't work because of the sickness spreading in the villages around here. Every hour, more of our crop is lost, and this would take most of night with a full labor pool!" There appeared to be only a handful for workers, comparatively, committing to a job better suited to a full shift of them.

"Wait, you're adventurers!" declared Cecily, a twinge of desperation of her own twanging in her speech. "You all have ...I don't know, things you can do, right? Can you please help us with this? Even if I'm being foolish, we can use as many young and strong hands on this as we can!"

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: Rose River Vineyard (Watchtower -> Fields Near Estate House) Action: N/A Bonus Action: Familiar stuff, Morty Reaction: N/A

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Victoria acknowledged the compliment to her music with a slight nod and neutral expression. It was nice to hear that others liked her primary form of artistic expression, though the emotional effort that it would have taken to demonstrate her appreciation just didn't seem worth it right then. The music, the dance - it served to center her, and she did truly feel better. The weight of the last few weeks was still heavy, however. Between the illness and the accident, not to mention the usual foot traffic of a rural trade stop with an experienced "village healer" (and her new lovely, exotic helper) had kept her stressed and busy seemingly constantly, day through night. On top of this, the academic portion that her mentor insisted she complete was the exact opposite of how Victoria figured she would be learning this new skill set. She just didn't feel like investing herself in faking graciousness.

Yet in her own way, this was a compliment of her own. A social defense was taken down in front of Kathryn that she would have kept up among people with whom she was less familiar. Her voice was still melodic, still perfectly inflected where it needed to be to put across intent of her words, but Victoria spoke with a weary quality and a grim sort of frankness that sounded just as much a confession as it might a slice of storytime."Yes. 'A lot of good for these people.' Yes I did." She looked up to the tall and powerfully built woman who was offering a mug of warmed wine and took it. She inhaled the vapors and sipped it once, giving the potable an ounce of pleasant regard before continuing. "I think it's only right that you know; I am learning this for my own devices. The Medician has already threatened to murder me because of what I am, but took it back because I'm 'dedicated'. But the truth is, she's not wrong." Victoria continued to look up at Kathryn. Let judgement fall where it may, she was honestly tired in that moment of putting up pretense. "My magic is naturally starting to come together in ways that maneuver across the boundaries of life, death, and that grey area in between. I'll never be as good as a Wizard, Kathryn. I just won't. So I'm trying to learn about these concepts from a mundane point of view. In the past three weeks I have seen a lot of sick and dying bodies. Women, men, children, all afflicted indiscriminately by disease and trauma. I've performed amputations. An actual bonesaw. Or slipped a wide blade between joints like I was dismembering a chicken. I'm doing this so I can learn Surgery. Anatomy. Hells, Kat - I'm almost certain I know enough to improve the utility of an animated corpse, so long as I can work on it for a while first."

There wasn't much hope of Victoria keeping her darker thoughts inside of herself at this point, and as the proverbial cats were tumbling out of the equally proverbial bag, she just kept going. But not without the occasional pause to sip her wine. "Naturally, being a mundane Healer will have merit within any adventuring group, but the truth is I'm doing this to become a better Necromancer. And as I cannot be a truly powerful, single-purposed one, then I shall study to become a more versatile, less predictable Necromancer. I cannot tell Annick that she was correct about me, nor do I wish to quit learning from her. But midwifing alone for that woman today - if she knew, would she have let me anywhere near her baby? Would anyone?"

Victoria allowed the question to linger as if she contemplated it further, herself. In reality, she was waiting to gauge Kathryn's reaction to her admission. It was only a matter of time before the Bard could perform the classic acts of magic attributed to her Wizardly counterpart, and her non-standard supplementary abilities enhanced this. Victoria was what she was. And she half expected to brace for an attack from Kathryn, puzzled as to how she might defend herself - or ofnshe might bother to. "I appreciate your offer for help. But no, I need to push through this for myself. Fruitful study via immersion."

Something caught Victoria's eye in the distance. It looked like the start of several small fires in the distance, or one large one which was very low to the ground, from her angle. And near the Estate House. She kept speaking, but her voice trailed off as the image of what was going on became clearer. "The truth is, I'm cursed..." Then the alarm was sounded. Whatever the rest of Victoria's thought was, it would have to go unvocalized for now. Almost to contrast, her words suddenly took on a more certain quality as she said, "I'm going to see if anyone needs help down there." While Victoria did not know what was happening, she was fairly confident that the concepts of "fire" and "farmland" did not readily mix. The rest of her wine disappeared at a gulp and she took off in at a jog, violin case on her back.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Welcome back from whatever flavor of winter holiday floats your collective boats. We're going to, as mentioned earlier in our Discord, kind of ease back into posting coming into the New Year. To that end, you can see what's up with the IC. Feel free to continue and/or wrap up conversations between characters amongst yourselves if you want to, just make sure that you make a choice about responding to the bit at the end of the update by the end of your posts this cycle. Ignoring this is an option, if you think it's a matter for the staff. Just know that it's getting really cold outside, and the current clack is a'clacking.

Per our usual, hit me up in the Discord for questions, rolls, etc., and have the spiffiest of days.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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Weather: Fat but airy flakes of snow descend to the already respectable accumulation of the frigid, pale stuff upon the ground. It is cold. While the winds do not currently blow with any sort of malice, the merely occasional gusts of wind begin to become more frequent. The temperature seems to drop a little more with each revisiting of the wind.

Time: Evening. The sun has fully set just now, and night has settled gently upon the whole of Avonshire.

Ambience: The disappearing of the final light of the day heralded the arrival of colder temperatures. Soft snowfall took on a more diagonal route earthward, some moments more angled than others. The previous, utter stillness of the evening was not fully banished by these turning of events, though the currents of air did add the occasional low, rushing whistle to the surroundings. The moon lay in its usual spot high above, providing a marginal amount of dim light which scattered atop the white, porcelain landscape despite enough cloud cover to provide snowfall.

The Coach House remains the warm and inviting haven for the party, as flickering orange hearthfire mixed adequately with the brighter yellows of multiple oil lamps. On the rare occasions of an exterior door finding its way open, the distracting drop of heat was merely momentary. While the Coach House was not a place of great luxury, it was perfectly capable of maintaining creature comforts for its inhabitants, so long as they weren't especially demanding. The pot of simmering water continued its quiet burbling within the kitchen, venting warm steam about which collected along the ceiling like wispy, interior clouds.

As it was an hour previously, the Coach House was fresh, tidy, and well stocked with foodstuffs and various forms of drink associated with this sort of locale.

*****

Large ceramic jugs of cider joined the reclaimed brandy atop the bar, tapped with spigots in the manner appropriate to their distribution, courtesy of the Mistress of the Manor who, by default, was Madame Cecily L'Rose. Cecily herself was not present at the moment, seeing to her own affairs this frosty evening. Her niece, Lizbeth, remained. She was still bedecked in her chitinous green cuirass and held her matching shield, the borrowed shortsword still at her belt. She had been taking training with Kathryn zealously, to the point of near obsession. An impressionable girl learning how to be a warrior over a winter was certainly full of zeal. The rather nonchalant way that she slowly moved to appropriate the Constable's whip for her own training on a less "borrowed" basis. To her credit, she did so after Kosara had lain claim to the Ankheg whip. She did have a touch of jealousy upon seeing the craftsmanship and uniqueness that the green weapon demonstrated. "That looks so good, Mademoiselle Kosara!" she exclaimed. "I'd bet that hurts a lot." Not that a direct experience nor contest was necessary. Lizbeth was still quite the novice and she knew it.

The young lady did make herself comfortable among the adventurers within the Coach House, so long as they did not object, even willing to commit acts of light service in the way of preparing sandwiches or refilling drinks. She did take certain liberties for herself, be they limited by modesty and/or marginally keeping to her aunt's wishes; the latter being that she indulged in a healthy-sized mug of cider, but diluted it with well water. "Hey, they're going to be okay, aren't they?" inquired Lizbeth, trying to sound as grown-up as possible but honestly unsure whether she should have joined them. Etiquette in formalities was unclear as to her place with this circumstance. In the end, she didn't follow. Instead, she leaned against the bar with continued, forced nonchalance. She was training with adventurers, after all. This was what they did, right?

Meanwhile, outside of the warmth and safety of the Coach House, things were starting to take an unfortunate turn. No blizzard assailed the lands of the Rose River Vineyard, nor a flash flood from upriver. No, it was a much more visually subtle antagonist which stretched its grip across the countryside, and it arrived with unyielding presence. From sudden, unseen places, the near frantic ringing of a serviceable bell clearly rang out over the lesser din of freezing winds. It might have taken a moment or two for one to catch on that this was an alarm which was being raised, especially for those without rural and/or grape growing backgrounds. Those who popped heads out of the Coach House were greeted with what one might hope was an unusual sight for agricultural land.

Lizbeth did come from a background of winemaking and agriculture, and as such immediately plopped her mug onto the bar and ran for the door, pausing only long enough to throw her winter coverings over herself. As soon as she took in the sight of the fields nearest to the Estate House, she gave a breathless, "Gods above, we have to run," and immediately burst into a sprint in the direction of the flames.

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: Rose River Vineyard -> Southmoor -> And Back Again Action: THE GRIND Bonus Action: Familiar stuff, Morty Reaction: N/A

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Buildings smouldered in the dying light of the day, a hundred vertical lines of smoke marking the end of scores upon scores of hopes and dreams. Dead and dying lay scattered. Some were soldiers. Many were not. The skirmishers not declared the field safe as of yet, but that hardly mattered. They would all serve in death, one way or another, and she was the most dangerous thing out there, anyway. A job had yet to be done. This town was selected for a purpose.

Victoria rode astride a great, skeletal beast decorated with scrimshawing and armor plates, barely giving the area a close look. Her eyes were only for the prize of this location: a cemetery which served the population for many townships around. The quality of the dead here would make fine additions to bolster their ranks. There was knowledge and power present. Someone who already possessed both of these things was needed to dig it out.

She slid from her necrotic steed and walked through the ruined cemetery gate, eyes sharp and mouth twisted into a smile. She gathered her personal energies together from the ether and whispered them to life, a dirge in her heart and chant upon her lips and she directed them toward the ground around her. This place was no longer hallowed, which meant it was only a matter of minutes before her personal vanguard clawed their way from beneath the ground and shambled from behind mausoleum doors. Heroes, nobles, and peasants alike joined the dance and offered themselves to their new master. This was expected. When the townsfolk heard the call of Undeath and rose to meet her as well, it was not. Victoria's smile grew into truly amused laughter, as sweet to hear as the ringing of harmonious bells in the distance and as chilling as a glacial wind.

Groggily, Victoria pulled in her first lungful of conscious air and stretched beneath her extraordinarily warm and comfortable blanket. The fire in the hearth had burned down to embers and she really didn't want to get out of bed just yet. But she had things to do. The memory of the dream came back to her in tiny snippets at first, but after a minute or so concentrating the Bard had pieced it mostly back together. "...same nonsense I always see when I close my eyes..." she mumbled, even if it wasn't exactly true. Personal jokes aside, it did suddenly snap her fully awake. There was something suspicious about this. Her mind scanned across the events of the previous day and narrowed down possibilities. This dream was something that happened to her. Perhaps Victoria's senses hadn't caught it at first because of her close proximity to necrotic energy, but even so, she possessed no immunity to its effects. The brandy, the wine, and her pig all came with a note of familiar flavor in common. "How interesting," she finally said aloud. There would have to be a discussion with Kathryn about this.

The evening that the cider was delivered gave Victoria a sense of calm contentment. While she was a wine drinker primarily, there was nothing wrong with a good, crisp cider. She treated herself to a cup and sipped it slowly, savoring the regional flavor and warming elements to it. This was nice. Warm place to hang one's hat, the opportunity for study, and a fine collection of beverages that were politely framed as "social lubricants." If only she had a crowd to show off to, Victoria might be in bliss.

Of course, nice turned into near ecstatic when Urmdrus began distributing Ankheg chitin. Hers was amazing. Green was not exactly her favorite color, but the quality was obvious. It seemed almost weightless compared to other armors, even the lighter ones to which she was accustomed. And there was a curious black mottling to it, which confused her at first - until she remembered that the killing blow upon the creature was when she whispered notes of necrotic energy to penetrate the gargantuan insect, entering through the last attack she made upon it. Urmdrus had made her fatal strike into a macabre decoration. "Marvelous," she thought, beaming pleasantly as she appraised the armor.

Casting the appearance of modesty aside, at least in part, Victoria shed her coat and high collared shirt with barely controlled excitement. The closest of garments she wore remained, sheer black silk that flattered her agile dancer's physique. She unbuckled and loosened a belt but maintained her dignity, as above all she was a person of mannered proclivities (if admittedly not perfectly so). Then she slipped herself inside of the new armor. It fit like a standard leather cuirass and secured just as easily, but was immensely more comfortable. Even the corseted part seemed to flow with her movements. The segmented plates of chitin were more protective than hardened leather, lighter, and unobtrusive against her body. But when the word "somersault" was awkwardly mentioned by Urmdrus, the highly motivated Victoria did exactly that. A standing sideways vault took her into a full vertical rotation, hands acting like spokes of a wheel at the halfway point as she brought herself back up to a standing position. She felt nothing encumbering her movements. More testing was required. To this end, she stepped upon a chair, leapt into a handstand upon the table it was in front of, and pivoted to face back in the direction of her arrival. Victoria kicked from the handstand into a flip, as she landed deftly upon her feet back where she began.

A fist unaccustomed to being raised in anger (as Victoria preferred stabbing implements) rapped its knuckles upon various parts of the bespoke armor; midsection, breastplate, and shoulders. She smiled. "Oh my, thank you, Master Urmdrus!" she exclaimed. "This is practically a clothing accessory!" She began to replace her shirt when Lizbeth entered the Coach House, sporting her new armor and shield. Victoria had to agree with her assessment. It was, in fact, perfect. Her almost giddy reaction to Lizbeth's proclamation looked a lot to anyone observing like a stereotypically girlish bonding moment.

This seemed to be the last stress-free moment that Victoria had over the next couple of weeks.

Two major events took over the vast majority of Victoria's time, as well as many others in and around Southmoor. The first was the coming of a standard winter illness. In and of itself this was not unusual, but the number of visitors to Medician Floquet increased seemingly every day. And those were just the ones who traveled to meet with her. Mothers came on behalf of children with the older looking after the younger despite the fact that they all were afflicted equally. Others came in for themselves, regardless of their degree of illness. Their presence was to help cure the affliction, but paradoxically is served to help spread it to others along their way. Annick's reserves of herbal and alchemical remedies were spent nearly to completion rather quickly, and simply having the money from sales (when she chose to charge those who could afford it handily) did not make the medicine replenish itself. As Victoria was not skilled as an Herbalist nor as an Alchemist, her help in this regard was minimal. All she could do was follow instructions and help to alleviate symptoms. Things which she really did not want to clean up, she cleaned up. Much of the time Victoria used magic to aid with this, though Annick was not thoroughly happy about it.

It was a grind which lasted days and days. Much of Victoria's time was spent in Southmoor, helping out the Medician and her daughter tend to the sick. There were a few nights that she never made it back to the Vineyard, and offered explanation as best she could while insisting that the L'Roses and their people stay on the estate for the next while, until the illness died down. Slow and painful days ticked by until things were under control. Victoria, predictably, was exhausted.

The only upside was that, to prevent personally contracting the disease, the Bard got to attire herself in an oiled long coat and plague mask. It wasn't her style, but she had to admit it was iconic.

It was during a rare lull in business that Annick came to Victoria, a stern look upon her face. "I took a long look at those grapes, Miss Belmont. It's encouraging that you didn't know what you were looking at. I know you're one of those adventurers that the Sheriff hired. And I heard a rumor one of them was a Necromancer." She seemed to spit out the last word with some disgust. "I served in the last Necromantic Wars. Saw a lot of things - give me dreams I'd rather not have. Did things. I know you're the Necromancer they're talking about. Truth is, I've been waiting for an excuse to put a knife between your ribs." She said this coldly, without discernible emotion, like she was ordering a cut of meat from a butcher. "You've been nothing but dedicated these past few weeks. Good bedside manner. Patient. You're even good with kids. I don't know why you're walking the path you are, but I'm convinced you're not like the ones we fought twenty years ago." Annick sighed and brought the focus back to where she started. "Those grapes, and what you described sounds like desecrated land. You said the Vineyard is producing naturally. I can say that this isn't the right growing season for these grapes, and I've seen the taint of Necromancy more than most folk alive today. If you're investigating something up there, you might want to look into your own studies for answers. Now come on, I need you to flavor the medicine before the next batch of young'uns show."

The next such event was a lot more sudden of onset. Not a disease, but an accident. Ice, building up on a lumber storage barn caused a collapse, or at least that's what they could get out of the survivors. Some logs came loose from the stacks and went on a rampage. People got hurt. It was late in the year to cut trees or process lumber, but occasional avarice or desperation for building materials drove one such location to push beyond the boundaries of what was safe. There would be financial and personal reparations to be made eventually, but the immediate need was to see to the injured.

There were an easy two dozen in varying states of physical disarray and a few vitally so. Victoria tried to do what she might, setting bones or sewing skin back together in a manner that was inexpert, but she did so under the explanation of the Medician herself and took to it better than she did tending to the sick. Considering the number of badly hurt townsfolk, Victoria's ability to heal magically was depleted quickly and, without time to send for those who might be able to help in that way, she had to get her hands dirty. Cutting, sewing, holding people down as painful treatment was practiced upon them, proper application of bandages seemed indeterminate of duration. In one instance, the now magic-less Bard had to assist Annick insert a hooked wire into a laborer's chest to lift a smashed ribcage out of a punctured lung. The procedure was successful, technically, but the man did not make it. Others were just beyond help and passed before even magic might have assisted.

Annick noticed the efforts, and failures, of her new student. "Did the best you could. You saved a lot today. The fact is, you might make a better Surgeon than you do a general Healer. Got the hands for it." It was nice to hear, but did not bolster Victoria's confidence much. This was too much, too fast, and when her brain could make sense of it and actually take learning from the experience, she might find a mote of satisfaction. But not yet. Later that night, Victoria allowed herself to feel for their families. She would try to find time to be a part of the funerary service. That, at least, was her true calling.

When Victoria wasn't working for Annick, she was tasked with transcribing books on the subjects of general healing, humanoid anatomy, and diseases. She might be found at all hours of the night back at the Coach House sitting near the fire, pen in hand, carefully duplicating the texts in front of her or tracing diagrams. It might have looked like obsession were it not for the fact that she made it a point to treat herself to personal leisure time, and on the regular. Victoria was learning a lot all at once and had no desire to burn out.

Emotions were complicated things, she found. One evening after both of the emergencies had passed, Victoria stumbled her way into the Coach House and flopped bonelessly into a chair. "I delivered a baby today," she announced flatly. "A little boy. Good lungs. Medician Floquet says he's... he's..." Stress finally caught up to Victoria as she began sobbing. She covered her face and let real tears fall.

While it was good to get things out, Victoria felt more than a touch exposed. She rose, wiped her face and straightened her clothes, and grabbed her cloak. Dignity mustered as best she was able, the Bard took up her violin and made for the door, insisting that, "I need to clear my head. Please excuse me." She walked out into the night air, careful to close the door behind her quickly so that she did not let too much heat escape. It was quiet out. White blanketed everything peacefully. Wind seemed nonexistent and the snow wasn't falling right then. A huge moon shone in the sky above, and it was downright pretty out there, if frigid. Victoria was glad to have her cloak and a good pair of boots to ward off the worst of the cold.

A few minutes later, Victoria found herself at the base of the watchtower overlooking the river. She carefully climbed the structure until she reached the top, which thankfully was mostly clear. A deep breath was taken in and heaved out, visible in the frozen air and ample moonlight up that high. She set her bow to strings and began to play. It was a simple melody at first which built upon itself, layering complexities and turning into quite the excellent performance. It felt as if she was alone in a world of darkness and snow; alone with her thoughts and the ability to process the last series of tough, draining days. A quick casting of Minor Illusion gave her a simple percussion section to accent her music, and she soon began dancing atop the watchtower in the middle of the night, doing her best to get back an essential piece of herself.

She did an excellent job of it, too. Music was a skill she used to center herself, and in short order she genuinely felt better. She stopped playing and prepared to go back down. It was at this moment that she paused. In the distance, indeterminate of direction, the plucking of a stringed instrument could be heard. Clear but quiet notes from somewhere beyond Victoria's range of vision in the darkness traveled upon the cold, still air, reaching her pointed ears as her exerted breathing slowed. She was not the only one out this night. Perhaps it was time to return indoors.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Going to make this rather bullet-pointy. Here goes:

- Almost three weeks have passed.
- The arrival of the tub took place a day after the incident with the distillery, as did Cecily ushering away the two barrels of brandy.
- Anyone who drank the brandy in this time, get with me before you post. Don't worry, it's narrative. Mostly.
- The effects of the Wild Magic have not gone away by themselves.
- Remember that we are all dealing with a personal narrative wall that was hit, and/or a difficulty with individual training. Details are in the Discord OOC, or ask me if you can't find it. Please run it by me first in case it might affect the setting/possible future events so we can work around it.
- Don't worry about Lizbeth's gift from Urmdrus. He made it with his share as payment for services rendered. The other party members will get their goodies in time, as he finishes, between his regular duties to the Vineyard.

Okay! I think that sums up everything for this cycle. If not, please let me know and we can figure something out. Best of luck with this little adventure in wine country.

EDIT - For the sake of expedience, remember that you may have limited control over unnamed or non-important NPCs. If you are not sure, ask me. Single use, non impactful NPCs may be created for this purpose.