Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

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Even more light. Yes, Victoria understood that not everyone was going to be able to see the same way that she did when visible light went away, but she was giving serious wonder as to why an illumination cantrip, multiple torches, and a magical hammer with the ability to shed silvery-white moonlight when held aloft was necessary all at once. She couldn't see any better with all of this light than without it either, thanks to the dense fog. So it was a rather surreal experience for her to stand within a brightly lit area, surrounded by puffy, white fog, which in turn was surrounded by darkness. Actual darkness, which in this situation of contrasting brightness, Victoria's eyes could not pierce. She was in a semisphere of brilliance surrounded by a horde of rats.

The thought that the light might be helping to keep the rats at bay didn't immediately come to her, either. It was another in a series of annoyances from this evening, tempered by a sense of purpose that she did not ordinarily possess. Maybe that purpose was because she saw something in the Human girl, Lizbeth, and wanted to help keep her safe. This feeling aside, when the thought did occur to her that the light provided service aside from helping the night-blind, she gripped the hilt of her slim sword a little tighter, unsure as to whether she specifically wished to get into a stabbing match with a swarm of pissed-off rodents.

The Bard cocked her head to the side at the Dragonborn's words, giving them consideration. Sarcasm was rarely out of place in times like this, in her opinion, and she had to give a nod of appreciation. Somewhere, there was a God or Goddess whose portfolio included sarcasm as a sacred act. While the identity of such a deity did not immediately come to Victoria's mind, she was sure this unknown power would look favorably upon the moment.

Victoria found her footsteps hurrying to follow Kathryn as she moved down the thoroughfare. So long as she was caught in the middle of a huge ball of light, she might as well be in the immediate vicinity of someone tromping about in heavy, clanking metal armor, too. It completed the whole motif she had going on with being as noticed as possible. (And if the God of Sarcasm could read her thoughts, they would be truly blessed, indeed.) But in fairness, speed was becoming more of the essence of their task then subtlety, so it made sense. Plus! if anything bad happened, she would be standing behind the large, physically powerful woman with the big, magic hammer. This also made sense. To the Bed & Breakfast it was, then, to collect their allies and spirit them away to what safety could be provided to them.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

And so it begins in earnest. The full moon is up, the group is out in the open, and the festivities are about to commence. Good luck.

Message me in Discord for rolls, questions, and the like as per usual.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: Ambient temperatures hold firm somewhere between merely annoying and near-freezing. The fog continues its assault on one's distance vision, given strength from the river and recent weather conditions.

Time: Night proper is set to fall at any minute.

Ambience: Oh, the shallow breath being held in trepidation that was this township was palpable as a metaphysical certainty. The swift and jittery intake of air past the teeth of a condemned man as the axe descends toward the back of his neck would be an apt comparison. Tension is especially high amid the stagnant fog, which reveals only those festival decorations are nearest to the group while simultaneously giving them a ghostly outline. The sound of dripping water is constant, if a little hard to overhear amid the other, less settling noises of movement just outside of the party's light sources. For the more sensitive to things of this nature, the place feels sick.

Yet somehow, elsewhere in town and in truest dedication, the barbecue continued unabated.

*******

The torchlight glided through the mostly still air in a decent enough arc, clattering to the cobblestones in a very near to even, three-point landing. It sputtered and flickered a little at hard connection was made but remained mostly steady, extending its illumination just a touch farther into the oppressive mists of the evening. Beyond the reach of the magic by its sheer virtue of piercing the fog, the mundane incendiary rod did what the cantrip could not - give those nearby a glimpse into the deeper concealment surrounding them.

This glimpse lasted but for a sparse second, revealing to those perceptive enough to catch it the sight of a series of reflective, red eyes. Dozens of them revealed in that one segment of orange light from the looks of it, burning with intensity and animalistic curiosity before instantly turning and scampering away. Tiny, slender feet and long, skinny, erratic tails visible as they scurried away from the sudden heat and light; yet still other outlines of large, round ears and long noses in front of twitching whiskers which bore closer witness to the torch before they, too, had enough and pulled back. The same noise of movement sounded again at this sudden introduction of a fire, obviously coming from these small creatures en masse and rippling out into places the light did not touch - and beyond - like a wave or chain reaction of movement.

Rats. Uncounted numbers of rats.

Luckily, they were not around the door of Monsieur Jacques Mallard, who finally opened his door with a thump and a start. He bore in his hands the tools of injury left to him and sought to distribute with as little fanfare as possible, urgency splayed across his face. "What? Oh, you almost didn't make it. Quick now, and be off with you!" His words were a little more terse than probably intended, perhaps forgivable by the occasion and peril waiting to be experienced. Nevertheless, he was true to his word, pulling off what would have otherwise been impossible by the standards of normal smiths, unassisted by a piece or two of magic.

The first items he distributed were to Kathryn. A hand axe and a dagger, both of which had floral patterns deeply engraved into the metal and lines of forge-fresh silver gleaming from the expertly etched grooves. Whatever their origin before, they now looked like a matched set of light, silvered weapons for the slayer-on-the-go. Were one to replace handles or wrappings they would look quite new. A quick polish, sharpening, and coat of oil were likewise apparent. A little detail work and they would be truly princely of quality.

To Marita, the silversmith handed what looked like a complete overhaul of her mace. Instead of an inlay, hers acquired an overlay of silver in the more painful portions of the weapon, every inch of it mottled with tiny, regular indentations, by the design of skilled hands. The same treatment was given to the pommel for a more appropriate balance and a portion of the shaft was bound by braided wire. The crown of the head of the mace was adorned with a vectored version of the traditional holy symbol of Pholtus, a silvery sun with a smaller lunar crescent, as he had noted on Marita's person earlier. The quality of this weapon rivaled that of his work with the Bard's sword, but in a highly differing style. Any Champion of Law would require absolution from their immediate and unwanted covetousness of such a tool of bludgeoning prowess.

"Thank you for helping my friend," he said, "And thank you for trying to help us all." The topic took a swift change as he belted out, "Now please get away from my door while I slam it and set the bar back up. You know how to reach me if you need." Jacques held up a stone, partnered to the one given to the group from earlier that day. "And I know how to get in touch with you. Good luck tonight. Try not to die." A man of his word, the door shut heavily. Sounds of reinforcing it could be heard from the other side.

The last light of the setting sun faded slowly from view, turning twilight into dusk.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 3 HP: 23 / 23 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: En Route to Silversmith's -> Exterior Silversmith's Action: N/A Bonus Action: Morty Reaction: N/A

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Before one could say, "Yeah, a little TOO quiet"," their environment took steps to correct it. The scrabbling movement just out of sight of their group was more than a little disconcerting. Magical light against fog did not work out quite so well for her as it might have for others, it turned out. When Kosara's illumination brought the twilight up to something more full, all that it did for Victoria was turn the limiting, colorless effects of the dying daylight against thick fog to slightly more colorful effects of dying daylight against thick fog. It was useful to the Humans in the group (and probably the Dragonborn as well, she really wasn't certain) and didn't hinder her as the fog stunted her Elven darkvision just as much as it did those who could only see in the light. Still, as the Tiefling was being polite enough to pass out magical light sources, the least she might do was give a polite response in kind. "Thank you, but no. I should want a hand free for my own expressions of magic." Her other hand was already occupied by her sword; an item that she used less frequently than other measures of defense but undeniably a useful tool for the purpose. Plus, it was really pretty now.

Attempts at stealth were pointless in this hour as well. The light, useful as it was, might as well have been a dinner bell or well positioned sign advertising conditionally free ale. Victoria still kept her footfalls light and deliberately placed, relying on her dancer's agility to keep her mobile and ready for whatever lay concealed within the fog. She made it a point to hover a little further away from the magically shiny blade or anything else which might suddenly come alight, not from a hesitance to be around nor fear of the brightness, but because of the tiniest of annoyance of its presence. Morty kept to her heel with its own sort of lopsided synchronicity, obeying the standing commands given unerringly. It wasn't as if the creature had a choice.

The continuing sounds of movement just outside of their field of vision was disturbing. So long as nothing came within the radius of visible area from the fog beyond there could be some sort of plausible deniability. The flipside of that particular coin meant that one's imagination might play havoc on them as they attemped to suss out the unknown but obviously present. The extremely tense details of their situation heightened this. And sadly, as a True Bard (if at least half Necromancer), Victoria had a healthy and reaching imagination. But they were close to where they needed to be now, and the party would be stronger for this shortish walk.

Around this time, Baronfjord asked a question, which Victoria felt obligated to answer. Her head was scanning what painfully little she might try to make out through the fog, saying, "It isn't the first time here I have had the notion of being watched. I shall be happier when we have secured our people behind friendly doors."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

Okay, you got me. I updated a day early. I have my reasons, most of which involve me being horribly irregular of schedule over this weekend. This being said, don't feel pressured to pump your posts out a day early, yourself. It's all good, we'll work it out. NOW, we're entering a point where awful things might happen, and in fact I am rolling for random encounters as this setting calls for it. Per usual, please message me in our Discord for stuff, let me know if you need something rolled or a ruling on stuff, or just ask me for clarification. Best of luck moving forward. You might need it. (insert evil laugh here)

ROLL THEM DICE, PEOPLE! YAY!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: The temperature had officially slipped from cool to cold as the sun set, the beams of light cast from the fiery if muted orb being the principle reprieve from the season's general lack of warmth. Without this small mercy, the unseasonable drop in temperature became quite noticeable. If it continues, then the evening will readily mirror the previous one.

Time: It is frighteningly close to dusk. Were it not for the last bit of the day's light illuminating the fog above the rooftops, one could easily assume that night was upon them.

Ambience: The rain had been gone for some time, yet dampness remained in the relative still of the coming evening. It could be seen in the puddles upon the streets and alleyways of the Township, the occasional drip-drip-drip from slick, wet rooftops, but most especially in the return of the oppressive fog which had made its way back to this locale. The retreating orange and purple hues of the evening gave a deceptively soft, peaceful trace of color to the mists rising above the buildings. While one still cannot see townsfolk milling about during what was supposed to be a big festival of Harvestide plenty, one might detect noises coming from a few of the buildings they were passing by. Generally, they did not sound celebratory.

One can still pick out motes of smoke and porkfat wafting from elsewhere within the walls of the settlement. The apparent determination of these people was as admirable as it was foolhardy.

*******

The walk back in the direction of the silversmith's shop was not overly eventful, except for the notable rustle of movement coming from the less illuminated parts of their path. It was occasional at first, growing to frequent as one's steps took them further and further away from the perceived safety of camp and public house, both. The source of the sounds never come into anything which resembles a clear view or open space, making identification difficult at best. Very soon the subdued motes of movement become an almost constant companion to those outside, begging a question or two.

The fog does not allow for a lot of distance vision, which is perhaps as much a blessing as a curse. After some doing and only one or two missed turns, the exterior side of Mr. Mallard's shop came into view. The overall feel of the location has some differences from the last time it was viewed by the party, mostly due to the darker lighting and fact that there isn't a living soul around to be seen. The dull orange illumination from the small pot forge which could be seen around the cracks is still present and glowing within, even easier to see now that the ambient brightness of the land was fading. Tiny trails of smoke continue from the chimney, and if it weren't for the oppressive nature of the evening it might even seem homey, in its own way.

In the distance, beyond what can be readily viewed, the river runs smoothly, casting up the burble of water flowing. Even this does not fully quiet down the movement that maintains distance just beyond that of visual perception. It may be noted that around this building, it sounds quieter and farther off. The moon is clearly visible now, round and heavy, waiting for the last rays of its brighter sibling to depart. It did not have very long left.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

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Victoria didn't notice that she was alone outside at first. There was Morty, but with the exception of actions taken by predetermined command in response to specific situations, all he was going to do was follow along dutifully. Not exactly what one called company. So those determined steps walking from the Public House to Mr. Mallard's place slowed somewhat, a quick glance payed in the direction from where she had just traveled confirmed that indeed, she was the only one out there at first. It was a little eerie, being the only one in sight during what was supposed to be one of the big regional festivals, made moreso by the absence of the others in her party. Luckily she didn't have to pause her forward momentum for very long as the familiar forms of Kosara and Kathryn appeared in the doorway; the former before the latter.

The brief overview of the plan as of yet from Kathryn gave Victoria a momentary point of indecision. "That is the plan. I have my misgivings, but when it comes down to hard reality, we can only protect a small number of people. A few is better than none." A shrug and a smile both issued from the purpley Bard; a piece of forced nonchalance while walking headlong into a situation that practically begged for something unfortunate to happen. As it was, even if they were able to pack their established (hopefully) safe area full of townsfolk and even moreso, if they were able to keep them all free of harm, there would still be a disaster to deal with on the outside. Safety, neither theirs nor the people around them, was guaranteed. Nor likely. Bad things were going to begin very shortly.

Kosara's suggestion of providing some magical light now that night was coming sounded helpful. To Victoria, it sounded just as helpful to whomever might be after them as well as themselves. "It sounds like an excellent way to stand out. Though, Lady Kathryn might have a harder time of it when night does fall." Of course, Victoria mentioned Kathryn because she was right there with them, but it got her thinking about Marita. She was also a Human. And the Dragonborn - could they perceive things in fog and darkness? Was she being a little self-centered in automatically assuming that the offered light would be a hindrance more than benefit?

Victoria gathered her wits about her and mentally reined Morty back to a heel. She casually lay a hand atop the hilt of her sword and drew it from its sheath, giving a note of admiration to the work of the reclusive silversmith. They were out there for a reason, and it was best it have it done rather than stand about talking on the matter. "Whatever you wish to to. Let us just do it with haste." Now that there was more than just her out in the fog, Victoria felt a little bolstered - enough so that she returned to her original action of moving in as direct a path as possible to the silversmith's shop.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

Well, here we are again! The update is short this time as not a lot of declarative action has taken place and everything that needed description has been described recently. With this in mind, I will field any and every question about the environment, the goings-on, or whatever else your character would be able to suss out from the details around.

If the group would like to move with what seems to be the consensus plan, let's hammer down what that is in the Discord OOC and I will set the next update to the task. Otherwise, do what you might with the information provided. And best of luck. Per usual, DM me on Discord or use our OOC there for questions, comments, rolls, etc., and have a spiffy day and/or evening.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Neil & Bob's Public House, interior

*******

What rest could be had in this relatively shorter time was had for those who took the time to do so. Admittedly, it helped some more than others, but any time to collect one's self and suck in slow-moving oxygen in peace was a good thing. Add some local fare to warm one's stomach and a fire to bring life back into weary limbs, a person might feel truly refreshed regardless of more tangible recoveries procured by others.

Outside, the moon stood in the misty blue sky, barely visible through the haze of fog and the time of day, as it was still day for a little bit yet. The nearby celestial body was wide and round, seemingly peering down upon its terrestrial cousin with quiet, noble contemplation, unaware of what havoc to which it might be unwillingly a party. A sort of disembodied anticipation had bceome commonplace in the Township of Avonshire, now set to tension rivaling the tautest of harp strings.

Inside of the Public House, all was quiet except for the motions and words of the eclectic, stalwart adventurers present. It was warm and illuminated by soft candles and hearthfire, with the smell of good food, tea, and wine still lingering, if only slightly. The unused tables were clear, as was the bar with the exception of the note from the Halfling cook. This silence of word and deed was pervasive, as Bob excused himself to his home for the evening, Daisy had yet to be accounted for, and Lea had stepped into the kitchen some time earlier. Even when her name was called upon, she did not answer, let alone make her way back into the taproom.

Twilight was fast approaching; following this was the inevitable night. With this came radiance and clarity of the full moon, with every implication that meant in this cursed place.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 3 HP: 23 / 23 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: Neil & Bob's Public House -> En Route to Silversmith's Action: N/A Bonus Action: Morty Reaction: N/A

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It was just the five of them now, sitting alone in what looked to be an abandoned Inn, except for the telltale candlelight. And Morty, though in any traditional sense one really couldn't count her preserved, porcine companion. Pure semantics, Victoria told herself, giving an ounce of concentration to the words of her fellows as they decided what to do. Time was running very short, and unless a practical idea was about to enter collective implementation, the Bard wasn't sure what course she was going to take. But is was going to be something, and soon.

The words of their more recent Dragonborn associate piqued her interest first. She wasn't fully aware of what he meant by consecutive full moons but figured it was a colloquial way of addressing the evenings of that moon phase. It made sense under that context. And he was right; those evenings did seem to agitate the lycanthropes, at least from the stories she had been exposed to. Her concentration began to drift as he queried where the Constable might have learned magic. So far as she was concerned, they could dig up Cavendish's corpse and ask him then, provided she had acquired the magic to do so. It was only a matter of time.

Kathryn's words which stunningly agreed almost in lockstep with her own did much to draw her attention, however. And she spoke with words that hinted at a plan. Not quite with as much flash and fanfare as she might have gone for herself, but a plan nonetheless that sounded like it had actual merit. Victoria had her worries. Holing up for the night meant that the first evening of the full moon would involuntarily transform everyone who had been affected and send them on a potential rampage, either under the sway of others or running about in utter chaos remaining to be seen, and they would be leaving the Township to whatever fate was to befall it without their assistance. It was folly to charge out with nothing else going for them, in the defense of this plan, but it did seem like a idea designed to save themselves in the meantime. Conceptually, Victoria had no problems whatsoever with this last part.

As they all shared their hopes and opinions, Victoria rose from her seat and finished the last, room-temperature drops of her tea. She crossed over to her charcoal grey, purple-lined cloak and arranged it around for bit, testing its level of dryness from its time in front of the fire. Satisfied, she slung it over the back of the chair that she had been sitting in and, after a brief moment to admire the new alterations to her weapon, buckled on her swordbelt. Her stylish but utilitarian dagger found its sheath next to her sword, and with a distinct flourish, Victoria's very jaunty, plumed, epically brimmed hat (which screamed BARD with many voices in unison) was lain atop her head in such a way that allowed her perfect, red-auburn hair to compliment it. These were the actions of a showperson readying with determination. And panache.

Another odd quality to her demeanor as she buckled and donned was a curious humming coming from her lips. The situation had reminded her of a tune she learned ages ago. After a few seconds, deathly quiet words spilled from her with effortless, graceful melody:

"...out of fear, we kept running;
Tried to hide away.
Can you hear? War is coming;
Beckoning our fate..."

She trailed off into a dulcet series of non-syllabic notes again, humming and trailing off. Motivation of self, likely, or some other reason as yet undisclosed to anyone else.

This was soon interrupted by the explosion from Kosara as she leapt from her seat in revelry of the realization of the probable nature of Cavendish's abilities to harness magic. Victoria's eyes swept across the room and over to the sparsely clad Tiefling and, upon taking the sight in, averted her eyes with the tiniest amount of blush to her cheeks. Ever the consummate performer, she could readily suppress this and did so. A spot of luck put it that the pretty barmaid was nowhere around as she had invoked a similar response earlier, and silently she chided herself for becoming unfocused at a crucial time. There had to have been something wrong with her. "Absolutely correct, yes." At least she figured.

But speaking of the young barmaid, Lea had left the room and had not returned yet. Victoria focused on this and scanned around, hopefully distracting her long enough to continue her train of thought and subsequently following actions. Centering herself, in a way. It was helpful enough. The Bard slung her violin case over her shoulder and moved it to her side opposite of her sword and deftly slipped her cloak over her stylish, reinforced leather armor and slim, purple jacket.

"Not long now," she said in a clear, even voice while walking towards the door to the town outside. She lay a hand on the pommel of her sword, continuing, "...until we see what shall happen." Her hand lay her hand on the portal and unlatched it, peering outside through a crack. "The Bed & Breakfast is nearer to the river. Let us get your mace back, Marita." She pushed the door fully open and strode out into the deepening fog.

The stone-still, burlap-wrapped form of Morty shuffled once, as if to reassert its animation. The clicking noises of hooves upon wood sounded as the beast trotted to catch up to its mistress.