Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Cavendish

Location: A12

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A net? Honestly, who throws a net anymore? And then shoving him to the ground. Did this woman stop her combat training at playground rules? Then again, he just stood there and had it shoved down his throat while he was powerless to do a thing about it - hook, line, and stinker. A more objective or introspective person might have noticed that, as it was effective, he wasn't in a position to openly criticize. As he was neither of these two things, a seething resentment simmered and burbled in his heart.

Aside from the unfortunate parts of being knocked to the ground and covered by a net, Cavendish did not fail to notice the horrid little rats in various stages of disrepair nor the martial attentions of the Dragonborn and his odd, glowing arms. Even this gaggle of reprobates would get the better of him if he stayed on the ground and allowed the travesty of their presence to continue. Oh, the horrors he would inflict just as soon as he got footing and his crossbowmen responded. Cavendish was positive that they were just delayed, or moving for a clearer shot. Yes, the Wererats could still pull this fight out.

His first instinct was to Misty Step as far as possible, like he had used that day to evade them in front of the Silversmith's, but prone as he was and mostly surrounded by angry peasants, a clear line of sight could not be established. The one direction he knew he could move was not one that he wanted to for his own reasons, so all he might accomplish that moment was to attempt to attain a better vantage. If he could hold on until his men could open fire, the chaos of the moment would give him the advantage he required.

His particularly vicious looking shortsword was still in his hand, which he utilized as best he could to get a swipe at the net restraining him. It was a decent enough slash, despite the weapon's greater efficiency as a stabbing implement; he was able to shear through a few of the cords binding him - just not enough. His backswipe, awkward as it was within the grasp of the hempy restraining device, caught with the flat of the blade and was ineffective. Next, he made the attempt to stand. Regardless of his predicament, being on the ground would make him an easier target. It also gave him the ability to project his voice farther and insist that his Guards follow trough with the plan. "NOW! OPEN FIRE NOW!" he bellowed, though a bit of his chutzpah was spent now that he was bleeding, swarming with undead rats, and restrained by netted rope.

In the meantime, Cavendish made an attempt to grab for a knife at his belt, in hopes of finishing off the net so he might get a better lay of the land and move about less fettered. While he was able to wriggle it out of its sheath, a successful slash with this weapon was not forthcoming.


-

- Areas to the north that are aflame or containing rats are still considered Difficult Terrain, with appropriate movement penalties. The flames have additional, quite painful penalties for being walked through.

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Guard 2

Location: ?

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A rustling could be barely made out in the general area of the northeastern copse of trees. It did not sound like it was growing nearer. Wherever the sound of boots upon leaves was headed, it was doing so quickly and without regard to sneakiness. Most importantly in this, perhaps, is that no crossbow strings twanged and no blackened shafts flew from the darkness to back up the Constable. Is he betrayed, or is this a play at a larger plan?



@rivaan Kosara, do your thing, tag me for the Top O' Round.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 3 HP: 10 / 23 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: E13 -> C11 Action: Class Feature (Note of Undeath) Bonus Action: Rats (Help Action) Reaction: N/A

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Victoria's ribs hurt. Her arm hurt. The side of her face felt like it might be swelling up. She was having problems breathing. Hells, she felt like she got run over by a mule. Luckily, her jacket seemed like it was none the worse for wear (she really liked that jacket). Unfortunately, the battering ram of an Eldritch Blast that Cavendish Others have moved to the forefront. This was good. Positive involvement that hopefully got the situation handled with no more time than was necessary. Quite frankly, Victoria was one classically cast piece of magic away from her well being completely dry, and she was not the most powerful martial spellcaster in the group. Not by a long shot. But it seemed like, in order to keep the ball rolling in their favor and maintain pressure on the Constable, she had to push herself to arcane exhaustion. Buy some time. Hope her party could continue where she could not.

The strings of the Weave showed themselves to Victoria. They were hers to play, if only for one more song before she needed to refresh - which would not be a quick affair. But if she must, she must. Tentatively, she reached her spirit out to pluck that first note...

...and was immediately distracted by Marita running out of the flames to her left. The incredulous look upon Victoria's face might have been a truly comical thing to show others, were a talented and superhumanly fast artist to commit it to canvas. OKAY! New plan! Save her last spell of the day for a potential Healing Word, as one of her associates might just need to pick themselves up off of the cobblestones sooner rather than later. She had to admire the commitment necessary to pull that one off, even if she couldn't see herself committing to running through painful, sticky fire.

With a shrug, Victoria changed tactics. There were still rodent corpses on the ground - almost as many dead as living - but few near enough to her to make a difference. The Bard advanced to stand between Baronfjord and the singed Marita, drawing upon the same ability which she used to animate her favorite porcine companion, except divided among several tiny corpses about them and in the fire. Charred and broken rodent bodies popped back together into a horrid mockery of life and swarmed from around the feet of the combatants and surged toward Cavendish. As before, they were incapable of causing him real damage, but would make for an interesting distraction, hopefully dividing his interest and giving her teammates a better opening. Charred, crushed, slashed apart, or just dead from a heart attack thanks to cheese overconsumption, they massed up his legs and began to nip, tug, and place their bodies in the way of his footfalls. It wasn't the grandest, most heroic thing to do, but it was something to support the hitters among them.


@Remipa Awesome Kathryn's turn.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Guard 1

Location: ??

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While the Wererat Guard struggled to decide where he wanted to take his faraway vacation, many harsh and painful things were going on nearby. But none of those mattered.

You see, he had been to a lovely archipelago not too far off the western coast of the Great Central Sea, controlled by a trad¹¹1e consortium, many years ago and longed to return one day. Or maybe that amazing spot in the Dwarven territories in the Noraljak Mountains where the women weren't quite as bearded as the men, were stout of hip, and you betcha could they yodel. Perhaps instead he would travel not quite so far north as all that, and spend some silver at Khimn City, where that straightlaced circle of Paladins ran things but they also sponsored a grand Arena, with all the crowd-drawing festivities which accompanied it. While he was at it, if he hit paydirt with some side wagers, he'd travel all the way to The Lake, and take a ferry to Argentum. Oh, a savvy man could get lost in a walled city larger than some kingdoms, and there were a plethora of opportunities to start his life over, there.

But the thought that really struck home for him was, despite the fact that when this fight started, the opposing side could clearly see himself and one other colleague, in addition to the Constable - with this in mind, it didn't look like anyone from their group stopped to ask who (or what) it was that toppled over that first barrel, which cut off the eastern thoroughfare.

Yes, while he was already mentally vacationing far away, that was his nagging, intrusive thought.

@Dragoknighte Marita's turn.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Miraculously, the fire had chosen not to spread any further in the interim moments. It still crackled and roared with hot, white noise as only a blaze of its size might, scented with the acrid aromatics of concentrated evergreen sap. It might even be considered pleasant, were it not in such overwhelming amounts.

The area within the trees holds its mysteries, and any visitors, shrouded in its shadows after more than a handful of feet within. There was at minimum one occupant, evidenced by a spent crossbow bolt from somewhere within the relative dark of the area, though it remained to be seen whether said occupant was still around; there was evidence of either circumstance being accurate.

The Constable, still in his hybrid rat form, was hissing and cursing at himself for an overall uninspired series of attacks against Kathryn. There was a more personal stake against this woman that went beyond the simple need of hurting his enemies in his field of vision. She had his hammer, and she was going to suffer for it. Rage induced adrenaline kept him upright and attacking, despite his building injuries. Even in his frustrated state, Cavendish was an experienced, professional soldier, once upon a time. He knew how to scrap with heavily armored opponents and place the point of his weapon where it would cause maximum damage. His smile, once arrogant and demeaning to those who viewed it, now carried with it a sense of determined weariness.

Daisy wielded her own shortsword, though without the same level of proficiency as the creature which held had held them all at its mercy. And it was borrowed, so to say that it was "her own" is a hair misleading. Regardless, she had one and no matter what else was going on, she was going to keep trying to free her friends. Daisy was tired, showing something near to exhaustion. This was no reason for her to stop trying to open the hastily constructed cage, and try she did. There was a mote of confusion just before when the Tiefling lady appeared from around the side of the enclosure and ran directly into the same space as she was occupying, only to ignore her, whack the cage once, and run back around another corner. But adventurers were a strange lot, if this group was any indicator. All she could do was keep swinging. Luck was finally with her as the Halfling cook hit her blade right in the last groove cut at just the right angle to finally split the wooden bar asunder. It was attached by nails to the top and bottom of the cage but was easily pushed to the side.

Lea, the tavern girl at Neil & Bob's, was the first to move the broken bar and set an unsteady foot outside of the cage. With her first taste of free air, she reached out to support the next person even as Daisy put steadying hands upon her.

The leftmost cage stood empty. The nearby fire had made it potentially more hazardous, but their luck held well enough that it did not spread that far. The former prisoners had exited the immediate area with the exception of the fisherman, who was bringing up the rear - fishing pole at the ready. He paused just long enough to see that no one who had line of sight with him was looking in his direction, silently wished them luck, and departed. It was quite possible that his internal well-wishing involved something about an early time of day, an appropriate outdoorsy activity due to favorable conditions, and a well-meaning chuckle.

New Round

@Arty Fox Baronfjørd - Do what you've gotta do. Bear in mind that a swarm of rats occupies the same area as yourself

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Cavendish

Location: A12

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That damned, psychic damage casting halfbreed bitch. If Cavendish had a regret that very instant, it was that the second of his Eldritch Blasts didn't connect and turn her into a fleshy pile on the cobblestones of his township. Oh, she would get hers as soon a the rest of them were stabbed within an inch or two of becoming soup. And now the mystery was solved as to what hurt his brain and made him wander out of the silversmith's place. Of course. She would get hers.

Almost as annoying as the Half-Elf was the disfigured Dragonborn. Pitiful as his attempt might have been to hurt him (and it was, to his opinion), the dull demihuman was trying new things to hurt him. And true to form, as the shard of wood was simply not up to the task of giving him more than annoyance, the bit of burning pitch on the end seared into his fur and skin handily enough. He hissed, but did not let it go any further. Like hell he would give that creature the satisfaction.

Further, the painfully inexpert attacks launched by that Cleric gave Cavendish a mote of nuanced amusement. Oh, that threat was present and the magical, floating dagger could potentially end him - but putting that into practice appeared more in the realm of the academic than the applied. So he picked and poured over the most appropriate target for his attentions as only a veteran soldier might, which right now wasn't Marita.

But Kathryn. She ticked off all the boxes on the checklist of people he wanted to outright murder, the tall strumpet in crappy armor who carried off his hammer - his hammer - during what amounted to a due application of maintaining public order. And perhaps the greatest crime of all in this horrible set of circumstances is that she couldn't even use it with anything resembling experience. This was fantastic. Cavendish could vent a serious amount of frustration gutting this armored ash tree, while simultaneously getting his favorite hammer back. This was going to be a satisfying event after all. "I'm going to pry you open," he promised, turning his particularly vicious-looking shortsword toward Kathryn like a deranged surgeon.

A spry move forward found the Constable's sword channeling Kathryn's shield out of place. It was not a full and broad opening, but enough to exploit a spot where the interlocked chain links did not cover; slipping underneath a layer of metal and padding - coming out bloody. It was not his best work, to be sure, but it was an excellent start. His follow-up attack did not fare quite as well, probing again for the soft flesh of Kathryn's torso but not getting any more then a scratch.

The Constable, in his desire to end this woman's life as succinctly as possible in a horror of broad, ragged-edged puncture wounds, suddenly felt an uncanny Surge of Action. Bright, bloodthirsty eyes gleamed as he leapt, bringing his weapon down in a forceful stabbing motion with all of the power of his weight behind it. A great, hissing, "GRRRRAAAAAAAAH!" came forth from the Wererat Constable as his blade struck true on Kathryn's skull - or it would have, except that he landed an off-angled blow upon her helmet, twisting the blade off to the side, harmlessly. His feet connected with the ground, amid the swarming rats, and the proud fighter known to mere mortals as Cavendish faltered his last attempt at an attack with an ungraceful stumble, clanging impotently against the less experienced warrior's shield. The frustrated look upon his face was priceless.

Obviously, this was NOT his finest moment.

Well, he was getting one final thing out of the way. One swarm of the rats under his thrall, upon his mental command, moved to swarm over Baronfjord to give him something to deal with, that he may continue his assault against Kathryn unabated. Another negative expression, this one of annoyance, crossed his rodenty features as the swarm couldn't quite latch their dozens of collective paws upon the Monk. They too did not have the best of luck in their endeavors.

Cavendish could at least content himself in the fact that he did spill blood. Just not as much as he might have liked.





- Kathryn has taken 6 points of Piercing damage.

- Areas to the north that are aflame or containing rats are still considered Difficult Terrain, with appropriate movement penalties. The flames have additional, quite painful penalties for being walked through.

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Guard 2

Location: ?

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The yell sounded across the battlefield, but not from the obscured Guard. From his master, Cavendish: "NOW!" followed by a noteworthy amount of silence from the trees. "ALL THREE OF YOU, FIRE AT WILL!" Yes, his little endgame trap was being sprung. But strangely, it ...really hadn't happened just yet.

Maybe they were going for coffee? Oh! They were just lining up perfect shots, that was all. Right?



@rivaan Kosara is up. Per usual, tag me for the Top Of Round, please.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 3 HP: 10 / 23 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: F12 -> E13 Action: Casting Spell (Dissonant Whispers) Bonus Action: Bardic Inspiration (Marita) Reaction: N/A

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OUCH. This amount of concentrated pain was new to Victoria. She had suffered greater collective hurts prior to this day, but the single blast of black, eldritch energy took a lot out of her. The fact that she was still more-or-less on her feet was amazing to her. She had to have broken a couple of ribs, thanks to the sudden difficulty in inflating her lungs without a sharp report answering her attempt. The damage otherwise felt intense, but at present not life-threatening. Granted, her actions practically begged for a martial response even if she thought it necessary. Too many people were ignoring the crazed wererat Warlock with the best long game out of anyone on the field. This concept fully in mind, Victoria was relieved that she was able to evade the second blast, positive that it would have resulted in her both expressing her mortality in a practical manner, and settling her internal query as to which deity of death or the dead would open their ethereal doors to her.

Maybe it would happen this night. Victoria was prepared for it, even if it would mean that she could not complete her ongoing and long-term personal goals. The idea that this might go unfinished prior to her sudden lack of vitality filled her with questions about the nature of herself and what might happen to her, but even this was academic. If it happened, it happened. There was strong preference to continue pulling air into her body (even if it hurt just now) and sample fine wines, make music, experience life in manners both studious and hedonistic, etc., but a higher priority called in that moment. The others seemed more galvanized in their need to stop the Constable, and she was about to spend the last of her abilities to assist in that very task.

First, the purple-clad Bard looked to Marita, the one who was trying from the start. Curious that she would voluntarily lean her support toward a Law Cleric, but here they were. Perhaps part of it made sense; one of her preferred sources of knowledge was the Jasidan's White Book and other such sources, all of them rather profound in their adherence to Order, if of their own making. But even this thought was immaterial in this crucial time. Drawing upon the last of her reserves, her "force of personalty", one might say, Victoria addressed the Cleric in a voice brimming with infectious confidence. "Almost got him, Marita. Just one more. One more good one and we have him dead to rights!" Her voice faltered a little toward the middle, an effect of her damaged physicality, but the resolve with which she continued shone through.

Far be it for Victoria to limit herself to merely hyping up her teammates, she moved to her right to get a better vantage on their visible opponent, as Kathryn and Baronfjord moved to take forward positions. Once a good line of sight had been established and she confirmed that she was not too far away for her dwindling spellwork to be effective, Victoria began to whisper and chant quietly, seemingly to herself though her eyes never left Cavendish. Whispered words floated across the battlefield, quiet but striking only to their intended recipient, which echoed within his mind as scattered phrases of the dead and dying; those he knew and many he did not, whispering promises of the hereafter and what horrors her would face upon his fast approaching demise. It reverberated, noises clashing upon themselves and turning into a cacophony within his psyche, driving him further and further to senselessness.

Unfortunately, he had been subjected to this very attack earlier, and was able to put up a rudimentary defense this time. The spell did not have its fullest effect, but did gently take him to a headache which felt to truly be splitting, as psychic damage caused noticeable trails of crimson to seep from his nose, mouth, and ears. Were he not in a furred, myanthropic form, one would note a blanching, pale complexion. Cavendish did look distracted as his eyes glazed and fixed in one direction, head weaving uncertainly back and forth for a moment.

Victoria could feel her abilities coming to exhaustion, sooner rather than later. At least she could retain some usefulness as a proficient wielder of a fine, silvered sword. Though she still had one trick left.



Marita has another Bardic Inspiration (1d6).

@Remipa Awesome Kathryn is up. Go be a hitter.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Guard 1

Location: ??

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Yeah, still nowhere to be seen overtly, covertly, or otherwise. Maybe it's good news. Maybe it isn't. Maybe he's stuck in a huge cage with a great, horned, alien beast bent on doing unspeakable things to him while a child nonchalantly offers him a lollipop. Who can say? Only time will tell, and whatnot. Unless it doesn't. Time doesn't owe any of us shit, let alone a polite conversation.

@Dragoknighte Marita's turn.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Several events occurred in the intervening seconds between brutal attacks across the battlefield. The fire which lit the tree aflame had completely engulfed the leafy mass now, turning it into a furious but temporary inferno which quite effectively illuminated the open areas of the square. Luckily, the fire had not yet spread to the other trees in its vicinity. This is likely only a matter of time.

Traveling more than a couple feet into the vegetation does wonders to interfere with this uncommon clarity of nighttime vision in this once cheerful town center, as was attested to by the sudden pincushioning of the party's Tiefling Warlock from an unseen assailant. Still, the field of combat was nice and toasty.

Cavendish remained in his anthropomorphic rodent form. His every arrogant syllable issued forth with more guttural hissing than in his otherwise preferred Human shape, but still unmistakably him, provincial accent and all. He was bereft of the undead rats which had plagued him just earlier and was sneering from his relative success blasting the stuffing out of the Bard. Maybe this would cease the bits and snatches of music that, in his mind, were patently ridiculous in a situation like this. His attention was divided between his ranged adversaries and the one which closed to meet him. Cavendish's face twitched into a smile. He brandished a vicious looking shortsword in one hand and let the other trail behind him. This was an opponent that he wanted to humiliate.

The cage to the right was peppered with damage in a couple of different spots. The majority of the damage was on the southernmost side, alongside the shortsword-wielding Halfling cook, Daisy. Tired beyond her previous imaginings, she barely found the strength to lift her borrowed weapon once more and continue hacking at that one spot on the cage. This time, she nearly got through. Daisy's eyes rose at just the right time to see Kosara rush right upon her, prompting the much smaller woman to scramble back to keep from getting trampled. "What?" she chirped, clearly surprised. "I almost have this! Please, just keep those monsters away from us!" she pleaded, looking around to see if anyone was still fighting on their behalf.

The lefthand cage was now open enough to get the Human population therein safely thereout, and they took advantage of this. Beppo, obviously in much worse shape than the others, had to be supported by the burlesque performer and, off and on, by Cecily. The vintner herself kept looking back to those who had already done her great service, wishing she could do more for them. Ultimately, she did move along with the rest of them, taking the route suggested by Baronfjord. The fisherman, ever a man of few words, took up the rear. He gave a quick twirl of his stout fishing rod and flexed his arms, as a localized breeze caught and ruffled the brim of his wide fishing hat in a manner most heroic. He glanced to the other prisoners escaping and then to the Dragonborn Monk, and spoke in dutiful tones, "Nice day for fishin'." He nodded, and moved to cover the escape of his small group of townsfolk.

New Round

@Arty Fox Baronfjørd - Time to... stuff. Epically.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Cavendish

Location: A10 -> A12

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As much as Cavendish was anxious to get back to the slaughter, there was more than a little regret as the magic from the pretty Half-Elf ripped into him, and everything around him. Bodies of more of his diminutive rat companions were cleft fully through, including the undead ones which were assailing his person, but deep furrows also cut his flesh in ways that connected and spiderwebbed like broken glass. It was then that he remembered the flash of purple that clouded his brain from the last time they tussled, filling him with whispers that he swore he recognized from previous victims. The spectral dagger that bobbed and weaved around him was not forgotten either; a potentially painful gift from the now obvious Cleric on the other side of the fire. It was only a matter of time before it scored a hit on his flesh, and this knife's cut would stay open and bleeding when it did.

To his estimation, they couldn't have had a lot of fight left in them, and if they stayed away because of the rats and the fire, he could pick them off with some expertly aimed Eldritch Blasts. There were two potential targets that might have been able to overpower him - okay, at least match him if they worked together - and one of them didn't seem to want a thing to do with him. Yes, the Constable could pull a win out of this. Even with the Bard's painful and unpredictable spell set, she HAD to be reaching her limit. Not a lot of magical staying power, those musicians.

But damn if they hadn't taken a lot out of him. He still had some tricks, and he did remember the near one-shot kill he delivered to the Tiefling. He could do that again readily enough. Yeah, Cavendish had this fight. And if they wanted to ignore him again, well... the prisoners wouldn't fare as well against black, crackling, eldritch magic.

Oh, and the glee that took his features when the tall one knocked the live rats off of herself and finally came forward was remarkable. Judging by her uneven gait around the fire and through the rats, she wasn't going to quite make it to him before he gave a parting gift to the ones farther back. This did not stop him from gripping his shortsword with expert dexterity and adopting a lower stance in anticipation of the melee to come.

But first! The parting gift.

He barely glanced his eyes away from Kathryn's approach. It was just long enough to select an appropriate target - one who had not felt the sting of his wrath yet, and obliterate her. It was only fair, singing those mortally painful tunes. He strafed to his left about ten or so feet to line up with the suddenly emboldened Bard and released a torrent of magical energy toward her. "Dance away from these," he hissed, the twin ebon snakes of eldritch power sizzling their way toward Victoria. Her trained agility did allow her to barely sidestep one of the blasts, but she caught the full force of the other squarely in the center of her torso, impacting with the force of a powerfully swung maul.

The sight of his most recent attacker in explosive pain seemed to energize the wire-furred form of the Rat Constable. With a sneer of contempt, he fixed his gaze between Marita and Kathryn, exclaiming, "I believe I've found my Second Wind. Come at me!"



- Victoria has taken 13 points of Force damage.

- Areas to the north that are aflame or containing rats are still considered Difficult Terrain, with appropriate movement penalties. The flames have additional, quite painful penalties for being walked through.

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Guard 2

Location: ?

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From a dark place (and it's always a dark place, isn't it?) a muffled twang of a crossbow probably wasn't heard over the ambient sounds of battle going on. The bolt was readily enough felt by its intended target, however, sinking mercilessly into Tiefling flesh, seemingly out of nowhere. It was Sneaky. And it was an Attack. Luckily, it wasn't as vital a strike as it could have been. Whereupon its firer stood, none could say definitively. Wererats were rather adept at hiding, be it among trees, the detritus of urban decay, or in the shadows.


- Kosara has taken 8 points of Piercing damage.

@rivaan Kosara is up. Per usual, give me a tag so I can "Top O' Round" us, please.

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: F13 -> F12 Action: Casting Spell (Shatter) Bonus Action: Bardic Inspiration (Marita) Reaction: N/A

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Victoria took some stock of her surroundings, as best she could from her spot crouching behind a barrel. The cover was extremely useful and gave her an okay vantage point for her odds and ends of Necromancy, but it held another interesting quality - it allowed her almost unrestricted views of her teammates at first. Form there, the Bard could hear their efforts to hack apart the wooden enclosures which held the captured townsfolk. This was punctuated every so often by the discharge of crackling black energy with which Cavendish peppered those he could see. Worse than this, he seemed to have approximated her trick of commanding a swarm of rats from the greater massing of the furry beasties to roll over Kathryn, nipping at her as she still tried to free the prisoners. To his credit, Cavendish's rats were still living. That wasn't a trick that she could accomplish.

But despite this relentless attack, the only one continuing to combat the Constable was Marita. Even Victoria herself was merely attempting to distract and provide him nagging difficulty. Then it dawned on the Bard - Only one person was fighting back. One. There was no point in playing a support role with her limited (and fast dwindling) arcane resources if there was no one to support, except for the other party member who was suited to a supporting role, herself.

Thinking back, Victoria's mind flashed to the smug and condescending Shadow Monk who berated her for getting into the thick of things in the Goblin fight a couple of days prior. There was a reason that she did what she did, and that reason was showing itself again. She gave a quick and quiet supplication to the gods with which she was most familiar; Wee Jas, Jergal, Libitina, the Elven god Naralis Alanor, and even stern, judgemental Kelemvor (though they had some fundamental differences in philosophy). The Lady of Ravens was given a nod in her thoughts as well. "I've often wondered which of you would claim me," she whispered. "Whomever does, please take me quickly and let me die well."

Victoria took up her sword and rose, stepping to her left to fully interpose the two upright barrels between herself and Cavendish. The presence of her preferred magic had already began to show on her face; the grey-black color of ancient bone pooling around her crystal blue eyes and spilling downward, as if darkened tears of one in profound mourning. She had accomplished this with cosmetics the night before. It came naturally now as her soul reached into the Weave to pluck and rearrange the flow of magic to assist her needs, and she dipped into the teachings of the Grey Requiem. What power Victoria had left, she intended to hurl at the wicked Constable.

Perhaps it was her sense of Neutral detachment that brought her to this decision. She didn't have any hard feelings for the prisoners, and in fact had bonded with little Lizbeth enough that she would do whatever she might to bring her aunt back to her. But the prisoners were absolutely not her priority right then. They could be saved at leisure (for the most part) after the factor which threatened them was eliminated. If the others were unwilling to to this, then the Bard would stand with Marita and pour her outrage upon Cavendish until nothing remained.

The first action the took was to address the Cleric. her voice cut across the battlefield with presence and clarity, demonstrating the force of her personality. "This thing is not a Constable any longer, Marita. It isn't even a Human anymore. Cavendish surrendered his humanity for power and contradicted every promise he made to this town to aid and defend its people. He betrayed the Law he swore to uphold and you are in exactly the right place, at the right time, to make him answer for this betrayal. Drop the hammer on this monster. We can beat him. I will help you."

Her second action was to sing. Vocalizations of scales at first, quickly becoming a more complex tune as it penetrated the ears of everyone around her. It seemed to echo for a moment, coming from the air around Cavendish, yet the echo sustained and grew louder as Victoria's voice became quiet. All at once, a splintering, cracking sound punctured the air, like a great glass bowl shattering upon a stone floor. Splits in Cavendish's skin opened in jagged formations and several (but not all) of the undead swarm of rats fell from him; a tradeoff made for the sake of hurting him.

Victoria was now exposed, and as such was a viable target who had just damaged this vindictive, magic-weilding Wererat. But even in this potentially foolish move, there was a glimmer of hope. For the first time in this fight, Cavendish stooped and took heaving breaths. He was hurt, and was finally showing clear signs of it.



Marita now has Bardic Inspiration (1d6).

@Remipa Awesome Kathryn is free to do stuff.