Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Time is of the offing. Or off the ofing, I have no clue. Point is, apologies for the delay in the update, and we're back on track now. Huzzah! It looks like the gang may or may not have its hands full with the corpse hauling, ritual stuff, and potentially shady bits of shadiness among the NPCs, but here we are. OOH! And a bona fide reference to Act One. Best of luck to us all.

Doing my usual thing now, remind about questions, concerns, die rolls, if I missed something, etc., just give me a tag in our Discord and we'll figure something out. Thanks again!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Meeting Spot

Coach House

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Weather: Wind is an almost constant companion now. So is the cold, but that was always so. Snow travels more sideways than down at this point, and visibility has become a struggle. If this isn't a proper snowstorm, it's certainly near-adjacent and moving fast toward it. Even those with the proper winter attire feel the bite of the evening, with a general consensus among people with common sense being to seeking shelter, sooner rather than later.

Time: It is a cold, windswept night, now fully seated in the hours of darkness and not before the dawn.

Ambience: It is hard to communicate, period. Wind buffets and whistles through sparse trees, mostly sweeping across the highs and lows of the hilly vineyard, which is now covered with snow. This snow piles upon itself in new layers, deposited by an angry, dark sky. The first of the lanterns begins to grow dim as the oil reserves are running down, the the whole of them are flailing more than a little in the heavy winds. Footsteps which were fresh upon approach swiftly fill with snow and are trod upon anew with one's egress.

The interior of the Coach House was just as one would remember it from earlier that evening, except that the lighting is quite dim. Still easier to see than the outside, but not the openly illuminated vision of comfort that one might have hoped for upon arrival. Aside from this, things are just as they were left. Outside of the Coach House's courtyard walls, snow drifts along the base of the structure, just starting to form diagonal, white, delicate surfaces, but inside of the walls, it's much less. One may move about the areas without much difficulty, but take care when using the exterior stairs.

*****

Lizbeth took in the conversations going on around her with an amount of detachment, to look at her. She looked cold. This was to be expected with the weather turning more aggressive, but it really seemed to be affecting her now. While the lower half of her face was covered by the slate-purple cloth of her split cape, her eyes emoted quite a bit. "Okay, thank you. I'll just... follow you, then." This was directed to Victoria, and the girl did as she said she would, following almost precisely in the Bard's footsteps as to maintain her own balance.

Returning to the Coach House (eventually), Lizbeth noted the lack of decent heat or light. As the interior of this place was still far superior to being outside in this rapidly devolving mess, the soon-to-be lady of the house took cues from the adventurers present and began to stoke a fire in the hearth of the taproom. "I'll get the fire and the water, if that's okay with you, Mademoiselle Belmont." She was being strangely formal in that moment. "If you need to just concentrate on the ritual stuff for Toombes, I mean." A few smaller bits of wood were added to the still red coals in the fireplace, which lit readily. Lizbeth moved on to a few choice, larger pieces in hopes of beating back the cold and dark all at once. Still, it looked like a question hovered in the air, unspoken until she gathered up the gumption to blurt it, more or less, into still air. "You... you guys do spiritual stuff and necromancy, right? Like, the same kind of things that are happening around here? You seem okay, and I like you all a lot, but... Is it possible that this is all some mistake and they're not really evil, either? Or, or do people that do this just become that way?"

Meanwhile, Cecily remained quiet until they got as far as the Estate House. She was not having a fine evening, and it looked like she might have wished for something heavier to wear. Her partygoing attire was warmer than the usual garb she had been seen in, but it still lacked an impressive enough outer layer to keep her toasty enough. "Please," she said through chattering teeth, "come inside the vestibule at least, for a moment. I shall have something warming brought to you, and we can talk a little. I will be right back. Please close the door behind you." She rushed in and back into the depths of the Estate House for a few moments.

The place was decorated in a manner that definitely displayed money, but in a form that spoke to some amount of modesty. Finely carved wooden furniture, local art, tile floors with elaborate woolen rugs, and decent stonework were immediately visible, a testament to the family's investment in the towns and villages about them. Many things were, of course, decorated in wine, grape, or grape leaf motifs, but that might have been expected as an eventuality, considering the family business.

Before too long of Kathryn left to her own devices, Cecily returned with two steaming cups that smelled of fruit. "This is pear tea, such as it is. Dried pear skins ground and added to mild tea. It's really good with apples, but there was already a kettle of this on." A nondescript Human domestic worker likewise appeared, who Kathryn might recognize from their Welcome Breakfast when they first arrived as one of the servants. She seemed quiet. But she was holding a rather large bundle which appeared to be a blanket or two wrapped around a number of things, one of which was broad and concave of shape. "These are some of Lizbeth's things. Please make sure she gets them."

Cecily drank deeply of her tea, and put on a resolute face. "Of course I know something is happening here. When we first met, Lizbeth and I had ridden a cart overnight with Arnaud's corpse with the wine cargo. If the Goblins hadn't attacked us, we would have already had him buried in the Township Cemetery. And Lizbeth - she's such a sweet girl, so kind, loving... But there are things I cannot explain with her. Look, I would die for that girl. I still would. But something is wrong and I cannot help her. Whether it's from her, or something that's hurting her, I just don't know." Another sip, another steadying breath. "She died, you know. With her parents. Sudden illness took them all, as far as I could tell. We sent for the Medician but there were so many falling ill, well, it was too late. Then she sat bolt upright and took in a breath like she came up from the bottom of a lake."

A pause to consider later, "Arnaud L'Rose spent a lot of time in his study. You should start there. I'm afraid I don't have the key - he kept that on him at all times. There were other places where he liked to be by himself, but Arnaud rarely confided in me, except about the business." Then as an abrupt change, "When you finish your tea, you may leave the cup in the vestibule. I will send someone out to make sure the Coach House is stocked up. Please make sure my niece is safe."

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 (Main Thoroughfare) -> Coach House Action: Bardic Inspiration - Kathryn Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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Victoria eyed the details of the situation after her show of divinative Necromancy and how it was affecting those around her. So far, no one was calling for her death via beheading by divine smite nor set ablaze with purifying fire. She counted this as a positive, more or less. Her arcane connection with the dead and cultural practices thereof was her bread and butter, just as much as music and dance, but it did tend to annoy the squeamish and enrage those who considered themselves holy. Still, Victoria said her peace on the subject and announced her plans openly, that others may figure out what they might do around them, and she intended to stick to that. With no mob of townsfolk with pitchforks and torches immediately nipping at her heels, priority went to getting out of the cold and finding out what happened to her Morty.

The latter carried with it practical purpose, too. "I must locate my thrall. I left weapons and, more importantly, my ritual materials with Morty. If I can get to them, I can make sure Master Toombes cannot be touched with undeath again for a good while. I'm starting my search where I left him last, at the Coach House. Excuse me." The words were stated with certainty and calm, as an older sister who would brook no effort to convince her away from her chosen path. "Lizbeth, if you would care to join me on the walk back, I will set up some nice, warming tea for us both. But I must hurry now." She didn't bother attempting to explain further, merely setting off in the direction which provided the least resistance in returning to their seasonal abode. If she followed, she followed.

One thing did give her pause. Even softened her recent demeanor which was as slate grey and icy as the weather around them. Kathryn approached her and complimented her magic, which admittedly was a bit of an ego boost. It was rare that she got personal accolades from others concerning her work with corpses. For just a second, she thought that the sudden buttering-up from the tall and strong woman was her way of segueing into her real reason for speaking with her - she wanted something. But that thought was cleared away as Victoria was aware of her interpersonally suspicious impulses, and she liked to think that she had some to understand Kathryn a little bit better since that first evening at The Infamous Pear. She wasn't the type to try to use her purely for what she might be able to do for her. That, actually, was a little more of Victoria's game. The Bard's face, still faintly colored by the utilization of her Art, softened almost immediately. She nodded her head to the affirmative, but her words seemed to refute this nonverbal bit of communication. "Lady Kathryn," she began, then corrected herself to the title that she remembered her adventuring associate used first. "Ser Kathryn," Victoria said warmly, extending a hand to gently lay a hand upon her arm in a friendly, supportive manner. "You are a woman with a huge heart and a swordarm that makes every other warrior envious. You're an accomplished and genuine lady, and you already inspire people around you in ways I cannot. Mark my words, songs will be written about you, Kat." Victoria winked at her, as if hinting at a secret as yet unrevealed. Even allowed herself to blush slightly, and in a calculated coquettish display, averted her eyes while turning her head to the side slightly. A softer voice issued, "You don't need 'magical music stuff' to be successful. I believe in you, Kathryn. I believe in you." her smile broadened and voice returned to something less intimate with a final, "I've got to take care of something myself now. I'm confident you have this handled."

Victoria's smile became something more sly when she turned her head and resumed her walk away from the scene. While she hadn't used music, specifically, in the exchange of words, she did infuse very syllable, every glance, touch, nuance of the conversation with the very magics that she said Kathryn didn't need. The warm boost of confidence would be very real for the Lady Knight, as would be the any result which came of it. And if her opinion of the Bard happened to become more favorable in the process, all the better.

Fine yet sturdy boots crunched their way up the path and back in the direction of the Coach House. There were things to do, and things for which Victoria had to prepare besides. The trip back was uninterrupted by undead ne'er-do-well, merely by the increasingly unpleasant weather that might have been described as an actual storm at this point. Reflecting, the Bard was quite satisfied that she had already dismissed her Familiar, lest the bird have to deal with this. But once back, Victoria was greeted by an interesting surprise. Morty, the dear, sweet, brainless beast of burden, had stopped directly behind the closed door of the common room of the Coach House. It was the first thing she saw upon arrival. "You mean to tell me," she started with annoyance, addressing the smoked, cured swine directly, "that we might have had a crisis because you don't have thumbs?" An annoyed sigh turned into a chuckle as she ushered herself inside, plucking her sword from Morty's jaws as she entered. That, and her pack containing her ritual materials, also under Morty's careful, if thought-deprived watch. "Water for tea. Ritual materials for Gentle Repose," she reminded herself. And because she wasn't entirely heartless, she did put on enough for everyone. Even broke into her personal stash, as she insisted on getting the best in the region for herself. Maybe they'd appreciate.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Well, it looks like we have some decisions to make. What do do about Cecily, what to do about Lizbeth, and what to do with Toombes's remains. There is also the issue of the only partially searched Study, and whatever the hell might have happened with Jon. Anyhow, I will also note that no one has made a move to ...well, move in the last post. If we're a little uncertain if it's an issue with distance or the party's overall decision, I'll make it easy.

Discuss in our Discord what you want to do as a party, and overall implement it your next post. If you want Lizbeth to go with Cecily or come to the Coach House, she will be fine with it. Just get your characters where they need to be.

Per usual, hit me up in our Discord for questions, rolls, rulings, etc. And good luck with the possible horrors which may or may not await.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Meeting Spot

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Weather: The weather has ticked away from the merely inclement to the genuinely uncomfortable. Heavier wind is not constant, but the gusts seem to infiltrate cloak, coat, and frilly party-going attire alike while lesser, more constant movement of cold atmosphere serves to move the snowflakes with compelled purpose.

Time: I don't know if it is the right time, but it is most certainly the nighttime.

Ambience: Much of what can be heard over the erratic sounds of wind come in the form of voices amongst the party, which have to be repeated with greater volume every so often in order to be understood fully. The night has become quite dark; no starlight nor moon through the overcast sky of a strengthening snowstorm and firmly in the places outside of the lanterns' reach. Snow is building up around the feet of those still outside like a crunchy, white crust which covered the visible landscape.

*****

Cecily looked to her niece incredulously as apparently, another shock hit her. It was one thing to hear that Lizbeth was capable of understanding a language that she had no normal cause to, and it was another to hear her translate. She was perfectly aware of the extent to her ward's education, and the speech of demons was not among the subjects broached. Now standing, her eyes went to the two nearest her (that being Baronfjord and Victoria). Her voice lost a hint of vigor and her face retained the element of shock from earlier as she spoke. "Please, might you.." It was an unimpressive start. She cleared her throat and raised her volume to be heard over the wind - a sound that was more like a cough than anything else, which paired appropriately with the wrack of shivers that took hold of her limbs, "I have guests in my home without a hostess. Would someone escort me back? And..." she hastily added, "...if she is willing, would you all please keep my Lizbeth safe? I don't know what I could possibly do if things get worse."

When the creature that used to be Toombes finally let its undeath rattle sound and grew quiet, Lizbeth finally let her swordpoint angle toward the snowy ground. For the first time in at least a few minutes, her breath condensed into the air as it left her lips and she began to look truly uncomfortable. The weapon stayed in her hand, but her non-dominant one clutched her split styled cloak more tightly about herself. "I'm okay with that, Aunt Ceecee." She seemed tired, for the first time this evening. "They've been nice to me. Fair, even. And I like the Coach House fine." True, it didn't have the more personalized luxuries of her more familiar Estate House, but who knows what might motivate a young lady in circumstances such as these?

Cecily awkwardly turned around as she spoke, rather absently addressing issues that may have borne priority. "I would rather you not set Master Toombes on fire unless it's necessary. He has a family - parents at least - in the villages." Not that it would be any better to see what state he was in now, but it was possible that Cecily wasn't thinking so far ahead. "But please do not leave him out here for the wolves. Toombes deserves better." The shivering was getting quite uncontrollable now, and Cecily set back on her way to the Estate House, escort or not.

Lizbeth finally sheathed her sword and looked around at the assembled party. She had wrapped one half of her split cloak around the lower part of her face to spare her lips and nose the worst of the increasingly bad weather and almost had to shout, "So is it okay? If I stick with you, I mean? And could we head that way, please? It's cold and scary out here."

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 (Main Thoroughfare) Action: N/A Bonus Action: Familiar Stuff Reaction: N/A

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The corpse's disembodied skull spoke its final words and sunk into inert neutrality. The voice which issued from it, nuanced with the rural accent common to this area but undoubtedly influenced by the magic which brought it into the world, fell silent in a way that left a hollow in the air; a quiet that was almost as disconcerting to Victoria as the voice itself. But despite the offputting nature of forcing a dead person to talk in the middle of a developing winter storm, Victoria felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment which bordered on joy. She had officially spoken to her first dead person by means of magic under her control, due to the lessons of her expertise. The Bard couldn't help but smile. She separated the halves of her bone flute and put it away into the pouch on her belt.

Following this, she mentally willed her Familiar over to her. The Raven, spiritform made flesh by ritual magic, was as susceptible to the elements as anything else and was likely very uncomfortable. Also, compromised as an aerial scout in the increasing conditions of the evening. "It's okay," she crooned. "Excellent work tonight. Rest. I shall summon you later, someplace warm." It was very possible that the intent could have been transmitted mentally, or that her intentions were already known to the Familiar spirit as it was like an extension of herself, but the words were spoken anyway. The sound of flapping wings and a muted expression of

She did take the opportunity provided by the calm of magical activity (if most certainly not the weather) to respond to the point brought up by Kosara from earlier, while she was still enraptured in her spellcraft. "I think that you are right, Kosara. This is becoming an active threat and the villages around might be on the menu, depending upon where Toombes was taken." She intentionally decided to use the word "taken" instead of something more provocative but blatantly obvious. "But even the undead will be hindered by this weather, which I suggest we shelter from." Now that the novelty of her accomplishment was waning, Victoria was quite aware that she was more than moderately uncomfortable.

The mention of Morty by their party Monk gave Victoria a flash of annoyance. Yes, Morty might have been very helpful, especially if the Bard's empty errand cart was attached and pulled to the location. But she didn't have the loyal undead thrall at her disposal right then, and it was an ongoing mystery, be it of lesser importance than the one directly in front of them. "I had established a conditional order for Morty to come to me, or someplace pre-decided anyway, where I could easily find him. The condition has been met, but Morty isn't here. It could mean any number of things. Perhaps I should try to retrieve him; I cannot see that I am of much more use here."

The last wasn't entirely true. She looked to Cecily, and then with approval to Baronfjord as he had attempted to comfort the woman. There was a hint of suspicion floating about in her mind concerning her, but nothing that a finger could be placed upon. Perhaps it was her nature recently to have less trust in people. And honestly, all things considered, who might blame her? Odd things were afoot. And a head, apparently. "Madame L'Rose," she began with practiced and professional formality, "I assure you that we will do everything we can to resolve this." Her voice was direct but soft, even understanding, and pitched only loud enough to be heard over the wind; assertive without being aggressive, confident without being vainglorious. "And I think we can all agree that it isn't safe out here right now, not from the possible threat nor the present weather. Perhaps it's best if we escort you home behind lock and key, and get ourselves back to the Coach House like Baronfjord suggested. Maybe crate up Mr. Toombes's remains and leave them in the storage outbuilding, also behind lock and key, until we can figure something more permanent out. At least until the weather lessens. What do you think, Cecily? Is this acceptable?"

Victoria was putting on a decent enough face at being the cool, calm, professional Adventurer, but the truth of it was that she was completely through with this evening. With her high point, that of the proper application of Speak With Dead and a lack of ability to do much else useful, she was just done. Finding out what happened to Morty was next on her priorities, and some of the more physically able people present could handle the lifting and toting. They might attempt to answer the raised questions with the coming of a new day.

One last thing, though: "Madame L'Rose? If you please, despite everything, that was a lovely wine tasting with an excellent selection. Thank you for your hospitality."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Update is updated! I'm going to keep this brief, as time is not my friend this hour. We have updated as far as the final questions being asked and answered, otherwise there is no change from the previous update.

One exception! The weather is getting worse, and you're all out in it. I will have to call for rolls to avoid Exhaustion if this continues for too long. Per usual, get with me in our Discord for questions, die rolls, etc.

Huzzah!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Meeting Spot

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Weather: The temperature continues its downward drift, now incrementally colder than it was a few minutes ago. The absence of the sun it taking its toll in what is already winter, as evident to the now moderate snowfall. The weather is getting noticeably worse.

Time: It is a devilish hour of the evening, whereupon most mischief might have been mischief-ed, and one anolg with their fellow conspirators will have found their place to sharpen their knives and plot the next round of mischievousness. Or to put it differently, it's fairly well into nighttime.

Ambience: The lanterns swing as pendulums, to and fro, fro and to again, as the wind pushes them about. It looks like they might fall at times, but the hook and ties connecting them to their posts do their job admirably enough despite the increasingly inclement surroundings. Snowfall is swiftly covering over the party's footprints from their journey out to the scene of the attack, and footing might begin to get hazardous very soon. Past the seeming safety of the lamplight, the whole of the Vineyard seems dark, but not quiet - wind makes its presence impossible to ignore.

*****

The base level animation given to the not quite fully stripped skull of Toombes, along with his lightly glowing eyesockets, remains a rather unsettling sight as it sat in the invisible hands of Kosara's Unseen Servant. Whatever words it spoke with its otherworldly but still recognizable voice seemed to ignore the sounds of wind and crunch of footfalls in snow. Its words tunneled into the minds of those nearby, unmistakably speaking in the desperate night.

Lizbeth held fast to her position, not moving her sword from its ready position but allowing her head to turn from one direction to the other, as if looking for something. The expression that she wore upon her pale face was not that of a child, but a soldier who had seen too much in their last tour of duty and was unable to express it fully until recently. The fact that the skull of someone she knew was speaking did a lot to draw her attention, even if she refused to engage with it directly.

Cecily had managed to pull herself to her feet, absently scrubbing the side of her face with her hand. The cold bit at her exposed skin which she attempted to cover as best she might with her cloak and shawl, be it more of a comforting ritual than an overwhelming need to warm herself. Shock at the scene before her, the mature lady's voice was quiet and without much in the way of inflection. "I'm sorry this happened to you, Master Toombes." The title was not official as the position was temporary and harvest was done, but she referred to him, or what was left of him, as this anyway. "Please help us, if you can."

The animating spirit of the former Master of Harvest did not respond to Cecily, having been tasked with only answering questions, and from the person who cast the spell in the first place. To wit, a carefully worded question was posed concerning the nature of the weapon which ended his mortal existence, and he responded with, "...Lizbeth's sword... slimmer. ...your knife... longer. ...material... ...style... same."

The remaining question took more time than was comfortable to pose properly, lest the specifics of the spell yield a loss. But eventually, as the spell itself began to wane ever so slightly, the spellcaster was able to effect a phonetic pronunciation of the last things he heard before death. It was not clear, crisp syllables, but some of it was recognizable - by Lizbeth. Regardless, with the last question answered, the terms of the metaphorical Necromantic Contract were fulfilled, and with the sound of a great, ethereal exhalation, the last of the magic left and he became inert matter once again.

To her credit, despite the trauma of the event and another reminder that she spoke a language she shouldn't know, Lizbeth translated as best she could. "Sacrifice. Test their abilities. Fun for me. Fear for them. Reminder of something." Lizbeth shook it off, speaking now for herself and not as a translator. "It's all I can make out. I don't think Monsieur Toombes heard everything clearly while they were, um, while they were killing him."

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 (Main Thoroughfare) Action: Casting (Speak With Dead), Skill Check (Arcana) Bonus Action: Familiar Stuff Reaction: N/A

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And Victoria thought that she had a flair for the dramatic. Commanding an Unseen Servant to retrieve the head, thus giving the poor bastard's corpse the even ghastlier appearance of a floating, detached skull, just in time for the Lady of the Estate and her teenage niece to arrive, was a touch of drama from Kosara that Victoria herself might have stopped prior to. The thought occurred that, all things being equal, it was likely as not that her more Infernal/Celestial associate didn't want to lay hands upon the not-quite-sanitary and particularly defiled remains of Master of the Harvest Toombes. This made as much sense as Kosara acting extra. Still, it was a good idea to reassure Cecily and Lizbeth that this display was not a continuation of whatever had concluded earlier, whatever that was precisely. "That was a good idea, Kosara, levitating the skull. Quite inventive! And it's not like we knew to bring aprons." The Bard made a show of gesturing at their new, more luxurious articles of clothing.

And naturally, it just wouldn't be an interaction with Lizbeth unless questions were raised. In this instance, Victoria's formal study of Arcana again did not bear the fruit she might have preferred as she looked upon the girl with curiosity and concern. Something was a little off about Lizbeth, even if she appeared to be doing her best in a bad situation. Victoria filed away whatever suspicion she might have had away for the time being, as much more pressing issues were at hand.

Speaking to those issues, there was this floating skull that demanded her attention. Keeping to Baronfjord's suggestion to bend her abilities toward the remains, the Bard was reminded of the first words she said after emerging from the Hayloft back in the Township, "I can speak to the dead." And while this was true, it was the most taxing spell she could personally manifest, and there were a number of caveats present. Now aloud, she addressed the Monk: "I shall attempt to ask Mr. Toombes. But this isn't a quaint conversation over tea. I have five questions I can ask, only over the next few minutes. I cannot bring the soul of the deceased back; this is a barely animating force that divines knowledge held by the former occupant of the remains. He cannot learn new things. He cannot come to conclusions about things that he did not come to before death. And he will not know anything that happened since the point of his death - including the time spent in undeath. It is beyond the scope of this magic. And finally, once I do this, I cannot attempt with this corpse again for ten days."

Victoria took in a lungful of chill air and blew it out, then spoke, "Let us begin." The skull now had the young Half-Elf's attention as she drew two halves of a flute made of bone - possibly humanoid from the look of it - from a pouch on her belt near where she ordinarily hung her sword. She inserted one piece where it narrowed into the other, and twisted it until it made a soft clicking sound. Now armed with a simple but effective musical instrument through which to channel her magic instead of the usually required material components of the spell, Victoria put it to her lips and blew four clear notes. One could hear them repeated on the wind, seeming to echo into the ether around them. Victoria's eyes darkened, her face taking on coloration resembling black tears running down her cheeks in delta-like rivulets. She was certainly channeling Necromancy, and while she might have been able to suppress this outward expression, there was no logical point in doing so. Everyone here knew what she was.

To begin with, nothing happened. Not for the first second or two. Then suddenly, the corpse stirred slightly and the skull came to some semblance of life. Tiny pits of energy glowed with only the intensity of a bioluminescent insect or single phosphorescent fungus, and its mandible moved slightly - just enough to give the base appearance of speech. Victoria wasted no time, immediately asking questions they had given some consideration to earlier. "Do you know anything about the supernatural powers over the land, Mr. Toombes?"

"...stories from childhood told to make us behave, make us stick together on the moors..." His voice, if indeed this was the voice of the departed, was echo-y and far away. It sounded like he was half shouting, half whispering from a distance, though the words were clear enough for everyone present as if the wind had no hold on the utterances of the dead. "...everyone sees things in the fog... ...people go missing sometimes... I don't know why, not really."

Undaunted and amazingly happy that this worked, Victoria pressed her next question with a smile forming upon her face, gleaming through the necrotic coloration of tears, "Do you know who the dark magic figure who helps 'necromance' the land is?" The fact that she was having a conversation, even if it wasn't particularly useful so far, with an actual dead person, made her positively giddy. To her credit, she kept her professionalism intact.

"...no..." It was simple enough, and simply put.

It was a vexing answer, and felt like a waste of a question. Spiritoombes was a lot more open about stories from his youth, passed down to make him go to bed or eat his vegetables, than the specific and rather pointed question. She felt that maybe, if the question were presented differently, she might have gotten a better answer. Or at least a more entertaining one. "No matter. Toombes, this is an important one: What killed you?"

"...a shorter sword... ...foreign... ...I could not see a face... ...cold hands around my neck... ...a voice... ...a voice in the dark and my skin opening... ...nothingness... "

This was moving swiftly back into the macabre, as if the situation wasn't already plunged into a sea of the macabre. Victoria apoke again, but not to Spiritoombes. Lifting her head to the others, her own voice lost the powerful quality of magic in progress as she stated, "I cannot ask a question, I do not believe, that shall not count as one for Master Toombes. I have two such questions left. Let me know what you want me to say. This spell is only active for a few minutes." Victoria glanced about at all present, out in the cold wind and now driving snow, then turned her eyes back to the speaking skull. This was marvelous. It is a shame that someone their hosts knew had to die for it, but it was still marvelous in Victoria's eyes. The possibilities for this spell flashed across her mind in creative bursts. Oh, she could do many useful things with this.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

And here we are again, as predictable as... something moderately regular in activity. I've really got to work on those similes. BUT ANYWAY, the update is updated. There is little difference from the last one, except that now we're all together (more or less) plus a couple of the more familiar NPCs, just in time to see she mostly fleshless, disembodied skull of one of their long-term friends and neighbors floating above his own artfully mutilated, hollowed-out corpse. Obviously, no one is particularly happy here.

However, this gives us all a beat or two to consider how to handle this moving forward. A plethora of options as well as new difficulties loom very near, and I'm curious as to how this may all work out. To this, I'll say Good Luck. Also a point: we still should discuss as a group what questions you want our resident Necromancer to ask of the poor dead bastard's body.

Per usual, please get with me for questions, die rolls, and the like in our Discord. And rememeber the wisdom of the roaches of Joe's Apartment: "You ain't never alone!"