Sigil

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: Coach House Action: N/A Bonus Action: Morty! Reaction: N/A

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The injury situation with Baronfjord was suboptimal, certainly. But after having patched up the worst of his wounds earlier, Victoria had quite forgotten about it, her mind focusing on other things. Maybe it was a little self-centered of her; this was a failing that she demonstrated on occasion, but with the Dragonborn's offer to help stifled by the discomfort of tended to, but unhealed wounds, the Bard's awareness of the situation was reawakened. "I will help, Lizbeth," she said in friendly, melodic tones.

Victoria rose from her chair and took a step toward the girl, but paused mid-stride and faced back to the table. "Before I forget again," she mused aloud, reaching behind her and pulling a black-covered journal from the back of her belt. Closed within the book was a short length of carved black wood, approximately a foot or so in length with a faceted, oblong, glassy bead near the slenderer tip. There was a single sheet of loose parchment as well, folded in half and tucked in like a bookmark. Likewise, Victoria produced from a pocket a simple braided cord, upon which hung an ornately carved representation of a bunch of grapes, like a pendant. It was difficult to make out detail in the dim light of the taproom, but it looked like genuinely fine craftsmanship. "I haven't had the opportunity to inspect these yet. They came from the Study. The pendant was inside of a circle of graveyard soil and I believe there was an alternate form of Identification magic being practiced. Ritual magic."

As if she had not just dropped a ton of nuanced potential information on the rest of the group, Victoria turned back to Lizbeth with a smile and an encouraging voice, "That smells just heavenly. Thank you. I'll grab the other bowls." Her footfalls retreated into the kitchen where, true to her intention upon rising, the young Half-Elf assisted Lizbeth in bringing out the rest of a quick, hot, very late supper. With the journal and other items *just sitting there*, Victoria made sure to ask people individually and politely, "Oh, did you want some toast? I think there's some honey, as well." She made certain that there was an adequate serving for herself and sat back at the table after others had been served, including Lizbeth, and still apparently ignoring the loot from earlier. Victoria did take the moment to respond to a query about hunting information about the undead, temples, and the Medician. "I've been training in Southmoor all this time. It's a small town. The religious institutions there are even less developed than in the Township. A single building devoted to a handful of locally worshiped deities. Big names, but... very small town. I will be happy to speak with Madame Floquet tomorrow - or try to. She does not like talking about the war. And I don't think she fully trusts me. I can reference my books, if you like. I have a copy of 'The White Book' of Wee Jas, as well as a copy of 'The Lucky Ghost', a Jasidan text on common and obscure Undead. It's a little general, but maybe I've overlooked something or can put together a connection somewhere." As opposed to the last adventure they had recently finished, Victoria was almost giddy that she was more useful here. But if this was an occasion where she was particularly useful, that likely meant that something terrible was happening.

"My, but this stew is amazing, Mademoiselle L'Rose! Thank you again." Victoria set her spoon down and gave a quiet, polite session of clapping, with the fingers of one hand tapping softly into the palm of her other, like one who gives applause in a library or art show, expressing gratitude with out making a lot of noise. She then sipped from her tea cup, which she had made sure to refill with good, steaming liquid a few moments prior.

To its credit, Morty had taken up position in the corner of the room, safely out of the way but ever ready in the event that its Mistress needed assistance. Still, the animated porcine companion just stood there, no thoughts of any kind running through a literally empty, tusked skull.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Yeah, you got me. This was a bit of a filler, and I was obviously hungry when I posted it. But here's the deal: It looks like we're about to wrap up the structured events of the event, so to speak, and prepare for the long rest we're all probably needing in one way or another. To this end, handle what you need to, prepare yourself for what may or may not follow, and enjoy the lovingly(?) prepared meal by your not suspicious at all hostess, Lizbeth L'Rose. If you have to wrap stuff up, wrap it up in the next post or two (if you would, please) and if you intend to reveal anything, let's get to revealing. If you don't, then by all means keep it mum. I'm good either way.

Once again, questions, help, die rolls, etc., get with me in our Discord. Huzzah!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Coach House

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Weather: The snow comes down in varying degrees of sideways, spurred on by fluctuating winds in the dark. This is a good night to be inside.

Time: We have passed the threshold of early night, into the middle of it.

Ambience: Contrary to the unseasonable snowstorm occurring outside, the interior of the Coach House is well on its way to becoming quite comfortable. The heat from the hearthfire has passed though the taproom with slower but unerring progress, diffusing only in times that the front door needed to open to admit the building's residents. It's lovely, if a bit dark inside. Several unlit candles and oil lamps rest here in the gloom while hearth light dances upon the furniture and walls like a cheery campfire barely beating back the night.

Upon the bar, the barrel of antique brandy rests next to whatever remains of the barrel of Kathyrn's ale, both on the side of the raised, alcohol bearing platform nearest to the cellar. Behind the bar is an excellent selection of (mostly) wines of a decidedly commercial nature, though other potables might be located with an observant eye. Back in the kitchen, another fire glows. Not with the intensity of the hearth fire, but well enough to cook and illuminate the smaller room. While the pantry is not packed full, there is a more than adequate amount of foodstuffs for several days. Longer, if one rations. And if the weather keeps up like this for too long, that may be a consideration. Time will tell.

*****

Lizbeth took in the words of the adventuring party, smiling politely where appropriate to the supportive bits and paying silent attention to the more elaborate speech given by the Bard, specifically. The philosophy described made some sense to her but did not appear to give immediate comfort. There was an inquisitive pique of interest at the explanation of the Unseen Servant from Kosara, but this, too, faded back into an expression of near melancholic uncertainty. So she took it upon herself to politely excuse herself to the kitchen to prepare something more substantial than they had at the wine tasting for everyone. "I will, thank you," Lizbeth said to Baronfjord upon her insistence that she also make something for herself to eat. As if to echo the words Kathryn insisted upon, she nodded and spoke with a calm voice, "Easy and simple."

The young lady quietly retired to the kitchen, for the moment leaving her belongings on the table where they lay. With the fire still hot in the smaller room, it took little time for the sound of something searing to reach the ears of those in the taproom. A large, iron pan, almost too big for Lizbeth to move without effort on her part, was quickly brought to temperature and a more than moderate amount of diced, cured pork belly made its way within. While the party had their discussion of what they might plan or the direction their investigations may take, the scent of browning, smoky bacon issued from the kitchen. It wasn't very long past this that Lizbeth opened the door and propped it with a stool. Tears dampened her face at this time, but the reason was revealed not to be an emotional upheaval - a judicious application of the humble onion, or some few of them, added to the pan for searing gave this affront. Airing the kitchen helped some, and opening a window was not a viable option.

While one had a direct line of sight to Mademoiselle L'Rose, and she to the taproom, discreet discussion was likely as sounds of fire, the hissing of mid-point caramelization, and the organized clatter of cooking utensils at work continued. Lizbeth's attention appeared fully into her work, which distracted her from the little bits of everything that had happened recently. Thick, orange flesh of a seasonal squash diced to manageable pieces went into the pan next, followed by a bevy of aromatic herbs, salt, and a light grating of a rolled, dried bark came next. A liberal amount of white wine deglazed the pan with a sharp, crackling report which faded into soft bubbling as the upcoming dish began to take life. A quick splash of cream and the pan was lidded, leaving Lizbeth time to slice and toast off some (only slightly stale) sorghum bread.

The conversation developed, as conversations do, out in the taproom, punctuated by Lizbeth's efforts in the kitchen. "A few more minutes," she announced, her first contribution to the more serious back-and-forth among the adventurers.

As surely as time continues to roll along, time rolled along. True to her word, Lizbeth was only a few more minutes, eventually exiting the kitchen with a couple of steaming bowls in hand. "Stewed butternut squash and bacon. Careful, it's hot. And some sorghum toast." A little spot of brightness crossed her face, followed by a familiar, weary expression. "Could someone please help? It's a lot to carry."

Off in the distance, halfway across the grounds of the Rose River Vineyard, there sat a low structure made mostly of stone. Within, over the noise of windblown snow, one might hear the sound of tools hammering upon materials and abrupt cursing in a distinct dialect of Dwarfish. A clatter reverberated across the interior as said tools were raked off of the workstation and a gnarled hand plunged into a bucket of extraordinarily cold water. The light was very low, fueled only with the glowing coals of a forge, but the lone occupant known among the surface dwellers as Urmdrus didn't seem to mind. What he did mind, however, was the sudden swelling in his thumb. This was due primarily to a misplaced strike from a relatively small hammer, unaccustomed as the craftsdwarf was to delicate, detail work. Another blast of foreign profanity issued, though not from his injury. A devotee to Underdark linguistics might have been able to translate, "Fuckfucking silken knife-ear rotheshit," or something similar. This was directed at the latest item made of Ankheg chitin he was finishing up. Three different colors of scrap material were tooled and turned into smallish leaf shapes and set upon a tiara base, making a surprisingly artistic circlet that yes, did look a little like Elven craftsmanship. If one was squinting. And slightly drunk. But it was a fine example of light protective wear, and was of fine Dwarven craftsmanship. Much like the two green, chitinous scabbards suitable for a pair of short blades on the table nearby.

Outside, the snow continued to fall. Unseasonably, maybe even unnaturally. But down it came, except for the occasions when it came sideways. The night deepens further over this cold, entombing land, whose hospitality is luckily much warmer than its weather.

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: Coach House Action: Skill Checks (Investigation, Arcana), Spellcasting (Prestidigitation) Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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There were a lot of questions in the air, some of which involved subjects about which Victoria had received formal training. While it might be said among certain circles that alleged "book learning" was far inferior to personal experience, when it came to passing on purely informative knowledge, rote memorization from reliable, written sources was often singularly adequate. This night held elements of both academic and practical experience, both from which Victoria could draw. Maybe it was because she still felt a slight high from successfully channeling Necromantic magic to a positive effect and got to show off a little around young Lizbeth, but the Bard felt a touch of clarity that allowed her to answer a few of the queries floating about the taproom.

She started with Lizbeth, who finally looked like her morale was improving some. "No. Toombes's remains are safe for right now - from everything but the very strongest of spells." Like many things, it could be countered under the right circumstances, but she had no desire to worry the child and, in fairness, direct animation could no longer reach his bones. Victoria took a sip from her tea and made a mildly surprised expression. It had, in the intervening time, grown quite cold. She immediately re-warmed with a simple spell, stirring it with her ring finger until it began to steam lightly. Victoria sipped again, now quite satisfied, and continued, "Mmm, lovely. Just a spot of honey and it's perfect... Now Lizbeth, you don't need to answer out loud, but, do you think that I am a monster?" The stunning Half-Elf beamed a smile as warming as the cup of tea in her hand, saying, "I've been learning about Necromancy for a long time now. The study of any kind of magic will change you, dear. Admittedly, this is one of the reasons why one of my College's philosophies, and by extension one to which I subscribe, is that of Ethical Neutrality." Another sip, another light smile, and she continued to explain herself to Lizbeth, "My occupation (or my most profitable one), prior to and between Adventuring, is Funerary Violinist. I could speak volumes on the practice and might, if you'll allow, but that is not my point this night. No, the practice of Ethical Neutrality is one whereupon detachment is a necessary state of mind when dealing with differing cultures and grey practices of belief and magic - which I do when practicing my craft. Maintaining balance in thought and deed, when dealing with matters involving Death and the Dead, prevents you from straying too far into a mythos which will overly influence you. Essentially, holding to an Philosohpy of Neutrality, according to many deep thinkers of eras past and present, helps prevent one from becoming the 'monster', especially when dealing with magic that can indeed be monstrous."

A tiny laugh issued from Victoria as she rose and walked to the cask of definitely not cursed brandy. She topped off her teacup with the fragrant stuff and applied another warming spell to her drink, then sipped the steaming liquid cautiously. "Ethical Necromancy exists. But a line must be walked. It is thin, and requires careful steps, Mademoiselle L'Rose. But you need not be a monster to embrace the dark." A more solid sip now and the purple-clad Bard settled back in her seat. She hoped that Lizbeth was taking her words to heart, otherwise she was just leaning into her own sense of vanity and showmanship. "The Gods of the Dead, for the most part, the Psychopomps who lead souls to their place after their time has passed, the rulers of underworlds and halls of the fallen; they are not evil powers. Strict, most of them. Like our friend Marita, they are interested in maintaining Order within their realms. They are not evil, nor are they particularly compassionate. There ARE powers that are as deranged and problematic as the stories say, though. Truly evil entities who care nothing for balance, nor law, who desire power at any expense and harbor hatred for anything they cannot use to gain their desires. These entities also embrace the dark, the rot, Necromancy in general without restraint and without regard. They are the true monsters of this story. Do not be like them. We can talk more about it later, but just for now, do you understand what I am trying to say?" Victoria had witnessed too much from this kid, and things which had coincidentally happened around her, to put away her suspicions for too much longer. "We can talk about why you are really afraid. I might have some perspective for you that others will not. Sisters of the Weave." By choice or by circumstance, this young lady was obviously different.

Having spent an overmuch of discussion time on something which was not the main topic of the hour, Victoria remained quiet for a bit and sipped her brandy spiked tea. She gave a tiny hum of contentment as the warm, alcoholic beverage did its work upon her along with the hearth fire, bringing life back into her cold limbs, and listened to the others talk about the ramifications of recent events. Interesting ideas were proposed which she could not refute nor support, as they were as good explanations as any, but she did stop the conversation for a moment to voice an observation to the rest of the group. "Medician Floquet was kind enough to unlock the Study, and she did not require a key to do so. Further, and correct me if I am in the wrong here, but I did not lock it back when we left and I do not believe that anyone else did, either. The Study should still be accessible."

Another point brought up was the odd use of language. Phonetic Abyssal written in Draconic, and who might have the knowledge to use it. A sense of illumination came to Victoria, as the "book learning" of her background became useful in this discussion. Arcana was one of her stronger, non-musical knowledge skills. "Draconic... used to be the Language of Magic. The preferred one, anyway. It was also used a lot by educated Nobility for its connection to the great, magical creatures that once ruled over ...well, everything. Because of how long Dragons live, it changes even less than Elvish and is practically a dead language in that sense. A lot of spell scrolls and older texts on arcane topics are written in Draconic. It wasn't until the reappearance of the Dragonborn peoples that it came back into more common usage. Abyssal is another language that was used heavily in Magic, and I believe we all can fathom why. Baronfjord is absolutely correct that there shouldn't be a whole lot of people in this part of the world who can effectively communicate in Phonetic Abyssal with Draconic characters. Nobody has had to for a very, very long time. It was like a, ...a cypher, or a code somehow. Sent from someone or something hundreds of years old, else trained by some entity like that. This is not a linguistic pairing for any living spellcaster, except for a few specially trained Elves, maybe. It should some as no surprise that these languages were commonly used among the magic users of the old Alhazred dynasties, and used heavily in their funerary rituals." Victoria paused for a moment, "I do not know how this might help, but I hope it does."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Hello again, everyone. It looks like the group is finally safe(?) and sound behind the darkened walls of their temporary abode for the winter. Many things revealed and many new questions on the proverbial table. Owing to the ongoing IC conversations and swapping of ideas, I'm just going to let the ball keep rolling. Please let me know if you need me to table it with a quick and simple "you exchage information" bit and just have you work it out OOC, that we may move on OR let us remain and address newer business before retiring for the evening. Also, with these new bits of information to digest and the increasingly inclement weather, the nature of your accommodations for the night may or may not require a fresh perspective. Or a little effort. Either way, you all know the drill - get with me in our Discord for questions, die rolls, or if I forgot to address something in the IC (as happens sometimes). Thanks a bunch for being a part of this little mystery adventure, and Huzzah. As Huzzahs may be appropriate, situationally.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Coach House

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Weather: It's official. You are in the middle of a winter storm. It may be generous to call it a blizzard, precisely, but it's close. Like the song says, "The weather outside is frightful." And it shows no signs of stopping.


Time: It is nighttime. It is the right time. And respectable folk would be ending their days, else fast asleep for an early morning. But don't let such trivialities keep your adventurous natures at bay.

Ambience: While the snowstorm rages outside, the Coach House is proving to be a place of nearly cosy respite, the only qualifier keeping it from the exalted descriptor being that it more resembles a roadside tavern than a private place of residence. The taproom and common areas, such as they are, have again grown warm thanks to the recently stoked hearth and kitchen fires. This is sorely taxed as people open the door to allow for their entrance or egress, but otherwise, the Coach House is doing a proper job at giving shelter from the elements. One might require a note of bravery to ascend the exterior stairs leading to the bedrooms on the next floor - or be very light on their feet.

The barrel of recovered brandy sits, spigot installed, invitingly on the end of the bar near the cellar door, nearabouts to the gifted wine from before. Per usual, the kitchen and bar remain adequately stocked for snacks, mealtime, or a late night craving for something potentially flammable to drink. Around the room sit several candleholders and oil lamps, the latter holding varying amounts of grapeseed oil, none of which contains an active flame. The only light in the rooms as of yet come from the blazing hearth, providing more or less bright light in its immediate vicinity but dim at best elsewhere in the area. The same can be said of the kitchen, but the smaller area for the light to cover allows for a greater percentage of illumination in the room overall. As it has been for the last number of moments, the strongest scent in the taproom is still freshly brewed tea, though seasoned firewood comes at a close second.

The interior of the Coach House invokes memories of just a couple of hours earlier. The fire in the Taproom's hearth burns with an intensity that one would describe as adequate, thanks to the ministrations of the younger lady of the estate. The light is dim within these walls but well enough to see by without much issue. Individual lamps and candles remain dark, ready to be of service in the event that more illumination is required. The scent of fresh tea dominates the room here.

*****

The Taproom of the Coach House was a stir of emotions, admittedly with Lizbeth at its center. It looked like she was trying to hold back another outpouring, though she had presence of mind to allow Baronfjord to take her new short, slashing blade away from her and set it down nearby. A longing look went toward it, quickly corrected as the conversation persisted. She was quiet as the resident Monk told his story, shaking her head as to say no, she in fact did not know that Dragonborn shed their skins as they grew, genuinely finding it interesting though without immediate words to relay that with certainty. Lizbeth even allowed the one corner of her mouth to curl up slightly. It was barely an expression, but she had seemed eager to hear about the Adventurers' adventures, and this qualified. She didn't seem put off in the least that the bulk of the words were being spoken in Abyssal, simply taking in the information and processing as if he continued in the Common trade tongue of the realms. It wasn't until the conversation was steered back to her situation that what little expressiveness on her face dropped. "No one told me anything," she began at a whisper. "I hear whispers sometimes. And sometimes ...I don't feel anything. Not anything at all." Her eyes remained open and locked with Baronfjord's as she spoke, like a life-sized doll making an illicit confession.

The intonation that Victoria was ready to help out the defiled remains of Lizbeth's family friend snapped her out of whatever reverie had her attention in that moment. She insisted on accompanying the corpse and the two magic-using women with the same kind of bubbly interest she might upon learning that they were going to the market, and she could pick out a choice pear from the fruit vendors should she desire to. The switch was near to miraculous. Lizbeth snapped her sword back up from the table and sheathed it, then followed Kosara and Victoria out to the storage area. Apparently, she really wanted to see a "practical and justifiable practice of Necromancy," perhaps learning something in the process. Her time out there was mostly spent shivering and holding her weapon in the general vicinity of Toombes's corpse until it was time to go back inside the main area. This was not to say that she wasn't bright-eyed and hanging on every motion and utterance of both women with whom she shared company. "So you can talk to them, and move them, and help them," she said on the way back to the main area, referring to the short discussion earlier, the actions of the Unseen Servant, and the ritual casting of Gentle Repose. "That's good. That's good to know. Thank you. And he can't be made into a monster again? So um... How does 'Ethical Neutrality' work with necromagic? Do you have to have it to use death magic correctly? Is the Unseen Servant an undead servant, too? How can I learn more about this stuff, like, without turning into a monster, too?" She seemed full of questions for the two of them, positively radiating cautious curiosity tinged with determination, in much the same near-obsessive way she had been taking martial training from Kathryn and Urmdrus.

But speaking on the tall and sinewy warrior, as Kathryn entered the building and set to warming herself, Lizbeth was polite enough to offer her a warm cup of tea to go with her glass of brandy, as a further effort to warm her up somewhat. She answered the woman's query as to her condition with an evasive, "I'm not harmed, I don't think. Thank you." It wasn't long until she noticed the bundle which Kat had carried, wrapped up conspicuously with one of her blankets. "Oh, thank you for bringing this!" she finally exclaimed, hefting the bundle onto a nearby table and unwrapping it. It was a collection of her personal items as well as her shield, made by their live-in handydwarf. There were the rest of her recently acquired weapons as well, some books, many articles of clothing fit for the season, and a couple of jarred goodies that she was partial to. There were enough bits and sundries to account for an extended visit. Her mirth at getting this bundle from her aunt, by way of her new mentor, kept her out of the conversation that was starting, thanks to Kathryn's briefing the rest of the group. In fact, she was scarcely paying attention sue to this momentary excitement, until the excitement suddenly broke with a realization. "This is a lot of stuff for a sleepover. Aunt Cecily must intend for me to be away for a while." It was then that she turned her attention to what was being said in the room, though she seemed to have missed most of it.

Even if she wasn't a big, bad Adventurer like these people who had already taught her so much, she might as well make herself useful, considering she was likely to be in their company for a while yet. "While you're talking, I'm going to fix us something to eat to go along with the tea. Excuse me." There was a little dejection in her voice, but her steps into the kitchen were confident enough. Perhaps she was burying certain realizations by keeping herself busy.

Outside, the storm raged on. Afternoon tea with the Mosswaters the next day was beginning to look unlikely.

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: Coach House Action: Ritual Magic (Gentle Repose) Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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Kosara's return prompted Victoria to action. Not a desire for sudden and swift movement, as one might if anticipating a skirmish to occur. This was done to hopefully spare Lizbeth the disservice of seeing the remains of Toombes levitate into the taproom of the Coach House. In fairness, she probably should have waited around for a bit longer outside to make sure that the transition was smooth, but the Bard was too caught up with her own plans of Ritual Magic (and no small desire to get someplace warm, to be honest) to give that the consideration that it was due. So when Kosara arrived, puppeting Toombes along with her, Victoria dropped the commentary she had intended with Lizbeth and moved to interpose herself between what remained of the corpse and the girl. "Kosara, please, ah..." began Victoria, looking to her fellow spellcaster and gesturing in a manner that implied fast consideration of he next words. "Storage!" she finally exclaimed, continuing with, "The storage area outside. I'm sure we may find a suitable place for his bones there. At least for now."

Victoria gathered up her Ritual book, a couple of materials, and wrapped her cloak tightly around herself. "I wish to handle this as soon as possible." She then looked to Lizbeth, offering, "If you are interested, I can demonstrate a practical and morally justifiable practice of Necromancy, such as it may be. To help your friend, I mean to say. If you are willing."

Within Storage, Victoria set up quickly and got to work with equal haste. Though the walls had kept the winds at bay, it was still perilously cold outside and these temperatures had near to solidified Toombes's skin-clothes. It was gruesome. The Bard located a suitable crate - not the most dignified thing ever, but closable so that it would have been very difficult to open from the inside. Tapping a few nails back was a quick and dirty method, but overall it would do exactly what it was expected to. She hoped. Purely as a backup plan in cases something happened with her magic. "What I am doing here is a little more like what a Wizard might do than a Bard, so far as the meat of the spell is concerned. But if this is done properly, Monsieur Toombes will be safe in his earthly rest for a number of days, and perfectly preserved as he is now." The freezing temperatures would have a hand in this, but again, this was a "better safe than sorry" moment. Speaking of which, "If he re-reanimates before I complete the ritual, please treat the problem with violence. Thank you."

Her book open and violin out, Victoria took to the Ritual as a seasoned professional might, intoning the occasional supplication to appropriate deities but mostly intoning arcane syllables. This did look like the method a Wizard might use for a ritual, until she added her own touches to it. Naturally, this involved putting bow to strings and beginning a traditional song common across cultures for its use at times of bereavement. Her hands trembled slightly in the frigid night air, but as soon as the first note played, an air of surgical, artistic dexterity took over. This was what she did, better than anyone she personally knew. The affair took, in total, just over ten minutes, after which Victoria took a blunt tool from the wall nearby and tapped the nails back down on the crate which now held the gently reposing corpse of Toombes. "After the storm passes, we might find a better place for him. But the magic will keep us safe from him, and he from anything which would seek to disturb him."

Victoria gathered up her things and prepared to face the wind once more. "I could use something stronger than tea," she admitted. "Let's get back out of the cold."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Hello again, all. I have kept the pace a little slower than anticipated as we don't have our group fully back to the Coach House as of yet, the body hasn't been worked on yet, and we're otherwise still tying up loose ends/not quite wrapped up yet from the evening. I will note that this looks like the first time the characters are taking a more active interest in the building series of events. I guess that having an NPC turned into a gross bone and skin puppet can do that.

SO ANYWAY... Yeah, keep doing what you're doing, but realize that we're under a growing blizzard. Thought it need not be said, this might affect tomorrow's Tea with the Mosswaters. Best of luck, and as always, get with me in the Discord for all of your spiffiest questions, for rulings, and for die rolls. Huzzah!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Meeting Spot

Coach House

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Weather: If anyone wondered whether they were in the middle of a storm or not, wonder no further. What began at the end of the day as a gentle bit of weather has transformed into a gale of frozen white against a dark night. Yes, it is cold. Unseasonably so, even for winter in this area. Regardless of one's preparation beforehand or thickness of cloak, unless one is acclimated to frigid areas there is a noteworthy level of discomfort present as long as they remain out of doors. Drifts are beginning to accumulate in not insignificant ways. This is officially a storm. Maybe even a blizzard.

Time: It is still on the earlier half of the night, such as it is. Ordinary working folk are probably turning in, or would be on a normal night.

Ambience: The snowy night has turned into a howler. Getting from place to place has officially become difficult. The main thoroughfare is still visible against the rolling fields and sharper hills around as a band of arcing, flat snowfall, distinct enough to recognize easily, even if one's step must be watched against the minutiae of the road. Exterior lanterns begin to wink out. Only a couple, here and there, but some of the others have grown dimmer with a lack of steady fuel in their reservoirs.

The Coach House's exterior is rather dark, though there is a small amount of light, barely a crack here and there, around shuttered windows or the mostly snug fit of the front door to the common room. Depth of snow here is minimal as compared to the area outside of the courtyard, thanks to the presence of enclosing walls. However, those walls are doing an excellent job of building up drifts along their perimeter on the outside. The cover of the well looks disturbed, as if one had recently accessed it for what was likely iced over (or especially chilled) water, below. The exterior stairs may prevent a challenge for the intoxicated, or the unwary.

The interior of the Coach House invokes memories of just a couple of hours earlier. The fire in the Taproom's hearth burns with an intensity that one would describe as adequate, thanks to the ministrations of the younger lady of the estate. The light is dim within these walls but well enough to see by without much issue. Individual lamps and candles remain dark, ready to be of service in the event that more illumination is required. The scent of fresh tea dominates the room here.

*****

Cecily appeared to flash between willingness to speak and hesitation. Whether this hesitation was based upon a desire to omit or a reasonable series of pauses while struggling to speak specifically, one could not tell. "I am not a medician nor a Cleric, Lady Kathryn. I can tell when a body shudders and stops breathing, and what that means. A lot of good folks passed the same way that season." She quickly finished her cup and reiterated, "I shall tend to my houseguests now. Thank you for everything. Really. All of you. Lizbeth quite idolizes you and your friends. A couple of you in particular. I know you'll do everything you can to help her. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must see to the others." The Madame of the Estate retreated further into the house, having acquired a laden candle holder to assist her.

Within the Coach House, Lizbeth took to her self-appointed duties rather seriously, even if she seemed to be having a bit of an existential crisis. Baronfjord's question of why she was wondering about necromancy gave her a moment of pause. She stammered a little, not getting the words comfortably out of her mouth, then seemed to switch to another train of thought altogether. "I, because, um, ...what happnened to Toombes," she finally blurted out. "And what happened to Morty. And why I feel okay with it." She stood very still, having said these words aloud. Lizbeth looked embarrassed, if nothing else, as if she had only ever said that that once and felt very self-conscious about it. "Mademoiselle Belmont is a really nice lady, and she's pretty and smart, and she does magic to dead things. And the... the other one, does magic to dead things and is mean and we all have been warned about those people. From the wars. Old men who came back talked about cutting off the heads and hands of their dead, so the Necromancers wouldn't make them hurt their friends in the night." Lizbeth looked around, red-faced and possibly near to tears. "And I'm not supposed to be comfortable with it, and I'm supposed to be scared, and I don't know why I'm not, and that scares me. So I need to know, are Undead all bad? Can they be good, some of them? Was this a war like other wars with regular countries, and the soldiers just happened to be dead people? Are all Necromancers evil? Am I ... why doesn't this bother me more? Am I a monster, too?"

As if on cue, this was about the moment, give or take, that Kosara returned with her Unseen Servant puppeting the remains of Toombes. This earned the corpse a sudden burst of speed from little Lizbeth L'Rose, unsheathing her newly acquired, sweeping-edged, shortish blade with the proficiency of a trained soldier and pointing it at the most recent newcomers. An instant later she realized what was going on and let the swordpoint lower, almost perpendicular to the floor. "Can we help him now?" While she might have blurted out too much in the conversation to hope to get an answer to her real issue, Lizbeth did hold onto one concept that Victoria had mentioned; "Ethical Neutrality," like it was interesting if uncharted territory.

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: Coach House Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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Victoria was thankful for the help with the fire, coming from Lizbeth. It was a trifling matter, but necessary if they didn't want to spend the rest of their night in shivering discomfort. And she was a lady who enjoyed her creature comforts. There was already enough in the way of embers to get a pot of tea going with reliability, so that became her next priority. There was a brief pause to buckle on her sword; one may call it paranoia, but after the little emergency they all just had (especially Baronfjord), this did not seem like an evening to take additional chances when it wasn't necessary. There was a brief moment while she rearranged her daggers to best accommodate her long blade, but things were settled when she moved her latest acquisition of sharpened, multilayered steel to the back of her belt in a more or less horizontal position.

Taking to Lizbeth's advice to handle the issue with Toombes, Victoria nodded her head in acknowledgement and returned to her animated swine. The brilliantly constructed leather knapsack with her ritual materials therein. Many of these were recovered from Constable Cavendish, or taken as payment from their previous job, and luckily she has everything that she needed for a longer casting of Gentle Repose. "An interesting portion of magic, this one - preserves the fallen from the ravages of decay temporarily, but has the additional effect of protecting them from reanimation as an undead minion. Also, this allows one a greater amount of time to apply resurrection magics, barring other factors." She consulted her books about the ceremony moving forward. "I should only require two coins... but even this may be replaced with the application of an arcane focus. Yes, this is straightforward. I can help Toombes when he arrives."

But it looked like, while the wait for the corpse continued, Lizbeth needed some tending to, herself. Hard to answer questions concerning the nature of her preferred school of magic. "BB is correct," she began, intentionally using her associate's less formal name in a attempt to make the conversation a bit more relaxed. "It is simply a school of arcane practice, like any other. No better, no worse. But," she emphasized, "it can attract certain sorts of people to it. Moreover, it contains very powerful magics, the sway of which concerns matters of life, entropy, healing and harming, both. Such powers can corrupt the unwary. However, Miss L'Rose: Necromancy, in and of itself, is not evil. Most Necromancy. It does skirt the line sometimes. Such is the nature of power. Intent matters a lot. So does execution. It is a reason why I try to walk a path of ethical neutrality, especially as far as my magic is concerned."

Now fully equipped and possessing her ritual books, Victoria was ready to see to the remains of the once-acquainted man to the L'Roses. "Let us see what may be done about your friend. His remains deserve a proper eternal rest."