Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Coach House

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Weather: It is cold, for certain, but after a while it looks like the worst of the storm is over. A few gentle flakes still descend, but this is the quiet passing of a great, atmospheric beast leaving the land silent in its wake.

Time: We discuss the passing of the night and the eventual return of the dawn.

Ambience: The soft crackle of controlled fire consuming wood issues from the individual hearths within the Coach House, comprising the ambient sounds of the night and coming morning, accented with the slow, rhythmic breathing of most of the inhabitants within. Winds from outside calm significantly, barely notable against the walls and roof, especially as compared to earlier in the evening. The rooms are scented with seasoned, aromatic firewood and the occasional note of fine potables, as is most of the building due to decades of familiar fermentations. It is a night whose relaxed feel now belies the violence of the hours prior; even the creak of the building under the stresses of wind and weight of snow seems to satisfy the senses now that warm blankets and peace are involved.

Outside, snow piles deep and drifts slant against the windward side of buildings. This is not the light and playful snowfall of early to mid-winter, but a near to unprecedented piece of weather in a place generally considered ideal for the growing of fine wine grapes. Still, the coverage looks rather peaceful, especially now that the moon breaches the cover of high clouds, giving irregular and bare amounts of pale light to reflect from the smooth landscape of white hills below.

*****

The impotent moans of the dying reach Kathryn's ears across a field of slaughter. Troops under her command have already fanned out, ready to put the unwilling or incapable to the spear; if they will not serve in life, then their corpses shall serve instead. This needs only happen a few times before the rest of what passes for survivors get the point, yet even still a few remain which refuse to bow. There was bravado from some, even potentially genuine bravery, but none could stand against Kathryn's might as she applied a great and powerful sword to those she was pointed toward.

Just a few scattered towns in this area, certainly nothing of great note, but one item of business stymied their complete annexation of this part of the realm to the Empire: There were none of noble, let alone royal blood from whom she might wrest a crown. Peasants and mercenaries, all, and none who might surrender or be slaughtered that she might claim another's territory. This damned Oath deprived her of a total victory and claim to a land of her own, once the Empire expanded past the mountains and into these moors, and then into the fertile lands beyond. All she could do now was wait. "The Prince will be here soon. Make sure everything is ready. And show me to this 'Headman.'

The center of this burned-out town held the survivors - common folk, non-combatants, fodder - who might be useful in ways which did not involve picking up a spear, if they were made to understand the truth of their situation. Otherwise, they would belong to their Prince. There were no words exchanged while the town Headman was lashed to a barrel. None were necessary. The old fellow was strong still. Defiant. How Kathryn wished she could have fought him in his prime. There was even temptation to let him loose and give him a sword, just to allow this Headman the honor of dying like a warrior. But this wasn't about honor, such as it was. The sword was placed to the side in lieu of a large, intimidating maul. She swung it once over her head and brought it down upon the back of the man's skull, bringing him to expiration in such a way as his brains stained the townsfolk closest to them.

"Kneel." One simple word which brought about an immediate result.

Elsewhere, the soldiers both living and dead moved like a swarm of bees around buildings and yards, snatching up who they could and putting troublemakers to the blade. Kathryn looked back over her shoulder, past the rolling hills dotted with multicolored wildflowers and a few copses of trees, back to the mountains in the distance. Home was on the other side, but no chance of proving one's self. But this? Another frontier town no one had ever heard of, in a place no one would ever want to hold for strategic positioning. Orders from superiors kept her here, and then just barely.

A sudden separation of consciousness came over Kathryn, as the actual woman was able to break free of the mental narrative present, but still irrevocably trapped within this unfamiliar body in this almost familiar place. The actual owner of the body laughed internally, delighting in the torture of spirit as slowly Kathryn felt herself unravel, her sanity a thread from a sweater hung upon a thorn, removing itself as its wearer ran for dear life. When the last of her sense of self was about to break...

"Lady Kathryn?" came a voice from the floor, the silhouette of Lizbeth partially blocking the fireplace. Her voice was eerily calm, impossibly even. "Lady Kathryn, I think you were having a nightmare." Lizbeth shifted slightly in the gloom so that the yellow-orange light of the hearth could show her features. She stared at Kathryn with black, lifeless eyes, and bloodless white skin. No breath entered nor left her body. Lizbeth's head suddenly jerked to one side in what would have looked like a concerned gesture were it a smooth, human motion. Her lips grew into a smile. "Are you okay now?"

*

Victoria strode back from the ritual circle, burns evident across her hands. The spellwork had gone farther than she wanted it to, but the Lich-Emperor wanted results. She waved over a nearby soldier and, smiling, caressed his face with tender strokes and quiet promises of pain before clutching his throat and intoning words laced with bitter blackness. Crackling energy tore a portion of the man's life from him, leaving her handprint across his throat but mending the burns on her own body instantly. "You will live to serve for another day. You will die to serve for others. Get back to scavenging. You know what we're looking for." Another town down in this forsaken, too-cold countryside that no one cared about. Another one yet to go. And again. And again. And again. The war wasn't even out this way, yet she was bound by the will of the Lich-Emperor to come to this place, at this time, and follow commands as they were given. Strength in life, strength in death.

Once Victoria received word that the bodies, at least the mostly intact ones, were piled up in one central area, she knew that she had to be there. Robes of black silk trailed behind her, flapping dramatically in the gusting wind. Common folk were here as well; locals who surrendered or were not harmed to a point which that were not useful. "I do not trade in slaves," she said to a nearby officer. "I am not a Quartermaster and I have not time for them. If there are any willing who possess a useful skill, have them brought to me. Otherwise put them elsewhere, or bleed them and throw them on the pile."

The officer stammered out an uncertain, "Y-yes, my Prince," and ran to make certain the orders were carried out posthaste.

In front of the assembled soldiers and conquered peasants, Victoria stalked back and forth, from one end of the wall of corpses to another. She mused aloud, "What to do, what to do? The Knight did an amazing job here. Too good, I should say. Why, I haven't room for all of these people in my entourage. Hmm..." She placed a finger to her lips as to pantomime deep thought, "I know! Volunteers with abilities I can use will gain the privilege of food, warm clothing, maybe even someplace dry to sleep so long as they please me. Otherwise, we make a new pile of friends and loved ones. You understand, yes? ...excellent. And now, as I have no desire to haul around a town full of Zombies and I've simply not enough onyx for Shadows..." Victoria raised her hands and began chanting runes of horrifying, unnatural origin, delighting in the noises of fear from her prisoners. The fresh corpses began to move of their own accord, but sluggish, even for animated dead.

A wretched fury of tearing sounds erupted from the corpses as they began frantically removing the flesh from themselves and those around them - scraping fingers literally to the bone and peeling away muscle, manually disemboweling themselves and each other, shaking heads about and bashing them on harder surfaces until brains began to leak out of various cranial holes. Victoria had raised a small army of skeletons from inside the corpses of the freshly dead, and they were trying to rid themselves of the actual, literal dead weight. People froze in horror. Some tried to run. Others just sank to their knees and covered their ears. When the horrible cacophony was finally over, Victoria spoke to the crowd, "Your first task: Clean these up for me. Or join their ranks. Please understand, I don't need you to be dead to animate your skeleton. Work fast." As they got to work, crying and blubbering in fear, revulsion, disgust, whatever, Victoria slid a long-necked instrument not unlike a lute from her back and began playing. Those carcasses that were 'finished' responded to the music readily.

It was a long time, longer then expected when Victoria emerged from her amazingly appointed tent and screamed out, "ORDERS. We dig. On this spot. We dig, and we wait. Burn it all down." Her expression was cold, angry, merciless.

*****

Morning came, a bright and happy sort of mood having infected Lizbeth. She had risen early; far earlier than the others underneath this roof, and decided to get to work. Nothing fancy at all, just a little cooking. In this case, it was a decent pot of oat porridge with crushed walnuts and a kettle for strong, black tea. She had risen well before dawn and quietly got herself ready, dressed for warmth and equipped for either training with Kathryn, or an all-out battle. It was difficult to say.

Long, thick skirts fell over woolen hose and stout boots, the green, chitinous Ankheg cuirass buckled securely over her wool and linen garments, sleeves cut down to her wrists of a muted, dark orange color, terminating with brown cloth and leather bracers to hold the sleeves in place for warmth. A decorative but functional apron hung from her belt which was, embroidered aspects aside, the same purple-grey color as her hooded split cape. A shield hung strapped to her back; the very one which resembled grape leaves accented with silver, made from more of the tough, green chitin. The sweepingly curved sword recovered from her grandfather's study was secure to her swordbelt, the opposite side featuring the Constable's whip, now appearing to be in pristine, new condition, and one of the long knives recovered from the undead entourage.

It all seemed out of place with the rosy checked, cherubic girl, who seemed quite happily content to set up a warm, simple breakfast for everyone.

Elsewhere, the sounds of swearing and effort could be clearly heard over the subdued elements of the very new dawn. It took a lot to get that blasted door open, and there was so much work to be done, but the bald, tattooed Dwarf was going to do it, and damnit that first step was exiting his home/workshop. It took effort to make the necessary egress, and even longer to get to a spot where he might begin walking without having to push through snow as deep as he was tall, but eventually Urmdrus found himself along more or less even ground, unsteady in the snow but determined to reach his first destination, a sack of goodies slung over his back like an errant and underpaid deliveryperson on a vital mission. Oh, he was going to get there, all right. Then everyone would see what he had for them. Two of them in particular.

It wasn't too far past dawn when Urmdrus arrived, pounding on the door like a man aggrieved until he was finally allowed entrance. He muttered something about "Things to do," but did stick around long enough for a fast cup of tea, a faster shot of brandy, and a helping of oat porridge which he took with him, bowl and all. Prior to this, however, Urmdrus tilted out the contents of his sack, containing a lovely laurel circlet of light armor quality which resembled layered leaves for Lizbeth, and two artfully styled scabbard, suitable for shortswords. As an aside, there as a vectored emblem of an ankheg, set to hook or pin upon clothing as a brooch, either as decoration or to hold together a cloak. "Blue guy will sort these. Circlet for you. Matches shield. Early birthday." He then grunted dismissively, waving the still full bowl as a thanks, and left back into the frigid dawn.

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: Casting Prestidigitation Bonus Action: Morty Reaction: N/A

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"Dessert breads," mused Victoria. "I do appreciate the nuance of the trade tongue of the continent; in this case the single letter of difference between 'dessert' and 'desert'. As a child, I confused the spelling of the two constantly until one of my tutors said, 'Desert has one S. Dessert has two, because it makes you fat in the middle.' It was silly - of course it was silly - but I never misspelled it again." Victoria took but one of the sweet, flat confections and placed it carefully in front of her with a bit of fruit. "This looks positively celestial, Kosara. Thank you. Only the one, though. Even with Elvish influence in my parentage, I fear I must take steps to maintain my girlish figure. This is lovely, without a doubt." With her fork carefully taking small parts of the foreign crepe and occasionally supplementing with preserved fruit, the purple and black clad Bard finished her morsel of dessert with apparent satisfaction.

Victoria left the identified Amulet and Wand upon the table and left the room, intent on washing and putting away her own dishes. Oddly, she left her personal teacup at her place at the table as well, as if she might have further purpose for it. This might give others opportunity to peruse and decide among themselves without her presence, which might have been for the best. What was surprising was that, among the talk of what they might do with the items, Lizbeth's voice joined the others. Hopefully, this meant that she was finally done with whatever she was doing in the rooms and on the stairs. Victoria could have sworn that there was something a little off about her, but quick inspection as she came back downstairs had revealed nothing. Add to this a more bubbly personality now that she had come back in, and it convinced the Bard that, aside from the hints which had been revealed about Lizbeth over the recent breadth of time, things were okay with her now. Relatively speaking, of course. When she returned to the Taproom, Victoria repeated for Lizbeth what she had learned about the items, adding, "Why, thank you. I appreciate that you have no problems with us utilizing the magic items, and I think, after some back-and-forth, that I might retain the wand for now." Given that her role had become something nearer to the Party Magic Lady than Utility and Support, it made sense for her to be able to detect the presence of magic - a spell which was not already in her repertoire of encantations and Bardic abilities.

When Lizbeth announced her plans to bunk with Kathryn, followed immediately by a quick thanks for the use of her book, Victoria gave an acknowledging, "It's no problem, of course. But do be careful, and get some rest, Miss L'Rose." A quick wave and Victoria herself prepared to return upstairs. It was getting late and the day had already been long. She had to at least try to make it into town the next day to train with her mentor, who explicitly stated that an undead uprising was not going to be a valid excuse to miss said training. Perhaps more light may even be shed upon the mysteries of the Vineyard for her efforts.

But first, a nightcap. Provided that she could make her sleeping accommodations as safe as possible, it was probably best to get as much sleep as she might. Her teacup found its way into her hand, then underneath the spigot attached to the barrel of brandy. A quick dram or two of the mature, sweet liquor was enough to warm her insides and hopefully hasten along decent rest. Past this, Victoria gathered up the Amulet in her hands and returned to the outside, closing the door behind her swiftly, as to prevent much heat from escaping the Taproom. She clutched her black and gold pashmina about her and ascended the stairs, now much clearer for Lizbeth's efforts (but still accumulating a bit of snow here and there from the relentless onslaught from above). Upon reaching the top floor, Victoria paused at Kathryn's room and knocked, eventually offering over the Amulet of the Drunkard with a practical, "This will probably be most useful with the lady who accepts punishment so that others will not have to. And coincidentally, does not have healing magic of her own." Victoria gave a warm smile and added, "Good night, Kathryn."

Down the hall and in her own room which she shared with Kosara and was, upon basic inspection, missing a mattress, Victoria finally settled in. She discarded her finer clothing to and used a series of Prestidigitation spells to launder them, which left her a little colder than she might have liked as she was clad in a modestly cut black silk chemise. She moved closer to the fire, whispering a quick thanks to Lizbeth for her efforts, and repeated the spellcasting upon the clothing she wore. This was not only for cleanliness, but to warm the attire so that she would have a pleasant transition to rest. "I really ought to invest in a pair of slippers," she mused aloud. The floor was a bit cold. Luckily, thanks to the attentions of their younger hostess, her bed was actually rather toasty.

Before she settled in fully, Victoria gave a quick mental command to her burlap wrapped porcine thrall, who in turn took to a quiet corner and stood in wait. It was time to try and get some rest.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

And here we are again. I don't really have anything to add from the last time, but we do appear to be in a bit of a holding pattern and I'm anxious to move things along, so... divvy up what you need to, work with whatever paranoia strikes at the moment, and let's close out the day. Work out what you need to in the Discord OOC, and by all means, keep those (almost) conspiracy theories a'coming. Who knows? Maybe a couple of them will prove to be accurate.

Per usual, come to me with questions/rulings/die rolls, and may the odds be ever... yeah, that.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Coach House

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Weather: The snow slows, which is good. But damage is done, and by damage I mean coverage. But more to that later. It is cold, which might not be so bad except for the wind, which has not let up but marginally. It is uncomfortable out of doors.

Time: Deep into the throes of nighttime.

Ambience: The howl of the winds outside quiet somewhat, if one is listening from inside the Coach House. If one is outside it is equally as apparent by the ability to communicate more effectively, but the wind is still biting enough to snake its way into imperfectly secured clothing. The evening is dark, effectively removed from even the bare light of the moon and stars thanks to oppressive cloud cover. The snow has began falling in larger, puffier flakes, though still much more diagonally than straight down.

The fires within the Coach House keep things nice and toasty, or near enough to it in comparison to the outside. Good food and camaraderie are always in vogue; most especially during nights like this. And with arrangements arranged and plans to settle settled, the worst moments of the day might be forgotten. At least temporarily, with a stout chair beneath the doorhandle and a sword near one's bed.

*****

"I'm just fine, Lady Kathryn," related Lizbeth in a flat tone. Not quite monotone, but forced, like she was attempting to place inflection in accordance to her local manner of speech. "It is quite cold out. I'll be done in a couple more minutes." She continued with her task as quickly as she might, seemingly unbothered by the slicing wind.

The idea of bunking with Kathryn and getting an early start to training, even in possibly feet of snow, earned the tall knight a directed smile and tilt of Lizbeth's head. "Sure," she said evenly, eyed fixed onto her. "The bed is a bit big to move tonight. I will make due. First, I want to see what Mademoiselle Kosara has made for us, if that it alright." She was on the last couple of the steps at this time, now hurriedly knocking the accumulated white stuff off of them. It wasn't a perfect cleaning of the steps, but it was enough to have a better chance of securing footing for anyone else attempting to traverse them in the dark. "Just a moment, please." The unwavering calm in her voice in the midst of the weather might have been considered offputting by others.

Now done, Lizbeth strode to the ground level door to the Coach House and, after a moment of concentration, suddenly clutched herself as hard shivers wracked her body. The color returned to her face and she quickly made her way inside, pushing the door closed behind her. "So cold out there!" the girl mused, her voice now animated and bubbly in front of everyone assembled still. "Hey, I'm going to turn in really soon, but I had to see what Mademoiselle Kosara made for dessert first!" Lizbeth bounded toward the table, angling to put herself between the ubiquitous piece of furniture and the fireplace so that she could eat and warm up at the same time, and grabbed up two of the pancake-like delicacies for herself. The first she simply doled a bit of honey onto and inserted into her face with a joyous lack of refinement, but the other one was more properly dabbed with an adequate amount of fruit preserves. This one she folded in half and held in reserve. "Mmm, I adore crepes. I didn't know you had them ... where you're from," she spoke diplomatically to Kosara.

Her eyes fell to the items which Victoria had identified on the table. "You found those in Grandfather's study?" She seemed to ponder for a moment, then withdrew her new sword from her belt. It was wide, single edged, and had a sweep to the blade that promised to deliver a confident slash if used properly. Alternating layers of folded metal were visible, just like the daggers they had recovered earlier. In a much less animated voice, and intoned, "This is like 'adventuring loot', isn't it? Some of the stories say that Adventurers need this stuff to help against the bad guys." It could be rationally argued that the items from the study were property of the L'Rose Estate, but Lizbeth said something which was a little surprising, given that circumstance. "All of this belonged to my grandfather and I'm his only living heir. But if you need this to fix whatever's going on, you can at least use them. If anything was especially set aside by Grandpa L'Rose for me, then I'm keeping it regardless. We can talk about gifting them when we're all safe. Okay?" Though it was not stated out loud, the tone suggested that this was a down payment for adventurer's services to be rendered. There was a note of desperation present in her words.

All at once, she got bubbly again and removed herself from the taproom. The remaining, fruit preserve filled sweet bread went with her. Before she exited again, she almost blurted out, "Kathryn and I are going to train early in the snow tomorrow so I'm going to pull a mattress into her room! Oh, thanks for letting me borrow that book, Mademoiselle Belmont!"

Within the next few minutes, true to her intent, Lizbeth was laying near the fire atop a mattress with Victoria's copy of The White Book in front of her. The crepe had disappeared quickly and without drama, leaving the young wine heiress to pour over the book's contents with interested, transfixed eyes. Her gear had found its way next to her mattress, stacked neatly, along with a bowl of water which she had used to clean herself up quickly and modestly in preparation to settle in for the evening. "Wow. This lady is strict. She's nothing like Victoria. Looks like her some." Lizbeth turned to Kathryn, up on her bed, "Do you think Mademoiselle Belmont tries to look like her, or it's just a coincidence?" The girl held up the open book so that the tall Knight could get a better look. The pages were open to artwork depicting a flaming skull motif, illuminated images of deceased persons, the physical representations of certain magics to include runic circles, and one large image of a Human lady with fiery red hair wearing a near scandalous red dress affixed with jewels and possessing immaculately attractive features (except perhaps for the stern, authoritative expression, though this was a matter of preference). It was captioned in steady, clear letters: "The Ruby Sorceress, Death's Guardian, The Taker; Wee Jas."

In an almost singsong voice, Lizbeth read a poetic excerpt from the book aloud,

"By hook or by crook,
By bone or by book,
Each soul must die,
And by the Taker be took."

After giving it a moment, she asked, "What do you suppose that means, Kathryn?" A thought or two later, Lizbeth offered up a cheerful, "Well, goodnight!" and closed the book for now.

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: Casting Prestidigitation, Ritual Casting Identify Bonus Action: Morty Reaction: N/A

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The idea of a little dessert before turning in sounded satisfactory enough, but there were too many questions running around in Victoria's head to simply sit and wait for it. That, and a lack of appreciable skill in preparing anything but the most basic of foodstuffs for herself meant that she would not be able to assist, so, with a full belly and sense of purpose, she set out to solve what lesser mysteries she had the skill to accomplish. A quick mental command had her Morty trotting along at her heel, and the Bard took purposeful strides toward the door.

That was, until Baronfjord posed a question to her. "Graveyard soil? Quite, yes. It's a catch-all term for dirt taken from the resting place of a sentient, or place of memorial for the deceased. It's commonly used in necromantic rituals or as an alternate material component for some spellcraft. I've never had personal use for it, but I've seen it applied." She didn't quite get that the question was a bit of a ruse, and looked quizzically at the Dragonborn fellow when the conversation switched abruptly. "Lizbeth is a ...very special girl." She had not let on what she had observed personally about her yet, as the conversation simply hadn't some up yet and there seemed to be an element of trust which she did not feel like breaking. Not just yet. So she responded, "I will try to keep an eye on her, as I am able." The truth was, she was already keeping a proverbial eye on Lizbeth, based on her own observations. But if it made Baronfjord feel better to hear the words from her, it was an inexpensive gift to give.

Victoria kept her jaunt through the front door as brief as possible, not wishing to muddle the warmer inside air any more than she really needed to, and began to plod up the stairs after their host. Lizbeth's footprints made for excellent places to set her own boots during the ascent, as the younger woman had not quite completed her own tasks in the private rooms just yet. Morty's movements were less careful and more jostling, but they both eventually made their way upstairs without major incident. The dark and cold were not her friends this evening and she was looking forward to getting back indoors as quickly as possible.

Within the upper floor, Victoria could hear Lizbeth working in the room which Kathryn had been occupying. It was not a good time to interrupt her while she was mid-duty, so she moved down the short hallway and into her own room that she shared with Kosara, and Lizbeth from that first evening. The fire was already going, be it a bit low. It was a new fire, young in its overnight lifespan, but at least the main logs were catching properly. The Bard settled near to it and took up an unlit oil lamp. The "unlit" portion of that description was quickly remedied by an effortless thread of magic, and its wick extended to increase the illumination it gave off. Now, with enough light to comfortably read and enough heat to not be entirely uncomfortable, Victoria wrapped her new black and gold pashmina about her and settled in for some minor Ritual work.

Unlike the inexpert work of who she assumed was Monsieur Arnaud L'Rose, Victoria was specifically versed in Arcana and Arcane Rituals. She needed no graveyard soil nor extensive buildup of power. Hers was not on par with a full Wizard, but she was nevertheless capable of reaching the same conclusions. She kept her Ritual Book open before her, along with a couple of centering materials that, while not thoroughly needed, were a minor comfort and motivating tool. Among them was her set of Diving Bones she had been collecting and augmenting since her time in Fort Darenby. There was an unspoken irony in their presence here, especially as it related to the task. The first item to be placed under her magical scrutiny was the pendant, worked to excellently resemble an ideal bunch of grapes. Smallish, carved of extremely hard, dark wood upon a simple cord. It was stained slightly reddish and smelled faintly of wine, as if it had been soaked in the stuff for so long that the wood absorbed some of its properties. After a few minutes of tracing sigils into the air and pouring just the right amount of arcane power into the item, Victoria stopped, looked at the pendant, and smiled. "That would be useful for this group," she mused aloud, then immediately moved on to the next item.

This one was a black shaft of what she assumed was wood, with a clear but not-quite-transparent crystal mounted within it near to the thinner end. She regarded it briefly, holding it by the slightly thicker end where it might logically fall was the proper handle and gave it a flick through the air. It was comfortable in her hand with this motion. The piece seemed solid. Old, too. But classic, even textbook in construction, as if it was an early example of whatever it might be. Her Ritual began anew, detection magic applied in almost the most standard of ways; detail altered just slightly owing to the fact that a Bard cast this, and not a true Wizard. Still, as before, the end result was the same. "Interesting..." Victoria smiled and tucked the items away. Neither specifically seemed made for her professions, neither Bard nor Necromancer, even if both were useful enough.

Victoria rose and extinguished the lantern. She retrieved two books from her traveling chest and placed one on Lizbeth's bed, the other on hers, and left. By this time, Lizbeth was working on the stairs with a thick broom, batting away the snow like a girl of determination. Victoria paused for a moment to regard Lizbeth. Something seemed off but for the life of her, she simply could not place it. Perhaps she was just tired. Instead, the Bard carefully made her way past the young lady and gave her a warm smile, even if nothing else about her was especially toasty. "Thank you for the fire and such upstairs," she began, trying to notice whatever she felt was different about Lizbeth but failing miserably in the darkness, even to the properties of vision granted her by her Sylvan heritage. "I left my copy of The White Book on your bed. You're welcome to borrow it for a time, but please be careful with it. It is difficult to find a copy in this part of the world." Her more serious nature drained back away, leaving an almost sisterly visage to the youthful Half-Elf. "Hey, don't be too long. I'm excited to see what Kosara has made for us. Aren't you?" A bright smile followed, and Victoria made her way back down the stairs (sans Morty) to return to the taproom.

Back inside, finally, Victoria strode over to the table whereupon the group had their evening's repast and, without ceremony or buildup to the grand event, lay down the grape bunch pendant. "Amulet of the Drunkard. Or a variation of it. This was created here. It requires no attunement to use. Whomever wears this may consume one alcoholic drink per day that will act as a minor healing potion. Again, and this is baffling to me, this was created here. And fairly recently."

Moving on, Victoria placed the stick upon the table next to the amulet. "Wand of Magic Detection. This does exactly what it sounds like it should, a few times a day. This was once a very common item and I recall seeing a picture of one of these in a textbook. I just had to confirm."

The arcane debriefing handled, Victoria gave a moment or two's worth of pause and shared, "I hold no specific desire for either of these and I'm willing to go along with whatever everyone decides. A lady might recommend seeing if the Mistress of the Estate has a claim to them if we wish to do more than borrow them for the meantime."

"...so... Whatever are we doing for dessert?"

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Alrighty then, here we are, coming to a close of the evening. Let's get things wrapped up as best we're able in this posting cycle as I have a ton of nifty, if potentially lethal, events just waiting for the next few in-game days and/or weeks. It looks like there's still an amount of planning and/or conversation left in the meantime. Feel free to collab if you need to. And don't worry, the random encounter rolls didn't do too much this time around.

Unless I'm lying. I do that sometimes.

Standard stuff applies for questions, die rolls etc.; let me know in our Discord and I'll do what I can to resolve stuff in a manner that might, if we're lucky, even be considered timely! Huzzah!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Coach House

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Weather: The snow maintains its constant fall upon the ground, though now it seems to streak across the countryside with a little less fury. The worst is probably over, but by no means does this mean that everything is soft and calm outside.

Time: We are smack dab in the middle of the night. Maybe not midnight, proper, but it may as well be. It is quite late.

Ambience: The sounds of wind from the outside slow - not stop - in the progressing night. Not a touch of moonlight nor the twinkling of stars are visible through the cloud cover, giving an almost full darkness which may require more than simple darkvision to puncture, thanks to the precipitating snow. Luckily, the taproom of the Coach House has grown much warmer in the interim, if no better illuminated than earlier. It is comfortable within the walls, at the very least. The warm food in your stomachs is a tremendous help with this. Those partaking in the potables which exist in this place with abundance will find themselves awash in a sea of potential inebriation, though this may or may not be very useful considering that one must still ascend the icy stairs to reach the personal chambers on the next floor.

*****

The actions of the young girl, Lizbeth, were one of practiced service. She had obviously committed to household labors before, and might make a fine tavern worker (or owner) should the whole "vineyard heiress" thing fall through. There was just a little stumbling block every now and again, as she insisted on buckling on her newly acquired weaponry and slinging her shield across her back as she went along with her more domestic chores, but she seemed to take great patience with completing these tasks around the bulkier gear. It looked like she was attempting to familiarize herself with every aspect of the weight and fit of her new profession's tool set, and she was taking it seriously.

Firstly, she went into storage and retrieved a few warming pans; enclosed metal dishes within wooden holders designed to bring a mattress or other sleeping area up in temperature, and walked to the hearth fire. She carefully scraped out at least half of the red coals from the fireplace and distributed them among the pans, then added another log to the fire to replace the heat-giving fuel.

Before leaving to tend to the beds upstairs, Lizbeth addressed the various words of encouragement she had received within the last couple of minutes, past the monosyllabic returns and generalities of body language. "Thank you so much for not objecting to my presence here. I know this is technically your home for the winter and I'm just so glad that I'm being given such a nice welcome. I want to learn as much as I can and I'm very happy to make your stay here as easy as I might in payment. It's no bother." She put a smile on her face that looked more tired than anything else, and retreated to the front door. The gust of wind which came from the only temporarily open portal to the courtyard was enough to douse the room with a solid, frigid blast. The comparison was substantial. Lizbeth closed the door as quickly as she was able and awkwardly made her way up the frozen exterior stairs.

Once inside, the girl set to her tasks with trembling hands, first to get fires lit and then to make sure that fresh water was available in the rooms. Warming pans went between mattresses and bedframes, notably the ones that the party had used the last time that she visited, plus one more for herself. She likewise chose the one she utilized the last time she was there overnight, owing to habit. Now that things were beginning to warm up to almost tolerable levels upstairs, Lizbeth located a stiff-bristled housekeeping broom and went back outside. It was cold; very cold for the young lady, especially having worked up a little perspiration with her efforts. As she took to the stairs to clear away the worst of the snow, thankfully not impacted with repeated footfalls, she began to shiver uncontrollably. The broom barely began to part the white covering in the dark, dark night, and more than once she felt like she might slip and involuntarily descend to the ground below. Though the evening had not been ideal in any sense, this was surely not the high point of it.

Then suddenly, Lizbeth ceased shivering. She began to move with directed intent, apparently able to function in the darkness and cold without perceivable difficulty. The wind obviously touched her form, blowing her hair about in a manner that might have annoyed or distracted but the girl remained on task. Her eyes seemed sunken and surrounded by darker skin, though her face seemed pallid, to an unhealthy margin. A breath left her lungs, condensing in the colder air around her, which was not followed by an inhalation.

She continued to work on the stairs until they were clear, unbothered by the storm around her. It was a fast but thorough job. She had a dessert she wished to return to and a book or two to read.

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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Victoria wasn't sure whether Kosara was being sarcastic about that farmer, Laurent. It was a sort of conversational whiplash as she was initially thinking about this "Prince Farid al Ramil Sabaj al Hazred", now to have a stunning sort of confusion hit that she has to take a second to puzzle out. "Oh," she finally said, the mental pieces falling into place. "I imagine that trouble from this man will depend upon how connected he is in this area and how well respected he is by the locals. His farm grows staple products. It likely employees and feeds a number of people in the area. The locals might listen." For Victoria, this brought with it a different sort of threat. If she was openly advertised as a Necromancer, the fact that obvious acts of Necromancy were afoot would paint her as the prime suspect. Then again, she did a fair amount of that, herself. Yes, she practiced Necromancy. She was also a Bard, which meant she tended toward showmanship that bordered of overt presentation. Her new(ish) Phantasmal Steed was an excellent example of this. So was her constant boar-of-burden companion, Morty. And the way that certain spells colored her face. These were things she could change if she so desired to, but no, elements of her own vanity kept this to the front. "It wouldn't be the first time I've talked my way out of an earnest meeting involving torches and pitchforks. Lucky for me, I'm a proficient public speaker." She smiled (though it didn't quite reach her eyes) and gestured in a faux dramatic manner.

Conversation went on for a bit without Victoria's input, mostly about the post, discussions of clergy, and plans for the next day. It was a fair assumption that they were going to have to give the events of the evening much more attention, and rightly so. Such things were fast on their way toward interfering with whatever level of tranquility the Bard was establishing for herself in these lovely environs, but Victoria kept conversation to herself. At least, until Lizbeth mentioned wanting to borrow her books. "Certainly, Lizbeth. If you are careful." The last part was spoken with emphasis. "Be aware that they are valuable and difficult to replace. Also, they are not a primer for moral guidance, rather a source of information. The Jasidan are ...harsh... in certain beliefs. But their academic and arcane research is top notch, even if they do pen from bias."

As to her personal contribution to the investigation, which was gearing up to take place in the morning, Victoria mentioned, "I'm curious to go back over the ritual work and lend a more polished arcane mind to the items we recovered. Maybe there's something to them that can help us. Or provide a better clue as to what we are dealing with here. If no one objects, when we're settling down for the evening I'm going to confirm whatever was being done with the graveyard soil and these items; pendant and stick." She wouldn't be in a good position to do much while she was training under Annick the next day, attempting conversation with the more knowledgeable woman aside. Still, she believed that more might be found in the former sanctum of the late Monsieur L'Rose. "I wouldn't mind another trip to that Study, when we're able." There had to be more there.

As she continued eating, Victoria's mind went back to the issue from just earlier. "If clergy is limited in this area and Laurent is poisoning public opinion against us, we might be completely on our own. The weather isn't our friend, either. We need to figure some things out before..." she glanced subtly in Lizbeth's direction, "...before this gets worse."

After finishing, the Bard began to pack away her things, what items there were present in the taproom. A quiet mental command brought her Morty to action, ready to carry the bulk of her nearby belongings back up to the chambers on the top floor. "If no one objects," she repeated, gathering up the items liberated from the Study. While Lizbeth planned to get the upstairs ready for rest, she would be setting up for Ritual magic. Victoria mentioned as much to the younger wine heiress, as she had taken in interest in discussions of magic. Maybe she might learn something in the process.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Hello again. You'll notice that, the ambience descriptors aside, this is primarily the reactions of our resident NPC tag-along, Lizbeth. This is because it looks like the party has a direction they're going, and I don't want to interrupt or cut the IC flow short if the party needs to continue conversations. That said, unless random encounter dice roll on top of each other (which can happen), I've got nothing else in the way of big events planned. If you want to keep it going, cool deal. If you want to move the particulars into the Discord and cut to wrapping up for the night, we can do that this cycle.

Once again, do be in touch via Discord for die rolls and the like, and best of luck with the upcoming. Also remember, the way to the bedrooms upstairs requires one to step outside. Gotta love these rural architecture plans.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Coach House

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Weather: No change in the weather. It remains cold, windy, and precipitating just oodles of snow. This is a storm, no doubt about it. Woe be to a person spending more than a few moments unprotected outside.

Time: It is in the middle of the night now. Darkness is a primary feature of the evening, right alongside snow drifts.

Ambience: The evening is not quiet, not by a fair sight. Indoors, there is a constant sound of the unseasonable weather howling about, but walls and fire have given enough of a buffer to prevent this from interrupting conversation. While it isn't the very spirit of luxury inside, it is enough, and a fair sight better than it might have been otherwise. Comfort is possible, even if its perfection seems to elude. The food and fire help tremendously for this purpose. It remains a bit dark inside, as lamps and candles both remain unlit. The hearth provides enough light to get around and a pleasant overall atmosphere, with the caveat that the same atmosphere might be used for ghost story ambience.

The kitchen door remains propped open from Lizbeth's little kitchen adventure with fresh onions. It gives a good vantage into the other room and puts a little more direct light around and behind the bar, upon which the barrels of "outside" potables remain, brandy and ale both. Lots and lots of wine remains in stock behind the bar, in varying degrees of quality (though nothing below moderate market caliber, of course).

*****

"It's okay," Lizbeth said to Baronfjord, "You should sit and rest. You're still hurt." She accepted the offered help from their resident Bard and between the two of them, served the rest of the party. When everyone else was handled, she took a chair with the group and also served herself.

Lizbeth sat with her meal, grabbing a slice of toast for herself from the stack and staring thoughtfully into the bowl in front of her. She dipped her spoon into the amalgam of bacon and vegetables and took a bite, seemingly satisfied with the final product. Past this, the young lady turned to a sullen sort of quiet. The day had been both difficult and something of a revelation, and based upon the lack of answered questions, more revelations were in the offing. Cooking things appeared to be a distraction as much as anything. Now that the meat had been seared and squashes braised, the final product bowled and served, the weight of the day settling back.

Composing herself, finally, Lizbeth breathed a quick, "Thank you," to Victoria. With a bite halfway to her mouth, she paused and eyed the items that she had recovered from the Study. Pendant, stick, and journal, the latter especially as Baronfjord retrieved the item and gave it a quick perusal while he ate. With hesitation, Lizbeth moved the bite into her mouth and chewed deliberately, taking her eyes away from the book and back to the other two items near Victoria. When she felt like it was obvious that she was staring, the girl moved a conversation along different lines. "Those books you were talking about, Miss Belmont," she said with some formality, "The, ah, 'The White Book' and 'The Lucky Ghost,' I mean. When you're not referencing them, may I read them, please?" The last sentence broke a mote of eagerness into her speech. Almost as an apology, Lizbeth offered, "I ...like to read. And they sound interesting. May I? I'll be careful."

To Kosara, Lizbeth was a little more talkative. She spoke first to thank her for the appraisal of her food, but also took time to address one of the points the taller Tiefling made about clergy, "There's not a lot of folk who attend temple services regularly in Avonshire, I don't think. People keep to their worship kind of personally. I don't think we even have a real-life, full magic using Cleric in Southmoor regularly. I mean, every so often we get one that comes around the temple representing one or more gods, but mostly it's lay folk. Some have enough ability to perform ceremonies or rites, but full magic, Cleric or Wizard, is more difficult to come by around here. The most people I ever saw that can do magic in one place is ...here... in this room right now. The temple is just a spot where shrines to the gods are set up for whoever's passing by." She thought for a second, adding, "There is a Halfling that uses a hoe like a walking staff, who can do some magic, that comes around a couple times in the year. I heard he turned into a goat once!" A tinge of excitement was felt in her voice as she described the secondhand exploits of this mystery Halfling, which mellowed back after a second or two.

Lizbeth gave Kathryn a polite smile at the compliments to the food. "Yeah, simple. Just rendering some pork fat and cooking vegetables, adding liquids and seasoning. It's not so much. Thank you, though. I'm glad you like it." And to the question of the group splitting up or sticking together the next day, Lizbeth asked, "I know I'm not with you all, but if it's okay, do you mind if I stay here at the Coach House tomorrow? Or did you need me around you to help with something? If you do, I'm happy to help and if you don't, I'd just as soon practice and study, if it's all the same."

Mention of Kosara making dessert went over well with Lizbeth, who added, "That's very nice of you. While you're doing that, I will see what I can do with the upstairs fireplaces. It's going to be cold up there tonight."