Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Coach House

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Weather: A full sky of white, backlit with morning sun. It's bright, but not directly so with the diffusion of total cloud cover. It is cold, with occasional gusts of wind and no precipitation to mar a rather clear day otherwise.

Time: We are in the full throes of morning. If you haven't risen and are shining, it is the best part of the day to both rise
and shine.

Ambience: The warmth and comfort of the Coach House is contrasted by the unyielding cold of the countryside beyond its walls. The extra caloric fortification is likely to be greatly appreciated as the morning progresses. The land remains coated with a uncertain depths of snow from last night's storm, but now eerily quiet, as if the violent, pre-blizzard events never took place. Even peaceful, in its own way. Caution would be best paid when navigating the landscape away from the already trodden areas or the obvious pathways, as the snows have tended to fill hollows and stretch thinner along the tops of hills. The exception to this is apparent when one looks at the formidable drifts along buildings and gravevine frames. The latter of this, the posts and frames which hold dormant vines, still poke above the highest pilings of the frozen white stuff against them, showing darkened leaves and still grasping tendrils in the distance.

*****

"GAAHHH!" gasped Lizbeth as the air was driven from her lungs. It wasn't the initial kick that got her thanks to the rugged durability of her breastplate (though that did hurt considerably), but the sudden jolting stop in the heaped snow. She had taken her lumps multiple times in the pursuit of learning this new craft, from her and from Urmdrus, but this one had a certain unexpected flare that seemed to touch a nerve. Mostly, the nerve that held the breath in her body. The silence following the initial gasp was worrying, but almost preferable to that first, wrenching pull of air back inside when she could breathe. A moment or two later, she was able to right herself, panting, "Yeah, I'm fine. Really. Let's go."

Persons leaving the Rose River Vineyard will find that the path down to the main southern road of the Avonshire region, being a little higher than the land around it on one side and a touch removed from the hill on the other, wasn't exactly clear of snow, but level enough to navigate if one is careful. Drifts held along the hill side and seemed to extend the width of the path on the drop side, but the center is safe enough, so long as one keeps to it. This all seems quite on par with the storm from the night before. But in an interesting twist of circumstance, one will easily note that the depth and severity of snow decreases rapidly the farther one gets from the overall property. This persists until it becomes a respectable few, puffy inches upon the ground, easy to navigate on foot, by horse, or pulled, wheeled vehicle. It appeared that the worst of the storm was localized to the Vineyard grounds.

For those remaining on the Vineyard grounds, things have come to a near halt, at least in terms of outdoor traffic. It is next to impossible not to notice a path physically plowed through the snow by persons attempting to move from place to place, made evident by the steady trench carved out of the snow which connected Urmdrus's workshop/home, a nearby storage shed, and the Coach House. There also appeared to be some foot traffic around the Estate House and the beginnings of effort to remove some of the snow from the nearest walkways to the structure, the work in progress by two of the small domestic staff.

Otherwise, the area is a downright peaceful looking section of rural farmland, quietly holding onto something bloodsoaked and foreboding.

Tasting Room/Study Map

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 (Phantasmal Steed) Bonus Action: Morty, Familiar stuff Reaction: N/A

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Victoria made a mental note to, as reminded by Baronfjord, pick Annick's brain as to her experiences during the last war and see if it relates to their present situation. She gave him a little nod in appreciation, fixing it into her mental "to do list", and returned to her Ritual Book. While she prepared to summon her otherworldly yet majestic horse, Victoria gave a passing listen to what the others intended to do with their day. It seemed that she would have company going into town, at least, though getting there seemed like it might be a bit of a chore overall. Hence, the summoning of a swift and sure-footed spiritual mount that she would most likely not have the ability to safely control in these conditions, were it not a product of her magic.

At the very last instant before the Ritual's conclusion, Victoria cracked open the front door just enough to get a line of sight to the outside. It simply would not do to bring the phantasmal creature into being inside of the Coach House, after all. Sure enough, the great beast appeared just outside; a potentially thundering beast of a horse with hair the color of fresh bone and socks of ebon black, the same color as its mane and tail which flowed as if underwater, untouched by the wind around it. An eerie, purple luminescence reflected from its eyes, steadfast and intelligent. It had the build of a warhorse and the poise of a noble as it waited patiently to be of use to its mistress.

Victoria had prepared herself for the day with an emphasis on being ready for an emergency, were it to arise. This meant that she kept her weapons and violin on her person, as well as her ritual materials (just in case). Her porcine thrall was another story - helpful as it was - Morty would raise some concerns amongst a population of folks who might have turned away from them, depending upon the rumormill kicked up by that pompous landowner, Laurent, who couldn't stand to be inconvenienced in the slightest. Victoria reminded herself that she still had, at the very least, her Raven to act as a second pair of eyes for her. With a quick mental effort, she brought her Familiar to herself and set it out into the world with a robust "CAW," allowing it to ascend before committing her senses to it for a literal bird's eye view.

"I am off for Southmoor now, unless we have other business?" She paused for just a second, recalling that she wasn't the only one going on that direction. She held out a hand to Kosara and beamed a smile in her direction, offering, "If you don't mind, I can ride you in this morning. It's a little safer than walking. Faster, too." Southmoor was a straight shot from the Vineyard, but there was a bit of distance to cover that might have been notably uncomfortable with present temperatures.

It was at this moment that she dipped her vision into that of her Raven, who she had sent to scout from above. Her expression suddenly shifted. She had gotten a good look at the immediate countryside through her Familiar's eyes, and this view mixed with her memories from the odd dreams she had been having and the details that Kathryn shared about hers. She immediately rushed out into the cold, clutching her black and gold shawl about her shoulders. "Kathryn?" she called from outside of the courtyard, eyes fixed on the mountains to the south and the snow-covered hills before them. She recalled that, in her dream, she gave a similar gaze in the direction of mountains with a sort of longing, as she had arrived from somewhere behind them. Victoria realized in that moment that, despite the difference of season, the horizon bore the exact shape as that of her dreams. The same mountains, viewed from the same angle and from the same distance. The same cluster of hills, be it that these were capped with white, rose in front of her.

Understanding, not quite complete but building into something more whole as each moment passed, fueled Victoria right then. "Kathryn, you need to see this." She had more questions now than ever. This meant that she had to get into town, had to convince the Medician to share what she could, had to figure this out. Something was messing with their dreams, for good or for ill, and Victoria needed to know what it was and why. "You know what this means, right?" She turned back to her horse. It was time to get herself and Kosara into town.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Going to get this out of the way real quick: The sneezing that Baronfjord is going through does not release him from the effects of the magic surge. He'll have to go through more arcane and/or divine methods to lose his luster, should he desire to. The good news is, the party has a caster capable of sorting that out, if that's what he wants.

Moving on - I kept Lizbeth's stuff reactionary, for the most part. There's plenty of stuff to act/react to for the party moving forward, and other NPCs are off NPCing elsewhere, and until a party member goes and experiences things outside of the breakfast table, there's little I have to explain. Also, you might notice that the new Update header only features a bit of snow in comparison to the massive amount discussed in the text. Be aware, the text is more accurate than the image. This will be a factor that affects a great number of things moving forward. The accumulated snowfall, I mean. Not the image. But anyway...

You all are still expected to at least check in with your mentors/training people in addition to moving on with your investigation. The more involved with your mentors/training you are, the more you get out of it at the end of the Act. In fact, please remind me in our Discord what your character is training for and who they're learning with. I'll look back into the story so far to update my existing notes. People who study get stuff. Go fig. Let me know how you're throwing yourself into your fancy learnin', if you would.

Per our usual, thanks for joining me in our collaborative storytelling dice-rolling adventure; if you have questions/concerns/die rolls needed, please let me know via Discord and I'll do my best to do my part.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Coach House

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Weather: The day is overcast and cold. Wind is behaving a little better and while there is plenty of yummy sunlight, the lion's share of it is blocked by thick cloud cover. It may seem just a bit dreary, but the snow is actually quite lovely.

Time: We have passed beyond first light and are stepping into full dawn. It is early.

Ambience: The temperature has mellowed into something livable inside of the Coach House, thanks to hot food and the giving, controlled fire in the hearth. Maybe the kitchen has a little something to do with it as well. The occasion of the door opening might interrupt the constant warmth, but so long as it isn't for too long, the ambient comfort pours back into the gap.

The grounds themselves are, upon the surface, a picturesque blanket of untamed, ice-white glory, with the exception of the few areas someone has pushed through the snow to reach a destination within the grounds of the Rose River Vineyard. One can track a rather easy path from the open front gate of the courtyard to Master Urmdrus's workshop in the distance. The depth of snowfall here ranges from a foot to two feet deep, but drifts along the buildings of the Vineyard can readily double this, or more. Perhaps more dangerous is the leveling effect that the snow has had with the lower laying areas of the landscape - drifts have covered over holes and hollows, making the lower areas perilous. In some areas, one can barely see the tops of the frames and posts which hold the now dormant vines.

The snow, while still a half foot deep at least around the Estate House, seems to have spared the area immediately around the worst of its ire, thanks to the wind from the previous evening and the higher elevation of the buildings. Access to the building is going to be a touch toward the difficult until things melt or are shoveled out. Otherwise, it's going to be an interesting and very chilly jaunt. In truth, anyone taking a step out-of-doors at all is going to be in for a jaunt that is both interesting and chilly.

*****

"Really?" There was an element of hope, even excitement in Lizbeth's voice when Victoria mentioned the possibility, however remote, that she might one day have access to a Familiar. She barely gave a thought to the idea that this was the first open conversation that she had about any potential ability she may or may not have had toward matters of this nature, merely skirting back along to the task she had at hand. In this case, it was tidying up the table after a warm, simple breakfast. Armor and weapons still on her person, trying to do so as expediently as possible so that they could get to physical combat training. Lizbeth was absolutely sure that she was close to some sort of breakthrough that might make her the equal of at least the Avonshire town guards. Maybe even one of the soldiers of greater Aquitainia, if she was able to keep up with a realm Knight and a retired Dwarf smith.

The mention of dreams from both Kathryn and Victoria did manage to set Lizbeth back from her outgoing personality a bit. She leaned a little closer and asked, "You have bad dreams, too? Do, um... Does something make you things you don't want to? When you see yourself in windowglass, do you look like you've died already? Do you ...do things you're not supposed to be able to?" Suddenly looking a touch self-conscious about butting into a conversation, Lizbeth gave a quick, "I'm sorry, let me handle those dishes, okay?" and hurried about her work.

Continued discussion about the day's activities, per her request, brought Lizbeth back into the conversation. "Sure! I'd be happy to help. I'm not sure what you might need to see inside of the house proper; Grandpa kept to only a couple of places there at the end. One of them was his study. Mostly, it was that study. I rarely even heard of him going up to his bedroom anymore." She thought for a moment, "But I'll help however you need me to, sure."

Kosara's end of the dream/nightmare discussion sounded a lot more of what Lizbeth might have preferred. Dreams of Unicorn rides were just the way for Lizbeth to spend some shuteye. "Oh. That sounds really nice," she uttered, sounding a little dejected. "I've never seen a Unicorn before, except in a book. Have you?"

There wasn't much time for an answer directly, as Baronfjord has put in a request for more oatmeal. Lizbeth seemed happy to oblige. "Yeah! Did you want more toasted nuts or some raisins with that?" Maybe she waited for an answer, maybe she didn't, maybe she would rely on either raised voices or sharp, youthful hearing to get the message after the fact, but she had already grabbed the bowl and was hurrying to the kitchen to get out what she could to put into the bowl for her blue scaled guest. "How about some milk with that? It's still good!" The colder temperatures were appreciated for that task, at the least.

The morning had begun in earnest.

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, Familiar stuff Reaction: N/A

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The various platitudes traditional to meeting one's acquaintances and colleagues on a new morning slipped flawlessly from Victoria's lips, as the subtleties of social graces were hers to play almost as proficiently as the strings of her violin. And much like her musical talent, though she was known primarily as a violinist, her capabilities were much broader than that which was immediately apparent. Even so, the words, gestures, and body language presented were not acts of dishonesty - she was genuinely pleased to see them all. Especially Lizbeth, as she had grown quite fond of the kid. But one practices one's art where one could. Warriors sharpened their swords and drilled their bodies, Clerics prayed and meditated on the philosophies of their ethos, and Bards, well... socialized, when they weren't obsessing over their art. There would be time enough later to obsess, so for the meantime, she extended the same levels of energy to her fellow Adventurers as they extended toward herself.

Victoria was feeling more wakeful now, and the relative isolation of their situation was weighing on her mind. Sure, not as much as the probable undead guests somewhere else on the property who likely didn't have their best interests at the forefront of their motivation, but weight nonetheless. She used this better formed wakefulness to move from the merely genial to the ever-so-slightly, perhaps even playfully, sarcastic. "Why, Miss Kosara, I haven't an idea what you might have missed." She smiled a bit. "Excuse me, please." Victoria rose, bearing her teacup with her and crossed over to the barrel of fine and totally not cursed brandy. She poured a bit into her cup - just enough to spike her morning tea a little - and returned to the table. "It is a lovely morning, if abysmally cold. An ounce of fortification never hurt anyone. And I do have to ride into town today." Was it the best idea ever to follow Kathryn's example, when Victoria herself did not possess the same raw hardiness that her associate did? Probably not. But the brandy was excellent and it was only a little. And in her defense, it was unseasonably cold out there.

The subject flowed naturally into Baronfjord's point of order, whereupon Victoria responded, "Our investigation... yes, I believe there were some questions that you wanted me to ask my winter mentor. Remind me, if you would please, and I shall attempt to do so without getting a knife twixt my ribs." It was difficult to tell if she was being serious with her last sentiment. "But I will be going into town today, if this is at all possible. The snows have been very liberal with their gifts over the night, but I can summon the fastest, most sure-footed horse in the land in about ten minutes. I'm sure I can make the trip without serious issue; do let me know if you need anything in Southmoor. ...you should probably stick close to home, Baronfjord. You've had a hard night, and you won't do anyone any good if you get sicker."

The Bard noted with some satisfaction that Lizbeth, despite her tender age, took on a more maternal role with their Dragonborn associate. This was good, in her estimation. Even if she did not have those nurturing instincts herself, it was a positive thing that someone in under their roof did. But she did take the time to respond to Lizbeth, around her care-giving to the rest of the group. The first part concerned with application of her Familiar. "Maybe one day you might be able to, Lizbeth. It is a common enough spell to summon a Familiar to aid you, but I confess it is not usually in the repertoire of a Bard to cast. If it's possible for you, I will try to help how I can." It was doubtful, if she was being honest. For starters, Victoria wasn't sure what Lizbeth was, but she was almost positive that she wasn't like her, persay, in terms of bardic profession. She had suspicions that went back to the day they all met, but nothing she had any reliable points on. "But to you question, I intend to spend the day in Southmoor with Medician Floquet. I have my work with her. If there is anything to research there, I shall, and then continue with our work here in the Vineyard. And speaking of which, I ought get to summoning my horse soon." Victoria recovered her Ritual Book from her knapsack and opened it to the appropriate page, bearing the image of a ghostly steed and script in an cultured, flowing hand.

But first, she made sure to finish her tea.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Alright, not going to mince words with this one as I'm technically on someone else's time right now, so... DC 12 Perception check to notice Lizbeth getting uncomfortable (as she was trying poorly to hide it). Give consideration to what was planned for today and balance your responsibilities to those plans, your skills training, and the ongoing investigation.

Per usual, get with me in Discord about rolls, questions, etc, and have a spiffy day.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Coach House

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Weather: The utter bitterness of the night has finally given way to the merely freezing cold of the morning. Snow no longer falls in the growing light of the morning, but it is so overcast that the sun is more of a broad assertion than a direct, line-of-sight orb burning in the heavens.

Time: The darkness has passed, for the most part, and we find ourselves in the early morning, sometime just following first light.

Ambience: It is a little bracing this morning inside of the Coach House, at least in comparison to the evening before. If the same metric is applied to the outdoors, then the taproom of the Coach House is a veritable paradise of warmth and vigor. Fine (if plain) smells of cooking and cookfire accent the area within, giving notes of simmering starch and toasted nut.

Out among the grounds of the Rose River Vineyard, a dull but alabaster-vibrant countryside stretched out as far as one may see from the top of the stairs. A couple lines of smoke dotted from a chimney here, a chimney there, but for the most part the overcast, grey morning bore light yet sharp winds and a promise of snowfall which was here to stay unless displaced by shovel or other physical means. The tops of the grape vines which stretched across hill after hill were mostly visible, though drifts did tend to drift and the laden lines upon regular posts formed marginally effective places for snow to pile upon itself.

The accumulation of snowfall seems lessened around the Estate House, likely on account of a lack of natural barriers and the fact that it all sat atop a tallish hill. This does not leave a differing spot in the waves of pastoral white, rather simply demonstrates the advantages of surveyed dwelling development. But getting to the structure, or any other for that matter, looks to become a trying task indeed. One may inquire into the likes of the company's handy man, as there is a rather disrupted line in the otherwise smooth and unblemished snowscape.

*****

"Good morning!" responded Lizbeth cheerfully. Kat had been the first to rise, as they had intended, and so she addressed her knightly mentor first. "Oh yes, I do hope that one day, you won't have to hold back when we train." She seemed a little excited at the prospect, but stifled back the lion's share of her giddiness. "You're welcome for breakfast," she said curiously, "It's just oat porridge, really. Do they not feed Knights? Or Adventurers?" Whomever the enigmatic "they" might have been, the concept seemed to truly puzzle the girl.

The entrance of Victoria into the taproom had Lizbeth greeting her with smiles and the offering of a bowl, which she was pleased to see was accepted. "Good morning, Mademoiselle Belmont!" she greeted, again with a youthful, cheerful disposition. Seeing the raven manifest brought on a longing sort of empathy, altering said disposition quickly as she confessed, "I really wish I could do that..." Luckily, the change was temporary. Victoria was also a mentor, of sorts, or a cousin, even if Lizbeth couldn't place why. But even this feeling of camaraderie gave way when she mentioned the word Prince. It did not get any better when the Half-Elf described her dreams. Lizbeth attempted to stifle a shudder and turned her head away, presumably to get back to her self-assigned duties.

There wasn't much interaction with Kosara beyond the initial pleasantries of the morning, but she did beam a polite, "Oh, thank you!" when the aromas of breakfast were described as amazing. Lizbeth steered very clear of the conversation as soon as the Tiefling lady asked if she was missing something.

Personal dialogue was also not amazingly entered into, and Lizbeth could see why. She didn't placate with ante meridiem greetings nor ask how his night went, she immediately dropped farther into the role of a caretaker, sliding a cup of steaming tea with honey under his face and handing him a bowl of hot oats. Following this, Lizbeth handed him a cleaning rag with hadn't been used that day, and apologized, "It isn't a handkerchief, but you can keep it if you want. And before I forget..." Lizbeth motioned to the brooch and scabbards on the table, "Master Urmdrus left these for you! I'm not sure how he got through all the snow, but, maybe they will help you feel better!"

Attempting to delve into something upcoming rather than dwell, Lizbeth asked the table as a whole, "So after we finish our morning training," this part obviously aimed at Kathryn, "how's everyone spending their day?" Yes, there were obviously evil things afoot and yes, creatures most foul roamed the lands, but Lizbeth didn't seem quite as bothered about this as she might be. Instead it was a whirl of adventurous possibility, even if some of these included rigorous study and labor, which she was hopefully girding the party for with a hot meal and cheerful send-off.

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: Spellcasting (Prestidigitation, Minor Illusion) Bonus Action: Morty, Familiar stuff Reaction: N/A

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At some point in the night, Victoria woke. In hindsight, she could not remember whether it was before or after the strange dreams, such was the nature of the subconscious mind blurring with the waking one, it seemed to be with purpose. Beyond the sound of her roommate's nocturnal breathing and the soft crackle of the fireplace, now burning fairly low but still providing adequate heat, Victoria could hear notes playing out of doors - the very distant plucking of strings in a familiar, yet not especially comforting way. The sounds were beautiful, no doubt, played by an expert hand. It took a while before she realized that this was the same type of music that she heard, and played her violin to accompany, some many nights ago. Between this and her odd romp into dreamland, the rest of the night provided uncertain rest.

Nevertheless, she rose the next morning. Her day bean earlier than she really wanted it to, and so contented herself with laying there, beneath her warm blankets and comfortable (if not exactly luxurious) accommodations, offering up the occasional casting of Prestidigitation to warm up the bedclothes around her. It wasn't until her own personal call of nature that Victoria finally gave up any pretense of staying in semi-blissful morning repose. So finally, with a hint of a pout across her face, the Bard rose. She ran her fingers through her hair to untangle what few strands may have gone out of place (scandalous!) in her sleep, but it was oft spoken among her people that Victoria was immune from bad hair days, so this action wasn't exactly required in the broader sense of the term.

Still in her black silk chemise and pantalettes, she quietly conjured up the image of a dressing screen before tending to business via chamberpot and selecting for herself appropriate clothing for the day. Owing to the weather and the fact that she fully expected to have to exert herself today, Victoria chose close-fitting black trousers as opposed to a skirt, along with an appropriate top of the same color. Wool, as opposed to linen. This was bolstered by the black and green mottled, custom segmented, Dwarfcraft light armor - better than any standard leather she had worn but so very flattering to form and movement - and concealable beneath clothing.

Over this she layered a flowing purple robe with side-split skirting and a black, hooded mantle. Naturally, she chose to maintain wearing her new black and gold pashmina (as she really liked that garment, regardless of the questionable source). A black waist wrap provided additional support for her swordbelt without sacrificing mobility. Today, she was probably going to go without her very, extraordinarily bardy hat, as her hood was well enough and she didn't expect to need it. High boots and long, fingerless gloves completed her ensemble. Her appearance didn't immediately give off an expectation that she was a Bard, professionally, though her mannerisms might immediately correct this.

Being as this place kept feeling more and more "adventurous", Victoria equipped herself for a potential adventure with her kit and gear, then exited the room as quietly as she was able. There wasn't a good reason to wake people who didn't ask for it. There was a final glance at her "biggest, jauntiest, bard-iest hat ever," like she was leaving a friend behind, but ultimately thought the better of it. Hair was good, cosmetics were light, necessary swagger had been achieved; it was time to greet the day.

She noted Urmdrus's departure, carrying a mostly empty sack. Pity that she couldn't do nay more than call his name and wave a greeting; he seemed like a decent, if gruff fellow - regardless of his somewhat questionable background.

Downstairs, Victoria entered the room like she was expected, to find a simple breakfast set up and an almost serene hearth. Morty trotted along at her heel, the ever-loyal if mindless sidekick to the dazzling necrobard, mummified in burlap for ease and convenience, its tusks yet still exposed for whatever utilitarian or martial uses they may be put to. Morty took its place out of the way yet near its mistress in case of some unforseen eventuality and settled into a motionless form of standby.

Victoria politely took a bowl, a seat, and looked across the table to Kathryn, who had arrived before her. She thoughtfully placed a spoon into the oat porridge and stirred it once and gave a tiny smile. She focused her attention inward, bringing a mote of magic into the room as a sudden fluttering could be heard from the horizontal roof joists above. A smallish, black feather drifted earthward, only to disappear before it reached the eye level of the more humanoid guests present. A great, black corvid flapped its wings as it descended, lighting upon the back of a nearby chair.

A quick bite of breakfast and an noncommittal shrug later, Victoria addressed Kathryn's question. "Just the same things I usually see when I close my eyes..." There was a trail-off and a smile attached to the statement, but it was only to hide a glimmer of shock. "But yes, I indeed did have some dreams that most would consider unsettling. Maybe the others did as well?" This did seem unnatural, and the coincidence of their recent issues could not just be taken for granted. "It was like ... It was very much like dreams I had a number of nights ago. Blood, conquest, slavery, and I used Necromancy with power and control that are vastly beyond my present abilities." She thought for a moment. Then concern etched her features. "They called me 'Prince' in my dream. 'Prince.' This raises questions."

Rather than belabor that particular issue, Victoria instead moved onto another. "I was surrounded by a small army, or a detachment of a bigger one, in a place with small towns perched upon rolling hills with wet lowlands - a moor - and mountains in the background. I am led to believe that I arrived from behind those mountains, for specific purpose." She looked quizzical, as a lady confronting a jigsaw puzzle which was missing several connecting pieces. The clear image simply could not be fathomed without them. "I shall give this some thought while I'm in town. Medician Floquet was very clear that even an Undead Uprising is not an excuse to miss training today." She tucked into her breakfast, mind processing but not quite figuring out some connections or the significance of the details. Hopefully, they had time to ponder. But she did have to hurry this morning, as there was perilous snowfall to brave before she could get to Southmoor.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Well, here we all are for IC post 1,000! I'd like to thank you for coming along on this journey with me, realizing of course that we're barely halfway through the planned material. Still, massive Huzzahs are in order! Thanks for being part of this adventure thusfar.

Now, on to business! The setting is covered with snow. It's hard to get around and you've got both an investigation to investigate AND your duties to dute. Is that a word? Probably not. Well, it is now! Long story short, you all have a busy day ahead of you, make no mistake, AND you're expecting company. If anyone remembers the details of that bit of planning, you get a gold star.

In any case, per our usual, for any questions, concerns, die roll requests, etc., please say hello in our Discord. And here's wishing for another fun and adventurous thousand IC posts. Thank you again.

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.