Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A Location: Coach House Action: Skill Check: (Arcana), Research Bonus Action: Familiar stuff, Morty Reaction: N/A

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"In the sarcophagus..." mused Victoria. Her eyes widened, reflecting the muted green pallor of the lightly glowing stone in which she was so engrossed. Her eyes darted back to Kathryn with the question about the dreams, but her voice seemed distant, quite preoccupied really, as she answered, "No... No, I didn't learn anything useful about the dreams. It's probably symptomatic of something, but I still don't know why..." The Bard's attention went back to the stairs, and her steps followed said attention back to the taproom. "I'll have this back to you, if you still need it. Okay, Kat?" This last bit was significantly more personable and focused; even delivered with a beaming expression. She was swiftly coming back into her element. At least, the one which didn't involve song.

It wasn't long until Victoria had taken up a significant portion of one of the tables in the taproom, books and notations on standby. She had procured for herself an oil lamp and thrown a couple more aromatic logs on the fire, and while the rest of the group took to their searches, the Bard abstained in favor of her research. She had taken a bit of time to brew a pot of tea for herself, flavored with dried pear peel and just a hint of that lovely brandy, but otherwise continued writing her notes and checking her books. There were even moments when she used her Morty as a footstool. Morty was quite the useful thrall, she reasoned to herself with a light smile. The primary text of her work was her copy of The Lucky Ghost, but many of her own songs and interment etchings provided scraps of useful information. She spent the majority of her time writing down facts of what she knew of this entity who called itself "Prince", and used these to narrow her search down. But it wasn't until Lizbeth and Baronfjord came back with her copy of The White Book that a pivotal piece clicked together for her.

Unfortunately, this happened at the same time that Lizbeth read the letter from her grandfather and had her own breakdown. Victoria was not a particularly wise individual in the ways of Human psychology, but she could read a room. A more morally inclined person might have moved to comfort the young woman in this time, but being honest with herself, this was not a thing which Victoria had been accused of with any regularity. Instead, she penned her final thoughts on her research on a clean bit of paper and put it to the side for the time being. Then she waited for her opportunity.

The opportunity came when Lizbeth rose from her chair. She looked quite dead, to put it bluntly, after getting so much emotion out of her slender frame. Curiosity got the better of her when she went into the cellar again, upon which the purple-clad Bard stalked over to Lizbeth's table and skimmed the letter from the late Monsieur L'Rose - the man whose scorched finger bone still lay in a pouch on her belt - and took in the words. Then something else clicked for her. "Lizbeth!" she called, moving to follow the girl to the stairs. If she was openly displaying the arcane things she was capable of doing, then there was no reason for Victoria to keep the secret anymore, either. "My dear, sweet Lizbeth, please listen." Her eyes met the half-alive girl with focused intensity as she asked, "When you were first able to do these things, did it come all at once, or was it a trickle? Like, slowly over time, and you had to practice some things before you could do them well? Please tell me."

Lizbeth's confirmation that things did indeed take a while for her to grow into - years, actually, seemed to delight Victoria visibly. The darkness around the Bard's eyes deepened and the black tear streaks returned as she spoke, keeping it clear and easy to understand. "The green stone, the flavor of your grapes, the reason you needed to get your grandfather off of the land after he died, all of it has a reason. It's the same reason that you are..." she gestured, as if to conjure up the words, "...the way you are, Lizbeth. Your grandfather didn't sell you into anything, dearest child. But I think the Prince was waiting for you to, well, to happen." The smile returned. "This isn't anything to fix, I promise. You have been touched by magic since before your birth, and it has become part of you. With the proper training, you may become a powerful Sorcerer one day. Your power is yours, and it will respond to you if you embrace it."

Though she was smiling, what she learned of this Farid al Ramil Sabaj al Hazred, Prince of the Southern Sands, had her significantly worried. But she would deal with that after the kid got something akin to momentary closure about her family's horrifying, multi-generational mistakes. Arnaud L'Rose was not a good man, from the look of things, but at least he didn't sell out his only surviving family to some undead abomination calling itself royalty. "We can address the Prince in a moment. Right now, let's find Arnaud's second study. It looks like he left you something inside. Okay? We can talk about your magic a little later, promise. In depth."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox@Archangel89

Ladies, gentlemen, theys, thems, and maybes; here we are yet again! For the sake of wrapping up certain eventualities and moving things past a week-long potential interrogation of a conversation, ONE HOUR has passed, in-game time. This means that those who are looking for stuff can vent their frustrations and deal with what they need to before moving on with the next series of clues uncovered. This also means that folks can reposition themselves in pretty much any place in the area, as it doesn't take all that long to get from town to the vineyard, and vice versa. So you all handle your business and please, per usual, get with me about questions, dice rolls, and all of the lovely things we do over on our Discord.

Thanks again for being a part of Wintering In Wine Country.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Southmoor

Coach House

Town Hall

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Weather: The sky has cleared a bit more, allowing for more blue than white to be visible skyward. The sun is a more frequent friend, prompting the ambient temperature to rise a bit. While it is still cold, it might be hovering just a speck above freezing. The occasional gust of wind pushes about damp air, leading to a still biting breeze upon the uncovered or unwary.

Time: About an hour has passed since our last check-in, putting us firmly around midday.

Ambience: The interior of the Coach House is a tad warmer now, a little more comfortable, now that time has passed and the fire has been tended by those present. Lamps are available for lighting, were one to have the proclivities to do so. The well used but also well cared for wooden furniture here accommodates one comfortably enough, and the scent of grapeseed oil mixes with seasoned wood and the more sour-sweet notes of fine potables. This place is, in all respects, a small Inn with the exception that it stands on private land, for private use. In addition to the wide selections of extremely local wines and a few select favorites of the present and former owners, there stands the remains of a cask of ale, courtesy of our very large and strong Knight, and a still mostly full cask of totally not cursed brandy, courtesy of the groups earlier escapades.

The cellar, now a point of interest aside from the cool, dry spot to store semi-perishables, is dark. The only light present is what one brings with them, though there are plenty of oil lamps back in the main area to assist with this dilemma. many things can be found here - flour, nuts, dried and jarred fruits, cheeses, and the like all contribute to the overall ambience of the area, all neatly stacked and separated appropriate to their needs for the longest possible storage time before spoilage. All sorts of containers may be found here; sacks and baskets (hanging or otherwise), crates, hooks, and especially shelving, broad and solid, all set off of the wall with the exception of one bit of shelving which carried tools appropriate to opening crates and dealing with some of the more industrial needs of a functioning kitchen. Barrels of many types also rest down here, bearing the mark of the L'Rose family and the Rose River Vineyard.

In the greater lands about, one begins to note a decided amount of snowmelt. The day has progressed enough that the sun has broken free of its cloudy imprisonment (for the most part) and its warm, life-giving rays are right in the outset of reducing the inches of snow into something more manageable for the time being. The problem being, when it rests for the day, what will become of the melt? The high sun is enough to get the children of Southmoor off of the river ice, and even the fellow who mentioned that is was indeed a good day for fishing has disappeared to places unknown. Late risers and later workers have poked heads out of doors now, exposing the primarily Human population of the town to the open sky and still chilled atmosphere. Most of them busy themselves with shoveling snow from in front of their residences and what passed for streets in their immediate vicinity, with the Halfling minority population keeping mainly to themselves, still. The sounds of tools working behind closed shutters remains, but now it is joined across town by the occasional pleasant conversation. Most of these are about health and weather, commonplace things to discuss, though a few are in more hushed, almost conspiratorial tones. Foot traffic has increased moderately, and with it, Kosara and Daxos have been getting the occasional curious look, in the way that common folk of a region might react to outsiders.

*****

In town, the lady behind the desk at the Town Hall looked upon Kosara with confusion at first, maybe coupled with a bit of genuine fear. It was rare indeed that a Tiefling show up in the extraordinarily rural area of Southmoor. Point of fact, her presence likely marked the only Tiefling that many of the townspeople had ever seen. So when she began to discuss in a marginal amount of detail the expressed displeasure of her "grandpa" in rapid words and friendly, if seemingly excited gestures, there was a mote of worry. All of this built into an expression that might have insisted upon calling the nearby soldier, until Kosara mentioned the rats. Then her demeanor shifted considerably. "Oh! You're with the group of Independent Contractors that Sheriff Gregory hired to handle the Goblin issues, right? And handled Constable Cavendish? I never did like that guy, even if he was Gregory's cousin. Rude fellow. But, you're The Ones Who Answered, right? I don't remember hearing about a Dwarf in your number, but you know how rumormill works. Nothing's ever everything."

She appeared a little more open to discussion at this time, even going so far as to volunteer a bit of information. But first, "Wait, you're telling me there's actually something happening at the Vineyard? That's tragic! Does it have anything to do with..." her tone dropped to a whisper, "...the dead guy from last night?" She let it hang there for a moment, but did eventually continue. "I've already told you, no one owned the land out that way, or even this town's land, back more than eighty or a hundred years. I mean, maybe someone did a really, really long time ago, but this place only got built up by settlers from the kingdom a few generations ago. The pioneers didn't keep the best records at first, either. Literally nothing was on that land before the L'Roses settled it. They tilled the first soil, grew the first grapes, made the first wine. Southmoor and the villages around really only exist because laborers needed someplace to live, at first. But if you want to know more from someone who's been here a while, talk to the grey Dwarf that lives with the L'Roses. I remember him being here from when I was a little girl, far back as I can remember."

The halberd-wielding soldier took the opportunity to stride over to the desk, adding his own commentary. "You're the ones who took out Cavendish and all of his Wererat guards? Don't look like much, but I saw the inside of the Hall back in the Avonshire Township, before I got stationed out here. It was an abomination you lot put down, mademoiselle, monsieur. All the same, I'd rather be posted back at the Capitol with my family than out this way. No offense." The last part was to the clerk lady, who waved it away.

Back at the Vineyard - Within the confines of the cellar, Lizbeth nodded quietly to Victoria's request, and with Baronfjord's expert chaperoning they braved the bettering elements to ascend the exterior stairs. Lizbeth had left the book with her things in the same upstairs bedroom. On their way, she did exhibit better spirits with commentary like, "Master Baronfjord, have you ever read any of Madame Belmont's books? They're really interesting! This one, The White Book, is all about the Jasidan church and the stuff they do. Did you know that the same goddess can rule over beauty AND death? And they catalogue so many different ways to take care of dead people. ...or let dead people take care of you..." She looked thoughtful for a moment, "But she doesn't always seem like she's, you know, nice. But reading about her is interesting!" The book was easily located under her pillow, still in good condition, and brought back downstairs.

Letter

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Cecily,

I have been hard on you. You are not blood relation and as such, I have felt that certain contributions you have made have been lesser, here on a family Vineyard. Were it not that you are the sole remaining caretaker of my granddaughter, I would have found an excuse to send you away. For this, you have my regret. I knew that you would have to find your way into this box eventually, because Lizbeth is not of age yet to take things over and I know my time is short. My children are dead. My wife also. Much was taken from us to ensure that this place prospered, and I have come to seriously doubt that it was needed at all.

My efforts to sever our family from this have failed. I do not have a mind for magic as I have for numbers, but I learned enough to know that I am vastly outmatched by my benefactors. My time with the living is coming to an end, and I hope that my death ends the curse upon the land, even if logically there is no reason to think it might. You were not born a L'Rose. You are not from this land That might save you. Lizbeth was born here. Her first breath was taken from this air. First sip of water from the well here. First food grown here. Unlike everyone else, myself included, she is the first of our lineage native to this land, absorbing it from birth. I have seen her do things that a girl should not be capable of. Ever since the illness, she is changed. I fear that this is part of a plan that I have been tricked into.

I don't know if it is safer to keep her here, or get her as far away from here as possible. If Lizbeth has become what I think she has, I have a final gift that might help her. It is located in my second study; the place I go to be alone. I do like to make sure our guests have plenty of bacon on hand. When you find the place, please remember me gently. I made mistakes and was desperate to fix them. Even if I shake free of The Prince, my soul is probably damned. The price of this will not include Lizbeth.

If everything comes to failure, take what you can of my estate and leave this place far behind you. This is my doing, and the fault of it rests solely on my shoulders. Start your life over. Let the L'Rose name die. The darkness shouldn't follow you.

- Arnaud

When she returned, Lizbeth used the opportunity to sit in the main room and read the letter. She looked withdrawn at first, but was soon overcome with emotion. Her head plunked down on the table in front of her chair and she wept until pulling in breath became difficult, at which time she forced herself to slow down. It looked truly painful, like someone attempting to breathe through layers of canvas. She was not the pretty image of springtime youth in this moment, but a bitter, sorrowful young woman with rage seeping up from the cracks of her psyche.

Until suddenly, she didn't. A shuddering exhalation left her, and she didn't pull any air back in following. Her skin became pallid, bloodless against the contrast of darkened eyes and unmoving features unless she willed it specifically. Then her chest did rise, just enough to fuel the words she spoke next. "Whatever did you do, Grandfather? Why did you do it? Is this why I'm ... whatever I am now? What in the hells did you sell me into?"

The pale, angry girl rose from her chair and stalked back down the stairs to the cellar. She took one more look around, no longer needing the benefit of light to make her way in the darkness, and settled her otherwise unmoving eyes on the shelf against the north wall. "I was very small, but I think I remember that we used to hang pork bellies near that wall. It's the only wall that lines up with the exterior, so it was a little bit colder." Her voice was barely inflected, like she was embracing this new aspect of herself more publicly. "I'd rather you not break anything if you can help it." This was now an openly armed, armored girl with all of the appearance of a recently deceased individual. It was vaguely reminiscent of Victoria's appearance when she channeled necrotic energies, but more subdued in nature. Lizbeth looked like a pissed-off dead girl walking.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A Location: Coach House Action: Skill Check, (Arcana) Bonus Action: Familiar stuff, Morty Reaction: N/A

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She almost didn't notice her Dragonborn associate standing at the top of the cellar stairs, behind the bar. When Kathryn answered her from said cellar, and Victoria glanced over in the direction of the sound, only to catch a startle. Exhaling deeply, she raised her hands, palm out as if in surrender, on either side of her face. "I surrender," she said in a half-mocking tone. "Someone needs to put a bell on you." Jokes aside, she attempted a more diplomatic approach. "I apologize, Baronfjord, my thoughts are obviously elsewhere. I just rode in from Southmoor." Admittedly, it wasn't a long way to ride, literally just down the road, but were he to know the speed of travel she had just accomplished he might be impressed.

"I saw Kosara before I left town, actually. She seemed fine. It looked like she made a new friend, as our Kosara does, but I did not inquire anything into it. Dwarven fellow. I left the Sending Stone with her, if she needs to make contact quickly." That said, she continued with a tangent of her previous thought, "I may have figured something out about our 'Prince' but I need to consult my books here, including the one I lent to Lizbeth. I might be onto something." The last sentence came out with a distant quality to her voice, as if she was still in the middle of puzzling something out. She quickly shook her head and snapped out of it.

It was around this time that she realized that she had been keeping Kathryn waiting more than a moment since she announced that they were in the cellar. "I shall be down presently!" she called in melodic tones, though she instead took up her teacup and refilled it with a dram of brandy from the bar. In a manner both classy and not-quite-ladylike, she threw its contents past her lips and let the taste linger with her for a second or two before allowing it passage onward. It was indeed very fine, well-aged brandy - with just a hint of something more mature than mere age. Lovely.

And so it came to pass that Victoria took to the stairs down to the cellar, giving a quick, "Please excuse me," as she passed by. She was pleased to see that Lizbeth was also down there with Kathryn. That would save a trip, as she could get back her book at least temporarily. "Lizbeth, it's good to see you! If you'll allow, I will need my copy of The White Book back, at least for today. I could be onto something and I need it for reference. Please."

Victoria might have exited the room immediately following, as she was a lady on a mission. Unlike many Bards, her mission and role in the party seemed to have evolved primarily into studious research. And while she wondered why and/or how this happened, it was a fact that this particular topic was well within her wheelhouse. Conversely, like many Bards, her attention shifted almost immediately when presented with something shiny. It was related to the topic at hand, intimately so, but it didn't help the stereotype that it was essentially a shiny rock that pulled her away from her task. "Is that..?" she began, almost crouching and flowing over to Kathryn as she held the green-black crystal. Her vision tunneled, voice again becoming distant behind the roar of her thoughts that only she could hear. Gingerly, Victoria reached out and took the shiny rock from Kathryn, her face painted with wonder. Victoria barely noticed when her face began to show the telltale signs that commonly appeared when she tapped into the abilities taught by her Bardic College; a darkening around her eyes and the appearance of black tears streaking artfully down her cheeks. She was able to suppress it with a mote of thought, but the wonder did not leave her features quite as easily. Bright, crystal-blue eyes regarded the item with something akin to shock. "Kathryn, why do you have a chunk of raw, uncut vivianite?"

A pause, as Victoria reflected upon her formal study in Arcana, and she explained, "Vivianite, hmm... Occurs naturally where there is a lot of death and not a lot of air. It also forms where there's a concentration of necrotic energy and time. Necromancers use it in arcane foci or as components in magical items. Some use it like an arcane battery, it's beyond me as to how. Where did you find this?"

Thoughts as to her initial reason for being back at the Coach House came flooding back. Victoria had at least half of an idea and had to follow up on it. "...I have to get to my books... I might be close to something important."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox@Archangel89

Alright! Update is updated and I'm still technically on time! Huzzah for me! ...anyway, as I'm in the middle of a personal time crunch, I'll keep.this really brief. You all keep doing what you're doing. Message me in our Discord for die rolls, reactions, and the like, and I will follow up with them when I'm able.

Best of luck with your upcoming rolls. If the Dice Gods won't be helpful, let's at least hope that they'll be merciful.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Southmoor

Coach House

Town Hall

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Weather: Still partly cloudy, though the sun is making its presence more known now as the day continues. Temperatures hover around freezing, which is a touch warmer than a couple hours ago and certainly moreso than the blizzard conditions which covered a surprisingly local amount of land the previous night. One acclimated to the weather will be more or less fine, and even those without cold weather experience will note the preferable change. Wind is more active now, bringing with it stinging, slightly wet air which interacts negatively with exposed skin.

Time: We have moved fully into late morning. The Halfling population will have finished first AND second breakfasts, and thought moves now to luncheon. In any case, it is much closer to noon than to dawn.

Ambience: The Coach House remains dimly lit, the hearth fire in the Taproom having been neglected for a while and the Kitchen's fire down to mere embers which might be roused with time, fuel, and effort. It is otherwise seemingly untouched from the group's mass egress earlier that morning. Upon the bar sits the barrel of extremely fine brandy, its spigot ready to dispense, and whatever remained within the barrel of ale secured from town, also in a state of readiness.

The cellar had only what light one brings with them, and is a somewhat cramped location. Dry goods and semi-perishables rest here in neat rows, spaced evenly as to allow for airflow and resist more unsavory growths upon them. Flour and nuts sit on spacers which keep them off of the ground a few inches, in clean sacks and baskets as needed. There is the scent of decent cheese in here, as the wax coatings never quite fully lock this within, mingling with a very slight, sour note of cured meat. Fruity scents linger as well, represented by airy hanging baskets of apples and pears. The walls are of fitted stone which seem to radiate a constant coolness from the ground around it, as cellars are wont to do. One wall has a series of wooden crates along it, while another bears shelving with tools appropriate to dealing with said crates, as well as portioning, processing, and carrying things to and from the kitchen and pantry areas. Many barrels also reside here, their contents easily guessed based upon the Rose River Vineyard branding seared along their exteriors.

Out and about, the snow glistens with evidence of slight melting and immediate refreezing - as the sun touched the land around and quickly is covered back by cloud cover, the already settled snow becomes slightly more perilous. It also becomes more fun, if the gathering of people near Southmoor sledding down these hills have anything to say about it. Between them and the kids braving the frozen surface of the river, all of this it absolutely fine. The continued cold does keep most people within buildings, even if they are going in to work. Those which are seen outside finish their business quickly and move on; the town is not busy by any means but cannot be called silent, as there is notable, if marginal, foot traffic. Southmoor remains quiet otherwise, at least as quiet as a town might be with a few labors performed within walls and doors.

*****

Kathryn's question to Lizbeth was a decently predictable one to make; logical, and the obvious person to ask it of was naturally Lizbeth. If anyone were to know what the elder Monsieur L'Rose was up to and where he might be doing it, it might be his granddaughter. Unfortunately, all she was able to offer was a confused shrug. "I'm sorry, I just don't know. Grandfather would lock himself away in here and tell us not to bother him." She offered only a somewhat overwhelmed look and said, "I've cleaned the rooms here a bunch of times, but I never saw anything like a Study."

To Baronfjord, Lizbeth had more solid of answers, but about the same amount of help was forthcoming. "We haven'thad any renovations done to the Coach House since... well, I think since the Vineyard property lines expanded." Then, thoughtfully, she followed up, "This wasn't originally part of the Vineyard. Grandfather bought it when I was very little and had some work done to it then."

In Southmoor, the clerk lady behind the desk managed to give her best impression of a rural civil servant who, upon being given only slightly conflicting stories about the nature of these newcomers' business with her, had little to no suspicions about their intentions. Were she honest with herself despite the novelty of a Tiefling and the slightly more common event of a Dwarf (who wasn't Urmdrus) coming to her for information, they really hadn't said or done anything wrong, so she continued as helpfully as she might.

There was a quick glance over to the martial looking fellow with the halberd, however. "Look, I'm willing to help you two in any that's legal, but you need to understand that we're not some far-traveling adventurous types here. Only records I have are from things that happen locally, and even then it doesn't cover everything. I mean, heck, this building is our mail office, town hall, guard post, jail, and seat of commerce. We ain't one of them big cities, like the Township." She gave an exaggerated look of exasperation, and with a faux benevolent look of a penny-store martyr, followed with, "...but I will selflessly try to help you im any way that I'm able, as befits a civil servant of the quiet frontier town of Southmoor."

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: Southmoor (Healer's Home) -> Coach House Action: Ritual Magic: (Phantom Steed) Bonus Action: Familiar stuff, Morty Reaction: N/A

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It did take a few minutes for Victoria to bring her Phantom Steed, regardless of the sudden burst of inspiration which caused her to exit the Medician's cottage with the resolute determination that she displayed. She paused for long enough to open her Ritual Book to the appropriate pages and fix the image of her preferred beast of personal conveyance: swift, sure, noble, and just intimidating enough to send the right message of thematic awe in those who saw it. A tall, bone white stallion with oil-black socks and matching mane which floated through the air as if underwater, and eyes which reflected light with a spectral, purple hue. A horse in the most outside sense; a spiritform made into something akin to flesh through magic and directed imagination. Victoria possessed a decent amount of both and was only growing stronger in the use of them with time. Thusly, the steed began to manifest in front of Annick's home, by the will of the purple-clad Bard.

Her Familiar, the wondrous black corvid, gave a croaking caw from up ahead, giving an indication of its presence. Another spirit made to flesh and feathers, linked to the will and desires of its mistress. It alerted Victoria to the presence of something coming up from behind her. Pausing the spellwork for just a moment, she glanced back to see Annick and her daughter Annabelle emerging from their home, the former carrying two books in a leather reinforced sling bag and the latter staying near to the building. The Medician approached and held out the books to Victoria, mentioning something about "...homework. You might as well take it with you and finish when you find an opportunity.". Victoria nodded, not wishing to put too much of a strain on the ritual she was performing but acquiescing to her proposal.

"Do you have to be still to ritual cast magic?" inquired Annabelle, from the house's front deck. It greatly annoyed Victoria - for about two seconds. Then she began to ponder the question. Technically, she didn't read anything about needing to go through the whole rigamarole of symbolic, sympathetic, or circle-drawing procedures aside from what the spell itself might need to cast, and so, the Bard stood a bit straighter and began to walk. She could still feel the slower buildup of power that indicated the spell's continued progress, and so took step after step in the vague direction of the Vineyard. With a broad smile, Victoria turned and gave the younger Floquet a wave. She settled the sling bag about her person along with her knapsack, and started to negotiate the last parts of the spell into place. Her pace quickened as the Phantom Steed began to materialize next to her, coalescing from somber threads of arcane energy at a trot. Without breaking pace, Victoria pulled herself into the saddle and took up the great beast's reins, prompting her steed to a pace which no ordinary horse could hope to match. Despite the need for expedience and the serious nature of their situation, the she found this positively exhilarating. Luckily, the streets of the town of Southmoor were mostly clear.

Those viewing the rush of motion from a side angle might be greeted by a purple blur with fiery hair atop a creature, potentially of myth, zooming by and leaving a wind wake which twirled paper goods in its passing.

Coming through Southmoor proper, Victoria took note of Kosara heading toward whatever piece of investigation has piqued her interest. The shorter silhouette with her was not recognized, and while her curiosity might have led her to stop and ask a few questions about her new "friend", Victoria kept the urgency of her present obsession at the mental fore. She did bring her Steed to a quick stop to relate her position to her teammate, however, before she got to wherever she was going. "Kosara! I'm glad I caught you." She reached into a pocket and dug out the oddly shaped Sending Stone, giving it a quick toss to the Tiefling lady. "If you would, please keep hold of this for me. I am returning to the Coach House for..." Her attention went briefly to Daxos, unsure as to what might or might not be safe to discuss around the stranger. "...well, I believe I have figured something out. I may be onto something, at the least. I will see you there later." It was less of a declarative sentence and more a statement showing that she was expected there eventually, as a precursor or gentle warning to the unknown Dwarf fellow at her side. But there was no reason to be overtly rude to the guy; a greeting was the polite thing to do. "And good morning to you, Master Dwarf!" she said with a touch of embellishment, sweeping her hand to one side as she took what amounted to a bow from horseback. "Please excuse my abruptness. There is work to be done and haste is an issue." She smiled as she straightened, taking her reins back up. "By your leave, of course. And Kosara? I await whatever you may find out. Keep yourself safe."

Under arcane command and twitch of the reins, Victoria's Phantom Steed took off like a bolt from a ballista, hammering forward momentum from the ground beneath it. The cry of her raven soaring overhead could be heard as it followed, only to fade from existence mid-flight and reappear at a point ahead of the swiftly egressing Bard.

It was a very short time later that Victoria found herself dismounting within the courtyard of the Coach House, having sped at breakneck pace up the road from Southmoor and ignoring issues that a flesh and blood horse might have to deal with. She didn't think that she would need the use of a speedy ride within the next few minutes, but opted not to dismiss the animal just in case. It would naturally come to a cessation after a little while, anyway. So Victoria strode up to the main door into the taproom and carefully made her way inside. She set her knapsack and borrowed sling bag upon a nearby table, and issued a mental command to her preserved porcine beast of burden, Morty, to approach. Unfailing loyalty coming from the gaunt creature (as it had no say in the matter, itself) brought it closer, long enough for its Mistress to note that nothing seemed to have changed about itself or its surroundings. It returned to its place by the wall, and Victoria called out, "Hello? Is anyone here?" If someone had checked in at the same time she did, they might trade notes. Otherwise, she would know that it was clear to check her new suspicions/hypotheses against the her written works with her gear, now that she had a better idea what to look for.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox@Archangel89

We're moving along to the next logical point, this being (for most of us) the location mentioned in posts as their intended locations. Just stepping inside of doors, at it turns out. I'm seeing a decent amount of interaction and I don't want to spoil it if it's ongoing, so... you do you. I have intentionally left Victoria headed in the direction of the Vineyard as soon as her horse manifests, so it is possible for the two others in Southmoor to catch sight of her on her way out, and she will be arriving at the Coach House shortly, on back of a really fast phantom horsey.

Per our usual, please get with me in our Discord with questions, rolls, etc., and do try not to plunge headlong into the wood chipper that is our upcoming situation here in sunny Avonshire. Huzzah! Best of luck uncovering the uncoverable.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Southmoor

Coach House

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Weather: Still mostly cloudy, with the distant sun showing one in a while to remind us that it yet lives, behind its white-grey bulwark. Wind carries hints of dampness, briefly cutting through the stiller, after-blizzard atmosphere. Every so often, bits of pale blue sky stand sharply against the color of dreary clouds. The continuing morning gives a slight increase to the overall temperature, and possibility of marginal snowmelt in the future.

Time: It is late morning, featuring a full sunrise for some time now.

Ambience: A slight glistening forms across the tops of snow drifts and the broader areas of cover. It lends a sort of quiet beauty to the landscape, something which gives the hint of sparkle to contradict the previous matte white of the snow. People, for the most part, still keep indoors, yet a few more are stirring after the conditions of their internal agreements manifest; promises of taking a later start on account of the uncomfortable weather the night before. Many children (and a few adults) can be seen upon an untouched hill near the river, having abandoned their studies and labors for the day, prepare to rapidly descend upon makeshift sleds. More kids have tested the strength of the ice over the river and, with mild caution, commit to noisy play there.

Southmoor as a whole is still fairly quiet, but that is slowly altering to accommodate the fresher influx of what few people have decided to get about their day. The town is by no means busy, not even for a town of this smaller size. But it has picked up a tic. Windows are shuttered, doors only open for as long as it takes to enter or egress. Occasional sounds of professions being practiced filter out into the thoroughfares of Southmoor, taps of tools and shifting of goods, as thin lines of smoke reach skyward from individual chimneys across the town.

*****

Having brought both the corpse and the newest guest of the vineyard ferried down to Southmoor from his humble Estate abode, Urmdrus took channeled his next piece of motivation toward hauling himself and his wagon back home, from whence he frigging came. There was a bottle of something unsavory and flammable in a box back in his workshop. While it fell neatly under his "emergency booze" stash, it was either that or try to finagle his way into the Coach House and ask for more of that brandy. Maybe he overstepped that way. In any case, the older Dwarf noticed that his younger associate was off to his own devices before returning to the Rose River Vineyard, and he wasn't going to wait around for it. It was too cold for his liking, anyway. The trotter horse attached to his tool wagon turned clumsily around and moved in as straight a line as Urmdrus could guide it, carrying everyone and everything therein back up the road from Southmoor to the estate.

Thad looked like he really wanted to forget the last few minutes of his life and slink away, back to his usual duties of sweeping floors and polishing candle wax off of individual shrines. But he did offer help and, to her credit, the Tiefling lady wasn't causing any actual problems. Even bought out a decent amount of candles. So giving a little help didn't seem like too bad of an idea, so long as he might divest himself from the situation when his role as guide/assistant came to a close. Lucky for him, when asked to assist further, Thad just needed to point out the Town Hall. This was easy enough; it was the most prominent building in town and, even more lucky for him, it could be spotted from the front of the Temple. As such, Thad capped off Kosara's visit with an overly polite showing of her to the door, indicating the direction that she needed to go with as few words as possible (while still being unfailingly nice), and quietly closing himself back in the Temple.

Town Hall

The Town Hall stood slightly aside from the rest of the buildings of Southmoor, proper, allowing one to fully walk it if necessary. It was easy to pick out from a distance if one has an unobstructed line, as it was (from the outside) probably the only formalish looking building in the area. Large, wooden double doors led to the inside from the front, and upon entering, one could see that the majority of the space was open, with a long desk toward the opposite side and a series of chairs in even rows in the center. This building seemed to handle the vast majority of administrative activities for the town and villages beyond; a representative of the constabulary from Darenby might be found here to act as impromptu constabulary (all one of them), mail or messenger services, basic record keeping, title deeds stored, judicial decisions, as well as the usual Town Hall activities of being a meeting place for locals on official business. One lady of indeterminate years sat behind the desk, penning her signature on something or another which looked official, and another fellow wearing the colors of the national military, even if it was not quite the full uniform of a soldier. He hefted a decently constructed mace and stood next to a standard issue halberd which rested against the wall. Beneath his tabard, the muffled clink of mail armor might be heard as he moves about.

The lady behind the desk notices the two outsiders enter, and with a touch of apprehension utters the mainstay phrase of, "Um, might I help you with something?"

Back at the Vineyard, Jon looked upon Baronfjord with a sense of unease. Yes, he had learned something truly unnerving and sad, which he was trying to deal with in a calm and controlled manner, but something didn't seem quite right about what he said. Nothing that the experienced stablehand could out his finger on, but there was a distinct feeling that something was off. Of course, there wasn't a whole lot of time to figure this out before the Dragonborn was snatched up by a seven foot tall lady in armor with a wine heiress on her shoulders. While not the most dignified method of travel in the snow, it was more or less effective despite its absolute absurdity. Within a relatively short amount of time, the familiar path back to the Coach House was tread. The fact that three people arrived upon two legs was a thought experiment for subsequent generations to ponder.

Within the Coach House, things looked very similar to the state of affairs prior to the group leaving for the morning, the main difference being that the light had grown quite dimmer - lamps were extinguished and the hearth fire had burned down to embers. The former might easily be lit and the latter re-stoked with minimal effort. To one side of the taproom stood a familiar sight; a rather large but strangely emaciated boar, wrapped in burlap, with its tusks exposed but its eyes covered. The scent of woodsmoke is heavy in this room, but there was no smoke present. We may congratulate the diligence of the local chimney sweeps for this feat.

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: Southmoor (Healer's Home) Action: Skill Check (Arcana) Bonus Action: Familiar stuff Reaction: N/A

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Healer's Cottage

Victoria looked to her mentor and the sudden change of task which was set before her. As she recalled, Annick wanted her to show up for her duties, with a full blown undead uprising insufficient as an excuse to miss out on her medical training. Now here she was, taking in the order to put down her anatomical writings and look to her own, conventionally less savory books for guidance under the roof of a lady who was once trained to eviscerate people like her. But as annoyed as she might have been, the Medician (controlling as she was) had a point. "I lent my copy of The White Book to ...a friend... but that was mostly philosophy, doctrine, and funerary rites. I do have a copy of The Lucky Ghost in my knapsack, however." Victoria looked into this woman's eyes, wondering what might be going through her mind as she was, more or less, someone who would have been considered Annick's enemy, now perusing forbidden teachings in her own home. Than again, perhaps the mere pursuit of knowledge was okay. Know Thy Enemy, and all that.

Surgical texts put away, Victoria brought her knapsack into the room and set it upon the table. The two women were soon joined by the younger Annabelle, who (somewhat annoyingly) kept looking over her shoulder at the book in question. "Probably not a Lich," she repeated back Annick's sentiment from earlier. This was said with a touch of relief. There was no way that she was capable of taking on something like that. But it made sense. Too much sense. Pages turned. She consulted with Medician Floquet every so often, tryign to narrow down the possibilities present. If the big villain of the day was, in fact, Undead, then it was intelligent and had control over other, lesser forms of Undead. It had other magical abilities past this, judging from what was witnessed thusfar. So, some magical ability and Undead command. "Vampire, maybe?" she mused aloud. It might fit. But there would be other kinds of victims of a specific nature. Probably not.

The Bard sighed, going through what might be considered a "usual suspect", bantering back and forth with her mentor and her mentor's daughter, and getting nowhere. So Victoria changed up her approach and instead looked at entries which fit categories they they had personally witnessed at the Vineyard. "Toombes... was basically just an animated skeleton. They did things to his corpse to invoke horror in whomever saw it, but in essence it was just a skeleton. Maybe animated by something capable of making base thralls more powerful. The diplomatic envoy were technically just zombies, as far as I can tell, treated like puppets and destroyed as soon as they were no longer useful. Maybe this thing isn't an epic force of magic. Maybe it's just... in the right place at the right time. Hmm..."

A semi-eureka moment hit Victoria. "Now then, there are a few types of animated dead which can retain their intelligence, and sometimes their spellcasting ability. If someone botched an attempt at becoming a Lich or a Spectre, for example. Or if a Raise Dead spell didn't quite take properly. Or if a sufficiently powerful necromancer was buried in what became defiled ground, or a wild magic area..." A cold shiver went up Victoria's spine which had nothing to do with the weather. "Madame Floquet, may I please be excused today. I need to check something."

She was already pulling her pack on and raising her hood over her fiery hair before she got approval from Annick, and opening her ritual book to summon up a deathly fast Phantom Steed. She needed to get back to the Vineyard, and quickly. The moment she stepped out of the building, her great corvid Familiar let out a piercing CAW as it manifested above its mistress, circled once, and flew ahead.