Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Coach House

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Weather: Outside of the Coach House, the weather is rather pleasant, if still cold, so long as one bundles against the wind. Partly cloudy, gusts increasing in intensity with damp air. But the sun is absolutely lovely whenever it decides to make its appearance, verily glittering upon the fields of snow and the barely noticeable topmelt. The temperature remains within a degree of freezing, depending upon the prevailing winds of the hour.

Time: It seems like so much has happened in the past posting cycle, but no - we have now only moved a few minutes further into the day. Early afternoon, still.

Ambience: Still the very bastion of comfort, the taproom of the Coach House is a vision of polished wood and cut stone with simple yet well crafted furnishings. This is what a roadside Inn might be if it were kept up by a mindful, well-financed hand and rarely occupied. The lighting is adequate within the taproom, especially around the table near to the fireplace - this one has additional lighting in the form of an oil lamp and a couple of candles for ease in reading the books and papers thereupon. The tea set here is a lovely four person affair of smooth ceramic with hammered copper bottoms. Toward the wall stands a tusked boar, completely covered in burlap wrappings, making nary a move whatsoever.

One visiting the bar will see that it is fully stocked, though mostly with locally procurable wines and the rare, occasional spirit. Two barrels sit top the bar, both tapped for service - one has the look of age and the other of new local convenience. The former containing brandy, if the charring on its exterior is to be believed, while the other, less full one contains standard ale from the very nearby town of Southmoor.

The cellar remains as it did a moment before. Lots of places to store goods, most of which are taken up by said goods. Much more wine is down here, taking advantage of the stable temperature, as well as other semi-perishable foodstuffs. Barrels, crates, baskets, etc. dominate this room, with enough room to walk amongst it all and tend to supplies. It is cold down here, but that is to be expected. The only light is what one brings with them.

The shelf along the wall, the only one which actually makes contact with the wall directly and contains mostly tools (not to mention the odd puzzle box), has gone through some changes. More to be revealed, below.

*****

"Certainly," remarked Lizbeth, moving to the kitchen, within which say a pot of well-water, drawn that morning for their use that day. It wasn't long before she was back, a dead girl carrying a filled pitcher. She maintained the not-quite-alive visage from earlier, almost as if she was showing off a new dress but with far less of any emotion that could be confused with positivity or gusto. When the option to speak with Baronfjord was requested, she acted in agreement, even if she didn't say it out loud. Instead, she simply placed the water down where indicated and listened. "That's very sweet of you to think of me, Master Baronfjord." Her color and expression remained the same, but her head tilted slightly to one side as she continued, "But if you think I am staying away from something my Grandfather specifically led me to on his estate from beyond the grave after..." She gestured at herself, "I appreciate the warning. I'll even stand behind you when you first locate it. But I am going to be there."

Returning to the table, Lizbeth got something of an earful from Victoria. It sounded, to her ears, like a motherly guilt trip or something an annoyed big sister might intone. But like a younger family member, she did want something from her. And from Kathryn. And so far she hadn't done a thing to prove herself undedicated, so the young, teenage part of her brain found annoyance at what she might have taken for a lack of trust. Still, she was right. If she wanted the help, there had to be an understanding. "I'm not giving up by Knight training. I will learn whatever you and Mademoiselle Kosara can teach me about this, Mademoiselle Belmont."

Today, it seemed like the adventurers were getting a little more parental, and Lizbeth was certainly fulfilling her role as a moody teen. Given her situation, it might not have been an unwarranted.

Kosara's explanation of Cantrip vs. Spell was listened to intently by the budding spellcaster. She nodded along, taking in every word as best she could. And while it sounded like Kosara knew what she was talking about, sadly, Lizbeth did not. Magical reserves, source of energy, tiers, etc., was like a different language, even though she could clearly understand that the Tiefling lady was speaking the Common tongue of the land. Nevertheless, she took to it with interest. Maybe understanding would come later. "Oh, of course. Would... would you explain this to me later, please?" The walking dead girl was at least trying to remain polite, even if the situations evolving around her (which seemed determined by fate to involve and/or traumatize her) were causing her words to have an edge to them.

When the call came up from the cellar that Kathryn may have found something, Lizbeth spared no time in snatching up her Ankheg shield and moving in a determined manner toward the cellar stairs.

*****

Below, the cellar's relative calm was breached by a sudden shift in the air pressure. Nothing that caused any amazing change and certainly not enough to cause one's ears to pop, but when the stillness of an underground bastion of fine cheeses and grain storage (among other things) is interrupted in the slightest, it is aptly noted. This interruption took place as a prybar, forked, was inserted into the slots left bare by the Mushroom Puzzle Box and turned partway. A small section of stone recessed behind the tool shelving, and when acted upon, the entire shelf began to swing outward in the manner of a great, locked vault.

Behind this new aperture in the wall lay a short length of hallway - no more than a few feet - and yet another closed, locked door. It fits fully within the confines of its frame, not even letting even the smallest shaft of light through, if any light is to be had. The door is made of unyielding, polished wood, with a dulled brass handle. There rests a covered keyhole beneath the handle, presently impossible to get the barest glimpse through to the area beyond. There is no source of light within this area; in fact, thanks to the indirect lines of sight into this place, even the light which filters into the cellar from above is absent. Almost unnatural, one might note, were they subject to the difficulties of such visual trivialities.

The area between the secret door and the locked one had an oppressive, heavy feel, as if something of consequence may lie beyond.

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: Familiar stuff, Morty Reaction: N/A

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"Of course you may," Victoria finally responded. It was true, she hadn't addressed the question. Maybe it was a oversight on her part. Or perhaps subconsciously she thought it wasn't so much a question as it was a statement of intent, mentioned in a manner considered polite in this region. However, as Lizbeth asked it again (and in the sudden presence of Kathryn), the Bard felt it necessary to answer the question with an unusual moment of terse directness. "Lizbeth, I am not your keeper. If you wish to take mentorship from me on Arcana while I am still a guest of your vineyard, I accept. If you wish to continue learning how to fight from Kathryn, that is your decision. But I will not have you half-heartedly taking to magic under my care. I do not mean to speak ill of anyone who dedicates themselves to the sword - but one who walks the path of magic, especially necromancy, must prioritize their life in ways that would make a mundane appear mentally unwell." Victoria set her teacup down and locked eyes with the young, fairly dead-looking girl. An air of seriousness seemed to solidify around her features, enhancing her crystal-blue eyes and the deepening markings on her face; the tear-streaked darkness that usually accompanied Victoria's use of her signature magic. "Then there is the constant moral tightrope you must navigate."

The rest of the room had its own minor conversations going on, and even with Kosara sitting at the table with them, Victoria temporarily tuned them out with the intent of holding Lizbeth's rapt attention for another moment more. "Wizards acquire their magic through intense study and direct it with a sharp mind. Bards manipulate the flow of magic by untangling and reshaping the Weave through music, oration, or like performance. Our strength of personality and soul of artistic expression catalyzes it. But Sorcerers like you? Magic flows through you. Knowledge of Arcana and your personal instinct will help you get where you need to go, and like Bards, your confident sense of self dictates the eventual strength of your magic. An unsure or unclear mind is dangerous. Do you understand?"

She didn't especially wait for an answer, adding, "I am not a person who concerns themselves with ethic, nor the implicit moral implications of many of my abilities. I cannot teach you how to become a hero. I can help you to understand yourself and survive." The intensity of Victoria's expression lessened and one could hear a faint ceramic sound as she reclaimed her teacup. The smile even returned. Victoria absently brushed a strand of hair off of her face, speaking in a much more genial voice, "Just as long as you can devote the same level of dedication to your magic tutelage, I see no reason why you cannot continue to learn soldiery." Hopefully, that put the question to bed and imparted a necessary sense of seriousness to the endeavor.

At the table, Kosara made her own suggestion concerning magic, which Victoria mentally weighed for a moment. Nodding in thr direction of the Tiefling lady, she agreed, adding for Lizbeth's benefit, "Oh, but certainly. Kosara's perspective on magic is very different from my own. You might take inspiration from her experience. Inspiration comes from many sources to one with an open mind."

Though her expression was neutral, even pleasant, Victoria's mind was a tempest of concern. Whatever made Lizbeth into her present, permanent condition was related to the situation upon the land - practically a generational curse - that had already claimed lives and obviously wanted more. The chillingly striking Half-Elf took another, thoughtfully sip of her brandy-laced tea and pondered over their circumstances. Specifically, how Lizbeth fit into them.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

Wellllll... Hmm. There isn't a whole lot to report as different since our last update. This has been mostly dialogue and a smidgen of drama, without so much as an appreciable die roll requested in the meantime. Per usual, get with me about those, as they come up, in our Discord. And any questions about setting or the like. The new posting cycle is upon us, and remember that we are not limited to just one post per cycle, so long as we follow the rules about it as outlined in the initial OOC post.

So that's the gig as it sits presently. Thanks for being involved with another horrifying episode of Wintering In Wine Country.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Coach House

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Weather: Not much has changed in the weather, save for the groupings of clouds pushed farther down the great expanse of the sky, only to be replaced by others of their ilk. It's still about a half-to-half ratio of puffy white to open sky, with the sun making appropriate appearance. To that end, it's about as warm as it's going to get on this day, barring a sudden, unforeseen shift in the wind, and it is right around freezing. Maybe a fraction of a degree above. Snow is still everywhere, if thinning in places. But speaking to the wind - it is not particularly kind. Cover your skin, unless you like the bite of damp air.

Time: Though only a bit of time seemed to have passed amid the ongoing rush of conversation, time has a way of marching forward. Especially if there was (oh, say, hypothetically) some series of pre-planned events around which others may or may not have to navigate. For example. Either way, our dallying has brought us officially into early afternoon.

Ambience: The hearthy comfort of the Coach House has reached its crescendo. Any warmer and it might begin to feel a touch stifling, and no one wants that. The light is now adequate for standard sight, minus the flickering places of shadow which cannot be helped due to the proximity of furniture, the movement of bodies, and the ever-silent spectre of Morty, the burlap-wrapped, tusked boar at the far wall. The table nearest the wall is occupied by books and papers, around which three have taken seat.

The bar remains as it was, mostly untouched but occupied with the two casks - one of which is notably older than the other, containing brandy, and the other much more recent and (if the brand is to be believed) from Southmoor, and contained ale. Mostly.

The cellar is still cold, still lined with stone and actively serving as the best spot for both semi-perishable items and barrels of potables. In contrast to the the comfy upstairs, this room is cold. Cold enough for one's breath to become visible and cold enough that one might wish to close the door once they make it back upstairs. Racks and shelves dominate this space, as do barrels and crates.

The one shelf attached to the wall, now seemingly out of place with recent events, contained various pry-bars (forked and otherwise), opening tools, things for tapping, and more elaborate methods of food and product preparation. The stationary puzzle box with the currently unreadable runes and mushroom imagery remains open, with the two vertical, in-line slots giving a taunt to those who would attempt to figure out its mysteries.

*****

Lizbeth took to BB's presence coming up from the stairs as one might when greeting a friend, but stopped short of verbal discourse when he began speaking to others. It made sense to her; even if she was vaguely aware that her aunt allowed another person access to the Vineyard, it was still technically their Coach House for the winter and he was a stranger to them. So she remained quiet until they could work out whatever detail they were going to work out, content to smile politely as she otherwise looked quite dead to the casual observer. The good news was, for anyone noticing, that Lizbeth's demeanor had shifted from outright fearful despair to something more stable. At least enough so that she could put on the facade of polite gentility, if not some to the more genuine.

She still looked like a fresh corpse.

The conversation which Victoria had with Kosara, short though it was, did give Lizbeth some amount of peace. Even a little wonder. The phrase "Sisters of the Weave" made it sound like an exclusive group of some kind, like a circle of knights or gathering of the clandestine. Then the Bard spoke to her as a mother might to a young lady going through "the change", but in a much less metaphorical, much more reality-altering way. Perhaps full trust shouldn't be placed in someone who regularly utilized a corpse for a personal servant. Even if the corpse was of a semi-domesticated walking foodstuff. Nevertheless, as strange as it seemed, the Bard was in the best position to help her understand. And out of people who understood necromancy, the least likely to do something awful to her. So she sat, listening, taking in what she could. Lizbeth even began to feel genuinely better about herself and her situation thanks to Victoria's silver tongue and disarming delivery.

Finally, she answered, "I think I need to know what I can do, you know, before I start making wishes. Is that okay?" It was a blend of confidence and uncertainty in measured amounts. Kathryn's appearance from the cellar drew Lizbeth's attention. Her query concerning Victoria tutoring Arcana was quickly answered by a vigorous nod of her head. She opened her mouth to answer, voluntarily needing to pull in a breath to fuel the words to come (a side effect of her semi-alive state), but switched her attention at the last second to address her would-be tutor: "I'm sorry, Mademoiseĺle Belmont, you didn't answer; if I learn from you, can I still train with Kathryn and Urmdrus? I don't want to just rely on this. Does that make sense?"

Kosara's approach to the table was taken with open acceptance by Lizbeth, who did her best to move some of the papers and books to better accommodate the Tiefling lady's presence. She also seemed to be taking the situation very well and openly, which likewise gave her some reassurance about her condition. Lizbeth nodded along in agreement with the idea of comparing notes, even if she really didn't have many notes to go on. "I don't really know anything yet. I mean, the invisibility thing was on accident. I'm not sure I can... just do it again on command, or anything." But another question was brought up in the array of new information she was receiving, to her understanding. "Mademoiselle Kosara, I don't think i get something. I know that you and Mademoiselle Belmont get your magic differently than, well, than I do, but what is a Cantrip, and is it different from a Spell?"

To Daxos, there wasn't much to address. "If she doesn't already know that you are on the Estate, I will try to arrange a meeting. Thank you for helping Master Urmdrus. He does so much for us here."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

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A smile brightened on Victoria's face as Kosara bounded into the Coach House, reinforced by viewing the door starting to close back again. The Bard was apparently the only one who gave a mote of care toward warming the place or providing adequate light, at least by what she had witnessed personally. Maybe it was just the way of adventuring types, not unlike herself, to prefer gloomy surroundings. But there was a hint of grinning irony that Victoria was the one who was supposed to be comparatively spooky, yet she was the one lighting candles and supporting the fire. But with the focus being on the door tipping back to its original, closed position against the cold, the briefest chunk of horror crossed her vibrant, crystal blue eyes as another hand propped it right back open. It was the Dwarf that Kosara was with back in Southmoor. She toyed with the idea of playing at a joke; something about a stray following her home, but the idea died on the vine. There were far more important things afoot than being catty without reason, or even the luxury of boredom to motivate. Instead, she merely gave a dismissive yet polite intonation of, "Yes, of course. We met briefly. Pleasant afternoon, Master Daxos." Victoria wasn't sure what the appropriate honorific might have been in this situation and so kept it fairly generic, as it was for the other Dwarf nearby, Urmdrus. Regards to the point about the "fancy, sneaky, surly monk" was not lost on the Bard, who might have given the benefit of the doubt on the estimation of Daxos's character. But in truth, Victoria simply did not like the Monk to which he was being compared. He was rude. And loudly ignorant. And abandoned their mission.

There was a direct address from Kosara, as it pertained to Lizbeth, who was Victoria's priority at the moment. "No, she's..." There was a pause for thought. What exactly did Victoria know about the specifics of the younger girl's situation? Nothing directly, as she thought of it. But there were compelling explanations suggested by the facts at hand, and what she knew of Arcana. "You aren't wrong, Kosara. But I believe that it is more complicated than that. She's ...one of us." Which of course she indicated in a broader sense; Victoria and Kosara shared an apparent gender in common with Lizbeth, but the only other component which appeared obvious was their shared ability to perform magic. Even if it came through vastly different sources. Fitting then that Lizbeth's came from yet another, quite unlikely source. "Sister of the Weave." It was a title that Victoria had used back in Darenby to describe herself and the Tiefling lady, though this seemed like years ago at this point.

The (re)appearance of Baronfjord and Kathryn were noted with a hint of interest. While she had no clue about hushed conversations, nor the contents therein, Victoria was keenly interested in the happenings down in the cellar. So she put off the talk with Lizbeth for a moment to inquire. "Ah, there you two are. Have you made any progress? The curiosity is almost overwhelming." The last sentence was delivered with a bit of a rakish grin, meant to offset any seriousness in the statement while yet maintaining a desire to know.

Returning to the neophyte Sorcerer, Victoria listened closely to the words that she used in describing her experiences. The first part, a question, hit her for a surprise. "If you don't like? Yes, I understand. This is a thing that has colored you, Miss L'Rose. Many of us don't like aspects of ourselves. But this is who you are. You are Lizbeth L'Rose, wine heiress and curious, thoughtful little lady of broader Avonshire, who likes a Tinker's boy, insists on making her guests supper even though she has servants, and can drive a merchant wagon by herself. This new thing can't change any of that. But you are this, too. And though I'm not a Sorcerer, I will help you however I can with the time I have. Alright?" Victoria kept her features warm and open, even if her thoughts were geared toward making bulletpoints of their discussion. This was amplified when Lizbeth began to talk about magical things she had been involved with, accidentally or otherwise.

Victoria knew about the coat that Lizbeth mended with magic. It was her own coat, and the damage was from a Goblin arrow that had gotten her. But she kept quiet. She suspected something about the Ankheg, but it was a genuine delight to have it confirmed. Making a coop full of chickens pass out was nothing short of humorous and genuinely made the Half-Elf giggle when she heard it. It must have been a confusing experience, but the thought of it was enough to crack her more solid demeanor. But two mentions brought Victoria back to seriousness. The first, being able to manifest the base abilities of a mindless Undead creature while maintaining her sapience - using the power without succumbing to it - was useful. Very useful in the right circumstances. But what did it leave her vulnerable to? The second one, getting scared and making herself hidden from sight, was a trick that was a little above the level of a neophyte spellcaster. Even if it only happened once, it meant that it was within her someplace, and just needed the right encouragement. Also, Lizbeth was likely a little more powerful than she was aware. "Invisible. That is extraordinary. Do you have any other tricks that you are aware of? You might be surprised at what we could find, eventually."

Then inspiration struck Victoria. "Ahh, but here is a better question: Is there any trick that you want to learn?" Her smile was warm but calculating. While the expression did in fact reach Victoria's eyes, it was uncertain whether this was genuine or the practiced social proficiency of one accustomed to acts of agile persuasion.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

Another week has passed, another posting cycle has moved around to Update Time! Huzzah! We all made it! Wow! ...gimmie a sec, I'm out of breath now...

Okay, okay I'm good. So, here we have what is basically a continuation of the events set in motion by the characters, which is honestly ideal from my end of things. That being said, New Guy is now in the room with everyone else, and we have an opportunity to point, stare, and potentially judge (silently or otherwise). It is the way of things. With this in mind, Lizbeth is still coming to terms with her situation, the cellar is still cool and mysterious, and we have a touch of inter-party drama. Seems like standard Adventurer stuff to me. Have fun with it and keep plugging away at the unfolding events.

Per our usual, get with me in our Discord for questions, to let me know if I missed something in the update, and for die rolls/rulings on stuff. And thanks again for participating in the horror of Wintering In Wine Country.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Coach House

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Weather: Little has changed with the weather in the last span of time. The sky is still skying, still maintaining that more-or-less equal coverage of puffy white and clear blue, the sun making its occasional appearance with the shifting cloud cover. While there is no additional snow falling, there is still a considerable amount of the scenic, frozen stuff; the ground is still covered except for extremely high traffic areas, and even then it is in slender wheel ruts and packed footsteps. The wind is still a force to be reckoned with, by its damp chill far more than the strength of its gusts. If one bundles against this wind and doesn't mind the cold, it's actually quite nice out.

Time: It is past noon, but not quite meandering into what one may call a proper "afternoon," in the nomenclature of the area. The sun is still high and the day is bright.

Ambience: The built up hearths and benefits of time, plus movement of its occupants have given the Coach House a genuinely comforting feel. No longer subject to the whims of whomever opens the door (so long as they don't hold the damned thing open), the main rooms of the building provide ample respite from the elements. While the light from the main fire does well to provide flickering, dim light overall, supplemented by a lamp with burning grapeseed oil on a nearby table, which was stacked with a small array of papers and a trio of books.

Overall, the taproom is the very image of a smallish but respectable Inn. It is furnished with Its stock of potables is primarily local wine, albeit with a few notable exceptions, including a mostly full cask of quite-probably-not-cursed brandy and a somewhat less full cask of ale, side by side on the bar.

The cellar remains as cellars do, surrounded by stone-layered earth and structural supports, colder than the areas of the building intended for regular habitation. This is doubly so in the winter, which in a stunning bit of coincidence, it happens to be. Breath condenses into short-lived mist, for those capable of seeing it in the relative darkness. The room is well stocked with edible goods, separate from one another and lifted off of the ground, all neatly shelved. Or hanging. Or crated, bagged, jarred, in whatever method best preserved the items within. Barrels, clearly marked with the Rose River Vineyard brand, also rest here untapped.

*****

The shelving in the Cellar which contained the various prybars (forked and otherwise), opening tools, things for tapping, and more elaborate methods of food and product preparation has borne fruit, resembling a stationary puzzle box with presently unrecognized runes around the woodcut images of a mushroom on each of its faces. It presently stands open, empty but with with two in-line vertical slots recessed in the back, as if they held specific purpose.

"But," started Lizbeth, "what if I don't like necromancy?" Her voice had an amount of relief from Victoria's assurances but just enough petulance to remind one that she was technically still a child, by the standards of her culture. The idea that she might get a little in the way of magical training - or at least a better understanding of who and what she was from someone better learned than herself - seemed to brighten her spirits. A little. Even if the idea that she could become something potentially monstrous, and occasionally did, hung heavily in her mind. "That sounds delightful. When can we start? Oh, might I keep training with Lady Kathryn and Master Urmdrus? Will getting better with ...with magic... make me safer from, well, you know?" But she did remember the question at hand from Victoria. "I don't know exactly, but some things have happened that I can't always explain. I can fix things, like the coat you were wearing when you got shot by that Goblin."

At about this time, Kosara and Daxos entered the building, temporarily bringing the temperature down a little with the outside air. "Hi, Mademoiselle Kosara! Yes, Kosara is right. When the Ankheg came for the wagon that Aunt CeeCee and I were on, I made it afraid. I didn't know what else to do. And when we had to keep the grape vines alive overnight, I um, I changed. I don't get tired that way and I feel the cold a lot less. But I never did that while I was training with Lady Kathryn, I promise! That would be cheating. Oh! Once, a whole coop of chickens I was visiting fell asleep. All at the same time! I'm not sure what that means." Lizbeth nodded gravely. Her features were still that of the freshly deceased.

She noted Daxos and spoke with almost cheerful but ever polite notes, "You must be Master Urmdrus's new helper! It's nice to meet you, monsieur. I am Lizbeth L'Rose - Cecily L'Rose is my aunt and guardian. Have you spoken with her yet?" Cecily, of course, being the lady presently in charge of the Rose River Vineyard.

Seamlessly, she went back to Victoria's question, intoning quietly, "One time I got really scared one night - and then no one could see me. It only happened that once and I haven't been able to do it again since."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

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Victoria noted the apparent progress of the others in the party, as it concerned locating the elusive "second study." While she was a passable investigator, it looked like the best interests of them all lay in her abilities as an arcane researcher. Specifically, helping to guide Lizbeth to a point of understanding. The sooner her head was on straight and her soul was out of chronic, mortal terror, the sooner she could be more useful. And find some peace. Though there was a note of selfishness to her reasoning, the Bard had legitimately become fond of this girl. It did help that she was extraordinarily interesting, being objective. "Come now, Lizbeth. Let's step away from here for a moment. Maybe you're right - It would be impolite to leave you with questions hanging like that. Let me pour you a cup of tea, and we can leave the others to figure out the cellar, okay?"

Back upstairs, amid the papers and books (which Victoria tidied hastily, enough to allow for space to set up a place setting for herself and Lizbeth) a fresh cup was filled and another refilled with the pale brown gold mortals called "tea," which unfortunately had grown too close to room temperature for Victoria's liking. With a smile, she channeled a tiny amount of magical energy to bring the liquid back up to steaming with a casual wave and soft, melodic hum. "That is the way I use magic, dear Lizbeth," she explained. "I manipulate the Weave in ways of personal expression. It varies from Bard to Bard, but we all follow similar rules. Your way will likely be very different." She sipped her tea and continued, "To answer you, a Warlock, which is the other path, acquires a different kind of magic by coming to an agreement, direct or implied, with a powerful entity. Their magic requires less discipline to master and they ...become... as soon as the pact is made. A Sorcerer gains their magic because of a peculiarity of their heritage, or a magical force that fundamentally altered something about themselves. I believe that you are the latter."

Victoria pulled the green crystal back out into view, whereupon both herself and the girl had a reaction. Lizbeth's bloodless features sharpened, while Victoria's facial markings barely shaded into view where the dim glow struck her. "This is vivianite. As I told Kathryn, this is a crystal that forms under specific circumstances, amplified by the presence of magic. Those circumstances involve physical death and the dark. It puts off a gentle aura of necrotic energy, which after time may begin to affect the environment around it. I put it together when I read your grandfather's letter." She tucked it back away, making a mental note to look for more of the stuff later. "We are different kinds of spellcasters, Lizbeth, but we were both made to embrace necromancy. Mine was a choice. Yours was by circumstance. If you wish it, I can give you a basic education on Arcana which may help you come into your power, but for you, this is going to be a very personal experience. Like your ...hmm. Like the way you can change yourself. This is a concept I've never come across before. It might be unique. But if you have control over it, and no power outside of yourself allows or denies you to use your abilities, then this is nothing to be frightened of."

Hopefully easing the mind of the neophyte Sorcerer, Victoria smiled and drew from her education, stating, "Some sorcerers can get the impression of dragonscale across their skin. Others channel random, sometimes dangerous effects of magic whether they want to or not. Still others have changes to their eyes, skin, grow wings... it's all very personal. And it's nothing to be ashamed of. This is merely the magic that lives within you. Yours... Likely has its roots in Necromancy. It's powerful, Lizbeth. And one day, you may be powerful as well." She smiled broader as an idea came, which she related without delay. "Until the others figure out how to access this other study, please tell me - what magic have you been able to do so far?" Victoria's eyes seemed to sparkle. "I am markedly curious, and I am sure that you are safer trying this with us than elsewhere."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

Okay! The update is updated and things are once more afoot. There appears to be a couple of interesting points in play and just as much social interaction as there is potential problems to solve/get past. Best of luck in planning your actions and actioning your plans, and remember:

...okay, I really don't have great advice here. Just do what you think will work.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Coach House

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Weather: There is about an equal amount of blue to white in the midday sky. The sun is shining with the intensity generally expected from this time of the year, as if the crushing blizzard of the previous evening was a fading memory, evidenced only by the accumulation of snow upon the ground and scattered in drifts. The mercy of the wind abates, resulting in the more than occasional bite of cold, damp air.

Time: It is slightly after noon. The sun quite high in the sky at present.

Ambience: Inside of the Coach House, it is swiftly becoming downright toasty. Taproom and kitchen both stand readily supplied with wood, oil, candles, lamps, and good, solid stone fireplaces to absorb and radiate heat. With more or these in use, it's actually quite nice inside. The vast selection of wine remains here behind the bar, along with the extremely, obviously-not-cursed brandy and less full cask of local ale. Plain but excellently constructed wooden furniture stands here, the pride of local craftsfolk; practical if not particularly artistic.

Very nice. Warm. Except for the cellar - Given to its purpose, one's breath still condenses against the cooler air down here. It is stable and dry, as one might expect cellar storage to be, though still beset by a distinct lack of illumination (unless one brings it with them). This place is positively stuffed to the brim with many varieties of edibles, both nonperishable and semi-perishable. Everything stored in neat rows, columns, and piles; hung from the ceiling or placed neatly in appropriate crates, jars, or other containers with clear labeling. Naturally, owing to the nature of the vineyard at large, there is a respectable amount of wine stored down here in barrels, as well.

*****

Lizbeth continued holding her "significantly less alive" looking form as Victoria tried her best to cheer her up. On the other hand, she appeared to be very open to any avenue of potential hope that didn't make her a monster. Or a slave. She spoke the word back to Victoria very carefully, testing it in her mouth, "Sorcerer?" A hair of emotion broke through her corpse-like visage. A genuine smile, even if it was blunted by ignorance of the situation, found its way to the surface. "What does that mean? What is the difference between a Sorcerer and ...whatever the other thing is you thought I might have been?" Her knowledge of the Arcana was practically nonexistent. "And this," she gestured to her face, still very recognizably her but obviously under the influence of something necrotic, "just happens to Sorcerers?" She looked both hopeful and dubious simultaneously through her undead features. She said these things, asked these questions, as she returned to the spot in question below. Yes, Victoria wanted them to speak on the particulars later. But the girl was, as many are about things which concern them, impatient.

Kosara and Daxos's approach to the Coach House was familiar for both of them; this being Kosara's home for the past number of weeks and this being the place from which Daxos helped Urmdrus recover the crated-up body just that morning. The entryway to the courtyard was open as per usual and the exterior door to the taproom was closed solidly, the footprints in the snow leading toward it hinting at warmth and adventuring colleagues within.

The search of the tool shelves brought very little in regard to immediate success. In fact, it was rather infuriating at first. Prybars, barreling tools, the occasional kitchen utensil which didn't see much in the way of use, etc., all fell victim to the situational uselessness of Kathryn's search. It wasn't that something odd caught her eye, not at first. It began as a smallish box which didn't want to move at first. Much like the shelving itself, it was held fast in place, possibly against the wall, possibly against the shelf. Maybe both, for all one could tell without putting more physical pressure against it. The smallish box was a perfect cube carved of dark wood with what looked like several slats and places which could be pressed or moved. The center of each of the visible sides of the cube presented a circle with the image of a mushroom of vectored design within, surrounded by runic writing. Upon examination, the runes looked familiar to Kathryn, but untranslatable gibberish; lettering far out of sequence to anything she personally knew.