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 (Taproom) Action: Ritual Magic - Identify Bonus Action: Morty, Familiar Reaction: N/A

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"Yes," remarked Victoria. She was addressing a question posed by Kathryn, though she didn't look up from her work. "You can reanimate bones that were already put down. Usually someone has to be present to do it." She thought for a moment, considered adding a caveat, but thought better of it. With a quick, noncommittal head tilt, the Bard returned to her work. She did pause to take a delicate bite from one of the tiny pickle sandwiches, expressed her approval non-verbally, and continued her short conversation with her much more physically imposing colleague. "I wouldn't dream of giving close fighting advice, Kathryn." Her smile was practically infectious, giving one the impression of a hint of self-depreciation. "My rapier is mostly for show."

Kosara's gift of minor healing was a blessing, in an almost literal sense. Celestial ties were useful things, after all. While she had not forgotten about her own injuries, Victoria's priorities had shifted now that there were scholarly, magical things afoot. Her own sense of avarice mixed with habitual curiosity, which propelled her toward finding out information about their most recent spoils of battle. Nevertheless, personal motivations and/or flaws of character aside, there was no reason not to express gratitude. To do otherwise would be frighteningly impolite. "Thank you so much, Kosara. That was the first time I suffered a combat injury from a sandal. I must record this incident for posterity." Joking to the side, she did earnestly express a quiet, "Thank you."

The quiet note of study and ritual setup gave way to another partial conversation, as Lizbeth's own curiosity had her reading what was left for her in the scroll case; the same one which contained a long shard of apparently sharp obsidian. The note that was left struck her as odd as well. "That is a question, isn't it? Why would someone who cannot appreciate them, need wine and grapes? Or horses?" She didn't really want to get into possibilities of the horses being used for sustenance in one horrifying form or another in front of Lizbeth, and dropped it. It seemed that the universe tended to agree that more pressing things were in order, as the minute injury done to her began to fill the crystal pendant from across a foot or so of open air. That was unusual. Victoria kept her voice level, if concerned, as she answered the young girl's proposal. "Agreed." She held out her hand and took up the strange piece of jewelry.

Victoria had her suspicions, but reserved opening her mouth about it until the Rituals of Identification could take over for her guesswork. And so, true to her word, the Bard shortly reported, "Your grandfather called this 'The Well' in his writing, which makes sense. This is called a 'Bloodwell Vial,' which aligns with people whose magic is tied to their bloodline. Or their happenstance. And Lizbeth, you have just attuned to it. This isn't anything to worry about; in fact, it is a great gift. But so long as you're studying with me, please refrain from using it. We need to establish your baseline ability and push you to master yourself first. Okay?" But for just now, there were other things to look over. Not the least of which were the remaining items from the cache.

Switching to a broader, overall address to whomever was listening during this very interesting Teatime, Victoria spoke, "I intend to go through the remaining items as quickly as I can and still be accurate. Please make sure we didn't miss anything." Her eyes then fell upon the small box recovered from the secret hollow in the wall. She opened it slowly, carefully, before exclaiming quietly, "My, those are pretty."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

To start, we have lost one of our players due to extended inactivity. Very sad. I bear no malice toward the guy; he acted in a manner that was decent overall. All the same, it's a bummer. AND now we have an opening. Huzzah. Until the opening is filled, posting rules go back to out "abbreviated cast list" scenario.

Moving on, let's wrap up the exchanges as best we can with the cellar fight afterparty, or as it's commonly known, the Mosswaters' Teatime Visit. They've got the goodies, you're hosting. Straightforward. Let's just assume that we're taking our time, patching up wounds, casting our spells, and dealing with things. Urmdrus is present and not being a very chipper contributor to the conversation, Victoria is trying to detect magic and identify everything, and Lizbeth is having another moment. We have stuff to do, so let's handle it on the abstract, covering the span of time of Tea, and a bit beyond if needed to resolve stuff. Let me know the overall goal and/or what you want to accomplish during this time, who you want to politely interrogate, etc., and I will arbitrate.

Once again, if I missed something or if you wish to request a die roll, etc., let me know in our Discord. I'll be around someplace. Eventually. We hope.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Coach House

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Weather: The clouds are gathering a bit more now, officially forcing us into the realm of party cloudy. The sky has the look of that increasing to mostly cloudy as the afternoon passes along. The warmest part of the day (that being a relative statement for this time of the year) is passing and the wind carries notes of dampness along with increasing cloud cover.

Time: Late afternoon. It is well into "Tea Time," and possibly beyond, considering discussions being had and tasks being performed. If time passes too much more, the guests might as well stay for supper.

Ambience: The hearthfire within the Taproom burns moderate to low - not the best for lighting the room but just perfect for bringing water to a smooth boil. Various candles and grape oil lamps are available for use if one wants extra lighting. Aside from this, the Taproom remains as it has been for the past several weeks. Flat, grey stone tiles form a level, even floor, which is simply and tastefully furnished with wooden tables and chairs. While they are not elaborately decorated, the furnishings are undoubtedly well constructed, with nary a wobble nor creak to be heard from their use. A bar runs most of the length of one wall, stopping to allow access to the kitchen door. Behind said bar are the stairs going down to the cellar, behind its own closed door, and atop the bar are two large casks; one contains a large amount of very fine, several decades aged brandy, the other a somewhat less amount of local ale. Several bottles of different varieties of wine can be found here, as well as all of the accoutrements necessary for uncorking, decanting, and sipping the finely crafted fermented experiences.

The kitchen's fireplace burns low. Not much being done here past storage, as the present meal is assembled fully in the Taproom, but the equipment is available for anyone who may wish to use it. All throughout the rooms, kitchen and taproom both, the scent of aromatic wood and grapeseed oil permeates, along with slight sour notes of potent potables that never truly washes out of a well used tavern.

Outside, the first flurries of snow flutter down on uncertain winds. The temperature has shifted downward over the last hour, and it looks like there might be a little more weather when the pale sun rests for the evening.

*****

Tarace Mosswater stepped down from the chair he required to open the door. It was a touch stuck, likely from some improper use of a latch on their way in, and the leverage was needed for the cheerful fellow to open the door where a taller person might not have had an issue. The struggles of a Halfling in a Human structure are many and varied, apparently. The sudden, if quiet gruffness of their newest arrival took him slightly aback. "Oh, ah, Urmdrus, old boy. Good to see you, I'm sure." Tarace's manners remained as genteel as ever; just not his enthusiasm at the new arrival. "Oh my," he exclaimed, "flurries about." Urmdrus regarded him with narrowed eyes until he explained, "Snow flurries. Come along, let's get you nearer to the fire. Do you take tea? I'd quite forgotten." Tarace was ever the personal caretaker.

Barbal, on the other hand, was more of a social pragmatist. He dropped a couple bits of edible foodstuffs onto a small plate and nudged a chair nearish to the fire with his boot. The two looked at each other for a second, followed by the older Dwarf nodding and accepting the plate. Urmdrus removed his heaviest toolbelt and settled into the chair with a muted, "Thank. You." The common tongue of the continent still didn't settle smoothly in him. His bag of goodies slumped to the floor with a clattering noise. Whatever lay within was not as immediate a priority as warming up.

Aside from showing the bare minimum of courtesy to a guest, even if technically Urmdrus was a guest of the adventurers and not himself, persay, Barbal did act with something akin of graciousness when Baronfjord addressed him. "To what do we owe? We had an arrangement for us to join you for Tea today. Talk things over. Share what we know." He looked a little frustrated.

"Oh, and the sausages..." meekly added Tarace, his hand pausing halfway in the air as if he might have been requesting permission to speak.

"Yeah, yeah. And the sausages." The annoyed Halfling brought up a reed basket from among his bundle of belongings, the contents of which were wrapped with homespun cloth. He lifted a corner of the cloth to reveal bundles of tube-shaped, speckled, off-white forcemeat which bore slightly acidic notes. "Ankheg's done aging. Good hard sausage, lots of herbs, and some of those Rentman family peppers. Boil 'em in beer for a treat. Otherwise, they'll last you through 'til summer. We gave the rest of the shell to their fellow, Urmdrus, here." He said it like it was the most natural, fully expected thing in the world. "But yeah, put on that pot o' tea. It's why we're here."

The Mosswaters gave polite, monosyllabic sounds to Victoria's appraisal of Halfling cuisine, even if Tarace's was something like an "Aw," and Barbal's was more like an "Eh." Though the latter did follow with an only mildly sarcastic, "Yeah, get you that tea, soon as someone gets the damned water ready." He let it hang for a moment before returning to his spread of yummy things.

The application of brandy and wine to the table by means of Kathryn's efforts was not overlooked, particularly by Tarace Mosswater. While not a heavy drinker, he seemed to gravitate toward wine, as opposed to ale or the harder stuff. Barbal took a small sip from his own cup of brandy and gave a shrug, then a grudging nod toward the bottles. "Don't care of it's random bottles behind the bar. There's something about every wine from this vineyard that's compelling."

Urmdrus still hadn't explained what he was doing there, aside to show up with a sack full of goods which he still hadn't opened yet. He spoke very little, giving gestures or tight-lipped smiles which were obviously forced at each of the greetings given to him, even that from Lizbeth. Firelight danced in his eyes for a moment as he stared into the hearth, seeming to rouse suddenly to say, "No brandy for me. Bad dreams. Bad dreams." The Dwarf held his small plate in one hand and absently shoved one of the tea sandwiches into his mouth. "Good. This, good."

Not to be put off by the odd sights before her, at least not any more than she had been by the odd state of being herself possible efforts to the contrary, Lizbeth attempted to keep optimistic and/or useful despite the recently passed horror downstairs. "Oh, Knight Kathryn, I make sure not to do... the things I might be able to do during our training! That would be cheating myself, right?" Lizbeth had mentioned a while back that she wanted something to fall back upon that wasn't this magical curse/blessing/adventuring profession. Being able to defend herself with steel and chitin was a valuable backup, even if she was physically weaker.

Lizbeth did pay special attention to Victoria. The idea that she could not use Ritual Magic herself was a bit disheartening, but she understood. Not everybody did this the same way, and she knew that Victoria could really only teach her ideas, lessons in Arcana, fundamentals of Magic, not actual, practical spellcraft the way she did it. But there came a time in ritual preparation when things became repetitive, which is when Lizbeth started to look into the things she had brought up.

Firstly, she moved a stack of journals and the like over to Baronfjord, who had asked for them. The writing was scrawled in a lot of places, sometimes to the point of being unreadable, but it was mostly in Common and much of it was legible. She then returned to Victoria's table and looked over the haul from downstairs, particularly the hollowed crystal that looked like a pendant and the scroll case. Within the case was a shard of black obsidian, wrapped to one side with silvery wire. She had cut her finger on it earlier. There was also a paper. Strangely, it was addressed to her. She cradled the crystal pendant in one hand while unrolling the paper on the table with the other. Her mouth formed words which echoed some of the print she stared at, giving hint as to its contents. "Offerings of fine wine, gold, grapes, and horses." That last part seemed to stall Lizbeth. Why horses? "Taken without question and I was gifted the things in this box - Hey, it says here that they would respond to those with a history in the sands or who have been touched by death. But, it's not like we found any horses down there, right?" This was partly read by Lizbeth, and partly a rhetorical observation. "But why would Grandfather give a dead guy wine and horses? That makes no sense. Oh! I think this part is about me! Maybe." She cleared her throat and read, "I put my blood into the Well, but it didn't do any good. I believe that one with a magical bloodline can make it function, and for good or bad, it must go to my only surviving heir." There was a lot more in the letter, but she didn't get the chance to verbalize any of it.

Lizbeth let out a gasp as the cut on her hand started to bleed anew. A thread of bright crimson arced from the minuscule injury, to the irregular piece of hollow crystal like a disembodied serpent on a staggering mission. She was too shocked to move, to toss the crystal, to place the cut to her mouth - and as the blood made contact with the shard, it glowed in the same manner as the arcane circle in the hidden study, below. It was magic which involved blood, now the altered blood of the L'Rose lineage. Lizbeth looked to Victoria, and said flatly, "That cache was what Grandfather was talking about. I'll give you pick from it if you can tell me what this is first." From the look of things which littered the table and/or lay in neat organization, there was be plenty to go around that had nothing to do with that cache.

The hollow crystal was now full, and seemed to pulse with life that matched Lizbeth's heartbeat. She could tell this, because it was presently hammering inside of her skull.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 28 / 33 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A Location: Coach House (Taproom) Action: Skill Check - Arcana, Ritual Magic - Identify Bonus Action: Morty, Familiar Reaction: N/A

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It occurred to Victoria that she had neglected an answer one of Lizbeth's questions from a moment before. Being honest, she was most likely caught up in her own interests, as she had a tendency to do when something interested her. Being that she was able to ascertain that the items taken from the desk were indeed magic, as well as the things in the hidden cache, Victoria was definitely piqued. However, her usual social detachment and personal motivations were not a valid excuse to ignore the query of a girl who looked to her for knowledge, whom she was actually fond of - and not because of Lizbeth's potential to advance her own interests through money and connections. Victoria saw a little bit of herself in the young wine heiress. "Apologies, Mademoiselle L'Rose." It was a choice, as always, to use the honorifics of the land, even if her tongue more reliably spoke the affectations of her own home. "I barely saw what you were able to do against the creature downstairs; I'm afraid that I was being influenced at the time. But yes, I am aware of an ability similar to what you did downstairs. A sorcerer's power reflects what is possible from their bloodline and the choices they make with that power, even if they aren't aware of that a choice is being made. I suspect that your time training with Lady Kathryn is already shaping what kind of Sorcerer you will become. To answer more directly, that spell has different names depending upon who is casting it and where they learned it, but most general academic texts on the subject of Arcana refer to it as 'Booming Blade.' It is used to enhance weapon strikes."

A quiet, understanding smile reached Victoria's face, and an equally quiet, understanding voice suggested, "Now, let's see what we have here, shall we?" The Bard, now apparently fulfilling the role of Wizard, focused back to her Ritual work.

That is not to say that there was no attention paid to the gift of a light plate of canapes and tea sandwiches from the esteemed Mr. Mosswater. "Thank you very much, sir," she said respectfully. It was a little bit of a canned response, said quickly and with practiced air. But it was a nice gesture, and the request wasn't unreasonable, so long as nobody in the group had any objections. "I'd consider it a kindness if a cup of tea found itself my way, if it's not too much trouble." Simple. Polite. Not a command, a request. Delivered with emotional distance and a core of basic respect. Still, it was a touch cold, so Victoria followed with, "I was raised to have a sophisticated palate, Monsieur Mosswater, but there is something noble about the rustic care put into Halfling cuisine that cannot be easily replicated. I appreciate you." A smile. A bite from a fish canape, and that smile broadened. "This is no exception. Thank you so much."

Back to Lizbeth, who was indeed still interested in Ritual spellwork, at least academically. "A ritual, in this application, is the slower buildup of arcane energy to fuel a spell. Doing it this way does not deplete your own magical reserves, but it takes longer. Not every spell can be cast by ritual. The ones that can are usually utilitarian in nature. It makes them no less potent. For myself, I require my Ritual Tome every time I attempt to cast a spell like this, which is not intrinsically part of my repertoire as a Bard. I am a little unique this way. Today's practice is to cast an Identification spell repeatedly as a Ritual."

Victoria looked at the items gathered on the table before her. There were the wands from the desk, the scroll case, shard of obsidian, box, and rough crystal vial from the cache, and some papers. The Bard's hand drifted to her head, where that gods-cursed wooden sandal gave her a brutal thunk to her noggin. She pitched her voice loud enough for the room to hear her, "Did anyone recover the footwear from downstairs? The ones that gave me that stunningly offputting headache?" She should probably slam a Healing Word into that sooner rather than later, she reasoned.

With that, Victoria picked up the first wand of the bunch and cleared her mind. The material components were present. She utilized the square of black cloth with a cruciform circle as a base to rest it upon as she swirled together the strands of the Weave to achieve an act of traditional Divination, taking notes all the while.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

Not much to say about his update. You all know where you're going, you know what you're doing. This is more of a downtime sort of post-skirmish aftermath with time to compare notes and get some recearch/discussions in. If you need a foil to openly discuss your findings with, we have curious NPCs who are there to listen (and thusly inform us all on a very non-meta level). Now is the time for discovery and questions, so bay all means, keep them coming.

Per usual, Discord is our medium of communication for die roll requests, concerns, questions, and the like. Thanks for still being here.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Coach House

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Weather: The warmest portion of the day is upon you all, which might mean something if the sun wasn't playing hide-and-seek behind clouds in the middle of winter. The only good that comes of this is that the pathways through the Vineyard are a touch more passable. Balancing this, the icicles are sorely tempted to detach and plummet, making certain places a touch more hazardous. The snow is receding, but only slightly. From the feel of the wind and the clouds resummoning their energy in the distance, snow might make a proud comeback in a handful of hours.

Time: Late afternoon. Far past time for luncheon, and onward to a ripping, cordial Teatime.

Ambience: The cellar remains as it is, which frankly is the point to a cellar. Decent amounts of foodstuffs and household essentials are held here, all in proper order and in places as safe for the items as one can make them, circumstances being what they are. Of course, the disarticulated bones of a giant snake monster has a way of drawing the eye past preserved fruits and cheeses; likewise the bundles of stacked firewood and crates of non-perishables just don't quite pack the same oomph of interest when horrors lay at one's feet. So take the cellar for what it is, and try to cast off that which it is not.

The secret door remains open, its prybar key still attached to the puzzle box. Beyond, the door to the hidden study remains off of its frame, deliberately so. The door upstairs to the Taproom is wide open and sounds of company are coming from beyond.

The study likewise remains as it is, interestingly decorated as some sort of arcane torture chamber (at first glance) with splashes of business to be had dotting throughout. With more people leaving the room, and with the light they brought with them, the place darkens considerably. Eventually the only light in the room is the dim, red, constant presence of the magical design upon the floor. Three dead things are down here now, that and the spilled blood of companions.

*****

The door remained closed, despite Tarace's efforts to get at the moveable parts of said to to allow it to function. A bit of a curse for the smaller folk of Avonshire, if one is to be believed. In a any case, the door isn't quite being opened, and a new series of knocks sound from the other side. "Half a moment!" came the response from Tarace, looking quite flustered at the nature of the heavy, wooden portal before himself. He glanced around at the others who were entering the room and noted the distinct lack of assistance coming his way, sighed, and stepped away from the door to find a chair or stool to stand upon.

Barbal was too busy with his cup of brandy to notice immediately. he swirled it about in his cup, even going so far as to gently warm it over a candle for a moment before catching its scent, grunting approvingly, and taking a shallow, exploratory sip. His face showed a considerable amount of satisfaction as that tiny sip turned onto something more solid. "Oh, that's nice," he murmured. "Might just skip the tea..." His utter obliviousness to Tarace's endeavors was almost impressive.

Victoria was the first to emerge but not the first to engage them in conversation. That honor went to Lizbeth. Casual pleasantries were exchanged on behalf of neighbors and hosts, but Barbal couldn't help feeling a little weirded out by Morty's emergence. The animated bodyguard wasn't quite the gruff Halfling's cup of tea, but as he was sipping brandy anyway, Barbal figured he'd let that slide. "Yeah. Them're canapes. Important Half-Elf stuff to do, you can't join us for a proper tea? Hmm?" Then he noticed odds and ends assembled at the table to the side by Lizbeth and Victoria. Curiosity piqued, he snorted, made up a small plate of choice items from their teatime spread, and clapped it unceremoniously onto a blank spot on Victoria's table. "You let me know what you figure out, huh? Least you can do." Curiosity overrode his odd sense of propriety in that moment. "Couple of canapes on there."

The spread for Teatime hadn't changed in the meantime; bread and jam, tiny pickle sandwiches, chopped fish canapes, spiced cookies, seed cakes, and cold roast chicken confit were in appropriate amounts for the occasion, as well as a small assortment of boxes containing teas which might fit with the overall event. Notably, water was not quite boiling yet, or even acquired for that matter. The guests were hoping that hosts might fill that role, as suited their roles hosting.

Luckily, there seemed to be some more interaction with Kathryn and Kosara, just entering the room from below. Barbal gave an almost dismissive wave at the assorted goodies for Tea and otherwise waved off the apologies for being late. "Made other plans, did you? And after last night, too. Might tell a fella next time. Come on, though. Tea needs water. Figured you'd have some going for when we showed up, but here we are. Anyway, Mr. Tarace worked really hard on those fish canapes, and..." His attention finally went to his partner, who had dragged a chair over to the front door. Propping himself up in the wooden sitting device, the gentler Halfling finally managed to get the latch freed of its precarious and annoying position, and the door swung open just enough to tap the chair which Tarace had been using.

The figure of a rather cold, if a bit wiry Dwarf stepped in, gray of skin and dressed in unimaginative but highly functional utility wear. He had a sack slung across his back which he held with numbing fingers, bulging with whatever he brought with him. Tools, some functional for close self defense, found themselves about his many pockets and tool loops, including a rather imposing looking hammer that might have been at home in a much larger forge. While he was not amazingly reactive from an emotional standpoint, it could be clearly seen that he was happy to be inside at that moment. "Cold. Need warming," he spoke in inexpert Common.

A call from Lizbeth broke the seriousness of the moment. "Master Urmdrus!" she shouted, genuinely happy to see the older Dwarf.

Lucky for them, the Mosswaters brought extra.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 28 / 33 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A Location: Coach House (Cellar -> Taproom) Action: Skill N/A Bonus Action: Morty, Familiar Reaction: N/A

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The child was okay. This had, oddly, become important to Victoria as of late. They had similarities, she and Lizbeth, but whereas Victoria's foray into the postmortem arts had been voluntary (academic, even), Lizbeth's was thrust upon her with every breath she took from the day of her birth. All the same, the Bard recalled trying times in her own history, coming to grips with how her art was changing her. "You either press forward or let it consume you," she thought, hoping that their juvenile hostess would choose the former. Again, to her own surprise, Victoria wanted to make sure that it worked out that way for the girl.

"Funny," she whispered within the confines of her mind, "A couple of months ago, all I wanted to do was get to the coast and charter a ship to the north." Circumstances certainly had a way of changing one's mind.

She looked to the girl to whom she had just given comfort, smiled, and said, "Thank you. Yes, please get that to a table upstairs, and don't worry about my books, I will handle that part myself. If you want to observe Ritual Magic, you are quite welcome to. If you truly are what I believe you to be, you shouldn't be innately able to use Ritual Magic as I do. Nevertheless, this will be edifying. Knowledge of general magic can only help you understand your own."

Victoria gave a long look at her potential pupil and, despite the slow seep of her head wound, gave a strikingly positive expression and swept herself confidently toward the stairs leading back up to the taproom. There were light, dexterous steps as the fiery haired Half-Elf danced around pieces of shattered bone on her way out. Lizbeth was tight on her heels, followed by Morty (who was admittedly a little less spry of foot). Her hands were occupied with a scroll case, the crystal shard pendant, a small box wrapped in oilcloth, and the wands from the table. As Victoria passed by the destroyed bone-snake, she mused aloud, "I daresay the cleaning lady may never recover." It was delivered with light-hearted sarcasm, as a person attempting to lighten the mood.

Upon returning to the Taproom, Victoria extended her arms in an open, welcoming gesture when she realized that they had company. "Oh my, it is so amazing to see the both of you! Monsieurs Mosswater, it had completely slipped my mind that we had a Tea appointment today. My apologies, sincerely. We had a ...tiny incident in the cellar... that seemed to throw off our schedule for the day. Again, very sorry. And what a lovely arrangement you brought for us! Thank you; everything looks lovely. Just exquisite." She crossed the room to get to her small errand cart, pushed up along the wall in an out-of-the-way spot, and secured for herself her Ritual book, along with two more texts. "Regretfully, I may have to keep my time with you shorter than the others. I will try very hard to keep my work quiet, as not to disturb you all."

Victoria took the books over to the corner table which Lizbeth had set the items upon, and made sure she had room for her books and ritual materials. Casting bones, the marked black cloth, her carved femur flute, and her ever-present violin were made available, as were a couple of candles and a pearl set within a clasp. Not that it would be absolutely necessary, but her silver raven skull pendant and coin from the Jasidan temple were pinned upon her breast and tucked into her hatband, respectively. One last glance to the setting for Tea and she remarked, "Are those canapes? I might be persuaded to postpone for minute or two." Despite the still present line of arterial red on the side of her visage, Victoria delivered the line with a sense of disarming joviality. She then smiled in a businesslike, almost predatory manner before cracking her knuckles and stating, "Let's get to work, then."

Morty, the ever-silent, burlap wrapped, porcine personal attendant took its attention away from Lizbeth, now that the emergency was handled. It trotted over next to where its mistress was seated and took up its usual stance, per mental instruction. The pair was soon joined by the fluttering of swift, black-feathered wings and studious eyes as Victoria's Raven lit upon the back of a nearby chair, cawed once, and was still.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

And we are officially back. Yes, stuff was kept intentionally open and vague this go-around and yes, not a lot has occurred from the end of the skirmish. Don't worry, there are reasons for it. For now, please enjoy basking in your victory and prepare for what may come next, and what will come eventually. We're back on regular posting times now and there's quite a bit to accomplish.

Hit me up with questions, concerns, die rolls, etc., in our Discord, and good luck.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Coach House

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Weather: While still quite cold, we're in what is likely the warmest part of the day. The temperature hovers above freezing, if barely, though only the spots with direct sunlight get the benefit of appreciable melt. The wind is, per usual, unpleasant, and there is the bite of continued dampness upon it. This might be on account of the slight melt, or this could be the promise of more snow in the near future.

Time: It is Time for Tea. Teatime, one might say. This puts us squarely in the middle-end of the afternoon, approaching early evening.

Ambience: The cellar retains its cool, preservative feel, despite the minor battle just fought within, as does the study. Of course, calling it a "study" at this point is relatively pointless, as the nature of personal edification in that room quite possibly bent toward the nefarious. Though that might be subject to some scrutiny. The center of this study floor bore the slightly glowing, red marks of what appeared to be a magic circle (despite the oddity of someone intentionally standing in it a minute or so ago), and still, it isn't quite enough light to see anything by except for itself. Light sources in here are limited to that which was brought in from outside.

The door to the study, proper, remains off of its hinges, and the secret door behind the shelving stands open. And as long as we're talking about doors, the one to the Taproom is wide open, admitting the ambient light of the floor above to barely penetrate past the stairs.

The study remains furnished as it was earlier, if a little more jumbled by the application of a quick and dirty battle - desk, table, cells, crates, bookshelf, and the funny looking circle on the floor. Now, there are the minor additions to the rooms in the form of corpses. One is a mostly desiccated dead fellow in the bottom cell, another is in the middle of the room (this one skeletal, squat, and thick boned), and another bony entity near the stairs to the next floor, though this one is much larger, more reptilian, and scarier overall. Luckily, they all appear to be inert.

*****

Upatairs, in the Taproom, the Mosswaters show occasional bits of concern as to the odd noises of whatever event they weren't invited to, though this is mixed with a tiny bit of obstinance while they continue to set up a table for tea, suspecting that it will be for many people. As such, the traditional items for a proper Tea of the region are present; bread and jam, naturally, but tiny pickle sandwiches and chopped fish canapes, spiced cookies, seed cake, and cold roast chicken make prominent appearances. Already, Barbal has decided to help himself to a dram or two of the brandy from the hidden distillery, and Tarace has moved to open the door to whomever is raining heavy blows upon it. "Half a moment, I can't quite get the door..." he said, noting that the door latch was giving him a little grief. It was designed for people a bit taller than himself, Halfling that he was, but that's nothing that a good, sharp motion or the application of a stool wouldn't fix straightaway.

Barbal, cup now full of the dark liquor from the cask on the bar, suggested, "Find out if whoever that is'll be staying for Tea. We have enough, even if the tall folk downstairs ever get up here." He shook his head. The proclivities of outsiders, especially outsider adventuring folk, would probably always elude him.

Downstairs, Lizbeth seemed to feel some better about herself. Apparently, Victoria's words were exactly what she needed to hear in that moment. Tears were still forming from the girl's eyes, but it was much less hysterical and much more controlled. Lizbeth was now venting emotions, not being swallowed by them. After a few tense moments of what was hopefully mental self-healing, she pulled away with a renewed determination. "Okay, Mademoiselle Belmont. I'll get these things up to a table. Did you want me to get any of your books?" She hesitated for just a second and then asked a follow-up, "You said that you would teach me more about Arcana, so I can understand stuff that's happening to me, right? Do you have any idea what I did to the snake thing when I hit it? That felt strange." Without waiting for an answer, really, Lizbeth gathered up the items from the cache in the wall and stepped past the bones upon the floor with increasing levels of anxiety. She did find herself back in the door to the Taproom and just beyond, almost delighted to see the Mosswaters. Quick pleasantries aside, the young lady placed her items on a table near to a corner, and stood near to them while looking over the setup that her Halfling neighbors brought with them. A touch of a smile, or at least a tiny lessening of her distraught feelings peeked through. Kosara, she reasoned, had a good idea about the tea.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 28 / 33 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A Location: Coach House (Hidden Study/Cellar) Action: Skill (Persuasion, 31) Bonus Action: Morty, Familiar Reaction: N/A

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A crash in the other room - the sounds of swearing - and what amounted (she hoped) to victory. Her head was still swimming with what she hoped were the effects of a temporary condition, brought about by that interestingly arrangement of bones of unknown origin. Luckily enough for the Bard, her mind was clearing faster than she imagined it might, and the fuller use of her limbs returned in tandem. Victoria took some relief in the fact that she was able to contact her Familiar - her great, black Raven for which she still had to find a suitable name - even within her stupor. However, contact with her Thrall, Morty, was interrupted. There was some academic curiosity as to why that was. Perhaps the nature of a Familiar connection was closer, more personal, than that of an appropriated Thrall. Or maybe, the mindless boar was also somehow rendered inert by the power of the the snakey bone-creature.

Personal assessment over, she gave a quick glance around the rooms to see how the rest of her people were doing. Admittedly, some were rougher than others. Victoria's own head wound was relatively minor in comparison to other, more serious injuries sustained elsewhere. A drop in the bucket, which she might wrap up for herself in quick order. A little blood wasn't going to scare anyone here, and she could use a mote of magic to clean up any of her clothing it may have spilled upon. There were more qualified healers in the party then herself who could handle things and if help was needed, hopefully they knew to ask.

The thought did strike that, while she was in the middle of training in medicine and anatomy, Kosara's natural abilities to knit wounds far surpassed Victoria's own mundane ones. Or her magical ones. So her attention turned to the creatures who had attacked them. Victoria literally Shattered one of them, and the other two were pulverized by fist and hammer. Giving a glance in the direction of the fallen bone serpent, Victoria called to Kathryn, "Lady Knight, in all of your destructive glory," Victoria spoke playfully, even though her head was causing notable discomfort and another rivulet of life's crimson to color her face, "If you would be as kind, please leave the skulls of future conquests more or less intact." She gave the idea a moment of consideration before amending with a sly smile, "The interesting ones, I mean to say. I've an idea about furthering my education." If she could find the skull of this "Prince Farid", what a prize that would make for her. Despite the condition of the party, or even her own condition, the semi-scrupulous Half-Elf nearly grinned with anticipation of her latest personal goal.

"If none of you mind, I am perfectly content with continuing our plan from before this afternoon's ...diversions. I will attempt to identify the items we have found here, and translate anything that needs it while you tend to the aftermath. I believe Lizbeth still has - "

Victoria's eyes swept back to the girl, their hostess in this place, to see her condition. Yes, the items in question were still on or around her person, but she looked positively traumatized. The girl was shivering, with tears spilling from her eyes silently. One hand still held her short, yasmin bladed sword. Victoria tucked away her instrument with practiced ease and held her arms open to Lizbeth. Taking a tentative step forward, she half-whispered, "Oh, my dear, sweet girl - Come to me, I've got you. You're safe now." The eyes of the Bard were still rimmed in black, her face still bore the cosmetic marks of channeling necrotic energy, but her expression bore the the honest features of someone with genuine concern. "I've been where you are now, or very close to it. It will be okay, I promise. You were very brave."

Sobbing now, just a little at first but turning into a torrent which blissfully began to clear out the worst of her apprehension, Lizbeth absently crossed the distance to Victoria and latched onto her.