Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Coach House

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Weather: The snow is practically nonexistent now, an event which arrives concurrently with the sky clearing considerably more of its cloud cover away. The cold outside feels sharper, more crystalline, but with less of a penetrating, lingering effect. The wind now gusts lightly, causing what few flecks of wintry precipitation remain to dance and settle with quiet grace.

Time: Conversely, the Righttime Is The Nighttime. Go figure.

Ambience: The night sky opens somewhat, revealing a host of twinkling stars and a prominent moon, beaming down soft, cold light upon a now fresh, white landscape. The view might be considered breathtaking from vantage, were it not for the knowledge of underlying uncertainty and horror.

Inside, the Taproom remains the very vision of comfort, relative to the exterior. Warmth, the feeling of security from walls and barred doors, comfortable furnishings, and the little luxuries that make life bearable are present here, along with a warm, if darkening hearth light. Per usual, the alcohol selection is top notch, featuring fine local wines, a few imports, a somewhat full cask of ale, and another cask of totally not cursed brandy. Prepared foodstuffs are available, but the pantries and larders of the Coach House contain enough unprepared and/or preserved items to maintain a household for a decent stretch of time.

Books and papers recovered from the hidden study remain on one of the tables, written in Common by a bold hand. Next to it, in a place of prominence, lay a single sheet of paper, a pen, and decent ink in a small bottle, set there for a specific task assigned to the party.

*****

Lizbeth could only listen to Victoria with horror, then discomfort, then a slow dawning of understanding. No, she didn't like it. Yes, she was capable of putting it aside for the purpose of saving her family vineyard as well as herself. The reality of what her Bard friend really was hit her in much the same way that her own personal identity - or what it had become - did as well. When it came down to the question the use of the Hayloft back in Avonshire, Lizbeth mentioned in a quiet voice, "I don't think it would be a problem, but, it's going to be cold in there, isn't it? The brazier might help, but... Sure, I mean, if you want. I don't have a problem with it."

She then turned her attention to Kathryn, who had put a direct conversation in her line of sight. "I don't know if I should go or not. Or even, if I was really invited to go. Mademoiselle Belmont was supposed to be teaching me about Arcana before my second martial practice with Master Urmdrus in the evenings. But I started training with you first, so... I guess I'll go wherever you are going. Besides, if we all go into the Township, we'd be leaving Mademoiselle Kosara all by herself here. That's probably not very nice."

Seizing upon the opportunity to do precisely as threatened and call it a night, Barbal Mosswater rose and tended to his and Tarace's dishes, then rather sarcastically offered a solution to the pressing issue of sleeping locations with, "Heh heh, Master Baronfjord, if it makes you feel better you can bunk with us. O'course, I sleep in the nude. But I almost never sleepwalk, so you're probably safe. Yeah, so, we're going to head on up. Pleasant night, everyone." Though he did wish everyone a pleasant night, his continued presence was due to consuming the brandy, which was supposed to guarantee the opposite of that. Nevertheless, it was a good time to turn in, and so he and Tarace made for the door, to brave the exterior stairs of the Coach House.

On the way out, Tarace, ever the polite one, requested, "Oh, hey, I know there's a lot going on right now, but if it's okay with everyone, could you please act on your plans with the bear (living or otherwise) after we leave? Is that okay?" He smiled, nodded his head in a hopeful affirmation, and followed Barbal to their arranged room.

The brief moment that the door was open revealed a much improved, though still quite frigid, state of the weather outside.

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: Skill Check (Persuasion, Performance) Bonus Action: Morty, Familiar Reaction: N/A

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The light verbal sparring provided by Baronfjord might have been a refreshing change of pace for Victoria, except that she wasn't really feeling it right in that moment. So far as she might be considered flighty because of her actions from time to time, she was mentally dealing with a commitment to travel and ...potentially committing a felony... in the name of getting answers. Far be it for her to dampen the fun, however, as she responded with faux seriousness, "Why, of course not. My stallion is a ten minute summon." She finished off her bowl of soup - as good as it was, she opted to keep her portion modest. There was yet a little something to do this evening, and she didn't want to weigh herself down for the occasion. But she did interact more genuinely with the conversation which followed. "Of all the places I mentioned, I would avoid The Silent Eaves. It used to be something special, but now it's just a place for the dead; and the dead rule there. Myself, I only visited the garrison stationed outside of the place. The Paladins of Khimn keep it pretty isolated, and for a reason."

To Kathryn's disbelief on her lack of a visit to Arcanaple, Victoria merely responded, "Your rediscovered city sounds fascinating. But no, my family's established trade routes haven't taken me in the direction of your homeland. Perhaps one day, I should love a tour."

After respectfully putting away her bowl and utensils, Victoria walked back to her things and slid herself into her favorite coat. Like most of her belongings, it came in various colors of purple, black, and grey. She buckled her laden swordbelt on over it, and slipped her obsidian shard of a wand into it as an afterthought. "I shall have to find a better means of carrying this," she thought, and became curious as to what distance necrotic damage might do to a grunt level undead soldier. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to find out tonight. She left her exceptionally bardy hat where it lay on the table, and instead took up her new black and gold pashmina, which she draped over her hair and tied stylishly in the front. If the wind wasn't too bad, this would be adequate to the time she expected to be out in the cold. Victoria took up her violin; indirectly her most powerful sword and shield, and took a step or two toward the door. her movement was immediately halted by Lizbeth, who asked the question which may potentially shatter the impressionable girl's opinion of her. Victoria set down her violin and waved Lizbeth over, claiming two chairs toward the corner of the room for them to talk.

It was difficult to make out what they were discussing, but one could tell that Lizbeth was going through a series of emotions, while Victoria kept a beautiful, serene expression on her face. "...back during Harvestide, I made sure that your grandfather got a ceremony appropriate to his beliefs. I am no Cleric, but I did my best. And now, all of us are doing our very best to make sense of what is happening, to you and to the land. But despite our best, we are not solving this fast enough. I have the means to ask a few questions directly to the former animus of the fallen, that we may use to help everyone. This does not involve his soul in any way. He is not discomforted by it, and it does not disturb the fate of his eternal spirit. It is like reading a few, obscured parts of a detailed book describing a person's life. The author isn't aware whatsoever, but so much knowledge may be gleaned from it, if we know what to ask. I shall do so as respectfully as possible, but - and I stress that this is necessary - I will have to take a shovel to your grandfather's resting place. Do you think that he is the type that might forgive me, as we are doing this to protect his granddaughter?"

Victoria might have sighed with relief when Lizbeth gave a quiet affirmation. Her serene look remained unchanged, as was her custom at times of uncertainty like this. "All right. I am leaving early in the morning to get back to the Township. I might be a day or two. Do you think that your aunt might begrudge me the use of her hayloft again? Or maybe there will be actual lodging, now that the festival is over." On the other hand, Victoria did still have access to a building in Avonshire that she and Marita had investigated, and never quite had the time to hand the keys back over.

In any case, after the quiet affirmation, Victoria gave Lizbeth a warm embrace and rose to exit the building for her Winter's Night performance. She took up her violin and stepped deftly toward the door. She paused before exiting, suggesting to Baronfjord, "You know, if you have ethical concerns with what I'm doing, perhaps you should join me back in Avonshire tomorrow. Keep me out of too much trouble, yes?"

Victoria didn't go too far from the Coach House. In the gloom, she was accompanied by her Morty, who kept a rigid pace at her heels and took up a vigilant position near her, partially buried in the snow. Despite the temperature, her Raven circled overhead briefly before taking a nearby position of vantage on the Coach House wall - an extra set of watchful eyes from an elevated location. The building was constructed on a rise, which was mostly all that she needed, although she might have walked as far as the watchtower, like she did the last time she tried this. Back then, it was about expressing herself artistically in a new location, really attuning herself musically to the place in what was supposed to be a sort of vacation. This time was different. When the bow was put to strings and she found herself swaying to the music she made, the intent was to observe. The last time, she heard music play back - plucked or strummed strings which could not have naturally carried that far, that clearly, playing a tune which complimented her own music. So she played. The melody was cast into the air, punctuated by her mellifluous vocalizations as her desire called for it. It was a superior performance by all objective accounts, even if the Bard felt she was capable of better.

And somewhere, in the distance, still air allowed the sounds of strings plucked with proficiency to reach Victoria's ears. Something was listening. Something was responding. Victoria and her menagerie returned to the Coach House very shortly afterward.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

And here we are, in the middle of yet another update. Coffee has been swilled, things have been typed, story has advanced slightly. It looks like there's a bit of friction in Avonshire, which is we're bring honest has been the nature of things for a while now. In any case, we have hit a point where things are winding down. Wrap up what you need to for the evening, set watches, etc., and let me know if you have any eleventh hour rolls that you need arbitrated in the meantime. Of course, get with me in our Discord for all of that. Huzzah, and huzzah. Random encounter rolls to begin anew.

@Zman
I will review your CS and crunch a little math to make sure you're in the right place. If you're insistent on squeezing in here as we enter the endgame of Act II, great, but let's make sure that there is a valid reason for a character like this to be present, in the narrative. Part of the setting here is an oppressive sort of isolation, due to seasonal and geographical factors. Bringing in new blood to the area would have to have a supporting reason.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Coach House

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Weather: As full night settles in, the slowfall settles into something that reads as light or occasional, as opposed to constant. The cold is more firmly settled across the landscape, but at least the wind has shown enough mercy as to be bearable. It is not the most pleasant of evenings, overall, but conditions have notably improved.

Time: The Nighttime Is The Righttime.

Ambience: The moon shines coldly upon the fresh snowfall below. The thickest of the cloud cover has passed, leaving a mostly starlit sky to provide the barest of illumination, but amazing stretches of view for those with an elevated vantage.

The interior Coach House has gone through no amazing changes since the last of the daylight shone outside. So long as the fires are kept up and light sources are maintained, the Taproom and Kitchen remains comfortable enough. It is a tiny oasis against the outside world - one of frigid temperatures and potential undead threats. But to reiterate, the Coach House is a bastion of simple but well crafted wooden furnishings, lots and lots of Rose River wines, and a few interesting selections from elsewhere along with the ever present casks of ale and brandy, spigoted, resting upon the top of the bar.

The handwritten texts, penned by Arnaud L'Rose, remain on one of the tables with two of them open to reveal what appears at face value to be rambling words in Common, written by a bold hand. On a clear spot next to them, a blank sheet of paper seems placed with prominence, along with a pen and small container of ink. And finally, upon the tables around which the majority of the people inside the Coach House are sitting, is a tureen of rustic soup and several bowls, each giving off a welcoming waft of aromatic steam.

*****

Lizbeth gave a little blush as the praises of her rustic, peasant style soup was given praise from the whole of the tables in the Taproom. It might be noted that she was capable of blushing in that hour, giving indication that the less "alive" side to her was keeping itself at bay. Perhaps it was the lively and spirited conversation that was taking place while she was in the kitchen, which she could hear snatches of in her labors, but unfortunately could not clearly understand. "Yes, you're all very welcome," she said, just a little sheepishly. She looked like she wanted to say something else, as if some nagging detail was stuck in her mind and she didn't know if it was proper to speak it aloud. But she reserved herself, finished filling the bowls and got one of her own, and sat heavily in her own chair.

Urmdrus, in the straightforward and not always polite manner that had come to define him, had no problems helping himself to a little something from the pot. "Soup. Warm for road." was all he would really say, occasionally eying the door as if to plot an escape. "Workshop has stone wall. Heavy door. Weapons. Fire. Good place." And for those who had ever been out his way on the Vineyard grounds, that would be confirmed. Fitted stone and Dwarfcraft precision, in a manner of speaking, went into the construction of his workshop, be it a touch small for the preferences of many. "Upper door, solid. Gate takes longer." He mentioned this offhand, quite possibly reassuring those listening about the status of the barred door to the upstairs bedrooms. Either way, he slurped his soup noisily and gave a grunt of satisfaction in Lizbeth's direction.

The Mosswaters looked over the situation with one part interest and one part annoyance. The fact that they agreed to stick around was annoying, especially to the snarkier Barbal, but the drama of the conversation was enough to blunt that annoyance for the purposes of finding out more. Horse's mouth, so to speak. So while Tarace covered his mouth and voiced an, "Oh, my..." at the unfolding scenario, Barbal was more upfront with a guttural chuckle and a raspy, "Oh, I've got a few questions I'd like to ask the old man... Heh, but, I'm not a big time adventurer with big time goals to meet. Oh, but keep me in the loop, this is positively delicious." He made it a point to rub him stomach in a manner that suggested that he was enjoying his healthy helping of potential drama. "Yeah, thank you, Master Baronfjord. Or, ah, what honorific does, well, your people use?" He waved it away, returning to his main point, "Thanks. I'm sure the rooms are fine. Just fine. Matter of fact, I rise early when I can, it's getting to be about the time that I settle in. Unless you want to stay up late and tell spooky stories, I believe I'm going to finish up here and head upstairs." Just a bit of sarcasm, to be fair.

Tarace, usually the more thoughtful one, brought up a point to which he had some curiosity. "If we're taking one room to ourselves, then where is everyone else staying? Is there room for everyone in the chambers upstairs?"

Finally putting two and two together, or at least nearly enough, Lizbeth inquired in a tiny voice, "What do you mean, 'ask the old man questions?' What did I miss?" Her emotion was difficult to read at the moment but her eyes were quizzical, even critical, as she looked to the faces in the room with her.

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: N/A Bonus Action: Morty, Familiar Reaction: N/A

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Discussions of villainy and cheese restriction, and even the faux pushback about calorie-dependent memory aside, this group did seem in high spirits. This was especially noteworthy considering that everyone seemed to be preparing for what might amount to an Undead Uprising. To be fair to the overall situation, this was not a rudderless flight of fancy. This was a possibility that was hinted at, and rather directly. Baronfjord's suggestion not to go anywhere alone was, objectively, the right call. But Victoria was a Bard, and a bit of a free spirit. Even if she agreed with him (and again, to be fair, she did), she couldn't just let him know outright. Even when Kathryn mentioned something similar to back up the Dragonborn fellow's assertion, the most that Victoria offered was a dismissive wave, a nonchalant smile, and the assertion that, "Oh, it's fine. I don't plan to wander. Just far enough for my music to carry under an open sky." She gave a thought which shifted her smile from cordial to truly delighted, continuing, "I've been pursuing so many serious things for a time now; medical studies, arcane mysteries galore, translations, and so on. I haven't danced in the nighttime snow for ages, and that's worth a little risk. Wouldn't you agree?"

Further conversation with Kathryn brought up an interesting question. It was one that no one had asked her in a long while, for various reasons. How far had she traveled with her family's business? She gave it a thought and crossed her arms in front of her, letting one hand drift lazily up to her chin. "I don't believe that I have ever been to Arcanaple, no. When I traveled with the Belmont Trading Company, or whichever smaller outfit my parents financed by proxy, it was always along the main routes. The safer, established ones, I mean. I was a child for a lot of it. Sometimes I was with one of them, sometimes it was someone they trusted; old adventuring colleague, what have you, and always tutors. They insisted on that." She looked into the middle distance, getting wistful with her words. "I'm sorry, that's not what you asked me. I have been to the main cities in Khimn territory, where we're from. Khimn City, Ashhaven, and the garrisons around The Silent Eaves - but that's just home. I've seen the nearest Elven lands, Kyril, like I mentioned, and the Forest Temple of Nuada, but they never let we go any farther east than that." She thought again, taking a moment to sip from her cup, "I've been to Aquitania, but the last time I was anywhere near Avonshire I was very young. Hmm... and I have been as far north as Argentum. There is a spot to visit. A city the size of a nation, all within a wall. I haven't been to Orc lands, but I did seen a tribe on migration when I was a kid. The caravan pushed hard to get out of the open after that."

Continuing a little bit past where she had been, Victoria commented on where she might have wanted to go. "Now that the wars are over, I would eventually like to visit beyond the mountains here, to the Southlands. The desert folk are supposed to have some of the oldest arcane libraries, and the Amenteph have some very interesting funerary practices I would love to study."

Past the removal and eventual return of Urmdrus, and the reappearance of Lizbeth with soup, Victoria gave quiet wonder to where the tine must have gone. But fair enough to her lacking sense of time, the sun had appeared to have retreated for the next few hours. It was getting about the time that she make her nighttime concert to the snowflakes and open, night sky. But she did pull a bowl closer to herself as she found a seat at the table with the tureen. A spoon went to her lips, whereupon she declared; "Why, this is absolutely restorative, Mademoiselle L'Rose. This is exactly what one needs; thank you."

Her eyes drifted to the paper that she had left for others to write questions upon. Still blank, but Victoria supposed that it wouldn't be an issue until after the start of the next morning. She had an assigned task to perform, even if she assigned the task for herself.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

And we are rolling right along, tying up loose ends on the day. Night has fallen, more or less. Everyone is under the same roof for now, and no one else is dead yet. Now, a lot of folks might just call that a win, but Adventurers are as scary group, so... yeah. There isn't a lot to report, and no additional player rolls were called since the last update, so I assume we are going to coast right along with this.

Soup is quite literally on, so if anyone needs a reason to rouse themselves from the indiscreet fingers of unconsciousness (Kosara), you have an excuse to. Congratulations. Likewise, if the rigors of the day cause your character to lapse into the just mentioned Fingees of Indiscretion, well, a big bowl of soup is a great place to land one's head. Just saying. It worked for Conan, sort of.

Per our usual, get with me in our Discord about questions, concerns, rolls, etc., and best of luck with those sleeping arrangements.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Coach House

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Weather: The snow begins to slow. It is still rife with big, puffy flakes, but as the night falls the intensity lessens, as does the wind. It is far from done, and quite frigid outside, but it looks like the worst of it for tonight is over. A loose layer of powdery accumulation now covers the previously melted and refrozen snowfall from the previous evening, making potential movement hazardous in the dark.

Time: Fully evening. The sun is passing the twilight hour at this moment, and while it paints what sky is visible all sorts of interesting colors, it is a promise that night is upon you.

Ambience: The first stars peek out around the clouds in the last few moments of light, with more and more following as moments advance. Cloud cover remains, but without the hold it had an hour previous. A calm settles over the Rose River Vineyard; possibly a false calm, but calm nevertheless. It really is a beautiful evening.

The scene within the Coach House hasn't changed much over the intervening time. The wooden furnishings and features remain as they were, an example of simple but masterful craftsmanship. The bar shelters rows upon rows of fine, local wines and a humble few from parts elsewhere, and resting upon it lay two casks - one almost full of exquisite, totally not cursed brandy and the other (notably less full) ale barrel. Light comes from sources of fire - hearth, candle, and grapeseed oil lamp - which is more than adequate to the task.

Books from the hidden study below sit neatly stacked upon a table. A couple of them, inactively or actively being looked through, stand open to reveal the detailed lack of apparent organization, even though it looks like the author definitely had something in mind. A single sheet of paper sits on a table nearby with a pen and small jar of ink, waiting on requested information to be placed upon it. From within the kitchen, there is a charming smell of vegetables searing. This is likely the light soup Lizbeth promised she would prepare for repast prior to turning in. Something warming, no doubt.

*****

Barbal looked on as Urmdrus exited the building and assumed an expression of impatience, as he might have preferred to be back in his own bed that night, before things got even more complicated. "Eh, damnedable cursed brandy..." he muttered quietly. The gruff Halfling agriculturalist looked back to Baronfjord with an only slightly mischievous look to his eye, replying to the hopefully joking threat of bread and water with a faux cocky "I suppose I'll be telling my stories after breakfast. See how many details I remember on bread and water, hmm, young'un?" He did allow a thin lipped smile to breach his antisocial exterior, to his credit.

Tarace didn't quite feel up to attempting to intervene in Barbal's social tete-a-tete with Baronfjord, as he was dealing with his own faux pas with the Bard, who did redirect the scene quietly in hopes (well, he hoped) of a productive subject shift, to his great relief. "I, um, I don't think that I've been that far away from Avonshire, no. But I've ... read things. Nice things, of course."

Conversations deepened along with the darkness outside, resulting in a moderate amount of idle time passing as people tended to their own upkeep. Things which could be read were read, clothes adjusted for comfort, and the idea of everyone getting to know each other a little better as the evening progressed became more ingrained in the miniature zeitgeist of the the Coach House. It wasn't long until Urmdrus unceremoniously barged into the Taproom, carrying the same tool of his trade (including his suspiciously large personal hammer) and a few fittings, both iron and wood, to include a thick beam of heavy hardwood. "Latch there now. Keeping latch. Will have bar, also." He did dome mental figures on his hands, mumbling numbers in specifically phrased Dwarven, then looked back up with his estimate in Common, more or less. "Twenty more minutes. Be back."

His exit from the Taproom to navigate the snow-covered stairs along the side of the building was heard from inside, as it was a series of crunching, thudding steps, punctuated by what even those uninitiated in the Dwarven language could readily tell were various obscenities, increasing in volume as he ascended. He got to work swiftly.

Not very long after this, the kitchen door swung open, releasing the brunt of a quite toothsome aroma. Lizbeth, obstinately still wearing her ankheg armor, returned to the main area with a tureen that, to look at her, was quite full. "It's nothing very special, really. Some rendered bacon and duck fat with stewed vegetables. It's good soup, really. I know you all are probably accustomed to better. Mom used to make this for me when it was cold out, so I thought you might like it." She fished out a ladle, then returned to the kitchen for appropriate bowls and flatware. "And it's going to be cold out, still."

By the time everybody else was served, be it by Lizbeth's ministrations or by the helping of one's self, Urmdrus finally made his way back down. His arrival was heralded by more in the way of thumping footsteps, but notably less in the way of swearing. He helped himself to another ale from the barrel of local stuff, and noisily pulled a chair over to the table(s) being utilized for the last, light meal of the day before things turned to darker, more practical conversation about how things would proceed overnight. And maybe a less practical one about what would happen after that. But for now, as he plopped himself into the procured chair, he announced, "Done. Door has bar, door has latch. Good, strong. Ask tomorrow about gate."

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: N/A Bonus Action: Morty, Familiar Reaction: N/A

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Victoria has been paying attention to Lizbeth, even if she was trying to look studious. After everything that has happened, she was trying to be a gracious hostess. More than that, she was throwing herself into training of all kinds with little regard to burning her candle at every end imaginable. On top of that, she was about to make them soup. And then thanked them. Logically, this shouldn't have been something which made Victoria feel guilty. Or anything, really, as she was certain that she hadn't done anything wrong. But this felt off. Maybe the girl was attaching herself to them because the genuinely thought that they could teach her how to do all of the nifty things which adventurers could do, and she wanted this for herself. Or maybe, they represented her best method of surviving whatever was coming next and she was scared as all hells. So yes, as a possible lifeline, of course Lizbeth would cling to them, learn from them, and serve them homemade soup under what would be her roof in about a year. So yes, Victoria felt guilt.

Tarace snapped her out of it, with an only slightly obnoxious question fueled, she hoped, with mere enthusiasm and not something more sinister. "Yes, but I am actually from Ashhaven. It is a vassal city to Khimn." she replied softly. "There are Elves there." She blinked slowly, trying to parse out the more meek Halfling as well as provide a moment to smooth over her own feelings, related and unrelated, before explaining, "There is a long standing Elven settlement not very far away from my home, and they like to visit as the occasion takes them. My family also has a trade relationship with them. We can get some really amazing fabrics and jewelry from them." She looked quite wistful as she pulled the memory of her earlier years to the forefront of her thoughts. "I have been through there a few times, with my family's caravans. It is a lovely place." She added as an afterthought, "Even if I have gotten remarks on my accent there. The Elves of Skara Kyril do think highly of themselves."

But she couldn't stop thinking about Lizbeth, who was in the kitchen preparing soup. No, she had to do something more substantial than translate texts and explain the arcane ramblings of a man who was clearly being taken advantage of and had no formal grasp on anything magical. Arnaud L'Rose knew more about what was going on here than he told anyone in his family, and those handwritten books might have been the only actual clues he left behind. It wasn't good enough.

Victoria listened to Kathryn as she attempted to unload a watch shift onto her, one which the tall Knight was not overly a fan of, herself. The Bard gave a appraising look in her direction but said nothing for the time being. Likewise, she listened to the words of Baronfjord, who was doing his part to organize the potential chaos of the coming nights on the Vineyard grounds. It took a moment, but she did finally respond to her Dragonborn associate. "Oh, but I'm never alone." She absently gave her animated, preserved boar a head pat, letting her fingers linger on one of its prominent tusks as she continued, seemingly to the gaunt, burlap-wrapped companion, "Isn't that right, Morty? There's a good pig." Her smile was equal parts sarcastic and playful. A quick mental request also brought her Raven Familiar fluttering over to her, which gave a single, barking CAW as it presented itself for inspection. "And of course, my Corvus Nocturnus." Her last issuance in the more scholarly tongue, a language she could not actually speak with any fluency but from which she drew some words and phrases that related to her studies. But it gave her pause. "Nox," she stated flatly, conjugating the word as best she knew and writing it down while her Comprehend Languages ritual was still active, to verify her suspicions. "Yes, that is a fine name. Nox." Victoria gently stroked her Raven behind its beak, resulting in a short series of croaks and chirps for her avian assistant. "Gorgeous." Apparently, she had chosen a name, and they both liked it.

Rising from her seat, Victoria wrapped her new pashmina about her shoulders and picked up her violin. Her other hand separated a single leaf of paper from her stack and set a pen next to it. Briskly, she responded to Kathryn's earlier suggestion about watch times. "Of course. I will take whichever watch you prefer. It doesn't matter. I'm leaving at first light, anyway." She spoke with the certainty of a lady who had made up her mind. Motioning to the paper and pen, she partially explained herself with, "Please have everyone come up with four questions you wish to ask Arnaud L'Rose. I'm tired of following a trail of breadcrumbs."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Once again, we are moving to a winding down of the day. Yes, it's a bit of a skip, but just in case random encounters begin to do their thing, which I will note is very rare if you're inside of friendly walls, everyone has the benefits of a SHORT REST. Congratulations, you earned it.

Meanwhile, out in the world, stuff is getting dark pretty fast. If there's stuff that you need your characters to do, chores or the like, upkeep on equipment, whatever, you're at the very last possible opportunity. As of the next update, I am very much rolling us over to full nighttime, and any of the shenaniganry which may follow. Be ready to set up sleeping arrangements, as you've got a pretty full house in there.

Per our usual, please get with me about die rolls, stuff I might have missed, and/or to adjudicate stuff which might need adjudication. Best of luck, and thanks again for participating in the oddness that is Avonshire.