Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Southmoor

Healer's Home

Coach House

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Weather: The wind has picked up a little. Enough to remind people that yes, it's still winter, just in case the abundance of white upon the hillsides wasn't cementing this fact. It is still quite cold, and the sky is bright, clear, and glassy, as if one could see upward forever.

Time: Early morning. The sun is fully up, and daylight is officially burning.

Ambience: The day becomes a little more bold against the passing dawn; brighter, more assertive that another passing of time is upon the landscape. The sun shines coldly in the pale sky above, a blue-tinted reflection of the white rises and falls of the ground below. One's breath becomes instantly visible upon exhalation, a common thing for the season, but with the mostly still air it seems somehow curiously accented.

Things are warming up in the Coach House as breakfast got itself prepared and the hearth in the taproom saw an additional bundle stacked onto it. Aside from this, the light within is equal to the light which one makes for themselves or brings with them; luckily there are candles, oil lamps, and the wood stores for the fireplace which are at least above halfway their full volume. Books remain in stacks, papers remain loose and/or held down by impromptu paperweights made of flatware, bottles, and whatever else was handy.

*****

The open area in front of Urmdrus's workshop remains mostly untouched, with the exception of the footprints in the snow of those who approached and the departing marks of a merchant wagon - the very wagon, one may be led to believe, is returning in short order thanks to the notice of its driver, the very Dwarf who called this place his home/workshop. The building itself was a solidly built structure of stone and wood, once a simple workshed and skillfully developed into a residence and work space with a broad, stone chimney and pavilion structure outside. Beneath this pavilion (and around the multitude of unfinished projects) sat two barrels of gargantuan proportions and a thick wagon frame with two stout wheels. The voice of the grey-skinned Dwarf rolled out in short syllables, gruff and direct, to Kosara's questioning from stop his perch on the wagon. "Yes. Hide weapon, common, my people. Easy." He seemed to consider the idea of another building or crafting job stacked against the ones already requested of him on top of his daily maintenance work around the Vineyard, and voiced as much. "Leaving. Township. Gone a day, maybe two. Work to do after. Days of work. I make after. Have good piece of metal, good shape. Add handle, sharpen, cover. Not bad. Two gold coins. One week. Deal?" He was already reining the horses in the direction of the main road, but looked back at Kosara with a questioning expression. Apparently, the offer has a limited time to accept as he began to pull away.

The Hidden Distillery seemed to yield nothing new. On the one had, it looked very much the same in terms of structure, and the roots of the sycamore tree above still reinforced the concept which was the roof, but the once full barrels of decades-old brandy were gone, leaving the place more empty, and actually rather lonely, for it. The great stills were present, alongside many empty barrels featuring an older style of company markings. The place looked picked-over already, which likely threw off the perceptive skills of those searching it upon this morning. Either way, it seemed to be a bust. Two things were different, to the astute observer: Firstly, prying the moorings which held the lock in place away from the recently constructed and firmly set door leading down to this place was not a time consuming affair for the likes of Kathryn, be it by axe or crowbar, or point of sword, but it was absolutely a noisy procedure. Earshot was measured the same as line-of-sight, and perhaps around smaller obstacles. Secondly, the sudden poof of magic which affected everyone within the area the first time they entered the location was decidedly not present. The reasons why were not immediate in their revelation.

"No," answered Lizbeth, just as stumped as Kathryn was about the nature, and location of, the storage capstone. "The first I heard of it was when Master Urmdrus told you. I can't imagine where something like that might be." She did give more thought, in what she hoped might have been a practical, more investigative way, adding, "I don't think we keep single pieces of stone that big just laying around the Vineyard, you know? It had to have come from somewhere."

*****

The Healer's Home in Southmoor was quiet. This one was the more eerie, partially uncomfortable sort of quiet that came with a thing hanging in the air, unsaid. True to her word, there was tea on. And in the tradition of places far from Southmoor, it was being prepared all at once in a simmering, open saucepan, rather than steeping in a smaller teapot ready for single cup distribution. She ladled a simmering, brown cup of tea out for Victoria and with a stern voice, informed her, "i know you're not one of them, but you're still one of them. You're not bad. Hells, you remind me a little of my daughter, if she had different ears. The both of you don't like to listen. Look, I appreciate the magic help around here, and you're doing a great job with the locals. But I'm worried the next time I see you, you're not going to be you and I'll have to put you down quick. You get me?" She made a gesture that implied stabbing, the changed the subject. "You did good with the books. I have more for you. Same thing - you transcribe. Leave room for illustration. Give them to me. You'll like them. They're about trauma surgery. Meat and bones, and cutting. Since common sense obviously left you, they're written to appeal to intellect." She retrieved a satchel much like the last one she had given Victoria, also full of written books and blank ones. "Take your time, do 'em good. You fuck it up and you pay for it. And when you get back, you give me clinic days. Understand? Now drink your tea."

Meanwhile, the road to the Rose River Vineyard from Avonshire Township was rather difficult. Not treacherous, not yet, but going was harder than merely putting one foot in front of the other one. Balance had to be considered. Some foot placement tested before weight was fully committed to the motion. It was not fully a slog as of yet, but there were better, more enjoyable things one may do with their time on a frosty winter's morning. There was next to no traffic on this road, which did make things easier but far more liminal in feel, and the only thing to break up the monotony of the travel was the occasional village which dotted the white, rolling expanse of the moors of Avonshire. There was this one, strange figure walking along the snow-covered path, dressed lightly, with sandals and a wide straw hat, which had to be uncomfortable for this time of year even if this detail appeared to be lost upon the individual. A long, flexible staff rested across one shoulder, which upon closer examination was outfitted to function as a fishing pole. The infectious smile on the Human's face turned to meet Aric's gaze as he cheerily belted out, "G'morning! Nice day for fishing, ain't it? Huah hah!" His smile continued unabated as he continued on his route.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A Location: Southmoor (Healer's Home) Action: Skill Check (Persuasion) Bonus Action: Morty, Nox Reaction: N/A

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Victoria knew that this woman, Annick, had a particular form of distaste for Necromancy, thanks to her conscripted years in the wars which were still very much in the public memory. The older healer had not minced words about her feelings om this topic, and in fact, Victoria had to do no small amount of persuasion to get her to take her on as a pupil over the winter; proving herself was an extremely uphill battle. While the Bard had no problems showing off her Raven familiar in the presence of Annick and her daughter, Annabelle, on the occasionas that they were working together. They even knew about her spectral horse, and openly paid it little mind, even if Victoria could tell that is was viewed with a mix of suspicion and awe. But bringing Morty to this place was blatant, even by her standards. This was a lesser Undead thrall, serving its mistress by pulling her belongings in a small errand cart.

The Healer had asked for a "damned good explanation." Victoria decided to be as straightforward as she could. "You know what I am, Madame Floquet. There are dangerous things about and I don't know if it's confined to the Vineyard, so I would be foolish not to use every tool at my disposal. I can trust that walking field ration because it is an expression of my magic. As I can trust my Raven. As I can trust my steed. As I cannot trust any other set of eyes looking at me in this town, and I think you might know, or suspect, why." She looked over the older woman with the barest hint of dismay. Victoria understood a little bit about her position but did not sympathize.

"I came here," continued Victoria, turning to the contents of her small cart, "To return these." She held up a small stack of books, neatly bound with ribbon. They were the ones she was tasked with reproducing, which she had been working at in her spare time for weeks now. "And here are the copies, minus the illustrations." Victoria held out another bundle of books, these with crisper edges and slightly brighter paper.

Annick's face softened - but just a little. "You got those done fast," she replied, remaining stern but making the effort to break eye contact and thumb through one of the texts provided. "Not bad," admitted the lady. "You have a gift for anatomy. Smart. Smarter than your looks let on." Annick sighed loudly. "You're dressed to travel, so you're obviously not working today. What are you up to?" Sharp eyes regarded the younger Half-Elf.

With a dark smile, Victoria responded, "Arnaud L'Rose was the only man who had a clue what happened in his vineyard. I'm intend to ask him a few questions."

The fact that Arnaud L'Rose was dead and buried provided all of the context that Annick required to gauge those two statements. "This is Necromancer foolishness, then." It might have equally been a question or a statement.

Victoria's smile turned to something more performative as she answered, "Heavens no, Annick. This is Bard foolishness. I just happen to use necromancy." She shifted her tone to something more confidential, almost faux conspiratorial, "This doesn't hurt anyone and it's the most direct way to get results. What's left of the L'Roses have gone through enough, don't you think?"

After a lengthy pause, Annick responded flatly, "Fine. Have a cup of tea before you go. Come on. But leave your monster on the porch. I've got something for you, anyway." Victoria had a few minutes, and it would be a bit longer before Baronfjord would meet her at the road, provided he got the message in a timely manner. Yes, Victoria had a little time, even if it was imperative that she get back on the road, if she wished to make it to Avonshire before it got too dark.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

And the new day has moved to a good, full dawn. Things are progressing in the very normal way they might, were everyone not secretly in mortal danger. So that's nice. There isn't really a lot to add to things past the last update except to continue with the actions already committed to, so if anyone wished to make a skill check or die roll of some kind to prompt an action, interaction, or observation, we're in a good spot. get with me in our Discord, per our usual, and we'll resolve stuff.

Now for @Zman - we're in a bit of a holding pattern for the meantime. Your timer wont start until your first post, and information for that post will resolve following the results of your Investigation roll in our Discord, and declaration of intent. At the present, your man is either in Avonshire Township, or on the road moving away from it, in the direction of the Rose River Vineyard. More exact information can be dropped once we get together on the details. Suffice it to say, Avonshire Township is the largest town in the agricultural region of Avonshire, and here's a basic map to get a feel for the place:

Avonshire

The Vineyard is to the south, if that helps. It might also help to imagine the place covered in white, and the water mostly iced over. Winter is a'here.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Southmoor

Healer's Home

Coach House

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Weather: The day is bright and mostly cloudless - optimistic, even - as if the events of the last couple of days had been nothing but a bad memory. At least, after the dawn arrives fully. It is still quite cold, below freezing, judging by the untouched crispness of last night's fallen snow.

Time: It is the crack of dawn. Or fully realized dawn. Regardless of cracks or realizations, it is early morning. Congratulations, you survived the night.

Ambience: The early morning shines over the Rose River Vineyard, giving light and hope to the masses. Naturally, being as there is technically only a handful of people present, "masses" might be pushing it. But one takes hope from most any source available. The Estate House stands, a multi-story monolith against the rolling white hills, seemingly opposite of the Coach House near the property's edge. A sort of cold calmness has settled upon the land, like a great, sleeping beast, snoring gently in the winter months.

Within the Coach House, things are a little chilly. Still highly preferable to the outside, but the Taproom's hearth and kitchen's cookfires are down to the merest of embers which would require maintenance and additional fuel before they can contribute meaningfully to the ambient warmth. The books remain upon the tables, though only half of the leaf of paper remains, bearing a message for but one of the adventurer's number.

*****

The workshop of Master Urmdrus was an interesting construction of wood and stone which greatly resembled (and actually might have been) a shed, converted into a dwelling which had evidence of a half dozen crafting professions in and around. As an addition to the usual chaos of mostly finished projects and painful implements which were probably tools of some sort, a thick wagon frame and two giant barrels rested underneath a recently constructed wooden pavilion semi-attached to the workshop. A short chimney put out a moderate amount of woodsmoke, implying that the place was in operation, but the door remained closed to anyone giving it a knock. An astute observer might notice a shuffling set of footprints headed toward the Estate House - it looks like Urmdrus was just missed.

A stout voice called from the main thoroughfare, expressing in a couple of syllables the deep voice of the resident handydwarf. "WHOA, THERE!" It was expressed to the two beasts of burden he was driving from atop one of the merchant wagons common to the Vineyard. The wagon itself was mostly empty at this time, as far as anyone might guess from a distance. This assessment might be more readily put to the test as Urmdrus began to steer the wagon in the workshop's direction. As he neared, his gruff voice turned to Kosara, intoning, "Have permission. Going to town. Get supplies. Reinforce Coach House. Takes time. What do you need?" His delivery was halting, but his face betrayed no hint of annoyance.

Back at the Coach House, Lizbeth took her training very seriously. She maintained her quite warm and vibrant color admirably, lest she be accused of taking the easy way out of her endurance and cold temperance training. Though admittedly, this curse, or whatever it was that was laid upon her, had some perks in that regard. Maybe her other, more arcane mentor was correct about her. Following the perimeter check and promise of a more intense session, the young lady nodded quietly nodded. The shorter training session was appreciated today, not because of any lapse of character on her part, but because one of their guests made a specific request about breakfast. Then he screamed bloody murder in the night. Then her mentioned something about "drinking" his first meal of the day. Lizbeth wasn't one hundred percent sure what he meant by that, but she was fully willing to have an assortment of potable goodies on standby, just in case. She even allowed for herself a dram or to of wine-and-water, just to keep herself bolstered against the cold, of course.

It was at this moment that Lizbeth became aware that the note from the previous evening was missing. This could only mean (or likely mean, if we're being truthful) that Victoria had already left for the Avonshire Township. Hopefully, they would get some answers. Hopefully, she would get her answer, specifically.

*****

Down the road a piece, in Southmoor, things were mostly quiet. Yes, there was a decent amount of snowfall on the ground, but it seemed to be a little lighter in the town than in the more open fields of the Vineyard. None of this stopped the residents of Southmoor from getting to their jobs with the same sort of rural responsibility that normally is expected of folk who live as they did - through craft, care, and resolve. Wintertime did much to blunt the sorts of labor possible, but they kept themselves busy nonetheless. One thing which didn't cease was the constant need for someone in the town to make their way to the home of their resident Healer, Annick Floquet. The area had just gotten over an outbreak of some lung affliction or another, but that did not mean that it wasn't still present. It didn't mean that other forms of sickness or injury wouldn't be visited upon the people, and medicines needed to be mixed. Reagents had to be allocated and labeled, then organized. Stores had to be replenished, and there was other work besides which would not wait for a more convenient set of circumstances.

Two such persons found themselves exiting the general area of the Healer's Home, just outside of the main grouping of buildings of the tiny town of Southmoor, very early in the morning. They passed the curious figure of a purple clad Bard on majestic, spooky horseback, with a burlap-wrapped boar trailing behind, pulling a small errand cart. They paused their egress to watch this woman knock upon the door of Annick Floquet, curious as to what might happen next. When the door was finally answered, a stern look from the older lady got them both moving on with haste.

"You brought one of them with you this time," declared Annick, glancing at Morty with either impatience or disapproval. Or both. "You'd better have a damned good explanation." Her fists were clenched, and her eyes showed some other emotion than purely anger. Sorrow, perhaps? Disappointment?

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Zman

As mentioned in my updates, we usually run die rolls and the like in our Discord. That said, I do not want to put introductory character stuff behind the firewall of a die roll. Regardless of rolls or lack thereof, Aric will get pointed in the direction of the Rose River Vineyard. Now, if you want to have him hear rumors about what went on over Harvestide, sure. Keep the roll open-ended, meaning, you roll and information will be more useful depending on how high you get it. If you want to use Arik's passive Investigation, we can work it that way.

Road conditions aren't great. Fresh snowfall om top of heavy snowfall and a partial melt make for a less optimal road. Instead of making it truly difficult terrain, it can be traveled at 1.5 times the speed without worrying about skill checks. Being out in the freezing temperatures without appropriate gear or some other countermeasure for a good while will require a Survival check. It takes about eight hours to reach the Vineyard from the Avonshire Township, so we're looking at twelve hours at safe speed. This is travel by merchant wagon, mind you. It is going to be a jaunt. It is not snowing presently, wind is more or less calm. There are villages along the way if a stop is needed.

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 -> Parts Beyond Action: N/A Bonus Action: Morty, Nox Reaction: N/A

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Victoria did not have a pleasant night. Sleep, necessary for both a spellcaster to keep a clear head and a lady to keep fresh, was interrupted. First by a turn at watch which was (admittedly, blessedly) uneventful, and then next by a series of dreams involving some of the most powerful and ruthless aspects of necromancy available. Part of her was jealous. The Wizardly aspect of her preferred school of magic was powerful and open to a myriad of interesting applications, while hers was more nuanced; more personal. And Victoria did want power, for her own reasons. But again, she was a far better Bard that she ever would have been a Wizard. The outfits were much nicer, too.

None of these revelations stopped her from having a rough night, and she didn't like it. The nature of her magic and how it manifested on her face might explain away any dark circles from fatigue, in their own twisted way, but Victoria was in a position where she simultaneously couldn't get back to sleep, and desperately wanted to rest. By the time Barbal Mosswater was screaming about dead bugs eating him, or whatever that was, she had made up her mind. Victoria's day started early.

She has mentioned first light, and that was likely coming soon, but she got the drop on it anyway. The last one on watch - Kosara - undoubtedly witnessed Victoria's departure from the upper floor. "Getting an early start of it," she explained quietly, slipping past and out into the cold not-quite-morning. She has packed a few traveling necessities in her backpack which was slung nonchalantly over her shoulder, making the use of the handrail particularly good idea as she made her way down, and into the Tap Room proper.

A quick casting of Prestidigitation lit an oil lamp, now the only source of reliable illumination in the room. She made her way to the books and papers from the previous night, still resting where they were left, and sighed. "Only two of them," she remarked. Two people had bothered to write anything down on the paper, and one of those was her traveling companion. Victoria was a little disappointed. But that was a minor complaint at this time. The Bard made her way into the kitchen to grab a few small, transportable things to make a meal of, wrapped them in cloth, and returned to the table.

A quick motion ripped the paper in half. Victoria retained the half with the questions written on them, and composed a message on the other:

Baronfjord,

Taking care of some quick business in Southmoor. Please meet me on the main road leaving the town for Avonshire. Thank you for coming with me.

V.

By the time first light lay its golden rays across a snowswept landscape, Victoria was sluggishly riding her regal (if eerie) Phantom Steed over where she was mostly certain the road was. Accumulated snow made things harder but wasn't quite so bad over the beaten path as it was in the low areas. This did give the somewhat comical sight of Morty, rigged to its mistress's errand cart, struggling to push and climb over and through the snowfall, the contents of the tiny cart strapped down as snugly as was able. Nox circled overhead, occasionally calling out to announce its presence and returning to light upon Victoria, only to take to the sky once more.

The conversation ahead of Victoria was probably not going to be the most pleasant. Annick was not a fan of necromancy in general, and she was bringing a bona fide animated boar along with her. But this was necessary, and Annick was still her mentor. And what Victoria was about to do in Avonshire was to a friend of Annick's. No, she did not expect an easy conversation.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Well, the good news is that the night passed without further incident! Yay! Of course those "totally not cursed" brandy dreams are getting a little more intense. Maybe there's something to that. ...anyway... Go ahead and post for whatever you feel the need to for the time over the night and get everyone to morning. To be frank, I'd like to move this along a bit so that we have a good opportunity for our newest player to enter the game proper.

Which reminds me, @Zman - Let's assume that Aric is in Avonshire Township right now, about to set off (or setting off) in the direction of the Rose River Vineyard, to the south. It will at least give you something to start out with until we can catch up. Get with me if you want details relevant to whatever you might have in mind. The road will be somewhat difficult to travel upon without a means of conveyance, due to the snowfall, but the area around the Township at least has seen some use from the locals and is a little tamped down.

Now then, for those of you who are working on skills, proficiencies, etc., today can be a day to further your self-education. Figure out how to place it into your routine and/or plans for a respectable portion of the day, and the points will continue to tally for the End of Act payout. AND AS OUR USUAL - get with me in our Discord about resolving die rolls, questions, concerns, or if I forgot something important. Thanks a bunch!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Coach House

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Weather: The coldest part of the evening is upon the Rose River Vineyard, but luckily it arrives with a lack of wind and a full cessation of snowfall.

Time: This is the dead, or possibly undead, of night.

Ambience: Chill moonlight cascades along the still winter night, reflecting back upon the cold, white layer which blanketed the world around as far as the eye could detect. The night is a crisp reminder of what was supposed to be a quiet winter in wine country. But we know better, don't we?

The Coach House starts to quiet down, as things tend to when night falls and folk move to settle in for a nice, long rest. The occasional creak of wood or rattle of a not-quite-flush shutter, when measured against the possibilities of what could be upon the land, tend to register with more urgency than they might otherwise. Upstairs, watches are set and manned appropriately while the soft, shallow breathing of those who have succumbed to slumber form the mild cadence of the evening, and things seem genuinely peaceful. Tense, but peaceful. Downstairs, fires burn low. Lights are extinguished. The greater warmth of the place remains, but with a wiry edge that only active habitation removes. The tables remain stacked with the contents of the bookshelf in the cellar, the bar still has its bounty of alcoholic potables, and the kitchen carries evidence of a recent cleaning and recent use, but for now, the vitality of the rooms has been muted by cyclic darkness and a lack of presence.

*****

Many chose slavery over death. But it hardly mattered. The piles of corpses left many suitable vessels to be reclaimed in mindless service. Some could carry a spear, while others could carry a shovel, or part the earth with hands which split asunder while scratching the dirt and stones to the side, burrowing ever deeper, ever further, into the hills. The Knight was good at finding volunteers from among the living for this. Tasked with turning crying, breathing slaves into obedient, bloodless ones was simple, and required only a thrust of a good, pointed tool into a vital area to accomplish. A repetitive line of corpses that didn't know it yet, becoming the last useful thing they would ever be in this world. Silently, the Knight screamed inside of his own skull. He knew what he was doing but was powerless to stop himself. The order had been given, and his timeless soul was bound to a static corpse which used to be his own, but now belonged to the Prince. Thus was the price for his failure. Kathryn awoke with a start, the last part of her dream filled with the faces of those she had run through in rapid succession, under orders of her master. But it was just a dream, wasn't it?


The magic wasn't complicated. The logistics were. Maintaining the enchantment over this many animated corpses at once was an interesting mental exercise, kept to with rigid determination and ruthless efficiency. The corpses of the paler, local folk held up nicely during the transition, and with so few of them left alive in this remote place, it was necessary to keep a practical amount of living "ambassadors" from the Alhazred in place to handle the day-to-day affairs of local farms and farriers. It was truly amazing what people were willing to believe when given no reason to object. But deep underground, those few remaining living settlers were choking away for want of air and light and freedom, surrounded by the animated dead in stout armor, carrying fine weapons, and unable to be spoken to, let alone reasoned with. All eventually fell, either by spearpoint, thirst, or by taking matters into their own hands as it was their only option of control left. But even this was partially felt by the Necromancer. He, too, was bound to this land, by order of something greater than himself. He, too, played his role. And now, his last option of control was being exercised in the form of a truly caustic concoction, which he raggedly swallowed in uneven gulps. Wracking pain, shuddering, irregular convulsions, and soon, he would some to consciousness again in a form more powerful than ever, capable of breaking the binding to this land. One Lich cannot compel another in this way, and the time spent in waiting would be worth it.

What greeted him upon the return of his awareness was the scent of rot, and the realization that it was coming from himself. He had been away for too long, the potion had not taken like it should, and the wave of power that should have been suffusing every part of him was dulled, somehow. Hatred of what he was become burned through himself. This was not how he spent his eternity. He wasn't done yet. A light crown of iron and black stone fitted to his head, and a many-stringed setar lute found its way into his gloved, decomposing hands. No, things could still be done. He was still limited to this place, but there were options, if he was willing to wait. The last glimpse of humanity Victoria saw before bolting back into the world of the conscious was a look at what she had become in a cracked mirror - a horror of green rot and the overripe melon split of her face, revealing yellowed bone beneath. It was not her own, but the distinction was not present for the first few seconds after waking.

Nearer to dawn, an unrestrained yell came from the room set aside for the Mosswaters. While it was apparent to anyone listening that both Tarace and Barbal were talking, the meeker words of Tarace were almost completely overwhelmed by the booming (for a Halfling) syllables of Barbal, expanding upon his originally wordless cry with, "GODS DAMNED BUGS! BIG BUGS CRAWLING UP MY ASS, TARACE! I GOT TO FEEL THEM HATCH INSIDE OF MY ASS IN REAL FUCKING TIME, AND EAT THEIR WAY OUT OF MY BELLY! WHAT THE ACTUAL GOBLINSHITE WAS IN THAT BRANDY?! WHY DID THE BUGS LOOK DEAD?! AARRGHENARGHARGH!" Barbal was obviously shaken. "It was... it was... it felt like weeks, that dream. It felt like, like a month."

*****

The sun crested lovingly over the hills to the east, giving all of the good colors of twilight, then dawn, in the manner that a winter sunrise might. Great, fresh sheets of white covered everything and reflected the early morning sun in an amazing display of purples and reds, until the more vibrant yellows of a fully established day gave the world its charming luster. From the looks of things, it was going to be a beautiful day.

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) -> Upstairs Bedroom Action: Spellcasting (Prestidigitation), Class Feature (Enthralling Notes) Bonus Action: Morty, Nox Reaction: N/A

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"Music again," muttered Victoria, surprised that someone like herself would ever use that phrase in a negative manner. Of course, it wasn't the music itself, just the possible meaning behind its presence. To that end, she simply did not know. But it felt off somehow. Herself notwithstanding, a normal person would have much rather kept themselves inside and warm. Another, hopefully unrelated mystery that she could not convince herself was truly unrelated.

Seeing that Baronfjord was still in the Taproom, not having moved on to get a night's rest, she declared in a somewhat softer tone of voice than she used when last addressing the blue fellow, "I appreciate your presence with this task tomorrow. I understand it's grim business, but I honestly believe that it will lead to more solid answers." With that, she grabbed what personal belongings she might require for the evening from her errand cart and made for the exit. She was to follow the example of the Mosswaters and retire to the bed she had claimed for herself. As she neared the exit, Victoria called out a cheerful sounding, "Someone, do rouse me for my turn at watch. And as I have my hands a little full, I might consider it a favor if someone were to move a chair or two upstairs. I much prefer 'sitting' sentry to 'standing' it. Thank you all, and goodnight."

Victoria took to the stairs with some amount of care, seeing as they were still rather covered with snow. The movement of Tarace and Barbal did knock quite a bit from it, but it was still potentially a hazardous climb for someone with their hands full. A quick mental note had Morty following behind her, albeit not so closely as to impede any misplaced footfall and cause a tumble. Victoria had quite enough of falling for one day and didn't care to repeat it. Before long, the Bard found herself upstairs, giving pause for just a moment to view Urmdrus's work on the door before entering her chosen room.

As she was the first one up there, it seemed like the polite thing would be to establish a fire in the smaller, upstairs hearth. It was simple enough to arrange larger and smaller bits of wood (which had been neatly stacked by the service staff of the Vineyard, she was happy to note), and an even simpler task to invoke a tiny thread of magic to ignite it in just the right places to get a nice, controlled fire established to chase away what remained of the room's chill. From there, it was a collection of mundane nighttime rituals that one may go through in preparation for rest. She retained her black, silken undergarments, things which were immeasurably comfortable and still allowed for a modest, mostly covered appearance. Tendrils of lesser magic served to freshen her clothing and have them smell faintly of lavender, while repeated use of the same magic warmed the blankets on her bed. It was a lovely, simple trick that she picked up early in her travels - the application of Prestidigitation for a myriad of personal tasks involving comfort and personal hygiene - even if it felt just a little like a cheat, in some way. Still, this didn't stop her from enjoying the benefits of being a talented, charismatic spellcaster who practically emanated versatility and presence.

Morty stood near to, but not blocking, the door to the bedroom. The animated creature stood with Victoria's hand bell clamped in its jaws, standing orders awaiting the required stimuli to make the porcine companion make a lot of noise. Of course, it would change location if needed to suit the needs of the watch cycle. It was nothing if not loyal, being practically an extension of its mistress's will. Victoria made sure to whisper enthralling syllables of necromantic power to maintain her thrall for another good amount of time, that her smoky guardian may do its appointed task without the risk of de-animation.

Victoria herself slid into her magically warmed bed, hoping to get some rest before it was her turn at watch. Her gear lay neatly within reach, along with a stylish yet functional set of clothing for the next day, and her ankheg armor. As she lay down, Victoria gave a longer look at the sectioned green chitin, still bearing the black mottling of the necrotic energy with which she killed it. A grand set of armor, exceeding her previous set of leather armor not just in protective quality, but in the fact that is was amazingly customized by the older Dwarf who made it. Being able to wear it underneath normal clothing without it affecting her ability to move made it worth more to her than armor which, objectively, would have more raw, protective ability. But that was never really her style, anyway. That was a fine set. She would have to do something more substantial to thank Urmdrus at some point, not that she knew what that might be right at that moment.

The low light and crackle of the fireplace did as it does, helping to lull her into a more productive rest despite the stresses of their situation.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Alright, this update is a little shorter than most, the reasons why being twofold - 1) We're winding down for the night, barring the nocturnal proclivities of individual members of the party, and 2) Most of the characters are interacting with each other, with less being directed toward the NPCs. This works just fine for me, as it encourages intraparty social stuff and less writing for me. In any case, moving along, same stuff applies involving questions, dice rolls, and our Discord.

Best of luck with the upcoming, and events of the next day.