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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5
HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A
Location: Greater Avonshire Township
Action: Studying (mostly), Rituals (Find Familiar, Phantasmal Steed), Note of The Dead
Bonus Action: N/A
Reaction: N/A |
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Victory. They won. Blood was spilled, which she was not overly fond of in normal circumstances, but they emerged alive. It was even quite profitable. In fact, it was the spoils of this battle which kept Victoria holed up in the Hayloft despite the availability of other places of lodging. It provided a mostly undisturbed place of refuge for her to study the books and ritual materials which used to belong to the late, not-so-great Constable as well as the similar items handed over from Sheriff Arbalest. There was a lot to go through, and some of it - quite a bit of it, actually - she could understand. Knowledge was one of her weaknesses, and her new reading material had it in droves. So instead of participating in epic celebration, or even making herself readily available to those she helped to save, the Bard of the Grey Requiem kept herself mostly sequestered, more resembling a well-dressed Wizard than her actual occupation.
Ambient light aided her studies during the day; extra fuel was placed into the available brazier at night for the same purpose. She was feverish in her devotion to knowledge. It was a side of herself which the rest of the party had not, until then, witnessed.
Her intensity and minimal sleep seemed to take a physical toll, but that wasn't all. As the days progressed, her skin paled and dark circles formed around her eyes. Victoria's crystal blue irises gleamed ever the brighter in comparison, especially when the shade of necromancy passed over her features, resembling patterns of grief and determination as it sometimes did with this woman's spellcraft. Ritual after ritual unlocked themselves to her, yielding their secrets and fueling her with arcane power of a style not quite Bardic, but not quite Wizardly, either. Some of these new ideas helped her realize a greater potential within herself, while others flatly gave her another tool in her arsenal of spells and abilities.
It was during one such moment of revelation that she paused, cleared her throat with what was still a melodic noise, and announced to no one in particular,
"I can speak with the dead." The words were quiet at first, followed by a laugh and a more confident repetition of the sentiment,
"I can speak with the dead." But that wasn't the extent of her new abilities.
Music - sweet, sad, and jubilant all at the same time, issued from the Hayloft one evening. It maintained for far longer than any single song had a right to, changing melody every so often from the familiar to the foreign and finally coming together with arcane precision. This process repeated a handful of times as the hours progressed. There was purpose and there was power behind the notes, the details of which were knowable only to Victoria Belmont.
After very studiously murdering a passing goose with psychic damage and consuming it following simple preparation, Victoria stalked over to Kathryn's drinking hole and gifted what might have been a useful translation for her, if she did indeed have some connection to Giantkin. Be it a longshot, the tall, powerfully constructed woman appeared to accept it readily enough. But this favor wasn't the only reason Victoria made this public appearance. It provided an opportunity to
borrow one of the brass candleholders on the tables in the Public House. Its tiny handle and bowl-like features made it perfect for her next, recently acquired ritual spellwork.
Back in the loft, Victoria could begin in earnest. The ritual materials scavenged from Cavendish's pack and some of the basic ingredients negotiated from Gregory went into the brass dish, along with an orange-hot glede of charcoal. This was arcane magic, not bardic, but she used her violin as a supplementary component - and her divination bones. This was a very personal spell, and Victoria felt the need to put a lot of herself into it. At least for this initial ritual casting.
Over an hour was spent in this buildup of power, controlled to a trickle with every passing moment. It was a summons to draw something toward, yet also an offer of her own energies, both coalescing in the rising smoke of her makeshift brazier. Throughout all of the spellwork and music, casting of bones and mellifluous vocalization, there always lay the opportunity of choice. The option to mold this incoming power to suit her preference. But she did not, instead opting for instinct and the whim of the powers she wielded, or even served indirectly, to take the guiding hand here. What she acquired in return was virtually unheard-of for a Bard.
From the last of the smoke, a spiritform emerged. It was tiny at first, a small corner of spiritual energy poking through the ashen haze over the brazier, but quickly assumed physicality. Black feathers and a throaty, croaking
"caw" manifested, followed by the flapping of wings. Dark, intelligent eyes, tinged an unnatural purple in the firelit gloom of the Hayloft regarded Victoria momentarily as the spirit fully solidified into a large, ebon corvid. The bird cocked its head to the side and flapped closer to its summoner. Instantly, a bond jolted through the two of them. With it came extreme mutual understanding.
Victoria gasped, smiling, with joyous tears slowly moving down her prominent cheekbones. This creature was birthed of her essence as much as bidden energies, influenced by the nature of who and what she was. It was a new companion, and yet somehow, completely
familiar. The raven angled its beak to move a lock of red-auburn hair from Victoria's face, and she reciprocated by tenderly stroking its glossy black feathers.
"Well hello there, my glorious new psychopompic companion. What shall we call you?"*****
It was on the last day that they would spend within the roughhewn walls of the Township that Victoria ventured back out into the streets proper, her new, feathered companion keeping near to her, either by flitting from rooftop to rooftop or lighting directly upon her person. On instances like the latter, the magical creature would lightly preen the necromatic-leaning Bard, once picking a stray leaf from her particularly jaunty hat. They seemed to have an unspoken agreement in their movements and act in concert. Naturally, Victoria needed to replace her Morty with something a touch more hardy. The previous one had received some damage and had its animation displaced after being hit with a touch of the divine. Maybe she could have recovered it, but honestly, it was time to replace the poor carcass anyway. That was not to say that she could not make a tiny bit of profit from the creature. The mundane preservation aside, the magics which animated it had maintained its form quite nicely.
In the end, she walked back out of the Farmers' Market with a whole, drawn and dressed, smoked and cured boar. It was a touch larger than her previous beast of burden, with more impressive tusks, but bore all of the indicators of the former, animated servant. It was even wrapped tightly with fresh linens and burlap. Of course, she called this one "Morty," too.
*****
There was shopping of a much more mundane variety to be done; in Victoria's case, an update to her wardrobe in small ways was in order, as well as acquiring something fresh and hot for breakfast. She might have purchased more in the way of foodstuffs for extended travel, except that she remembered that the Vineyard wasn't amazingly far away. Pushing themselves, they got their fully loaded cargo wagon
almost all the way from their home to the Township overnight. Why they would risk that was beyond Victoria's reckoning, though she figured they had their reasons, and those were likely compelling. As the group of adventurers were their guests until Spring, loading up with large amounts of rations was unnecessary. But a little something for now, and maybe something for around lunchtime sounded just right.
A little gold here, a little gold there, a few tiny purchases of cosmetics for her kit, maybe a small repair on her errand cart, but otherwise the Bard was as ready as ever to pick up and move along, as suited her overt profession.
Prestidigitation cleaned her gear and brightened her colors. It even gave her the faint scent of orchids for a time. She was good to leave whenever everyone else was.
*****
Approaching the prearranged meeting spot for their departure, Victoria was precisely at the agreed upon hour. One does not make a positive appearance with excessive earliness nor tardiness, regardless of what social speculators may say about being "fashionably late." Naturally, she reserved the right to completely back out of this philosophy if it suited her needs. For today, it did not.
Victoria made her way up the last of the thoroughfare, her legs crossed side-saddle atop a majestic, if haunting looking horse. The animal appeared as if carved of pure, white marble - statuesque and pale - with eyes which reflected a glossy purple in the sunlight. The otherworldly mount had high, oil-black stockings, mane, and tail, the latter two of which rippled and flowed as if underwater. Victoria's particularly jaunty hat had returned, now resting over a set of fashionably adventurous clothing in her signature colors of purple, grey, and black; sturdy upper-middle class attire suitable for travel, swashbuckling, or entertaining in a reputable Inn. Adventure worthy, one might say. A silver raven skull brooch (possibly her favorite personal accessory), was pinned straight and tastefully upon her long, high-collared jacket like a smallish badge.
Her violin was raised to her chin, and sweeping notes carried through the wind in front of her, giving off waves of confident optimism as only a musician of her ilk might. Eyes were drawn to her and cheery laughter erupted from the townsfolk, interspersed among the expressions of awed regard. Victoria could certainly make an entrance.
Behind Victoria, traveling in the wake of her otherworldly, phantasmal steed, trotted the newer incarnation of Morty, pulling along her errand cart which contained her travel chest, packs, books, and notably her stash of wine. The animated beast was slightly more passing that its predecessor, but only barely. Nevertheless, it moved with the same obedient stride and lack of personality.
When she came upon the staging area for the party's departure, the showlady gave a rousing finish to her song with a grand, long held note from her violin. She kicked out her heels and slid effortlessly from the phantasmal beast, onto the ground upon steady, dexterous legs, bowed at the waist as to respond to applause (which she was richly awarded by the townsfolk in atttendance to her performance), and unslung her instrument case from her back. The instrument quickly made its way into the protective interior of said case, and Victoria held it out by her side by its carrying strap, a contented smile and accenting her knowing expression.
The great, black corvid that Victoria had summoned earlier took to wing, swooping from the high wall and gliding effortlessly down to its mistress, whereupon it maneuvered into a stall just above the violin case. Black talons plucked the precious cargo up by its strap and (with a little effort) placed it with the rest of her belongings. The creature then flew to nearest vantage spot to Victoria, the top of the covered wagon, and croaked a single, avian exclamation.
Victoria gave her warmest parting words to those assembled, gifting the occasional embrace to a handful who seemed to want it and avoiding others who appeared a little put off by her with impressive social gymnastics as to appear gracious. Finalizing matters with Sheriff Gregory, however, she left to others. The Bard had no stake in what went into his paperwork. Moreso, her inclination of thought took her to the possibility that her own notoriety would spread to ears more expediently than that of the name of a just-formed, and probably temporary, adventuring company. So she intentionally left the question unanswered except by a shrug, and noncommittal facial expression. A folded note was pressed into Gregory's hands, paired with the request to make sure their Cleric, Marita, received it.
It was perhaps no surprise when volunteers loaded Victoria's belongings into the party's new wagon. She gave the appropriate expressions and socially expected utterances of gratitude, as one does. But no matter how exotic-yet-approachable her sylvan features and bright, welcoming smile, no one lent their assistance in loading her latest porcine acquisition,
Morty, into the back of the conveyance. This task, the poor, animated swine had to handle for itself.
Concerning Sheriff Gregory Arbalest, Victoria did have parting sentiments.
"My thanks, good Sheriff, for the opportunity given to us upon this fine Harvestide. Should you ever be in as dire need, you've my permission to send for me. For greater ease in this regard, I am called Victoria Belmont, of the Ashhaven Belmonts, True Bard and student of the Grey Requiem. Please do keep in touch, good Sheriff." Victoria considered riding her new, phantasmal mount out all the way to the Vineyard, but stopped short when she noticed the lack of driver for their wagon. Kosara, who she had just taught the basics of the vehicle, had taken a comfortable-ish spot in the back, leaving her no other option than to climb aboard and pick up the reins for herself. As they prepared to set off, Victoria dismissed her mighty (if slightly offputting) steed.
"I'll see you again soon," she whispered. It faded away over the course of the next minute.
Their departure was otherwise like many she had experienced in her life. The road stretched out before them as they followed Cecily and Lizbeth's wagon. She would occasionally pull the wagon to one side to get a better lay of the land before them, sometimes to engage in small talk with their seasonal hosts. Always, her new raven companion was nearby. This did not feel like an end to their adventure; rather merely an end to their prologue.
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