Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Update is posted. Updated, even. We have survived the week, and that is spiffy enough to warrant a drink or three. As I've already started the celebration process, I shall leave it to you to catch up. But first:

To business!

If you wish to start a cookfire in the provided area, I'll need a skill roll: Survival, DC 15. In and of itself it isn't a difficult thing to do, but fuel must be foraged in a timely manner and the fire must be stoked to a point that cooking is practical. By that time it is more likely that people will be ready to leave, as the object was to get to the Vineyard before sundown. If one wishes to utilize magical means to get a fire going, you still have to gather fuel. But the DC lowers to 12. This represents ingenuity, quick action, and sharp eyes out on the moors in a place that has been picked through many times for burnable goods. (Many people in this position will carry fuel with them.)

For Baronfjord to take over the wagon, if he is inclined to do so, I will need an Intelligence check without Proficiency bonus. As the wagon is following another one and the road is obvious, the highly experienced mule will do more than half of the work for you. DC is 10. Does Baronfjord wish to learn the Vehicles (Land) proficiency over the course of this adventure? By house rules, if you're devoting repeated attempts to learn/use a tool proficiency, teachable skill, etc. and have someone/something that serves as a mentor and/or extenuating circumstances, you may pick up the tool, language, skill, ability, or whatever at completion of the Act. NOTE: Only one such piece of learning may be earned this way at a time. I will need to know ASAP if he IS taking over this one time, as it will influence Victoria's actions in the upcoming posts.

Oh yeah, and the mule you're talking smack about? Doesn't seem to mind, really.

Those bits of business aside, if you have any questions, concerns, calls for die rolls, or if you think I missed something, please be in touch in our Discord. Many thanks!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: Partly cloudy, cold. Winds are slowing down for the meantime.

Time: Midday-ish. Close enough, one way or the other.

Ambience: The cold of the morning has let up a bit, but not so much as to make one comfortable outside of stouter attire. One's breath still conjures up images of steam from deep earth. It is tolerable for those acclimated to the climate of the region. At least the wind is calmer than it has been; a blessing not oft afforded by those upon the leveler land of the moors during a season change.

*****

A general consensus of opinion put the group stopping off to one side of the road for a quick lunch. Setting a fire wasn't conducive to a stop for a hasty meal and they weren't making camp, but maybe if one were skilled and reasonably quick something could be arranged. They traveled along for another decent bit of time before reaching a spot alongside the road that looked perfect for a short stop. Even ground with large, flattish boulders piled (by design or happenstance, none might say) as to afford dry, elevated places to rest. Late autumn and early winter blooming flowers, tiny but numerous, opened up along low-growing scrub and bushes surrounding a decently sized area of short, bent grass and pebbly ground. There was a passable ring of stones for a small fire, if desired, but no obvious fuel in sight.

The place seemed recently deserted, likely by one of the northbound wagons which had passed them earlier. Fresh vehicle tracks joined with the shallow-worn ruts which join with the hard, marked road and a damp spot of stone implied a spill of some manner. This had all of the appearances of a popular resting spot along a marginally to moderately used country road; a spot of brief respite before continuing along to the trade route in one direction, or further into the moors in the other.

Lizbeth remained listless from the last time she spoke, yet still took to what amounted to her usual tasks when stopping mid-travel, albeit with the silent and mechanical motions of one who learned through repetition. She did not spurn the offer of help from Kathryn though did not say much as she went along, showing what she was doing and holding things out to the tall knight that she would need later. The animals were let loose of their yokes and individually led to spots which still contained foragable grass and hobbled with rope; wedges were placed beneath wagon wheels, brakes set, and mental checklists were ticked. She forced a small smile of gratitude for the assistance.

Cecily oversaw Kathryn and her young niece's handiwork as she set up a quick meal. A packing box made for a more or less serviceable spot to lay out their repast, which consisted of, to all overt inspection, a lamb and onion pie with thick, perforated crust, and a small basket of hardcooked eggs. Diluted wine rounded things out for her and the girl. Satisfied with Lizbeth's efforts and her own, she called out to her niece, "Lunch is ready, sweetie!"

Off in the distance in the direction of the party's destination, foot and cart traffic could be seen making their way toward the group's resting spot. There is space to accommodate them all, should any of them wish to likewise take a breather. The rest area (so to speak) is on slightly elevated ground and provides a good amount of vantage at a distance, and so it is safe to calculate that they are a good way off. It will be a while before they arrive. Without additional means of sight or other detection, few if any details may be gleaned from them - yet.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: Southbound Road Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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The kid had come to grow on Victoria. She hadn't a lot of experience nor use for and/or with children, but something about Lizbeth L'Rose drew the generally detached Bard. Even before the little girl took her arrow-damaged coat and instantly handed it back to her fully repaired, without the use of a single stitch, Victoria felt drawn to her. Maybe, like Victoria herself, Lizbeth had a touch of an innate quality; a force of personality and social intuition, and she could see this within her. She might make a fine Bard one day, if it were her want, but Victoria wasn't the type to stick around in one place long enough to pass on the teachings of her College to a child. Besides, she would have to feel the calling of the Grey Requiem for herself before it would be warranted, and her future was way too open to narrow it down to a single possibility. It might be a long winter, though, and if she showed tendencies toward it Victoria could at least point her in a proper direction for Bardic or Arcane studies.

To wit, when Lizbeth began to choke up a little over her grief at the passing of her grandfather, Victoria wished to console her. She surprised herself this way. It was a professional courtesy birthed from her time as a Funerary Violinist, though always with a point of separation between herself and her clients. There were rules that she liked to follow for this, even if she liked to bend rules in other aspects of her life. That, and she wasn't a client. But the fact that she was driving the rear wagon and Kathryn was already on the job (she was surprisingly good with kids for a huge lady in metal armor, Victoria found) prevented her from following through.

Lost in her thoughts, it took a little bit before she realized that Baronfjord was speaking to her. "Apologies. Yes, I am doing quite well, thank you," she said in her melodic, sylvan voice. "And no, I am not particularly feeling the weariness of the road. Travel like this - seeing new places and getting out in the open, in the seat of a wagon but not bound to it - this rarely tires me so early in a journey. If I had not the responsibility of the reins, I might even pen a song." She smiled warmly, despite the obvious chill in the air around them. It did prompt her to pull her purple-lined charcoal cloak about her a little closer. "A little repast does sound pleasant, now that you mention."

The inevitable display of Kosara's ring also brought her flush with positivity. An initial impulse was to make some mention in jest about her and Kathryn's status as "very good friends", but she thought better of it. Forging connections, even for someone like herself, was difficult enough. So Victoria chose to be a more or less decent person about it. And the pale Tiefling looked so proud of her gift. "Lovely, Kosara. A nice example of local artisanship to remind you of your friend and your latest adventure. Keep it safe; I am sure sentiment will value it more than king's platinum."

At Kosara's mention of Victoria's new avian companion, she looked up to where it was perched at the edge of the wagon's covered roof near her. The black corvid fluttered its wings and descended to the seat next to its master with a throaty "Caw!" Victoria marveled over the connection she had with her raven, significantly more two-sided than with Morty. The latter was more of a useful tool which could make basic distinctions that she could mentally command, while the former was more of a partnership between sentient spirits (where admittedly she had the final say). "No, I've not found a proper name yet. I might, just for now, refer to my new companion as Mort, affectionately of course, because it is shorter than Morty. I daresay I might take a similar naming scheme with my Phantasmal Steed and call it Mortimer, but my Familiar spirit? Temporary. To address a related thought, I more fully understand why traditional Wizards appreciate them as they do." It was a rarity, to Victoria's experience, to hear of a Bard with a Familiar. Off the top of her head, she couldn't think of one at all.

"Oh, I have a few things to eat in my pack, if you would care to peek inside," said Victoria in response to Kosara's laments of a lack of preparable foodstuffs. "Not the pack with the magical goods, nor the chest in my errand cart," she continued, leaning back in the driver's bench to take a look back in the storage area. "There we are, in my old travel backpack. I'm afraid there isn't much in the way of food you have to prepare, but you will find some good bread, butter, preserved fruit and a few fresh vegetables, and, um..." Victoria paused for a moment, seemingly in contemplation. She cleared her throat lightly, smiled, and wrapped up the list of edibles with, "...and a goodly amount of seasoned, smoked pork. There's enough for everyone and extra, besides. You might find the flavor interesting." She let that hang for a moment before suddenly perking up, "Wine! I still have plenty of it from," Victoria glanced in Cecily and Lizbeth's direction as she spoke, "the services. Donations from guests, per tradition. It's in my little cart, back there."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

If you're reading this, it means that the update has been posted. Of course, we knew this some twelve hours ago, and the reasons (as compelling as they are) were discussed in our warm and spiffy Discord. The short form being: Oops. But hey, it's not all bad! So let us look beyond the trivialities of when things happened as opposed to when they should have. Onward and upward, I say!

<ahem> The party had the opportunity to give themselves a group name and left it up to an NPC to fill in a temporary one, which in classic NPC fashion did so from their point of view and not the party's. Like when the media gets hold of a serial killer and gives them an almost tangentially appropriate name based upon only the evidence released to the general public by burned-out, borderline alcoholic investigators, but not quite. Maybe it'll stick. Maybe it'll grow on you. You know, like a rash or an unseemly bodily fungus. I don't know, I'm not a doctor.

But until that fungus corrupts your blood and takes over your brain, we've got an RPG to play! The journey continues south, past the more wooded and hilly areas and eventually into the moors of southern Avonshire. Think of a great expanse of mostly uncultivated land dominated by moss and bushes, with the occasional copse of trees to break up the monotony. The river which the road follows branches out in areas, making some of the lower land marshy, be it seasonally. Stick around the road and settlements, you'll be fine. Take this opportunity to roleplay a little before the fun begins proper. Discuss amongst yourselves. Ask pertinent, as of yet unaddressed questions of the available NPCs. And of course, above all, have fun.

Per usual, if you have any questions, need anything ruled upon, or just want to get a few rolls in for related actions, give me a nudge in our Discord and I'll get back at you as I am able. Huzzah!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: Overcast and cold.

Time: Approaching midday.

Ambience: The chill doesn't quite get to freezing temperatures, but it seems like it wants to. Winds kick up a bit, bringing with it the bite of an approaching winter.

*****

My Lords and Councillors,

I shall try to be succinct. There is a great weight taken from the shoulders of the citizens of Avonshire this day. The outside aid which was hired to investigate the recent troubles has quickly succeeded in solving the problem outright. There are continuing issues which must be addressed by skilled professionals and backed up with considerable force of arms. However, because of these brave people, no more of our people will fall victim to Cavendish nor the intentions of his master this day. I can only apologize on behalf of my family for the actions of my cousin-by-marriage and reaffirm my promise of service to Avonshire and the Crown.

I have sent formal requests for additional personnel and supplies with this letter. While the greatest threat has been extinguished, there are lingering but important concerns which require attention. Some of Cavendish's minions remain at large. Other innocents are infected and require divine aid. Individual investigations must be started concerning related issues. The Avonshire region has experienced an above average year of production; perhaps our superiors may be persuaded by a temporary increase in taxation in return for additional assistance?

To the matter of the adventurers - I wish to retract my original assessment and suspicions about them. They are foreign help and unorthodox to be certain, but have proven to be decisive in action and took some initiative for the common good unprompted. They may deserve greater recognition from a higher placed dignitary than myself. I regard their presence with curiosity as I sent only three letters and more than three arrived; moreover none of the individuals I expected to meet were among their number. Nevertheless, they succeeded.

As none of the adventurers have given me an answer as to how I should address them collectively, I have taken to referring to them as the Company of the "Letterbearers of Avonshire." More colloquially among my staff and to the originally dubious nature of their presence, they have been referred to as "The Ones Who Answered." They weren't the ones I intended. But they were the ones who answered the call. Until I receive paperwork stating differently, I shall refer to them as such in future communications.

To summarize, we require specialized assistance, an increase of soldiery to keep the peace (these two points outlined in the enclosed proposal), and hopefully recognition for the company of adventurers.

Ever in service,

Gregory Arbalest,
Sheriff of Avonshire

*****

Sheriff Arbalest,

I am unable to meet most of your proposal at this time. Issues elsewhere have diverted resources and manpower to places of greater strategic importance. Unless you have fully drained Avonshire's coffers hiring outsiders to help you do your job, perhaps you may do so again.

Office of the Provisional General

*****

The caravan of two wagons continues steadily southward, the constant sounds of shod hoof and rimmed wheel upon the mostly level roadway beating out a rhythm familiar to most travelers. Cold air whips up every so often, bringing with it an occasional damp sting, heralding the eventual arrival of early snow. An autumnal rainbow of leaves scatter about the ground, blown by stronger winds from places of arboreal shade to the open, rolling hills and paths among them as a quiet last warning for those still out in the greater world to find their winter place before the coming snows.

Cecily and Lizbeth both remain fairly quiet, barring small talk and descriptions of the Rose River Vineyard. The latter they discuss from the perspective of a home rather than a fully staffed and functioning regional producer of wines, grapes, and related goods. "...and this cove by the river where I used to play, and the plum trees that smell just delightful when they flower..." This from Lizbeth, who continued, "...and the whole world opens up on the moors past the old parts of the vineyard, but Grandpa doesn't like for me to go..." The young girl's words trailed off, apparent memory that her grandfather had passed away and mostly consumed by Goblins prior to burial returning with solidity. She quietly sat back in her seat on the merchant wagon, staring forward.

"It's getting to be about lunchtime," remarked Cecily, noting the abrubt change in her niece's behavior and speaking loud enough for the group to hear. The road was quieter now of traffic and there stood open ground to either side of them, prompting the lady to continue, "Shall we stop for a rest or eat as we travel? It is a way, yet, but we should make it before suppertime, regardless. " She awaited an answer but handed off the reins to Lizbeth while opening her pack to locate some travel worthy edibles.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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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.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Well then! Here we all are; me writing this and you reading it, having just a big ol' time. It's been about a half a year or so since we've graced the shores of Avonshire with our presence, but if we ask our characters, did we ever really leave? Ah yes, the bonds of everlasting forum rpg-ing truly bring us together, in only the way that collaborative, slow paced, dice intensive storytelling can, no?

Okay, that mushy bit out of the way, those with approved updates to their CSs are free to post. Let's start this off easy, as we might be a hair rusty with our characters, so the first couple of updates are just going to be interaction. Remember, we are all on the road, en route to the Rose River Vineyard with Cecily L'Rose, her neice Lizbeth, and the rest of the party. Our Cleric is staying behind to assist with the aftermath.

And if another potential player wishes to put forward a CS for consideration (or an existing one resubmit), now is a nice slow part for it.

As a quick notation - alteration to character art or images will be allowed past the initial posting mark, so don't necessarily worry about having that done before you get back into the shenaniganry. So, Act 2, posting timer starts ...

NOW. Go get 'em.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

Skip to Act 2

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Opening, Act 2

A cool and uncertain dawn rose over the township of Avonshire. Pale illumination crept across the dewy landscape and over the rough-hewn walls with the surety that comes from a lifetime's observation of mornings. So was the dark; then was the light. Metaphorical as much as anything else. For most, a sleepless night had passed. The evening was punctuated with screams and fire, reaching a culmination with death and the revelation of something truly horrific.

But dawn did come. The unnatural noises of the night before slowed to eventual cease, and a bitter numbness spread throughout the Township. Few people could bring themselves to venture out of doors during that early morning, and fewer words were exchanged among them. Avonshire was a mess. The brunt of this could be witnessed at the town center, where the roads junctioned around a now still fountain with smouldering pools of pitch and in what remained of the Municipal Building, although signs were all around town. Claw marks deep in wood, broken windows, tattered festival banners and the like were abundant.

But again, dawn did come.

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Throughout the Township of Avonshire, the reputations of the Adventurers shifted from cautious indifference to something more Heroic. It can be argued that the party has performed a good deed, and in the end they did save the lives of at least a few of the taken citizens of Avonshire. Order was put to a night of malevolent lawlessness. The Township was turned into a battleground and the outsiders pulled themselves into victory through force, clever actions, and no small amount of blind, stupid luck.

As a matter of technicality, the Harvestide Festival was still underway, even if many did not feel like continuing the celebration with quite as much gusto. Still, others were giddily excited that the nightmare was over and wished to share this feeling. For some, it was a time for mourn their losses and/or be grateful for what - and who - remained.

The next couple of hours were a blur of partial disorganization, attempts to locate loved ones, and no small amount of kickstarting the rumormill of the previous night's events. Those who chose venture out into the streets for information found less than they desired. Those who were in the know of the full events kept to themselves for the meantime. Despite this drought of information, no one dared to get too close to the scene of the battle, preferring to spy what they might from afar; let alone maneuver anywhere near the Municipal Building. The Adventurers themselves, if out in public for too long and away from those places, might find themselves in high demand for news.

One detail which could not be overlooked was the continued, lingering presence of aromatic woodsmoke and caramelizing pork fat in the air, just as strong as ever (and seemingly moreso now that the pitch fires from the battle were extinguished), especially when the wind gusted in from the west. Those crazy bastards working their smokers near the Farmers' Market apparently put their swinecraft above their safety.

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Epilogue/Wrapping Up Loose Ends

The silversmith, Jacques Mallard, proved true to his word. When dawn broke, he could be seen driving a wagon, loaded down with the bulk of his wares and equipment. For those present in his shop, he very distinctly mentioned having sent his family away and declared his intent to join them as soon as the sun was up, having completed a special order for Robert, the proprietor of Neil & Bob's Public House. While rolling down the main thoroughfare, he bid a curt but well-meant farewell, and tossed a smallish stone to Baronfjord, the party's Dragonborn Monk. "You all make good use of those," he intoned, nodding to Kathryn (who held the other in the set). "I shall see you again, I'm sure." His haggard appearance looked a hair more relaxed now. Less crazed. A simple wave later and the Silversmith continued his egress.

***

Robert looked haggard. A more respectful individual might say "sub-optimal", but haggard was much more on point. He had locked himself away for the horrible night of blood and fire after receiving the custom work from the Silversmith and did not reemerge until the sun had fully risen. Aside from looking like he had gone a few hours of bare knuckle boxing with a raging Half Ogre, distinct lines of contusions circled his wrists. "I'm grateful you did what you did," he begins, signs of actual emotion present on his wearied features, "But this isn't over for me just yet. I'll figure this out, and in the meantime let me know how I can help." From inside of his business, he sets up a couple pitchers of ale, a stout bottle of decent wine, and a good, hot meal for the party and also his staff. They would not be open for Harvestide business.

***

Throughout the aftermath of the battle, word made its way back to Fort Darenby by means of egressing townsfolk. Unfortunately, the armed response was a little underwhelming, all things considered. The ever busy Sheriff Gregory made his appearance personally, bringing with him a single small squad of armed soldiers. That's soldiers, not town guard, although they swiftly moved to fill that role in the broken and bloody absence of the former constabulary. When enough information was passed along for the Sheriff to make a basic situational assessment, he sent for a few items back at the Fort.

For starters, Gregory made sure to get all remaining members of the party together under one roof - in this case the Public House for comfort and privacy (with the exception of Lea who busied herself with refreshments, and Daisy who kept to the kitchen anyway) for the purposes of settling up his debts. Twenty gold coins of the realm were put directly into the hands of everyone who came to the Infamous Pear with a letter. _{(legitimate or not)} To continue, the specific items negotiated for in the initial bargain were likewise handed over. Kosara got her book, that she may journal or scrapbook, or possibly pen her adventures in a style of her choosing. Kathryn acquired a long coat of sturdy chainmail, in the style of an earlier era. It was older but strong amazingly cared for (details given via dm). The silver-tongued Victoria negotiated for more upscale materials; pen, inks, books, and access to certain rituals, to continue her personal studies.

The absence of the party's original Monk, Hugh, did leave the older Sheriff at a loss. On the one hand, monies set aside for him would not have been legitimately placed in the hands of his apparent replacement, as such things were not done. On the other hand, the slender fellow did attempt to control their conversation and gave strong suggestion that he should abandon his lawful principles to hand over specific hypothetical magical items that he might have had in hypothetical evidence storage for crimes which may or may not have been committed. Hypothetically. Plus, he didn't complete the job and this Dragonborn analog, in fact, did. So, Sheriff Gregory had no problem handing over the promised twenty gold coins into Baronfjord's hands. Likewise, the items promised the former party member - quills, ink, blank book of fine quality, and an Herbalism Kit, were offered over. He bid the Monk to do with them what he will, with a mildly apologetic look. "If this is not to your liking, we might come to other terms later. Expecting another, this is what I brought."

Sheriff Gregory, in an act of continuing gratitude, offers the covered wagon and the draft mule pulling it as further compensation. He makes the offer to the group as a whole, not to any one person. Going along with this is a stabling voucher, good for a year while within the region of Avonshire and redeemable by any guard or soldiery post.

Following gratitude, the Sheriff asked for a favor. This was directed solely at Marita. An Order Cleric with firsthand knowledge of the situation could help with many things involved with righting the horror that was the Municipal Building and recording a legitimate accounting of events, not to mention seeing to those deceased in a respectful manner. One might note that, despite her willingness to associate with this kind of work as well as decent professional experience, Gregory did not look to Victoria for this task. He offers a shrine, humble as it might be, dedicated to Pholtus in their rather open place of multi-deity worship so that she may have a proper spot for her holy observations and duties. The presence of a little more Law in Avonshire would not be unwelcome.

Before Gregory left to attend to his official duties, he brought up one last topic. From his personal gear, the older Sheriff produced a metal rimmed, handled, ceramic container with a lovely floral design. "I believe I mentioned this as potential compensation during our last meeting. You have obviously earned more than the investigation fee."

***

At the green-roofed Bed & Breakfast, Cecily and Lizbeth L'Rose prepare for an eventual egress. Their past few days have been less fun than the average citizen of Avonshire, and that statement carried a bit of meaning. Cecily left a decent amount of coin to secure the cost of their room and services, but declined to remain. After some light discussion, they agreed that Marita should remain in the comfort and convenience therein while she handled her business with Sheriff Gregory in the Township. "Remember, Miss Bärbel: You are just as welcome as you can be to join us at our vineyard for the winter. Our doors are open whenever you can get away from here." The features of the woman were tired, strained, but also relieved, at least in part.

The proprietor of the B&B, a moderately heavyset Human lady with a touch of grey showing in otherwise brown hair by the name of Mrs. Ines Cuvier, confirmed that room and board had been secured the Cleric, and that future billing (within reason) was to be applied to the Rose River Vineyard.

***

Anyone taking the initiative to visit Madame Marcie's Honey Barn will note the flamboyant yet commanding Halfling (?) getting her house in order. Women residing in or near the establishment are hurriedly moving from task to task, some domestic and others personal as things were packed away, orders for supplies were written, and a general sense of getting ready to receive a great deal of business permeated the interior. Hired laborers made small repairs, including damage to the doors and a couple of smashed windows. "Not a lot of time, dearies. There's a carnival coming to winter nearby and we have a lot to do before then." A pause, headscratch, remembered thought, and quick swig from a crystal tumbler later, she came back with, "Say, didn't you lot have performers in your group? Even a True Bard? We were supposed to come to an understanding, I think..." She did not press the issue right then, busy as she was managing the setup for the expected bump in business. Despite a girl or two missing and the nearby proximity of a horror show occurring, The Show Must Go On. Or something like that.

Character Specific Events:

Kosara

- The night following the battle, Kosara's dreams were visited by a warm, welcome presence. Radiant, celestial images ebbed and flowed, ever changing yet with the promise of solid security. The mortal mind often has difficulty processing the ephemeral, especially when delivered through the conduit of one's subconscious mind. It stabilized into a familiar, single-horn-bearing shape, not quite touching the ground and bathing the room with a soft, golden glow.

Words - or rather concepts - formed within Kosara's thoughts unbidden. The source was obvious. I am proud of you, child. I am proud that you chose this path and found these people. You heard a call to action and responded, and you helped to make real change for the good of goodly folk in a land that was not your own. In doing so, a piece of yourself has been revealed. It will be frightening at times. I cannot promise your safety, but if you keep your course and prosper, you will be made whole. Being "whole" will change you. This is fine. Life is about development. I am excited to see the woman you will become.

In the short time you have been with your new friends, you have shown greater maturity. Their influence has been good for you in ways mine cannot, each in their own way. Nurture this and you will soar. You will always have a home with us. And now, as you settle in with your victory, I must depart with a confession:

"I ensured that 'Arbalest's letter' was set in your path. I gave you an option, even if you did not know it in the moment. You answered the call. I am very proud of you." Calm positivity radiated from the softly glowing, golden form as it faded, leaving behind a scent of spring water and jasmine in its wake. The remainder of that night gave Kosara the most fitful sleep that she had experienced in months.

Victoria

- The books acquired from both the Constable and Sheriff proved to be far more useful than initially anticipated. Some study was needed to realize what a "Pact Of The Tome Warlock" was, let alone find out what a percentage of all those salvaged Rituals were about, but as soon as one called Comprehend Languages was transcribed, it fell to Victoria's inquisitive mind readily. Not all of the information could be processed at that time, but enough could to give her hope. And dread. When she wasn't doing some task or another with/for individuals she personally got to know around town, the Bard remained in the Hayloft around the burning brazier, huddled in blankets against the cold, plundering this new knowledge.

Almost obsessive pursuit of the books and scrolls available to her (which seemed to rail against her usually outgoing, social, even cheerful demeanor) raised some eyebrows of concern among the townsfolk. This was redoubled when they found out that she was looking into Cavendish's writings. When she was out of the Hayloft to visit the market, take a meal, or lend a hand with her music or spellwork, an almost viral determination coupled with a faraway look gleamed in her eyes. She could barely wait to get back to her studies.

At one point, she stepped out from the loft's main door to the sound of passing, migratory geese. She smiled in a manner most predatory and, as soon as they were overhead, let out a venomous utterance of, "Longnecked pigeons!" One of their number suddenly seized and dropped from the air, hitting the sloped roof of the Hayloft and sliding off for an easy catch by the Bard. About a half hour later, the smell of roasting goose could be detected wafting from the Hayloft.

Marita

- Pholtus smiles upon those who maintain Order. He also smiles upon those to set chaos back to order, especially if it maintains a Lawful community which holds up a generally Lawful region. If those two conditions are met, then he positively beams when one who betrayed their position of authority in the service dark and chaotic masters is brought to the far end of justice by one of his own.

And now, a shrine. It was not a grand temple, but it was a piece of himself set into a place where he previously did not have a notable presence. When Marita went into her own thoughts and supplications at the humble shrine, constructed in a place where other such shrines were long dedicated to deities significantly more established in this area, a sense of well-being and acceptance washed through her. Without words, a more profound connection between herself and Pholtus was communicated. The Lord of the Blinding Light spared a mote of his grand and divine attention for the direction of Avonshire, and gave his follower there the ascended planar equivalent of a knowing nod of his head.

Marita had done well, working with a group that served Pholtus's will even if they did not share their values completely. Such variances could be allowed. One uninitiated cannot be expected to live up to the standards of the faithful, but can still be useful. Even provide greater insight from unexpected origins. His Cleric had provided a good example, and might yet, still.

Baronfjord

- The presence of a Dragonborn in the Township was about as rare as a Tiefling. With that came a series of stares and whispers from afar throughout Baronfjord's time in the region. Following a night where their friends and neighbors warped into massive, flesh-rending rodents and incited a battle, the locals realized that the strange, blue-scaled fellow wasn't so bad after all. Comparisons were wonderful things with a little extra perspective. That said, BB began to acquire himself a little bit of a following among some of the children in the area. Several questions involving his disfigurements were launched, spoken through the twin lenses of innocence and curiosity. A few even asked if he could breathe fire, "like a real dragon!"

A Halfling lady, at one point over the next couple of days, approached the victorious Dragonborn with a bundle wrapped in decent, deep red cloth. The wrapping held Baronfjord's shortsword, which confirmed the young woman's identity - this was the one who he helped escape from the Constable's cage, and gave his sword to so that she may continue hacking it open and free the others. The weapon had been very recently cleaned and sharpened. She held up the wrapping and went on to explain, "I don't have a lot to give you in return for saving us, but you can have this. Winter is coming on quickly this year, and, well... it's a scarf." And indeed it was a scarf. Very wide, very long, and it could probably have a myriad of uses when fully unfolded and unrolled. The color was a little garish, but crimson dye was relatively expensive and the Halfling woman wished to express gratitude.

Kathryn

- Knowledge came to Kathryn from an unexpected source. As the others took insight from Patrons, Deities, or the homespun, caring wisdom of the locals, the tall Knight of Arcanaple was paid a visit from one of her adventuring companions while catching a drink at the Public House with her newfound acquaintances: Lawrence, Maurice, and Curly. Victoria had taken a rare break from studying. Her voice had a faraway, distracted quality to it as she spoke, coming quickly to her point. "Good afternoon, Kathryn. Or is it morning? I find it hard to tell recently... Yes, I'm here for a reason. Um, I found this," The Bard handed over a folded piece of paper containing highly illustrated runes, surrounded by more mundane-looking writing. "It was among the papers from the Goblin cache."

The writing was in a language not understood by either woman without aid of some manner, which Victoria obviously possessed as she immediately held out another sheet of paper with the translations in Common. They were of great interest to Kat's tablemates even if they couldn't make heads nor tails of it. The very tall noblelady of Arcanaplian origins did catch tiny bits of it - a rune here or there - without the translation page. The Bard looked on, offering, "It's Giantish, I'm fairly sure. And even though I have the words down correctly, I cannot make sense of them. Perhaps, if you really are part.. ?" Victoria allowed herself to trail off. It was silly. Kathryn didn't actually have Giant heritage, did she? Nevertheless, the paper spoke of the magic of Runes, and warriors which may use them. And Kathryn understood.

As the group assembled to make their trek south, to the Rose River Vineyard by proprietor invitation, Sheriff Gregory Arbalest arrived quite unexpectedly. "Adventurers, I must delay you for one moment more. I must make an accounting of this incident. For my records, how shall your adventuring company be addressed?"

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Act 2: Wintering In Wine Country

It has been a few days since the fires went cold in the Township's Center. A mass of darkened cobblestones and a single, blackened, stump limbed tree trunk paid solemn tribute to the fight which occurred there. The worst of the bread-thick fog had relented, leaving a respectable, but fully navigable amount remaining in the chilly air.

It was morning, the group was headed south, and Mrs. Cecily L'Rose was handled her wide, mercantile wagon like a seasoned professional. The party had their own, draft mule pulled wagon, formerly possessions of the local garrison but now theirs, free and clear. Where the road was wide and accommodating, both traveled side by side which helped initiate a round of pleasant conversation. For the most part, however, the start of the journey was quiet. Even reflective. The last week or so had been eventful, to say the least.

The air was crisp, with frost still clinging to the grass from the night before. Broad-leaved trees had dropped a more than fair amount of their brown, orange, and yellow weight upon the ground like a great, autumnal carpet. In some places, the road was difficult to make out because of this. Despite this, the site of the Drunken Goblin Skirmish was readily visible, if more sanitized than their last visit. Soon, they passed through the wooded area and into the open, rolling hills of the region. It was a sight of beauty in its own right, with seas of grass as far as the eye could account, dotted with arboreal islands and the occasional agricultural structure.

The last roadway signpost pointed out the town of Southmoor, pointing (as the name might imply) down the major southerly road of the region. To one side of the road, the river which ran through Avonshire Township continued to wind its way down, lazily at times and noisily at others. For those familiar with the region, their winter destination, the Rose River Vineyard, was a short distance from Southmoor and its satellite villages. Neither Cecily nor Lizbeth seemed particularly elated to return to their home. Anxious at times, possibly. It is true that they had just been through more than a tiny amount of trauma recently, on top of losing a loved one.

As the river looped back into view of the main road south, one could make out a male, Human figure attired in common clothing, with a large, floppy hat, and stout fishing pole at the ready. From his position at the bank, he cast a line into the flowing water and waved at the passing party. A big grin decorated his face as he called out, "Mornin'! Nice day for fishing, ain't it? Huah huh!"

That greeting (of sorts) and snatches of conversation with the L'Roses as the width of the road allowed aside, it was a quiet journey. Clouds made the day rather overcast, and a bite to the air promised eventual weather of the white and fluffy variety. Coats and cloaks were clutched a little closer around people as they settled into their traveling routines. It would be a while before they neared their winter destination. A perfect time for, among other things, reflection.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Act 2: Wintering In Wine Country

In a show of gratitude, the last of a renowned family of Vintners have invited the victorious adventurers back to their estate to spend the coming winter in comfort. While they appear sincere, even lavish with their hospitality, they have yet to answer old questions, even as new mysteries - and possibly dangers - arise.

The Rose River Vineyard lays nestled in the heart of the Avonshire region, near the town of Southmoor, and produces some of the finest wines in the kingdom. The master of the estate has perished and his only direct living heir is too young to assume the responsibilities of family affairs. This detail, sadly, is the least of their difficulties.

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Welcome back to Avonshire.

AND WE'RE BACK. There are a couple of things to get out of the way before I open the IC for new posts:

First off, I am opening the RP for one more player to join us, provided a fit can be found. Said player's character must abide by the rules as set in the initial post of this OOC. Second, the character must have a logical entry point and their presence must be believable, based upon setting and characters, PC and NPC alike. No dropping in your fire-tattooed mountain clan Half-Orc Berserker with ties to the great criminal enterprises of the islands of the Great Central Seas unless they have a hell of a reason to be in a (until recently) quiet and prosperous agricultural region in the heartland of a great Human and Halfling kingdom.

Secondly, due to the abbreviated rules concerning training, Kosara the Celestial Warlock gets a shiny new proficiency with "Vehicles (Land)", thanks to her studious observation and willingness to learn from our resident Bard. This is in addition to whatever else she has gained from the level-up.

And Third, as we get into Act 2, please detail in your first post how you spent the few days after the conclusion, work out any character interactions among yourselves, and let me know what interactions, if any, you need with named NPCs. Shopping goes by the PHB prices, as applicable. Let me know what you're getting before you make it official - I reserve the right to veto if I don't think this location will have the items in question. How did you acquire your new levels? Did you celebrate the victory? Mourn the dead? How did you train? Reflect upon your character's thoughts and actions during this time. But please make sure to end your initial post with your character en route to the Vineyard with the whole of the party.

One more point, and I cannot stress this enough - The setup for this part of the adventure, indeed all of the parts, is a bit railroady. These are the realities of forum RPGs, as opposed to usual TTRPG experiences. This Act takes place (mostly) in the Rose River Vineyard, estate, and lands around. Maybe a little in the small town of Southmoor, nearby. If your character doesn't accept the invitation to Winter in Wine Country, no problem. They will not be joining in on the adventure. Much like Curse of Strahd, you have to go to Barovia or the adventure doesn't happen.

Please, DO NOT POST IN THE IC UNTIL YOU HAVE PERMISSION TO START. When you have the go ahead, by all means, go ahead. Just remember to meet post minimums, though I doubt that this group will have a problem with that. Make sure to check with each other in our Discord before involving each others' characters in you posts. And above all, have fun with it.

Thank you very much for your patience while I got my migratory waterfowl in straight queues, and once again, WELCOME TO AVONSHIRE. Time to update those character sheets.