Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A Location: Rose River Vineyard -> Southmoor -> And Back Again Action: THE GRIND Bonus Action: Familiar stuff, Morty Reaction: N/A

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Buildings smouldered in the dying light of the day, a hundred vertical lines of smoke marking the end of scores upon scores of hopes and dreams. Dead and dying lay scattered. Some were soldiers. Many were not. The skirmishers not declared the field safe as of yet, but that hardly mattered. They would all serve in death, one way or another, and she was the most dangerous thing out there, anyway. A job had yet to be done. This town was selected for a purpose.

Victoria rode astride a great, skeletal beast decorated with scrimshawing and armor plates, barely giving the area a close look. Her eyes were only for the prize of this location: a cemetery which served the population for many townships around. The quality of the dead here would make fine additions to bolster their ranks. There was knowledge and power present. Someone who already possessed both of these things was needed to dig it out.

She slid from her necrotic steed and walked through the ruined cemetery gate, eyes sharp and mouth twisted into a smile. She gathered her personal energies together from the ether and whispered them to life, a dirge in her heart and chant upon her lips and she directed them toward the ground around her. This place was no longer hallowed, which meant it was only a matter of minutes before her personal vanguard clawed their way from beneath the ground and shambled from behind mausoleum doors. Heroes, nobles, and peasants alike joined the dance and offered themselves to their new master. This was expected. When the townsfolk heard the call of Undeath and rose to meet her as well, it was not. Victoria's smile grew into truly amused laughter, as sweet to hear as the ringing of harmonious bells in the distance and as chilling as a glacial wind.

Groggily, Victoria pulled in her first lungful of conscious air and stretched beneath her extraordinarily warm and comfortable blanket. The fire in the hearth had burned down to embers and she really didn't want to get out of bed just yet. But she had things to do. The memory of the dream came back to her in tiny snippets at first, but after a minute or so concentrating the Bard had pieced it mostly back together. "...same nonsense I always see when I close my eyes..." she mumbled, even if it wasn't exactly true. Personal jokes aside, it did suddenly snap her fully awake. There was something suspicious about this. Her mind scanned across the events of the previous day and narrowed down possibilities. This dream was something that happened to her. Perhaps Victoria's senses hadn't caught it at first because of her close proximity to necrotic energy, but even so, she possessed no immunity to its effects. The brandy, the wine, and her pig all came with a note of familiar flavor in common. "How interesting," she finally said aloud. There would have to be a discussion with Kathryn about this.

The evening that the cider was delivered gave Victoria a sense of calm contentment. While she was a wine drinker primarily, there was nothing wrong with a good, crisp cider. She treated herself to a cup and sipped it slowly, savoring the regional flavor and warming elements to it. This was nice. Warm place to hang one's hat, the opportunity for study, and a fine collection of beverages that were politely framed as "social lubricants." If only she had a crowd to show off to, Victoria might be in bliss.

Of course, nice turned into near ecstatic when Urmdrus began distributing Ankheg chitin. Hers was amazing. Green was not exactly her favorite color, but the quality was obvious. It seemed almost weightless compared to other armors, even the lighter ones to which she was accustomed. And there was a curious black mottling to it, which confused her at first - until she remembered that the killing blow upon the creature was when she whispered notes of necrotic energy to penetrate the gargantuan insect, entering through the last attack she made upon it. Urmdrus had made her fatal strike into a macabre decoration. "Marvelous," she thought, beaming pleasantly as she appraised the armor.

Casting the appearance of modesty aside, at least in part, Victoria shed her coat and high collared shirt with barely controlled excitement. The closest of garments she wore remained, sheer black silk that flattered her agile dancer's physique. She unbuckled and loosened a belt but maintained her dignity, as above all she was a person of mannered proclivities (if admittedly not perfectly so). Then she slipped herself inside of the new armor. It fit like a standard leather cuirass and secured just as easily, but was immensely more comfortable. Even the corseted part seemed to flow with her movements. The segmented plates of chitin were more protective than hardened leather, lighter, and unobtrusive against her body. But when the word "somersault" was awkwardly mentioned by Urmdrus, the highly motivated Victoria did exactly that. A standing sideways vault took her into a full vertical rotation, hands acting like spokes of a wheel at the halfway point as she brought herself back up to a standing position. She felt nothing encumbering her movements. More testing was required. To this end, she stepped upon a chair, leapt into a handstand upon the table it was in front of, and pivoted to face back in the direction of her arrival. Victoria kicked from the handstand into a flip, as she landed deftly upon her feet back where she began.

A fist unaccustomed to being raised in anger (as Victoria preferred stabbing implements) rapped its knuckles upon various parts of the bespoke armor; midsection, breastplate, and shoulders. She smiled. "Oh my, thank you, Master Urmdrus!" she exclaimed. "This is practically a clothing accessory!" She began to replace her shirt when Lizbeth entered the Coach House, sporting her new armor and shield. Victoria had to agree with her assessment. It was, in fact, perfect. Her almost giddy reaction to Lizbeth's proclamation looked a lot to anyone observing like a stereotypically girlish bonding moment.

This seemed to be the last stress-free moment that Victoria had over the next couple of weeks.

Two major events took over the vast majority of Victoria's time, as well as many others in and around Southmoor. The first was the coming of a standard winter illness. In and of itself this was not unusual, but the number of visitors to Medician Floquet increased seemingly every day. And those were just the ones who traveled to meet with her. Mothers came on behalf of children with the older looking after the younger despite the fact that they all were afflicted equally. Others came in for themselves, regardless of their degree of illness. Their presence was to help cure the affliction, but paradoxically is served to help spread it to others along their way. Annick's reserves of herbal and alchemical remedies were spent nearly to completion rather quickly, and simply having the money from sales (when she chose to charge those who could afford it handily) did not make the medicine replenish itself. As Victoria was not skilled as an Herbalist nor as an Alchemist, her help in this regard was minimal. All she could do was follow instructions and help to alleviate symptoms. Things which she really did not want to clean up, she cleaned up. Much of the time Victoria used magic to aid with this, though Annick was not thoroughly happy about it.

It was a grind which lasted days and days. Much of Victoria's time was spent in Southmoor, helping out the Medician and her daughter tend to the sick. There were a few nights that she never made it back to the Vineyard, and offered explanation as best she could while insisting that the L'Roses and their people stay on the estate for the next while, until the illness died down. Slow and painful days ticked by until things were under control. Victoria, predictably, was exhausted.

The only upside was that, to prevent personally contracting the disease, the Bard got to attire herself in an oiled long coat and plague mask. It wasn't her style, but she had to admit it was iconic.

It was during a rare lull in business that Annick came to Victoria, a stern look upon her face. "I took a long look at those grapes, Miss Belmont. It's encouraging that you didn't know what you were looking at. I know you're one of those adventurers that the Sheriff hired. And I heard a rumor one of them was a Necromancer." She seemed to spit out the last word with some disgust. "I served in the last Necromantic Wars. Saw a lot of things - give me dreams I'd rather not have. Did things. I know you're the Necromancer they're talking about. Truth is, I've been waiting for an excuse to put a knife between your ribs." She said this coldly, without discernible emotion, like she was ordering a cut of meat from a butcher. "You've been nothing but dedicated these past few weeks. Good bedside manner. Patient. You're even good with kids. I don't know why you're walking the path you are, but I'm convinced you're not like the ones we fought twenty years ago." Annick sighed and brought the focus back to where she started. "Those grapes, and what you described sounds like desecrated land. You said the Vineyard is producing naturally. I can say that this isn't the right growing season for these grapes, and I've seen the taint of Necromancy more than most folk alive today. If you're investigating something up there, you might want to look into your own studies for answers. Now come on, I need you to flavor the medicine before the next batch of young'uns show."

The next such event was a lot more sudden of onset. Not a disease, but an accident. Ice, building up on a lumber storage barn caused a collapse, or at least that's what they could get out of the survivors. Some logs came loose from the stacks and went on a rampage. People got hurt. It was late in the year to cut trees or process lumber, but occasional avarice or desperation for building materials drove one such location to push beyond the boundaries of what was safe. There would be financial and personal reparations to be made eventually, but the immediate need was to see to the injured.

There were an easy two dozen in varying states of physical disarray and a few vitally so. Victoria tried to do what she might, setting bones or sewing skin back together in a manner that was inexpert, but she did so under the explanation of the Medician herself and took to it better than she did tending to the sick. Considering the number of badly hurt townsfolk, Victoria's ability to heal magically was depleted quickly and, without time to send for those who might be able to help in that way, she had to get her hands dirty. Cutting, sewing, holding people down as painful treatment was practiced upon them, proper application of bandages seemed indeterminate of duration. In one instance, the now magic-less Bard had to assist Annick insert a hooked wire into a laborer's chest to lift a smashed ribcage out of a punctured lung. The procedure was successful, technically, but the man did not make it. Others were just beyond help and passed before even magic might have assisted.

Annick noticed the efforts, and failures, of her new student. "Did the best you could. You saved a lot today. The fact is, you might make a better Surgeon than you do a general Healer. Got the hands for it." It was nice to hear, but did not bolster Victoria's confidence much. This was too much, too fast, and when her brain could make sense of it and actually take learning from the experience, she might find a mote of satisfaction. But not yet. Later that night, Victoria allowed herself to feel for their families. She would try to find time to be a part of the funerary service. That, at least, was her true calling.

When Victoria wasn't working for Annick, she was tasked with transcribing books on the subjects of general healing, humanoid anatomy, and diseases. She might be found at all hours of the night back at the Coach House sitting near the fire, pen in hand, carefully duplicating the texts in front of her or tracing diagrams. It might have looked like obsession were it not for the fact that she made it a point to treat herself to personal leisure time, and on the regular. Victoria was learning a lot all at once and had no desire to burn out.

Emotions were complicated things, she found. One evening after both of the emergencies had passed, Victoria stumbled her way into the Coach House and flopped bonelessly into a chair. "I delivered a baby today," she announced flatly. "A little boy. Good lungs. Medician Floquet says he's... he's..." Stress finally caught up to Victoria as she began sobbing. She covered her face and let real tears fall.

While it was good to get things out, Victoria felt more than a touch exposed. She rose, wiped her face and straightened her clothes, and grabbed her cloak. Dignity mustered as best she was able, the Bard took up her violin and made for the door, insisting that, "I need to clear my head. Please excuse me." She walked out into the night air, careful to close the door behind her quickly so that she did not let too much heat escape. It was quiet out. White blanketed everything peacefully. Wind seemed nonexistent and the snow wasn't falling right then. A huge moon shone in the sky above, and it was downright pretty out there, if frigid. Victoria was glad to have her cloak and a good pair of boots to ward off the worst of the cold.

A few minutes later, Victoria found herself at the base of the watchtower overlooking the river. She carefully climbed the structure until she reached the top, which thankfully was mostly clear. A deep breath was taken in and heaved out, visible in the frozen air and ample moonlight up that high. She set her bow to strings and began to play. It was a simple melody at first which built upon itself, layering complexities and turning into quite the excellent performance. It felt as if she was alone in a world of darkness and snow; alone with her thoughts and the ability to process the last series of tough, draining days. A quick casting of Minor Illusion gave her a simple percussion section to accent her music, and she soon began dancing atop the watchtower in the middle of the night, doing her best to get back an essential piece of herself.

She did an excellent job of it, too. Music was a skill she used to center herself, and in short order she genuinely felt better. She stopped playing and prepared to go back down. It was at this moment that she paused. In the distance, indeterminate of direction, the plucking of a stringed instrument could be heard. Clear but quiet notes from somewhere beyond Victoria's range of vision in the darkness traveled upon the cold, still air, reaching her pointed ears as her exerted breathing slowed. She was not the only one out this night. Perhaps it was time to return indoors.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Going to make this rather bullet-pointy. Here goes:

- Almost three weeks have passed.
- The arrival of the tub took place a day after the incident with the distillery, as did Cecily ushering away the two barrels of brandy.
- Anyone who drank the brandy in this time, get with me before you post. Don't worry, it's narrative. Mostly.
- The effects of the Wild Magic have not gone away by themselves.
- Remember that we are all dealing with a personal narrative wall that was hit, and/or a difficulty with individual training. Details are in the Discord OOC, or ask me if you can't find it. Please run it by me first in case it might affect the setting/possible future events so we can work around it.
- Don't worry about Lizbeth's gift from Urmdrus. He made it with his share as payment for services rendered. The other party members will get their goodies in time, as he finishes, between his regular duties to the Vineyard.

Okay! I think that sums up everything for this cycle. If not, please let me know and we can figure something out. Best of luck with this little adventure in wine country.

EDIT - For the sake of expedience, remember that you may have limited control over unnamed or non-important NPCs. If you are not sure, ask me. Single use, non impactful NPCs may be created for this purpose.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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Weather: The weather outside is frightful. But the fire is so delightful. And since we've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. Okay, maybe frightful isn't really the best term. It is fully into winter now, and light, puffy snowfall descends slowly to the earth. It is suitably cold. However, there is very little wind, leading to a rather gentle, picturesque winter evening.

Time: Early evening. The sun is setting and night is swiftly coming over the Rose River Vineyard.

Ambience: It's actually a grand, soft evening, punctuated gently by the whispery sound of fat, lacy snowflakes making connection with their brethren piled up on every surface in sight. The slightest vision of red-purple light which represented the setting sun through partial cloud cover pressed the last of its radiance across the landscape. A large, clear moon stood on the other side of the sky, promising an element of dim but reliable illumination as the sky clears later on.

Within the Coach House, things are quite cozy. So long as one sticks near to the fireplaces, one can hardly tell that it's distinctly freezing outside. Or for that matter, having time to adjust to the colder temperatures of the season, one might even cheerfully tolerate the evening out-of-doors for moderate amounts of time, owing to the lack of wind - provided that appropriate attire for the occasion is worn. Scents of cooked meats, fresh bread, and grapeseed oil lamps make for a comforting bit of ambience, and the firelight does leave a warming flicker about the well-lit taproom. In the kitchen, there seems to be an ever-present pot of simmering water, helping immensely with maintaining the temperature on the ground floor as well as providing hot water for tea, or other appropriate uses.

The place has recently been cleaned, restocked, and is as fresh as the day you first came upon the Vineyard.

*****

Deep within the reaches of the southern moors of the Avonshire region, things might look quiet from afar. A bird's eye view cresting the hills of the area paints a portrait of solid, calm wonderment, stretching as far as the eye can see. It's ideal, really; a piece of rural bliss across a cold, quiet landscape which yields enough agricultural plenty to keep the neighboring regions, as well as the standing armies of the nation, fed and hale. Those on the ground know that appearances can be deceiving. It is a muddled truth to say that nothing bothers this idyllic place; perhaps more acceptably stated that nothing overtly bothers this place. Issues both incidental and concerning appear sporadically, dealt with or not by those with their feet on the ground, seeing greater shades of the truth of the region. It has been an interesting few weeks, to be sure.

Taking an element of control over the situation, Cecily L'Rose insists that the remains, or what remains of them, be transported from the hidden distillery to elsewhere. Be it to Fort Darenby for the Sheriff's people to deal with, or to Avonshire Township to he interred within hallowed ground, it doesn't matter so much to her. She does say that she will try to find records of any workers from decades past who went missing. It might even be as simple as asking some of the older folk around town, be that town Southmoor, the Township, or parts more distant.

The barrels of brandy, or at least two of them, found their way into the Estate House per Cecily's instruction. The final one - the one which was tapped in the distillery, remains behind at the Coach House as a reward for finding and dealing with the situation. "This would mix into a lovely Port, or perhaps a special reserve of our Fortified Zinnoberrot," she mused.

Luckily, waiting for the group back in the Coach House were six sizeable ceramic jugs full of fresh, lightly bubbly, apple cider, with instructions to "place jugs in simmering water to heat." Such luxuries did wonders to wash away difficult days. Or weeks. Also luckily, the spacious bathtub had been delivered to the Coach House a day or so following the Hidden Distillery incident. It was left in the front area of the taproom and would require a concerted effort to place it in a more convenient, and hopefully warmer, location. Cecily made good on her promise, be it a couple of days late.

Master Urmdrus, in his characteristic tradition of barging in whenever he feels like it, barged into the Coach House because he felt like it. He had his huge Sack O' Stuff, in a traditional burlap style of sack, filled enough to make closing the top of it within his meaty fist mildly annoying. He flapped the sack onto the nearest table and helped himself to a mug of cider. He downed the whole of it in one long go and plunked the empty drinking vessel back onto the bar. "Apples. Like apples. Do not have them back at home." A substantial belch followed. Urmdrus was truly a Dwarf of mystery and talent.

But speaking to his talent, the stocky fellow returned to his bag and upended it, dropping a series of green, chitinous items out. Some of them were obvious in nature, others less so. A person who made it a point to visit the crafty fellow might have noticed some of these pieces coming together - at least the larger ones. They were a rich, embossed green, strong, well articulated, quiet, with the critically necessary flexibility of live bone. Notably absent from the items were the shield and cuirass which the older Dwarf was first working on, but there were interesting tidbits to be found. Urmdrus first went to Kosara with the items she specified. Smaller items, for the most part. Decorative. Things to go in her hair, maybe a decorative clasp that might fit about a horn. Knickknacks, if you will, made with Dwarven craftsmanship, if not a notable amount of flowery embellishment. "Heard talk about something. Had extra. Early Frostval gift." He held out a coiled length of treated, braided leather, the business end bearing painful slivers of Ankheg chitin. The same material studded the lengthy handle and made up both the heel and collar of the device. The length of the braid was lightly tinted green, competing with the chestnut leather stain. "Lizbeth likes whip of Constable. Made you one from your kill. You don't like, ask her trade."

He then grunted and turned to Victoria. "You said make yours second. Made yours. This - some of my best." He lifted from the pile a thing which looked like a cross between a cuirass and a corset made of green Ankheg chitin mottled with black, secured to a backing of rich, silky material. "Good protection. Wear under clothes. Dance, ...somersault... in this." But he wasn't quite done. One last item was handed over. It looked like an enameled cloak brooch or large pin made of the same material, in the rather caricatured but easily identifiable shape of an Ankheg facing. Upon it was a rune in what appeared to be an older style of Dwarven rune, for anyone exposed to the written language.

Shortly after Urmdrus finished gift giving, Lizbeth bounded into the Coach House with a look of absolute glee on her face. Over her winter skirts and kirtleing she wore a masterfully put together cuirass of green chitin, near perfect of fit but allowing for a necessary amount of growth to occur comfortably. In her arms, she carried the finished shield that was under construction in Urmdrus's workshop, appearing as giant grape leaves of Ankheg shell, layered atop one another with silvery metal embossments. From the look on her face, Lizbeth was obviously there to show it off. "Isn't it perfect?" she asked joyously. "Isn't it just perfect?"

Evening settled over the Rose River Vineyard, bringing with it the hope of the season of rest, and eventual renewal. But for now, a blanket of snow settled quietly across the landscape rather peacefully. Everyone existed in the hopes that it would remain that way.

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: Rose River Vineyard Action: N/A Bonus Action: Familiar stuff, Morty Reaction: N/A

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It was a little colder than Victoria liked. It was fair to say that, as a lady of cosmopolitan proclivities, she preferred to be indoors and warm most times anyway. Comfort was important. On the other hand, she grew up traveling with her parents' merchant caravans as well. As a child, or very near adult, time was spent in the elements with the guards and traders, setting up camps and staying in less-than-upscale locales. In truth, Victoria had some formal experience with survival skills and could tolerate much more intense of circumstances if need be. It was something she didn't advertise as she was content for others' estimation of her to be at least partially incomplete. Having just a hair of underestimation on her side was useful sometimes.

Likewise, having people who knew she practiced Necromancy as more than a hobby meant that they often overlooked other useful qualities of hers. (Or conversely, those who didn't know her at all usually figured she was a stock-and-file Bard and were shocked when a spectacularly dead something-or-another attacked them on her behalf.) But to move back to the sake of keeping appearances of a purely urban socialite, Victoria spoke up to a personal request, "I could quite go for a hot cup or two of tea and a spot by a hearth. And if I'm being honest, I am disheartened by the lack of ideas we have on what we have seen today. Perhaps a warm room, a good chair, and some time is what is necessary." Yes, she was a bit of a diva, and further asserting a benefit to their newfound mystery gave an additional layer that she hoped made a connection.

But then, at the precipice of Victoria's last shred of possible hope for the collective intelligence of the group (herself included), Baronfjord uttered something that she thought was a good idea. One that she hadn't considered, herself, and probably should have. "Yes, perhaps you are right. The woman is a herbalist and might know something. I believe it is best to keep them on the vine for now and collect them as 'fresh' as I can when I set back out to Southmoor." She regarded the anomalous grapes with a serious and thoughtful expression, including a lip bite and bona fide brow furrow, "This does not seem normal."

Another concern, probably lesser in the grand scheme of things but central to her experience and opinion, reasserted itself in her mind. "Whomever those two were in the distillery; after Cecily is informed and we make some inquiries - they deserve a proper interment." Victoria pulled her cloak about her in the wintry wind, a stark contrast to the apathy that Morty had for their surroundings.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

And the investigation continues. As I mentioned in our fine and shiny Discord, we're going to need to get in whatever checks we can considering the situation as it is. If you feel that more needs to be done in the sense of a narrative perspective, cool deal. We will have a good spot for that with the upcoming time skip at the next update. In short, you're going to have to account or your time for an extended(ish) period, including all of the downtime stuff you're into. If you are in the middle of learning a skill, tool set, proficiency, etc., here's where you put in the interesting bits of fluff about that. I'm pretty open about what your characters are getting into, just let me know beforehand if your ideas might have an impact on the setting in a more tangible way, so that I might roll with it, or politely suggest you go another route if it clashes with anything in our upcoming reports of Current Clack.

Many Huzzahs all around, and please hit me up with a DM in for the usual stuff.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Old Distillery

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Weather: The temperature feels like it is hovering at, or just above freezing. The snow upon the ground is still maintaining itself quite nicely, but the less compact fluff upon higher surfaces has glazed over with a paper-thin layer of ice, as if the outermost parts thawed slightly and refroze. It is cold, still overcast, and the winds now carry with them an indication of dampness. This is cloak and soup weather.

Time: It is early to mid afternoon at this point. Work is progressing at the site nicely, but these things can take time.

Ambience: The sounds of hammering and sawing echo across the hills of the Rose River Vineyard; an impromptu carpentry session committed to with haste, but also with precision. Snowfall from the night previous has done well to color the landscape a relatively frigid but nevertheless inviting white, interspersed with the wood color of buildings designed to keep that frigidity out.

The wind gives a good reminder that the current and incoming weather is more than a polite suggestion to keep covered up now, and seek shelter in the evening. High above, the mostly hidden sun has begun the second, downward leg of its journey across a likewise mostly hidden sky. Winter has arrived, and she is baring her teeth at the unwary.

*****

The snowman looks great. Just thought I'd start the update with that.

Urmdrus, or Master Urmdrus to those who still have custom requests of his time and talent, seemed to keep to his word. The structure he was slapping together was indeed a less-then-pretty barrier, but he didn't bother to begin with an actual door. Instead, the first good hour of his work involved constructing a frame to go around the existing hole. He ignored the rotted wood of the present door, instead pounding pegs into the earth itself and using these points to put proper anchorpoints down, eventually building enough structure to hold a sizeable door. To keep it simple, it was a single, outwardly swinging portal, attached with brassy colored hinges. The hinges didn't quite match one another, but there were four of them and they seemed like they were close enough to get the job done.

Much of the wood was rough. Some of it looked like additional pieces from past projects, and one could still see bark on a couple of them. Urmdrus was correct, it was put up quickly, but it had not the usual visual appeal that one might expect from Dwarven craftsmanship. After a couple of tests upon its stability, the older Urmdrus repeated, "It ...will hold." Instead of a latch, or even a lock, Urmdrus lay a single, thick, wooden crossbeam to bar the door. One might note, he set up the bar on the outside. One might find their way in, provided they wished to and put forth some intention to do so, but one would not be able to aimlessly wander into it.

Any who were within sight of the distillery door past its construction might have seen a tired-looking, bald Dwarf rolling away a barrel larger than himself, to places unknown for reasons unknown. But one could reliably guess about either.

Over another hill or two, still within the boundaries of the southern fields and not too far away from the site of the distillery, the mysterious grapes reside. They grow from seemingly deceased (or just very, very unconscious) vines, the stakes for which are marked with ribbons to indicate their need to be cleared and replanted. It is a mere two bunches of the strange, smallish fruits, so dark as to be almost black as they hang upon spindly, desiccated twigs.

The investigative procedures embarked upon so far have revolved mostly around observations, comparisons, and eating them.

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: Rose River Vineyard Action: Ritual Magic (Phantasmal Steed), Skill Check (Investigation) Bonus Action: Familiar stuff, Morty Reaction: N/A

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It was an interesting event for Victoria, varying the Ritual that she had mastered just a matter of weeks ago. Tiny alterations that kept the intent of the spell, but changed it up in mostly cosmetic ways. Mostly. The spell itself allowed for tack and saddle, and the dimensions of the beast summoned had some of that arcane wiggle room that allowed for the changes presented. In this case, the shorter, broader kind of horse that one might attach to a cart or wagon, as opposed to the taller, more majestic creature that stepped high and lively, which took to the saddle and nonverbal commands of its rider. She needed something hauled this time, as opposed to a grand appearance or a really, really fast jaunt. The fact that she made it look like it was wraith-like with a skeleton visible beneath the ghostly flesh was just there for ambience. Victoria did like to make an impression. Out this way, said impression was less likely to result in pitchforks and torches. She hoped.

Nevertheless, there was a bit of time between picking up the brandy and getting back to the site, which she used to speak candidly with Kathryn - except for the parts where Urmdrus insisted that she cease changing her size, which was not really her fault to begin with. In truth, she actually seemed to be rather pleased with the development. Magic being magic, the outfit she was wearing appeared to change right along with her. As for the things she kept tucked away in her travel chest; they were quality garments, a few of them quite expensive, even. But they were not bespoke and would not suffer much for the extra couple of inches. The armor which was not made yet and was to be customized? Different story. So she remained as polite as she was able to the gruff Dwarf and took to the remeasuring with civility. However, Kathryn seemed to have questions. So she took time to address them as best she might, circumstances being what they were. "My Identification Ritual is mostly useful for learning the qualities of things which I know are already imbued with magic. Usually intentionally imbued. And people who are enspelled somehow. The information gleaned from such a Ritual concerns the magic itself, not the properties of the object as a mundane item. It is not a perfect method of drawing knowledge from a location, nor the history of an object. Divinations higher than that which I can provide are necessary for that. But I shall help as I can." She spoke in a manner that was knowledgeable but open and kind, preferring to be considered a resource of information as opposed to a know-it-all with a pretty face. Though that last part was rarely a liability.

The friendly inquisition continued as they returned to the site to wait for Urmdrus. So she continued to play what role she had in this ...interesting... adventuring group, and speak to what she had some knowledge in. Victoria did not have all of the answers, but she did have some of them. "At initial thought, I cannot fathom a type of Undead creature that fits the description of the corpses in the distillery that require a specific time of the day or special circumstances to become active, save by an order from its controller or creator." She took a long second or two to consider the next question she could answer, and it was also not the most fruit-bearing of responses. "As much as my proclivities take me into grey areas which involve the ebb and flow of life forces, the spirit, and necrotic energies, I am more limited in my practical ability than a Wizard who specializes in the School of Necromancy. A True Necromancer of relative experience to myself is far more likely to be able to hold them in thrall. My studies emphasized versatility as opposed to hard specialization. To put it plainly, the most I might do directly is take myself away from their notice. Commanding randomly encountered Undead is not a talent I possess yet." Victoria's powers in this regard were awakening, strengthening, allowing her to come into her own, but in the aspect of direct magical power she would always be surpassed by a Wizard Specialist. Victoria was a smart young lady. She might have gone far in her studies if she dedicated herself to pure arcane schooling. She would have made a fine Wizard. Instead, she made a truly exceptional Bard.

There was a line of questioning that she could answer with a better degree of accuracy. "Yes! If an undead creature is ...hmm... dis-animated, and turned back into a normal corpse, I can cast a spell to speak with them. If the body has a mouth, it can speak back to me. Unfortunately, the ones down there are a little too damaged now. But if we happen upon another murder scene, I'm your girl!" She was a little too excited about that last part, and instantly realized it. A mildly embarrassed look came over Victoria's face and she let out a quiet, "Oh."

Baronfjord's comment about the open secret of Morty's origin, or more specifically the delivery of his comment, earned a slow turn of Victoria's head toward him. It looked a lot like annoyance on her features, and this assumption was bolstered by a likewise slow crossing of her arms across her chest. Her expression became almost the very image of a disappointed parent, dryly looking at the (still) taller Dragonborn Monk. Then a smile broke through, and the woman put one hand over her mouth as her head and shoulders pitched rhythmically in silent laughter. After a moment, sounds of genuine mirth followed. Victoria uncovered her mouth as quietish laughter spilled forth and she shook her head slightly, pointing a finger in Baronfjord's direction "Alright," she stated, "Point taken." She was quite put into a less dramatic mindset about her obvious status among her group, and lightened up a touch. "I shall make use of my Cabal of Enthralled Necromantic Evils and go investigate those grapes. If you will excuse me? I've skullduggery to accomplish." The last sentence was punctuated by a sweeping gesture and sarcastic lilt to her voice.

"In seriousness, I am bringing Morty with me. My Raven shall remain here, near the tree, and should anything unexpected or aggressive happen, I will know immediately." Victoria thought for a moment, "Should the same befall me, I can notify you through my Familiar, as well. Marvelous mimics, Ravens."

Victoria then set off. The place that she was told about was not so very far away, and like the hidden distillery, located in the southern section of the Vineyard. It might have been a little unsettling, moving from the more actively producing fields to one which was obviously slated for clearing and burning, but then she remembered that she was a pretty lady who used death magic and was accompanied by an animated barbecue on legs. This place did not corner the market on "unsettling."

The grapes were easy enough to find with the description given. Almost black, somewhat smallish, seemingly growing from dead and withered vines. Victoria was not an agriculturalist, and while this didn't seem right, she was at a loss to explain. Considering that there was magic of some kind that was, or used to be, in play here, perhaps the reason leaned that way. But basic investigative observations revealed nothing she was not already told. At least she made a point to see it for herself, so that she might reference it later if more information presented itself.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

And the update is, as we might have expected, updated. There was a bit of a delay, thanks to net outages in my area, but here we are. I just wish I didn't have to type the damn thing out on my phone, to be honest.

Moving right along - I'm sure the snowman will be lovely, and by no means will it become a tool of eldritch horrors in the near future. This aside, there is a barrier being built over the hole in the hill, please let me know if the party, or members thereof, wish to remain to oversee its construction. As the other site has not been explored yet, I have placed the same descriptive text from earlier into a hider for convenience's sake. If you choose to interact with it this cycle, it's available.

Per usual, get with me in our Discord for rolls and/ornto hammer out details.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Old Distillery

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Weather: The sun has progressed to its apex in the sky and just a touch beyond, not that one can experience it's warming rays firsthand. "Overcast," remains the word of the day. Chilly comes to mind as well. The winds are now steadily pushing the season's air upon you. Rejoice, those who dressed warmly.

Time: Give or take, it is about one-thirty to two-ish in the afternoon. Moving barrels, inspecting the tree, and finding alternatives to close off the distillery has taken a chunk out of the day, and we're all here for it.

Ambience: The most immediate of the smell of corpse-burn has wafted out of the hillside, though it's safe to assume that the lingering notes of radiant smolder and old rot are scheduled to be present for an indeterminate (but not short) amount of time. The air in here is heavy but breathable, and the details of brandy still hang in the background. The air outside of the distillery is, per usual, clean and clear but significantly chillier.

The barrels and equipment within held its integrity well enough, dry and solid on the outside, maintaining the contents within in a sort of quarantine while it continued to age, as it likely had been for decades.

The dead people are half bones and half ash. Whatever else might have been on their person of a more flammable nature is now part of that ash.

For the point of repeating things as least as possible, let us assume that until mentioned otherwise, the effects of the magic burst remains. Kat is still a little taller, Victoria is noticeably taller (but still the shortest one in party, go fig), Kosara still has flowers growing harmlessly in her hair, and Baronfjord, the Blue Dragonborn, is ...blue. I'm seriously never getting over that one.

*****

To kick things off, there is plenty of time to build a superior snowman while things are in the works elsewhere. If you need to hit the Coach House to get a carrot (or parsnip, whatever - get as creative as you need) for a nose, have at it. You go, Kosara.

Exploration of the area around the sycamore tree, as well as the tree itself, yields nothing except for a lighter amount of snow beneath the mostly bare branches, and an otherwise stout, healthy bit of upright flora. Regardless of what may or may not have been going on in the hidden distillery below, this tree seems to be apart from it, or at least unaffected.

The epic journey of barrels, now counting three thanks to the efforts of Victoria's Phantasmal Steed turned from shadowy riding beast to trotting, semi-transparent labor animal and Kathryn's indomitable physical prowess, make their way steadily over to the Coach House, hopefully as a temporary measure to await proper distribution or at least a formal query to the Vineyard's caretakers even if it might be understandable to keep it on the quiet. For study. Obviously.

As the party members who went to deliver the brandy to its destination were Kathryn and Victoria, they are the ones who meet up with Urmdrus, coming from his out-of-the-way smithy/shop/humble abode here on Vineyard property. He seems resolute, and carries a bulky, irregular sack of coarse cloth slung across his back. The bottom of this bulging burlap bag of bouncing befuddlement barely brushes the bare, beveled base of the boardwalk betwixt buildings, belying a bounty of beautiful bits and bobs for bestowal. He looked like he was headed in the general direction of the Estate House, and strode with purpose. This was, until he caught sight of the two adventuring women exiting the Coach House.

Urmdrus stared at the two of them in wonder for a moment as he drew close, shaking his head and copping an incredulous look at the both of them, as if he might begin scolding at any second. "Hrrrrrm..." he growled. The sack was deposited upon the ground and the Dwarf pulled a short length of rope from his tool apron. Those who were under his scrutiny in the past knew what to expect, mostly. The rope was marked off at regular intervals, and used deftly but with some annoyance as a measuring device while, and without requesting permission mind you, wrapped it around points of Human and Half-Elven anatomy and uttered what were probably numbers in an unusual dialect of Dwarven. In halting Common, he said at last, "STOP. CHANGING. SIZE. Custom work. Have to alter. Hmm."

He understood more or less, after what explanation was offered, that there was a "mysterious hole" that needed have a door installed over it and a means of barricading said door. He explained that he might do something "Fast, ugly," in a couple of hours, but assured that "...it will hold." He then went to specifically find Cecily to inform her of the developments.

It was another hour before Urmdrus came upon the site, pulling a cart laden down with wood and tools.

Anomalous Grape Site

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Elsewhere within the bounds of the southern fields, previously viewed anomalies remain for others to view. Barren (even for the winter season) vines entwine frames and stakes in orderly, slightly curved rows. It was a gradual change for those walking toward the affected area, but after a while those with any knowledge of agricultural processes would recognize the signs of a place marked for clearing and replanting. The few leaves remaining on these vines were brittle and dry; tendrils which were once vital and held the vines snugly to the planting frames were woody and snapped with ease. These plants appeared biologically incapable of supporting flower nor fruit. Nevertheless, two spindly bunches of smallish, near-to-black grapes hung from a vine, sporting tough, withered skins. They bobbed lightly as the cold, winter breeze pushed them about, an eerie sight of withered fruit growing on deceased vines.

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: Rose River Vineyard (Exterior Hidden Distillery) Action: Ritual Magic (Phantasmal Steed) Bonus Action: Familiar stuff, Morty Reaction: N/A

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Being a formal student of the Arcane, Victoria was still puzzled by the mostly desiccated corpses in the hidden distillery. Her magic didn't work on them, but Kosara's did. Yet they did not stir in the slightest, even to defend themselves. On the face of it, these facts were in contradiction to each other, based upon the uncertain status of the corpses. Before, when she began to have her suspicions, she did not share them with the group. Hindsight told her that this was a mistake. This was not Victoria's first adventuring party, even if it was some time since she was in one last, and she had to extend greater trust if she was going to have greater trust given to her in kind. So, the Bard set down the farm cart with a bit of a huff and addressed whomever was still in or around the entrance to the hillside. "I have formal tutoring in Arcana, and it's no secret that my magical proclivities bend toward the school of Necromancy. Here are the issues I have at the moment: To start, I attempted to use a spell to speak with the dead. It failed. The spell was cast, energy used, but it did not take. There are a few reasons this might happen. One of them is if the corpse affected is Undead. Further, Kosara was able to affect the bodies with a spell which only targets creatures, even if those creatures are merely Animated. Like Morty, here." Well, if anyone didn't already know (which would have surprised the Hells out of Victoria), it was now stated openly that she had a pet Undead thrall. The young Half-Elf shook her head and shrugged off her recently acquired knapsack to retrieve her Ritual Book. She continued, "Now, an unattended thrall, or a spontaneously occurring Undead creature - which, by the way, happens more often than you'd think - might attack the living outright, else it would definitely move to defend itself, even if just to try to move out of the way." Her book flipped open to a page detailing a spectral horse. She completed her thought, "Unless it had an existing command not to."

Victoria lat this hang in the air for a moment. There were implications present in this series of statements, which were all true to the best of her knowledge. Said implications were broad, however, so she left it up to others to add their own thoughts to the pot in hopes of getting a differing perspective. "Or this could be something completely different. This is just biased conjecture from my personal point of view. However, it occurs to me that some of these barrels need a better home, so if you will excuse me..." Victoria spent the next few minutes gathering up Ritual energies to form into another Phantasmal Steed. This one, unlike the usual form she chose of a sleek, bone-white riding horse with interesting, nigh magical details, was shorter, stockier, and semi-translucent. One could just barely make out the skeleton of the beast beneath the phosphorescent flesh, ghostly in nature but quite solid - at least solid enough to link its tack up to the cart. A slender socialite of a lady might pull an empty cart about with a little effort, but one laden with really good brandy? This required an amount of horsepower. "Very good, then. We've a little less than an hour before I have to reapply the Ritual. Let us load up what we might and locate it elsewhere, unless there are objections." In that moment, Victoria was somewhat tempted to go for another small glass of the magnificent brandy. Her raven flapped its wings heavily to rise form its perch, giving a quick look around on its mistress's behalf, and remained circling above.