Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Allow me again to apologize for the lateness of my update. The good news is that the update in question has in fact been updated, so there's that. Now, there are a couple of things, and the first one is Exhaustion. Everybody has one level. Everyone worked through the night, and after what was assumed to he a more or less full day of pursuing whatever training, exploration, etc. you're getting yourselves into. One level is mandatory. Now brace for it - I want you to roll a CON save anyway. Make it a DC of 13. This is to see if you get an additional level of Exhaustion. The conditions all of your characters have been working under were brutal. Considering DMG Rules As Written, I believe this to be a lenient, middle ground ruling.

Get with me in our Discord for all of the usual reasons. And thanks again for your patience.

For a refresher, rules on Exhaustion are below:

Level Effect
1 Disadvantage on ability checks
2 Speed halved
3 Disadvantage on Attack rolls and Saving throws
4 Hit point maximum halved
5 Speed reduced to 0
6 Death

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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Weather: The snow remains blanketing the ground, though no more falls from the sky. Unfortunately for everyone outside of doors, the wind has begun to pick up. Certain gusts almost feel like a whip crack against exposed skin. Even for winter in this area, it is unseasonably frigid. To be short, it is cold.

Time: Night. An hour has passed, maybe two, maybe more at the beginning of this update. It's difficult to tell when conditions keep you rooted in the present. Time continues forward as the post progresses to the first light of dawn.

Ambience: No longer still nor quiet, wind whistles past one's ears in a manner most uncomfortable. Wagons creak and rumble along the ground while footsteps crunch snow under the action of (hopefully) careful steps. When the lulls of wind and wagon sounds match up with pauses of the too-few workers speaking, one can yet make out the crackle of multiple small fires burning in their braziers. The scent of grapeseed oil and other, coarser flammable goods catches one's nose only occasionally. The ambient light from the braziers mix with the clear moon overhead to provide enough light to work by, but not remotely enough to discern anything beyond the already worked-upon rows.

*****

What began with uncertainty of action continued into rote repetition until what needed to be done became an exercise akin to muscle memory. Agriculture is a thing which takes years, maybe decades to master, but this task was straightforward enough. Not easy, of course, but straightforward. Gather equipment, set it up, start a fire. Repeat. Gather. Set. Fire. Repeat.

The more colorful methods of handling this, which the adventurers were demonstrating admirably, served to speed the process along in areas, but in the end, the sheer amount of space required to be worked upon turned the night into a respectable shift for a seasoned laborer. For it was not just one field, but the series of fields closest to the Estate House which bore the signature, frost marked, whitish-green Honigblume grapes, which took up the majority of the vines visible from both the Estate House and the Coach House. This was a task.

Baronfjord's song made it out and over the countryside. It was an interesting ditty that, while only a few of the people present knew of it, the rest picked up the chorus readily enough to add their voices to the sounds of the evening. Uplifting in its own way, transformed into a thing more resembling a song to keep cadence in labor. As time passed, there were occasional, sporadic refrains of the chorus which was picked up by others, resulting in shorter recitations of Baronfjord's motivational musical performance.

Despite delays caused by various factors in getting the supplies necessary from the structures to the fields, the combination of Kathryn's strength and the organization made possible by the party's additional wagons and beasts/spells of burden compensated for these, almost completely. Lost ground was still lost ground. Luckily, so long as the new plan of action involving distributing from the larger wagons into the smaller carts for easier use among the rows was in place, lost ground could be recovered in time.

Furthermore, the use of simple spellwork from Kosara and Victoria had a huge impact on getting the braziers lit quickly and seamlessly. Faster than they could be brought out, set down, and filled with fuel, one or the other of them could get them alight. The rows that either of them claimed for themselves was alight before anyone else's, and there was ample time to see to the unlit sections of those around them. Even the ones bearing torches couldn't quite get them going as quickly. There was one exception from an unlikely source, if anyone thought to check with her.

Lizbeth. She moved with no great speed, but was utterly tireless. While others took a few minutes here or there to warm their hands over a fire, she persisted with endurance beyond that which Kathryn had noticed coming from her during their combat training. And her braziers seemed to birth a decent flame almost as quickly as those of the Warlock or the Bard. She would look up every so often, her face seeming to be overly pale in the dim, flickering light of everyone's handiwork, dark circles around her eyes as if from fatigue, though she showed absolutely no sign of slowing. Lizbeth was a machine.

Cecily, however, was not. Despite being a youthful woman of her early middle years, recent times had seen her as more of an administrator or manager of the Estate, as opposed to a person committed to direct labor. One could tell that she knew what she was doing, as she acted with a practiced hand and was no stranger to this sort of work. This did not change the fact that she began to falter in the cold after a while. She slowed down, had to take short breaks more frequently than others more recently suited to manual labor. Madame L'Rose was not having an easy time of it. Still, she insisted upon continuing until one of the laborers, with as much tact as he could muster, insisted that she take a more substantial rest, "...just long enough to close your eyes a little, Madame L'Rose. We can take care of it from here." Reluctantly, she acquiesced.

She was not the only one showing the effects of exhausting labor in the middle of the night amid temperatures cold enough to damage cold-tolerant flora. Others were beginning to slow at about the halfway point of their efforts. Still, everyone pushed on as best they could, knowing what a lost winter crop would mean for not just the L'Roses, but for the greater economy in the area of Southmoor and villages beyond.

It was maybe another hour later that two things happened, and be it the whim of Tymora, Norebo, or some deity more benevolent, both of them were positive. Roused from what might have been a fitful slumber came the squat, broad form of a Dwarf with black facial tattoos, covered in fur-lined leathers and carrying a pot full of steaming liquid. The pot was massive; apparently too massive for this shorter fellow to maneuver comfortably without burning himself (or others), yet he somehow managed. It was Urmdrus the handydwarf, naturally, and the violently steaming pot had the distinct smell of mushrooms wafting from it. He shuffled off a carrying satchel containing a ladle and several cups, all of simple design and excellent craftsmanship.
"Fungus tea. Here to help. Move over; give me a torch."

The other bit of good news was heralded by the flapping of wings. Not immediately, considering the meaning of the expression "as the crow flies." In this instance, it was a Raven. Some time passed between the return of the Familiar and the tromp of boots coming up the way from the main road, bright lanterns at the fore. The party did not recognize any of these new faces with one exception - a woman of maybe twenty years with her mother's steel expression, who once aimed a loaded crossbow in Victoria's direction. "Mother couldn't join us tonight. She apologizes, and sends some volunteers. Where do you need us?"

While the reinforcements do not make for a full complement of laborers and many of them were not agriculture workers, they were desperately needed hands and willing to listen. The sense of a broader community took hold within the people of Avonshire, whether they be from Southmoor, residents of the Vineyard, or collected from the villages dotting the ways and streams around. It was not a perfect, tireless night, but following the morale boost of hot drinks and extra help, those upon the fields managed to get the job done just as the sky lightened to an expectant purple. Exclamations of gratitude rang out from the locals in weary voices as many departed for homes away from these fields and others made for quartering within.

Everyone was tired. Perhaps moreso than they had been for a long time. Bone weariness sapped strength as the weather sapped warmth from bodies, upright or otherwise. Depleted, or nearly so, makes for an apt descriptor.

As people make their mass exodus/grueling trek back home, calling faint farewells and promises of events of camaraderie, first light breaks over the horizon. It is a lovely, colorful start to dawn, accenting the now familiar hillsides in ways which may inspire poetry.

However...

There sit looming shapes upon the nearby hill, backlit by the rising sun. Five of them, humanoid, and unmoving; even against the bitter chill of the near merciless wind. They have remained easily far enough away as to not be detected by the revealing light of the fires, yet obvious of presence for the coming daylight, out in the open. Stoically stand the figures, four of them in posture of supplication or subservience to the fifth, whose height towers above the others like a tyrant, sculpted for this purpose precisely.

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 (Fields Near Estate House -> Coach House -> Back To Fields) Action: Casting a Spell (Prestidigitation) Bonus Action: Familiar stuff, Morty Reaction: N/A

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Now, Victoria did say, and quite out loud, that she was open to take direction. The unspoken other half of that sentence contained the qualifier that she was speaking near exclusively to, and/or about, Cecily L'Rose. Or at least Lizbeth. She was less enthusiastic when a series of ...suggestions... came from Baronfjord. And were it not for the immediateness of the emergency, she might have even shown it. So, while she did not give a rousing and energetic affirmation of what could only tentatively be called "the plan", she did move to implement it. Mostly.

The run back to the Coach House saw her mind process what had happen, and what she intended to do. The day was not great for her. Emotional, for a lady who was good at controlling what feelings she exhibited. Then again, she was already very tired. Tired from the day, tired from the impromptu performance to clear her head, and damn near exhausted on behalf of helping to deal with the sudden outbreak of something virulent or another. She would much rather be in bed. Or nursing tea. Or even copying anatomy and medicine books rather than this. But she could not just leave the L'Rose family's harvest to the ravages of an early freeze. But how to help in a manner that was more efficient than a manual laborer (which was not her strong point by any appreciable means) wasn't immediately forthcoming. Her spellcraft was simply unsuited to things of this nature with expectations of direct influence.

But then the thought occurred that there might be something less direct she could attempt. A quick action summoned her Familiar to her, coming into existence in a flutter of black wings. They both swiftly entered the main room of the Coach House, whereupon Victoria got to work. Morty was at the same place where she left him, and her errand cart was likewise present, though still loaded down with her personal belongings and no small amount of local wine from Harvestide. There might have been less, but why drink less fine vintages when you're living in the place that makes the good stuff? Everything got piled out of her cart; chest, bottles, books, backpack, and incidentals she had for her various nefarious and non-nefarious activities and hitched Morty up to it. She scribbled a quick but legible message on a piece of note-paper and fixed it to her Raven's leg with one of her hair ribbons. It read:

"Medician Floquet,

It is your favorite practitioner of the "dark arts." I apologize for the late arrival of my Raven, doubly so for the request I make of you this evening. The cold has grown with intensity that threatens Madame L'Rose's late harvest and the illness we have been treating has waylaid many of her workers. Without more help, she might lose the crop, which isn't good for anyone expecting wages from the L'Roses this winter. People respect you and your daughter. I know it is late, but if you can convince anyone to help, I am sure that Cecily will express her gratitude. Please, if you can. More is better than less; less is better than none. One or two is still appreciated. Thank you so much for anything you can do.

- V."

Victoria sent her Familiar off with specific instructions. The spirit was to fly to Southmoor; unusual for a raven as they were not known for being nocturnal but possessed eyesight enough to discern how to get to a familiar spot. All the same, a raven calling in the night was rare enough to draw attention, which is what she wanted. It took to the air, setting a path towards town.

Morty was set, the Raven was on its way, and now Baronfjord wanted their mule and wagon. What started out as no problem whatsoever quickly became an issue as she had completely forgotten to empty and downstack the contents of the wagon from earlier - a mistake already made from earlier and one of the duties she had set to herself when they arrived - and so had to waste time doing just this. In the dark. With the mule already attached. This was amazingly suboptimal. To make matters a little comical, the coffin which was reserved for Monsieur L'Rose that the Goblins had appropriated for themselves (after consuming quite a bit of its contents in a drunken stupor) and that Cecily expressly did not want back clattered out of the back awkwardly, as if Victoria was trying to inexpertly move a body in the dark. Sighing, she hauled the thing to the nearest interior wall and leaned it well enough to brace. Then she ran back to the wagon and set off for the fields, Morty in tow.

The now quite tired but heavily determined Bard made her way back toward the twinkling of firelight in front of the silhouette of the Estate House and hopped down, handing the reins off to her Dragonborn companion, Baronfjord, and focused her attention to Morty, and the utility with which the poor, dead beast might provide. Victoria and Morty went to the nearest supply wagon that had arrived and allowed the workers there to put as many stacked braziers as possible into her cart, then claimed a row for herself.

The work itself, in this role, wasn't bad. Or it wouldn't be if she wasn't already dead tired and freezing. Lucky for her, Victoria had a means of speeding things along. As each evenly spaced brazier was set and filled with fuel, she went back behind them and called upon her quieter magics - the classic Prestidigitation - to light them up in short seconds. Every so often, she cast the same spell upon the hidden armor underneath her slim coat or her boots. Sometimes keeping warm pockets helped with her hands. She was a musician. Tough, skilled hands, just not suited to manual labor. Some care had to be taken.

It was at this moment that she realize that her violin was still strapped to her back within its case. Why she hadn't dropped it off made no sense to her whatsoever. Well, too late now. There were controlled fires to place.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

And we have finally made it! I have noted the successes and delays of the characters by means of their dice rolls and declared actions in the IC and/or in Discord. If you're concerned that I didn't catch something in the update, let me know so I can confirm, deny, or wag an unapproving finger at the screen and not tell anyone about it. In any case, now comes the part where the more physical aspect of this event/challenge takes place. Meaning, the characters are all subject to the effects of the environment and work they're doing, and the only way to come out unscathed is to announce that your character is pulling out or quitting. I will be making die rolls in the background for each of us. Those with a low Con score beware.

Now, there are things one can do to help out with this. But I'm leaving that up to your imaginations. It's the middle of the night and well below freezing. You're participating in manual labor. There isn't exactly a burgeoning amount of steady, overhead light to make things easier, and the available firelight is going to mess with darkvision. Good luck.

Oh, and as always, get with me in the Discord about plans of action, die rolls, rulings, etc.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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Weather: The snow has, for the time being, ceased, leaving an otherwise quietish landscape. The winds are barely present, meaning that whatever conditions of temperature are, for the present, static. Lucky for you, these conditions are cold, as if the air itself was still, intangible ice, ready to crack and splinter as the barest tap.

Time: Nighttime. And as we all know, the nighttime is the right time.

Ambience: The stillness of the evening is severely marred by the action cascading upon the grounds of the Rose River Vineyard. Bodies, too few of them, move from place to place as their livelihood for the season depended on it. Thick snow remains, even around the braziers and buckets between the rows of grape vines, though it is retreating slightly. Speaking of which, many small, controlled fires have already been lain equidistant in hopes of maintaining a merely frigid environment, as opposed to a catastrophic one.

*****

It is understandable for the adventurers to not quite comprehend the nature of what needed to be done. Even among agricultural folk, this sort of practice goes against most established norms, but grapes were a unique growing experience that had, like many things, their own set of rules. This particular rule invoked the vintner's need to maintain a balance of conditions and the ability to adapt quickly, which unfortunately was made difficult by the diminished staff, let alone experienced hands. With this in mind, the feel of the evening is "no ideas are bad ideas", even if we know that this philosophy isn't wholly accurate.

And so, we have our scene.

Cecily and Lizbeth both remained in the fields, the former doing her best to direct the activities of the laborers in the dead of night, while the latter joined the labor pool dispensing what portable sources of heat they could. Flint and strikers, tinderboxes, and the like were busied toward the purposes of ignition just as fast as they got the braziers down. The going was demonstrably slow. A lack of light and fumbling commonly associated with the cold made absolutely certain of this. Despite the best people for the job applying the skills of their trade, things were not progressing optimally.

The query posed by Baronfjord concerning the lack of workers was taken seriously by Cecily, who had been giving this no small amount of consideration, herself. "I truly do not know. A lot our usual workers are sick. There might be others on their way, but we won't know until they get here. I don't suppose we might beg, borrow, or steal people in the dead of night from the villages around Southmoor - but there isn't enough time to raise a labor pool from the Township and get back here in time. Not in time for it to matter, anyway." She looked to the edge of the field, hoping to see the first of the carts returning with braziers, only to give an impatient sigh when nothing was forthcoming in the darkness outside of the reach of the meager firelight. "We've worked too hard to lose this crop now."

Delays above and beyond that which was already delayed made matters more hectic. The disappearance of Kathryn for the sake of speeding up the process of getting their equipment to them was noted, as was the sudden absence of Victoria, also hopefully to lend aid to the ordeal in front of them. It was an unpleasant mixture of hope and worry - one assumes that the adventurers had left to gather resources, but the default Madame of the Estate and the younger Heiress Apparent might have felt better with all hands available on site. Still, all they could do was wait and work with what they had, little though it was.

Ever attempting to manage the emergency, Cecily took Kosara's words into her planning as best she could, considering that her knowledge of spellcraft seemed to stop and start with how to spell the word "magic". She gave a quick look in the Tiefling's direction and proclaimed, "Yes, well... Okay. Forgive me; I don't know what that means. I can see that you're very well lit, which I am sure will be of help to anyone around you tonight. I hope it helps your unseen servants, too. If it means more hands, then please have them offload the braziers in the same pattern as the others, if they ever get here." The last bit came with a scrap more of impatience.

As the hour progressed, the first of the wagons Kathryn was loading up began to arrive. There was a delay, true, brought about by the difficult terrain of snow as well as the tall lady getting a touch lost in the process, but just as soon as the vineyard's carts reached the proper storage shed (and the workers got over the fearful novelty of an actual giant loading them up) they were on their way back to the unfolding emergency in mostly quick order.

Shortly after this, Victoria arrived in the driver's set of their covered, mule-drawn army wagon. Next to her, jerkily navigating the uneven, frozen ground was her burlap-wrapped companion, pulling the Bard's now emptied errand cart. The cart itself would not haul any great loads, but it might help between the rows as suggested by their Monk associate earlier. The timing of her arrival coincided very near to the arrival of the vineyard's hauling vehicles, implying that the lady had her own delays. Hopefully, the presence of the tireless, not-quite-dead Morty and their more maneuverable, much smaller cart would help make up some of this time.

Lizbeth, for anyone giving her notice, had grown quiet, apparently immersing herself in the work of setting up what equipment they had alongside their present workers and getting fires going. Many carried their own sources of fire, in the form of torches, tinderboxes, or the like; each getting this initial field lit up as best they could. Lizbeth seemed to take to it with remarkable speed, spending no more than a couple seconds at each brazier/bucket before a decent blaze was going. Cecily pulled her own weight as well. Yes, she was the lady who handed out salaries and signed papers now, but her familiarity with the task at hand marked her as a woman unafraid of getting her hands dirty. Temperance and stubbornness had replaced a shaving of the vigor she might have had a decade prior; to her credit, she maintained herself respectably. When the carts carrying more braziers arrived, she exhaled her relief and called to anyone in her vicinity, "Gods above, they've arrived! Let's get started in earnest! There is so much left to do!"

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 (Fields Near Estate House) Action: N/A Bonus Action: Familiar stuff Reaction: N/A

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The approach to the field was not particularly long for Victoria, but it was illuminating, both literally and metaphorically. true, she had run off practically mid-sentence, but felt a bit better about it when she heard the heavier footfalls of Kathryn behind her. She was without her usual cadre of thralls, even if most of them were recent of origin. It might not have been fair to categorize her Raven as a thrall, persay, as the spirit-made-flesh was bound to her by ritual as opposed to manifested with Necromancy. And her Phantom Steed wasn't exactly a thrall, either, so much as a ritually invoked force of semi-real shadowstuff, formed partially from her own imagination. Victoria was a Bard. She was good at imagination. Morty, on the other hand, was most assuredly her thrall. The forces which animated the formerly living (and now potentially very tasty) swine were an arcane extension of herself, utterly loyal but ultimately temporary of animation.

But this line of thought was alien to the scene at hand. Knowing virtually nothing about agriculture, nor the growing of wine grapes particularly, all she knew was that an alarm was ringing and fires where burning where they generally, instinctively, really shouldn't be. Moreover, through the illumination of the fires and moon above, cloud cover notwithstanding, she cold detect the arrival of the rest of the group, plus Lizbeth. Logically, if she was not maniacally trying to put the fires out, then it wasn't quite the emergency she assumed it might be. And she would have the answers, being winefolk, even if she was a bit young. So her footfalls altered in direction just enough to bring her into her presence. As Victoria ran, she summoned up the mental fortitude to call upon her newest spiritual assistant. Her raven appeared beside her in a silent spark of necrotic energy, already to wing and flying higher as seconds passed. An spoken command was sent to the creature to keep an eye out in their periphery, hopefully to let her know if anything or anyone unexpected might come upon them in the gloom outside of the firelight.

When she arrived, Victoria listened to the explanation and filled in as best she could from context. They wanted the fires. And Cecily wanted them to do the things that adventurers stereotypically might for the betterment of their crop. It wasn't the worst thing that she had been asked to handle. However, she has no idea how her magic, somewhat specialized as it was, would be of help here past the odd parlor trick. If nothing else, magic aside, she was an excellent lifter of morale. The power of her voice in the most mundane but talented of application could work wonders with one's resolve. Never underestimate the ability of a Bard to motivate. Beneath the fancy hat and death-oriented spellwork, Victoria was a Bard at her very core.

However, Victoria was also tired. A full day and more of work, from sunup to nearly sundown, her emotional outburst, light hike to the watchtower and centering performance there had left very little time to rest, and from what she was hearing this was going to be an all-night affair. She would really rather be someplace warm right now with a cup of something warming and lightly spiced. Victoria was not known for her prowess with manual labor, nor as her ability to pass as a workhorse. Nevertheless, she did not immediately leave the L'Roses and staff to their own devices. With a sigh, and subtle corrections to her expression to suppress any lingering exhaustion or emotion from her features, she adjusted her voice to be heard over the movement of the workers in their vicinity and stated, "I know not what special service I may provide, but I am open to direction until I can think of one."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Oh, we're all optimized for combat and/or social gatherings, full of good stories and quirky personalities galore, aren't we? But what if the challenge has absolutely nothing to do with any of that? And so, here we are. Granted, an uninvolved person can just as easily go back to bed and not help a widowed lady and an orphaned girl save their last harvest of the year from the punishing and unexpected cold of the season, but what would that make you? Let us add to this the fact that they recently lost their family patriarch and lived through a traumatizing experience involving megalomaniacal wererats, AND you're a guest of their estate. But no, you go ahead and get some Zs. It'll probably be okay.

Take to this challenge in any way that you wish to. Possible avenues include (but are by zero means limited to):

The proper equipment for this is still being offloaded for delivery in a storage shed elsewhere on the property. It's taking a while so the workers present are improvising. One might assist in the improvisation somehow, or conversely attempt to locate and assist the people going after the equipment. One might attempt to go to Southmoor to rally people to help; conversely there are other, smaller villages scattered throughout the area who might not have been touched as much by the illness running amok. Or, as Cecily suggested, the player characters have abilities beyond your average Larry the Laborer. Perhaps some of these can be made to suit the task somehow. Also, as she suggested, just being there to do physical work will be of good, respectable help. Whatever task you undertake, in fact, much of this will be needed per character before this is over. Even mundane support like fetching hot soup or the like would be useful.

There are bound to be complications. In fact, I've already made a list of stuff that can go down, and will improvise. Skill checks are open for grabs if applicable to the task undertaken. Get with me and we can work something out, regardless. Per usual, hit me up on Discord. I'm curious to see what you all will decide to do.

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. No, you're not having a stroke (probably) and I didn't copy/paste the last update (also probably, it's been a rough week). But it remains true, the weather is indeed frightful. The fire being delightful is a whole other matter. But to basics - It is frightfully cold, in comparison to even the last few days of consistent snow. What might have been, and indeed was, a picturesque winter landscape remains, with fat, quiet flakes of snow drifting downwards with only small, occasional gusts of biting wind. Just not in the direction that draws your attention.

Time: Evening. The sun is firmly set and night has fallen across the landscape.

Ambience: There is indeed fire spotting the field nearest to the Estate House, but don't let that detract from the gentle snow and illuminating moonlight across the moors of southern Avonshire. With that one, tiny detail aside, it's actually rather pleasant outside in a crystal cold sort of way. Thick snow had accumulated over the highs and lows of the Vineyard, supplied quietly by the continuing drop of picture-perfect crystaline flutters of winter precipitation. One's breath practically steams dragonlike in the cold, cold air, when it isn't taken away by the beauty and majesty of the moment.

Then you look straight ahead of you. The image, ironically, darkens.

*****

Nearing the field, one can see that this isn't a horrifying fire out of control, at least not yet. Nor is it one single fire stretching across the landscape. Instead, this is a series of metal braziers and smaller buckets, a couple burn barrels which the laborers would use to warm themselves while working during the cold season, really anything which can be tasked to the purpose of holding a fire within it. These implements appeared to be placed with intent by a slim few number of workers - even less than the skeleton crew that the Rose River Vineyard had for the winter harvest of icewine. The overall atmosphere is tense.

Lizbeth, running ahead of the group from the Coach House, did slow to a jog as she neared the scene unfolding. Her head jerked from side to side, looking for some sense of order to it all, or at least someone she might ask. The hustle of bodies moving and general din of the occasion make it difficult to pinpoint a single voice, but the young lady's words ring with a shrillness similar to desperation, if not an amazing amount of clarity. It takes a few moments, but she is finally answered by her aunt, whose skirts are gathered up in her hands in front of her to assist in a speedier approach. The first words which were understandable to Kosara and Baronfjord as they approached came from Lizbeth. "Aunt Ceecee, this is weeks too early, isn't it?"

Cecily looked quite like she was only half put-together. That is to say, a traditional person of the upper classes would say that she was "not dressed to receive" in any appreciable manner. Another, more common person might say that she looked like she rolled out of bead and threw the first thing on which might secure her modesty before bolting out of the door. She also looked winded, not to mention touched by both smoke and frost. The Lady of the Vineyard appeared pleased to see Lizbeth, not mentioning the fact that she was still wearing that armor and carrying her new weapons at all, as more important things were happening. "The river is freezing, Lizbeth! The hard cold came early, and we haven't harvested a single grape yet!" She looked behind her niece and spotted the adventurers, trying to explain in elevated tones, "Honigblume grapes - we need them to freeze in the winter! Kills off the noble rot, makes them sweeter!" A pause for a breath, "Deep freeze will ruin them! River, running water. If the river starts to freeze, the entire crop can be lost!" The explanation was a bit stiff, but Cecily knew what she was talking about even if others didn't.

From the more distant point of view of Kathryn and Victoria as they ran down from the watchtower, more could be observed of the field. Specifically, as they got a little closer, the light which obscured those below from a broader view of the area actually assisted the Knight and Bard. They could pick out Cecily, Lizbeth, and their fellow party members meeting just to one side of the main field nearest the Estate House, and were they to move to approach, the two of them would arrive to witness the conversation at about this point.

Lizbeth reached out to help steady her aunt and took over explaining as tersely as she might and still pass on relevant information, "The river is our indicator. We try to harvest before the deep freeze gets here, but it comes early sometimes. If this happens, we have to set up fires to keep as much of the crop as we can. Otherwise our late season is lost. We have a small staff for the winter harvest, and so many of them can't work because of the sickness spreading in the villages around here. Every hour, more of our crop is lost, and this would take most of night with a full labor pool!" There appeared to be only a handful for workers, comparatively, committing to a job better suited to a full shift of them.

"Wait, you're adventurers!" declared Cecily, a twinge of desperation of her own twanging in her speech. "You all have ...I don't know, things you can do, right? Can you please help us with this? Even if I'm being foolish, we can use as many young and strong hands on this as we can!"

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 (Watchtower -> Fields Near Estate House) Action: N/A Bonus Action: Familiar stuff, Morty Reaction: N/A

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Victoria acknowledged the compliment to her music with a slight nod and neutral expression. It was nice to hear that others liked her primary form of artistic expression, though the emotional effort that it would have taken to demonstrate her appreciation just didn't seem worth it right then. The music, the dance - it served to center her, and she did truly feel better. The weight of the last few weeks was still heavy, however. Between the illness and the accident, not to mention the usual foot traffic of a rural trade stop with an experienced "village healer" (and her new lovely, exotic helper) had kept her stressed and busy seemingly constantly, day through night. On top of this, the academic portion that her mentor insisted she complete was the exact opposite of how Victoria figured she would be learning this new skill set. She just didn't feel like investing herself in faking graciousness.

Yet in her own way, this was a compliment of her own. A social defense was taken down in front of Kathryn that she would have kept up among people with whom she was less familiar. Her voice was still melodic, still perfectly inflected where it needed to be to put across intent of her words, but Victoria spoke with a weary quality and a grim sort of frankness that sounded just as much a confession as it might a slice of storytime."Yes. 'A lot of good for these people.' Yes I did." She looked up to the tall and powerfully built woman who was offering a mug of warmed wine and took it. She inhaled the vapors and sipped it once, giving the potable an ounce of pleasant regard before continuing. "I think it's only right that you know; I am learning this for my own devices. The Medician has already threatened to murder me because of what I am, but took it back because I'm 'dedicated'. But the truth is, she's not wrong." Victoria continued to look up at Kathryn. Let judgement fall where it may, she was honestly tired in that moment of putting up pretense. "My magic is naturally starting to come together in ways that maneuver across the boundaries of life, death, and that grey area in between. I'll never be as good as a Wizard, Kathryn. I just won't. So I'm trying to learn about these concepts from a mundane point of view. In the past three weeks I have seen a lot of sick and dying bodies. Women, men, children, all afflicted indiscriminately by disease and trauma. I've performed amputations. An actual bonesaw. Or slipped a wide blade between joints like I was dismembering a chicken. I'm doing this so I can learn Surgery. Anatomy. Hells, Kat - I'm almost certain I know enough to improve the utility of an animated corpse, so long as I can work on it for a while first."

There wasn't much hope of Victoria keeping her darker thoughts inside of herself at this point, and as the proverbial cats were tumbling out of the equally proverbial bag, she just kept going. But not without the occasional pause to sip her wine. "Naturally, being a mundane Healer will have merit within any adventuring group, but the truth is I'm doing this to become a better Necromancer. And as I cannot be a truly powerful, single-purposed one, then I shall study to become a more versatile, less predictable Necromancer. I cannot tell Annick that she was correct about me, nor do I wish to quit learning from her. But midwifing alone for that woman today - if she knew, would she have let me anywhere near her baby? Would anyone?"

Victoria allowed the question to linger as if she contemplated it further, herself. In reality, she was waiting to gauge Kathryn's reaction to her admission. It was only a matter of time before the Bard could perform the classic acts of magic attributed to her Wizardly counterpart, and her non-standard supplementary abilities enhanced this. Victoria was what she was. And she half expected to brace for an attack from Kathryn, puzzled as to how she might defend herself - or ofnshe might bother to. "I appreciate your offer for help. But no, I need to push through this for myself. Fruitful study via immersion."

Something caught Victoria's eye in the distance. It looked like the start of several small fires in the distance, or one large one which was very low to the ground, from her angle. And near the Estate House. She kept speaking, but her voice trailed off as the image of what was going on became clearer. "The truth is, I'm cursed..." Then the alarm was sounded. Whatever the rest of Victoria's thought was, it would have to go unvocalized for now. Almost to contrast, her words suddenly took on a more certain quality as she said, "I'm going to see if anyone needs help down there." While Victoria did not know what was happening, she was fairly confident that the concepts of "fire" and "farmland" did not readily mix. The rest of her wine disappeared at a gulp and she took off in at a jog, violin case on her back.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Welcome back from whatever flavor of winter holiday floats your collective boats. We're going to, as mentioned earlier in our Discord, kind of ease back into posting coming into the New Year. To that end, you can see what's up with the IC. Feel free to continue and/or wrap up conversations between characters amongst yourselves if you want to, just make sure that you make a choice about responding to the bit at the end of the update by the end of your posts this cycle. Ignoring this is an option, if you think it's a matter for the staff. Just know that it's getting really cold outside, and the current clack is a'clacking.

Per our usual, hit me up in the Discord for questions, rolls, etc., and have the spiffiest of days.