Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Rapid Reader@Lewascan2

End of day, beginning of Day Two.

In short, if you haven't closed out the day, please do so first. Bring your character to the next day by the end of your next post. It can be as simple as "Returned to the Inn and passed out", or as complicated as you like, so long as you've got your character back in the taproom of The Infamous Pear early in the morning.

As usual, please hit me up with questions. We should be properly underway and rolling out of Darenby soon. Also as usual, thank you for your prompt responses.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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The Infamous Pear, 1F

The Infamous Pear, 2F

The Infamous Pear began to fill with patrons following the musical stylings of the two entertainers. Performances had a way of doing this, particularly in outlying regions, and is one of the reasons that entertainers tended not to pay for their own drinks. The type of people who entered the establishment seemed to be locals judging by clothing; professional garb of tradesmen and the slightly more sophisticated attire of shopkeepers was the baseline, with hands calloused or smudged with ink as appropriate. They all seemed to know each other judging by initial acts of familiarity, and the big buzz of the room (at least at first) was that Owen and Guido had somehow acquired house entertainment. When the drinks began to flow more liberally, discussion turned elsewhere; business, crops, the continuing question of the situation with Goblins, or the coming of the Harvestide celebration.

A few outsiders made their way in. Not many, but their attire spoke to proclivities foreign to the Avonshire region. Some donned armor and a few more than that carried weapons of some kind. Guardsfolk who were present, on and off duty, paid some notice of these people before making their own assessments of threat, and then dismissing the idea of looking into them further. So long as blade did not clear scabbard, they seemed content to live and let live.

The overall temperature of The Infamous Pear began to drop noticeably. The influx of customers opening the doors to the establishment was the obvious villain here, allowing the autumn night air to enter with impunity. It had gotten chillier over the past hour, and the fire could only do so much. After the brunt of the fresh blood entered the taproom proper and the door remained closed for a time, this began to abate. Nevertheless, it stood as a reminder that the last harvest of the year was upon them. More wood was placed upon the fire and the thick curtains of the dense, translucent windows were pulled closed, providing some insulation from the outside temperature.

Overall, the rush of business lasted for about two more hours as the mostly local crowd had their libations, spoke their conversations, and then left, presumably to their homes. Darenby was a place which existed primarily for commerce; a stop along a trade route linking the region to the sea and deeper into the kingdom. Especially with Harvestide, these people had storefronts and contracts which required their attention the following day. A smaller percentage of these people stayed, either to drink themselves into oblivion or because they did not wish to face the evening's chill just yet.

Outside of The Infamous Pear, things seemed still. There were very few who walked the streets that evening. Those who did kept their movements short, getting to where they needed to go with zero dallying. Exhalations of breath condensed into swirling cones of misty white, giving the appearance of pipeless pipe smokers or the pantomime of a baby white dragon at play. The night was clear, cloudless; though the air had bite the stars shone brightly and a gibbous moon hung in the sky. It was an ideal evening for stargazing to anyone with access to a roof, or open enough area to get a good, wide view of the celestial show before them.

Otherwise, the evening passed without incident. No random events which might have occurred due to the tumble of cosmic dice came to pass, and though Fort Darenby was a place of semi-rural intrigue, nothing so scandalous was in the stars, proverbial or otherwise.

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When morning came, as mornings tend to do with enough passage of time, a frost had settled upon the ground. The interior of The Infamous Pear was quiet for the most part, except for a determined knocking sound in the kitchen. A lingering sour smell of ale from multiple small spills over the course of a busy evening could be detected faintly, but above this a grander aroma of baking bread and something spicy-sweet hung in the air, dancing amid olfactory promises of something smoked and meaty. Breaking the still of the morning came a dulcet siren's call from the kitchen, melodious and clear:

"Damnit, damnit, DAMNIT!"

Okay, so it wasn't precisely dulcet, nor melodious, nor might any self-respecting Siren have made a call like this. But it was clear, and was followed by the sound of repeated, metallic, blunt trauma being inflicted upon a hopefully inanimate object within the kitchen. Perhaps more accurately, if it was not inanimate before, it certainly was now. It was May, and she was doing her level best at her profession.

Still in a nightshirt and droopy sleeping cap, Guido sauntered out of the kitchen area to put the last of a decent, breakfasty feast upon the Adventurer's Table, that being the same one they were seated around the previous evening. The table bore the weight of thick, white, semi-spherical loaves of bread with a jar of honey and a thick jam made from spicy peppers, a serving bowl filled with scrambled eggs, a wax-rind wedge of a white, crumbly cheese, and a platter of seasoned, baked apples. Guido's last platter held a bevy of linked sausages of unknown origin and pile of bacon. All in all it was far more then was needed for a group of six.

Whichever of the party assembles at the table or makes an appearance downstairs, Guido will be sure to greet and wish a fortunate morning to. He will also produce a letter from Gregory Arbalest, carefully folded (though considering that he's still in a nightshirt, where he kept it remains a frightening mystery), and read from it aloud:

Letter, Mk2

-
Adventurers,

I have regretfully been called away to handle business related to the logistics and safety of the Avonshire region, and will not be present to see you off. I apologize for my absence. One of my men will be available upon your departure to answer any questions that he may, and deliver any messages to me that you might have in return. I understand that this is not ideal. Let us strive to maintain the plan as it was discussed. Also, let us hope that the various hiccups so far in this noble endeavor bear a more positive result in the end. I do not know any of you well enough to give a fair accounting of your mettle, though I often find that strength of virtue can come from the most irregular or places and oddest of alliances.

May the Light speed and protect you on your journey.

At about this time, May slammed open the door and exited the kitchen, walking backward as not to disturb the tea service she was carrying. From the cutting, mildly acidic smell coming from the steaming pot, this was quite strong tea, indeed. "Fine, here ya go. Tell me if you want something else before I take my break, okay?" Snappy words, though she meant them professionally. Sort of.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 3 HP: 23 / 23 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: The Infamous Pear Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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The call from Kosara to perform, just prior to the private conversation with Marita, did not fully leave her mind regardless of the situational importance of the talk with the lady Cleric. This was partly what Victoria had in mind when she said that she felt a song's swift approach, though to be quite frank she'd rather get a set of her own in before taking on a partner. Again, Victoria's penchant for compromise when it was necessary came into play here. She wasn't wandering on the road by herself at the moment and needed to maintain decent relations with the people with whom she would embark on this little adventure. And of course, the goading (if that's what it was) from Marita would have to be answered with an example of her Epic Bard-ness, such as it was.

To Victoria, the way she spoke about her music wasn't so much of a brag, though she did have occasion to do this, as it was an explanation of the type of music which served her Bardic College. In her case, the College of the Grey Requiem (which was referred to by the uninitiated as the College of Necromancy but was in fact an offshoot of Lore) taught a performer various styles, both sorrowful and joyous, based around funerary customs. However, this most certainly did NOT mean that she couldn't pack a tavern. Or a music hall. Or an arena, if she got enough advance notice. And so, she strode over to her violin case and reverently removed the rich, polished wooden stringed instrument. The bow slid from the back of the violin, soundlessly and effortlessly molding into Victoria's hand like it belonged there, just as much as a sword in the hand of a duelist. She looked to Kosara, speaking the terms of her compromise, "I shall perform the first one solo, if this doesn't bother you too much. It should bring in a decent enough amount of folk, who might then become entranced by your rhythmic steps of the southern deserts while in greater spirits." There wasn't a pause to converse on the plan so much as it was a statement for her information - Victoria was doing her own thing first. Hopefully the explanation would suffice.

The fire in the hearth at the back of the stage was starting to catch a little brighter, giving the tap room a nice, homey feel. Victoria took her hat from the table and placed it toward the front of the stage, should any generous patron with to throw in a coin (or another suspicious letter for an adventure, like the last time). Before climbing up, the optimistic Bard removed her close-fitting purple coat to more fully reveal black silks underneath, and moved her silver raven's skull brooch to pin it thereupon. Red-auburn hair flowed to one side, pinned up on the other to better accommodate her instrument beneath her chin. She was a woman of svelte frame, slender and dexterous while still maintaining the ideal of an unmistakably feminine figure, with bright eyes and an infectious smile. This demeanor, these mannerisms; it was hard to say whether it was intended as part of a coming performance or simply her natural state of existence. Such was the life of a Bard.

Victoria brought herself up to the stage with practiced grace, holding her violin with reverence. She made an overt flourish with the bow, catching the attention of some of the inn's patrons, who in turn motioned to others. The flourish then turned into practiced motions, as a conductor might move a baton. Trails of magic seemed to blur the clearer lines of reality around the violin bow, then the lady wielding it, and soon a pulsing rhythm of sound swelled from behind Victoria. Musical accompaniment, at once distant and easily perceived, crystalized even before she pulled her bow across the strings of her instrument. The song she began cut through the air and filled the senses of those present, its notes reaching out from the confines of The Infamous Pear and into the streets beyond. As the dulcet sounds solidified into a grand performance, Victoria began to move and sway along with it.

Victoria could dance, and in fact danced with an amazing degree of proficiency, made more impressive by the observation that she simultaneously, flawlessly played her violin, never missing so much as a single note. The dance was not a structured set of choreographed steps, but, like the nature of Bardic magic, felt like movement spontaneously directed by the music of the moment. It was sensual acrobatics put to music, tastefully performed to demonstrate mastery of self, mastery of instrument, and mastery of the crowd which was by this time starting to enter The Infamous Pear in earnest, having heard the first notes from the street and stood compelled to find the source of the dulcet, soul-calling sounds. Victoria owned the stage, as if she had laid the polished planks herself and lovingly carved each joint which held it together. The townsfolk of Darenby could only look upon her with stunned, enchanted silence.

Until, of course, the first percussion of applause broke this silence. Then it exploded into a cacophony of approval. Victoria bowed, giving the appropriate demonstrations of gratitude. While the applause started to die down, Victoria motioned to Kosara and declared over the noise of the patrons, "If you were looking for an audience, Warlock, I have found one for you." She smiled, again weaving the minor magics which brought about an otherworldly accompaniment of rhythm. For one versed in the music, this was the opening to a piece influenced by, if not exactly, a traditional style of the southern deserts. Victoria supplemented the appropriate pauses of her violin as the song progressed with melodic vocalizations, showing decided proficiency for the art. For this song, she kept her movements more subdued. The goal was to draw attention to the dancer more than herself. A good performer, in her experience, knows when and when not to take center stage. This highlighted the dances native to Kosara's culture, not her own.

This time, when the applause occurred, Victoria likewise took up clapping and cheering, motioning toward the pale Tiefling lady to ensure praise outwardly flowed in her direction. This also gave her an opportunity to, now that fewer eyes were upon her, to see how many (if any) coins of the realm were deposited in her hat. Her mind went back to a similar performance a couple of days ago, dredging up a little anxiety as to what she might do if there really was a letter left there.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Rapid Reader@Lewascan2

We are nearing an end-of-day. Not quite there yet, but soon. Room assignments may be discussed in the OOC or Discord as you like, but representation must be observed in the IC here. If it was not clear from context, the rooms discussed are the two rightmost rooms across from each other in the map titled The Infamous Pear, 2F located in the header of the most recent IC update. The lower room on the map only has two beds, and will be getting the cot.

Now is a good time for standard tavern stuff if you want, or to call it an early night if you don't. If you enter the rooms, you will note that the upper one has a window which faces out to a receiving area and stable in the back of the building. The lower room's window faces out to the street.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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The Infamous Pear, 1F

The Infamous Pear, 2F

The continuing discussion, with its new qualities of volume and tone, and drew attention from many of the remaining patrons of The Infamous Pear. One table of off-duty soldiers paid a little more attention but did not go for their weapons as of yet. It seemed that colorful discourse was par for the course in places like this, as anyone who had been in town for more than a couple of days might attest. Regardless, attention had been drawn, if not swords.

The proprietors, Laurel and Hardy both, noted this and decided that this was an appropriate time to interject with a little official business. As Mr. Hardy prepared another round of drinks for the lot of those at the Adventurers' Table, the more diminutive but somewhat more socially adept Mr. Laurel approached the table, a bright smile on his face the belied an expression of muted anxiety. "Hello!" he began, pulling an unoccupied chair from a table nearby and climbing up onto it to better address the much taller people at the table. A final grunt put him on his feet, even at this point he was only a head above the average seated person (except for Kathryn, obviously). Speaking of the vertically gifted lady, upon seeing that they were about eye level while she was sitting down and he was standing in a chair, Guido let out an involuntary whisper of "...tall..." before snapping back to his best approximation of a customer service smile.

More officially now, he spoke, "Gentle ladies and sir, a scant moment of your attention please. A-Thank you. You see, there was an unexpected, um, factor when our noble Sheriff made his bookings, but don't worry! The staff of The Infamous Pear shall take care of you admirably, I assure you!" He did seem very optimistic about whatever he was trying to say. "Overbooking is such a tragedy. There's no need for any of us to sleep in a stable tonight, oh no." He paused and glanced about the table, waiting to see how the joke was received by the irregular group of armed, magic using, loud people in front of him. Shaking it off, he continued, "I have had the unique honor of shuffling a couple of our guests about so that we have two rooms available for all of you; the first two on either side as you ascend the stairs. Now, an asture observer (as I know you all are!) might notice that one room has three beds and the other has but two. I shall personally see to the appropriation of a fine garrison cot with a lovely goose-down cushion for one lucky, lucky person - whomever wishes to claim it for their own!" His head bobbed with pure positivity. "Or however you decide to divvy up your numbers. In essence, three to a room, none of that provincial 'common room' headache from us, no indeed! And of course, for the evening, the bill has already been settled. I do hope you enjoy your stay with us."

As an afterthought, Guido added, "The sun is down, the lights are up, and the labor of the day is done. This is the time when this establishment becomes busy for a time. I mention this with no stress or enticement in mind, only to let you know that the taproom may become much more occupied shortly. Please let me know if you need anything else; refreshments, your bags handled, etc." He gave a bow and hopped back down, scuttling off with his chair dragging behind him just in time for Owen to arrive with the tray of beverages.

Owen began passing them out with skill demonstrating decades' worth of booze-slinging prowess, giving little mental notations as he went along. "Ale... tea... mulled wine... here, here, and... there we are." He even switched out the pitcher of cool, clear water in the middle of the table next to the communal bread & butter, should anyone prefer it. "Whenever any of you are ready, that is, if you should happen to require it (and not to say that you can't handle things on your own, mind you, ma'ams and sir, I'm sure you're all highly capable folk), I would be very happy - happy - to show you to your rooms; now or whenever you have decided how you'll be splitting up the accommodations, of course." He looked hesitant, but quickly assured the persons present, "Oh! And never you concern yourself with ...other things... MUM is still the word, you see." He gave a conspiratorial nod and backed up a pace, giving a little distance but ready in case anyone took him up of his offer.

True to the words of Mr. Laurel, the door opened, admitting not just a draft of chill autumn night air but a trio of people who resembled tradesmen. They made their way up to the bar for the Halfling to take their drink orders. The door opened again to admit another local, this one by himself. The place took on the atmosphere of a brief pause before a coming rush.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 3 HP: 23 / 23 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: The Infamous Pear Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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It really had been a good idea to ask questions. Mostly because the answers that the older man gave were pretty useful. For an investigation, yes, but also because it was just these kinds of details which made for a great story to write about later. But even more interesting were the answers given about their little extras of compensation. Hers being mentioned was unnecessary but well received, she guessed. A deal had already been made. But the Sheriff seemed like one of these "ordered" type of people that probably liked things filled out in triplicate and signed by witnesses, so this wasn't completely unexpected. A nonverbal expression of acknowledgement followed and that really should have been the end of that.

Until the discussion went back to the topic of magical items, Victoria might as well have been listening to the sour notes of a novice horn section. Talk of a magical pot from the Sheriff's chambers - a chamber pot, one might surmise, damn near brought about a giggle. No, it couldn't be that, she reasoned, attempting to keep her thoughts as pure as her own sketchy history would allow. This meaning: not very well.

In any case, when the Sheriff excused himself and left the table, Victoria made it a point to call a quick farewell with a spirited wave accompanying. She had never had much use for local authorities, though in fairness that might have been a two way street. But this guy seemed like a decent enough fellow. Direct without being self-righteous. It was good to note. And he was quite right as amid the clatter and swearing coming from the kitchen, their supper soon emerged.

It had been a little longer than was comfortable since Victoria had a good, hot meal, and the one being plated in front of her reminded her of this with a sense of urgency. It was enough to cause a grumble from her midsection which she hoped didn't get around to the rest of the table. It seemed unlikely, given the noise of all the dishes being clattered down in front of people and the grumbling of the kitchen mistress, May. Nevertheless, a tiny bit of self-consciousness reared from within Victoria. The good news was that this was easily remedied by the delicious looking lamb stew in front of her. Maybe a slice or two of the thick, brown bread in the middle of the table, too. This little outing was fast becoming pleasant.

This last feeling came to a jolting halt as she managed to catch the careless blurting of words from the shorter proprietor of The Infamous Pear, Guido Laurel. Only three letters. This caused a quizzical eyebrow raise and momentary lapse in her appetite. This was definitely getting more interesting with each passing moment. What could that have meant? If he only sent three, were others at the table playing at some sort of angle? Were they planted there for a nefarious purpose? Or perhaps directed by powers with vested interest in the outcome of their investigation? Or maybe someone caught wind of this, forged a bunch of letters, and scampered over for the free meal. Victoria had done worse for less.

Of everyone at the table, the Tiefling lady seemed oblivious to this new revelation. Or she was playing her own game with this information, prompting a discussion of personal natures between their newfound colleagues. She might have even answered this, were it not for what came next, smashing her willingness to open up like a ton of bricks. The Cleric ...had just made a Clerical error.

Divine magic rushed over Victoria, promising to remove her free will of colorful expression. Not that lies were amazingly helpful with this current predicament, but she was very disappointed at the lack of agency given to their discussion. This kind of magic was not the type she with which she was intimately versed, nevertheless it did have properties which were familiar. This attack was intended to compel her compliance. Though she had faults, Victoria was blessed with a powerful strength of personality which allowed her to effortlessly fend off the initial brunt of the divine compulsion. This showed externally as a slight twitch of her head, like she was just noting a chill in the air, before all hell broke loose at the table. While the others spoke their piece, Victoria reached across to cut herself a slice of bread, butter it, and take a small bite for herself.

Victoria was not happy, but this only showed in her eyes. Her lips held a little smile, possibly contemplating the simple goodness of the thick, warm bread or the creamy, homemade butter upon it. After a break in the outrage happened and she swallowed her bite, the Bard turned her attention over to Marita. Careful words were formed as she spoke. "You know, you're the only one who didn't ask for anything for supper, Marita." Victoria picked up the large bowl of popped sorghum and slid it across the table slightly, offering it in her general direction. "I got this for you, in case you changed your mind about supper. I know us girls have to watch our figure, but we might have a hard road ahead and everyone has to be at their best". She smiled, blinked twice, and cocked her head slightly to the side. "The bread is really nice, too. Tastes fresh baked."

A metal spoon poked at the steaming stew in front of Victoria, a more natural smile gracing her features now. It did smell alluring. But instead of digging in, she continued speaking, "Like I said before (and take this for whatever it's worth to you), I found my letter in my hat, expecting a tip, two towns over. I don't know who put it there." Finally, Victoria took a little sip from her spoon, sampling the savory, nutty, minty broth that formed the common ground for the rest of the ingredients. This prompted a quiet yet bubbly, "Mmm!" before she moved on. "I had hoped we might be friends. I still do. Or - or at least civil to one another. Permission," she explained, scowling out that last word before resetting her features to something sweeter, more pleasant, "about such things is important if we're going to work together civilly."

Glancing about the table, Victoria suggested to all present, "Oh, but you must try this butter. Marvelous."

Behind her and to she side, Morty the gaunt, burlap-wrapped pig, stood staring straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to the events around him.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Rapid Reader@Lewascan2

To repeat the announcement from our Discord server:

Those involved in the plot wrinkle, please do not discuss this with others in the OOC, here on Discord, or anywhere else except for the IC, and I will stress, meaning in character. If you are involved, please start a new PM here in RPGuild should you have questions on how to proceed. Thank you for your cooperation with this.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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The Infamous Pear

Gregory took in all of the questions with grim silence, his eyes moving from one person speaking to another in sequence. He remained stoic throughout all of this, not offering anything more than a quiet clearing of his throat or a quizzical raise of an eyebrow. Once he even took a sip from his foamy tankard of ale, but this was the extent to his reaction. When everyone had said their piece, he took in a deep, wearied breath, and addressed what questions he could.

"I have few names to give, that I can speak with certainty. Some who have gone missing and returned claim regular affairs in line with their routines which are difficult to dispute. I suspect that there would be others who returned who have not been reported for similar reasons. With reliability, I can provide a list by morning with a few names of those who have gone missing, and not come back. Everything else is conjecture."

He gave a moment of thought and continued, "Nor can I say how long, as a whole, the victims were missing. I have reports of a few hours to a couple of days. This makes it difficult to say exactly when they vanished. So far as what they had in common..." He sighed, finding it difficult to elaborate on a thought but pushing through anyway, "Most of the ones reported missing were vulnerable. Slight of build, young, or locals prone to drink. The kind of mark one might choose for larceny in a larger community. I don't know if this helps. Most of the disappearances which got to me occurred in the Township proper; a few from surrounding farm villages."

"The Township Constable's name is Cavendish. Whether you wish to seek his counsel or not is up to you, given the information I have already stated. Now, if you must work with a time frame, let us say that you report back to me one week from tomorrow morning, or sooner if you have reached a conclusion. Whatever that conclusion may be. We shall see where events progress from there."

"Concerning the Goblin threat: Yes. It would be a very rare thing to see them this far into the region, but they do have bands past our borders. With the cold coming in and the season's harvests upon us, they will occasionally skulk about the fringes to raid for food and supplies. Cautious, sneaky types, frightened away by a strong presence. Soldiers making a sweep or semi-organized militia will make them keep distance; they prefer an easy target without causing so much trouble as to have the army called down on them. There are Goblins about, mind you. Sometimes private contractors are hired to deal with persistent instances."

The questions addressed to his willingness and/or ability to do so, the Sheriff then turned his focus toward the special requests made of the irregular group before him. He began with Marita, the Cleric, who seemed to have taken a more direct, vocal role from amongst them. Of course, she hadn't requested anything. "I thank you for accepting this challenge. Understand, I shall see you off in the morning. If you have any reasonable requests past what was offered, please let me know by then."

His attention went to Hugh next, but after a moment to consider how he might respond, Gregory shifted his gaze down the table to Kosara. "Your request is quite frugal. The archivist for the Fort will likely have something suitable to your needs upon completion of the investigation. If anything else comes to mind that is equally reasonable, inform me of this later." It was a short conference on the matter, quickly accepted.

Kathryn came next. "What you ask for is not inexpensive. However, we do keep a standing armory. What I might provide will not be crafted by Dwarven masters, nor bear enchantment. It is perhaps not worthy of a high noble lineage. It is, however, perfectly functional for the full career of a professional soldier. Much longer with proper maintenance, barring something unforeseen."

The shift of gaze went to Victoria. Nothing needed to be said, really, but just to keep conversation representative of all parties, he addressed her plainly. "I am wary of your studies, Miss Belmont, and I disagree with your methods. But the court saw fit to release you and the Acolytes found no evil within you. When your mission is complete I will keep my promise; you will have the book, inks, and access to the rituals you asked about." He regarded the Half-Elven woman guardedly, but nodded and moved on.

The last person to voice their request was the wilderness-running Elf. His face held a mote of confusion which he might have held back behind a showing of stoic pride, but the request so vexed him that he just stared at her for a moment, unsure how to properly respond. "I do not pretend to know what your mind on this. If you might be clearer of intent, come to me on the morrow."

And finally, grasping at his reserves of propriety, Gregory looked to Hugh. He took another sip from his ale, cleared his throat, and sat very straight in his chair. Taking in a deep breath, he began with a clear, authoritative tone. "In the event that items are confiscated from persons taken into custody, their possessions are held as evidence until such time as they are processed, either to their freedom or to further judicial procedures. I do not keep their possessions for myself. Nor would I presume to dispense confiscated materials outside of established protocol, especially if I maintained a stockpile of ensorceled items. Such would be theft. I hope we understand one another." The Sheriff looked the Monk over, trying to decide something for himself. After a moment, he offered another option. "I am willing to broker a compromise. My career has brought to me a number of curious objects. Many of these objects I do not foresee requiring again. There are two items in my personal possession that I might be willing to part with. If you take this option, you will not get the gold, nor the supplies. Choose carefully."

"The first one is a potion. One dose remains. The last time I sipped its contents, I leapt from a boat and was able to breathe comfortably for a short time, holding onto barnacles along the side until I could help retake the vessel. It was remarkably useful. This was years ago, obviously."

"The second is a vessel not unlike one of the items you asked about. A lidded ceramic pot with a metal rim, which I keep in my chambers. Casual use of the item for a couple of weeks has shown the inside dimensions are larger than the outside. I find it quite unsettling, to be honest."

From back in the kitchen, a great clatter could be heard. It wasn't so much a sound of things accidentally hitting the floor in rapid succession more than the flat metallic thwapping of many things pushed off of a high surface at once, followed by a string of swearing that might have made an Orc sailor blush. Guido took it upon himself to run back into the kitchen, his voice joining a cacophony of bellows (presumably from May) and the sound of small wares banging about. Capping everything off was the sound of the little lady in the back issuing a grandiose, "Damnit, damnit, DAMNIT!" and the sound of a blunt object striking something else several times.

The Sheriff took this moment to finish off his tankard of ale in a single, long pull, and rose from his chair. "From the sound of things, your supper is about to be served. My own is probably waiting on me. I shall take my leave of you. Thank you for answering the summons. I shall see you tomorrow morning, before your departure." With this, he turned and retreated to the bar. Apparently, he wanted to have words with Owen before he left.

A harsh but very quiet conversation was had between the two men, with Owen glancing back to the Adventurer's table a few times. None of this might have been easily heard in the best of circumstances and May chose this time to hastily deposit people's food in front of them (with Guido's assistance), usually with commentary involved. One steak, pork pie, potatoes, thick, toasted rye with spiced beans and crumbly, marbled cheese, seared and colorful chard, and to add as extras, some sort of custard baked into tiny, hollow, orange gourds - one for each of the remaining adventurers at the table. The previously unnamed side item asked for by the overly purple Bard came out in the form of popped, salted sorghum, looking very much like stovetop popcorn but with a darker color and lightly nutty aroma. The Infamous Pear was known as a place about town to get really good food, if you didn't mind dining in a place that was an occasional guard's hangout. "Awright," started May in a huff, "Ovens're going down for the night. You want something else that ain't tea, it's gonna be cold. Don't talk to me about it 'til Breakfast time." Gruff in delivery, though it might be ascertained that she meant well by a highly astute observer of the local social scene.

From back at the bar, the conversation between Sheriff Arbalest and Inkeeper Hardy was coming to a close. The Sheriff had a look of concern on his face, glancing once back at the table before exiting the premises. Food being served, Guido jogged over to the bar to see what might be the matter. Another hushed and rapid exchange of words occurred between the business partners before Guido, in a bout of confusion, blurted out, "He only sent three letters! What does that even mean?" The discussion ceased after this, with both individuals swiftly finding other things to do.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 3 HP: 23 / 23 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: The Infamous Pear Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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In an action that hinted at possible distraction, Victoria glanced once or twice over to the kitchen. More specifically, to the noise which came from the kitchen. She even stifled a giggle as the lady of indeterminable cultural background yelled at an unseen intruder to her sacred stove-room and hurled something heavy. Yes, they were about to get into some serious business, but that background show was a hair toward the distracting. But no, serious talk was about to start. Victoria put on her game face. Unfortunately, a Bard's game face is oft equally adventurous and mischievous, and she was not an exception to the usual cut and color of a traditional Bard - in this way, at least.

The speech delivered by Sheriff Gregory Arbalest was one that she had heard before. A variation of it, anyway. The one given while she was a "guest" of the Fort's area of general jurisprudence was a lot shorter and even less detailed than what he was explaining here. Perhaps it was foolishness to attempt negotiations before the rest of the group was assembled; not because she might cut a better deal this way but because she didn't know what kind of a group with whom she was allying herself. It was a moot point now. here she was, here they were, and here the stuffy, older Sheriff was laying down the conditions of their little adventure.

So instead of giving a lot of attention to the words of the venerable man, Victoria took the opportunity to look around the table at the people she would be working with, pondering their mannerisms and giving thought to the actions of the very recent past. She got the distinct impression that, regardless of her grandiose entrance or the extra effort she put into being personable this evening there was the slimmest of possibilities that a couple of these people just didn't really trust her. Including the Sheriff. Probably especially the Sheriff. It stood to reason that not everyone would greet someone of her ilk with open arms, and this was why students of the Requiem learned how to take care of themselves in the specific ways that they did. And this was assuredly not the chilliest reception that she'd ever had. All the same, Victoria made it a point to watch herself around these people until she was certain enough that they could be trusted, and no amount of introspection nor insight that she could muster would be helpful in this regard right now. So there she sat, an optimistic expression asserted upon her face which was occasionally obscured by her goblet of mulled wine.

Sometimes, listening was almost as fun as talking. This was one of those times. The questions to begin their investigation seemed valid enough. She wished that she'd asked more of them, herself. But she figured that she would rely on strength of personality to bridge the gap to useful conversations whenever she got there. It was an option that had worked well for her in the past, so why shouldn't it now? But yes, they made points. There might even be a time crunch if these missing persons were still mounting in number.

Then on to the requests. She kept her mouth shut, having already made her request and having it agreed to. It was for a book, suitable for penning secrets arcane within, and access to writings of certain divinities or powers recognized locally, that she may seek Lore useful to her profession within. Most of the others had much less grand of requests past the initial payment, which she felt was admirable in its own way of not amazingly practical. But the other Half-Elf... Well, he sure had some brass ones, she had to give due credit.

"This..." she announced aloud, pausing a half-second to allow a daring smile to form, "...looks very much like it's going to be a story worth the telling. And if we're not careful, some of us might even commit random acts of decency. Hmm..." Particularly looking over to the latest arrival, the Wood Elf, Naivara, she inquired, "Aren't you glad you got here in time?" with a wink. Victoria wondered if there would be time for a song or three after their meeting and supper had concluded. For that matter, she was really wanting business to come to a close; the idea of supper was looking very appealing right then. Then music. Music was always better if you were playing it from your soul, and not just to earn your keep.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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The Infamous Pear

Request of the letter of summons penned by the good Sheriff seemed to have put Mona at a touch of unease. While she was certain that she had the paper, still in its envelope which yet bore both halves of its rubbery wax seal, this was proven to be less than wholly accurate. She excused herself, presumably to retrace her steps. Likewise, Jorlton reacheed into his doublet to retrieve his own paper. His face registered surprise and, in much the same manner as Mona, excused himself. His aura fadeed away as he removed himself from the building, eyes bright and watchful.

The letters, passed one by one across the table and into the hands of the Sheriff of Avonshire, are given a more than fair amount of scrutiny. Perhaps moreso than is required from the one who initially penned them. During this time, there is a profound quiet which settled across the interior of The Infamous Pear, as if the whole of the establishment had taken and held a tentative breath, waiting for some unknown end to happen. The only sound one could hear was the occasional cracking and shifting of wood coming from the hearth fire.

Okay, that wasn't entirely true. Noise filtered into the main room from kitchen, involving the clattering of pans and angry muttering of May, letting various vulgarities and accusatory thoughts fly free, such as, "..special orders! Ain't we fancy...", and "...told 'em all what's being served, but NoOoOoOO...", and just once, a muffled, "Hey! Out! Outta my kitchen!" followed by the sound of a hurled pot rebounding off of a hard surface.

Mr. Guido Laurel looked back in the direction of the kitchen with a horrified expression on his face, hoping against hope that the Pear's patrons aren't paying particularly close attention to the sounds emanating from where their food had once come. This endeavor was doomed to failure. Behind the bar, Mr. Owen Hardy had plastered on a large, toothy grin, determined to ignore this fairly vulgar development with the hopes that it would go away. He polished another large, glass mug with a clean cloth, then helped himself to his own wares with unaccustomed vigor.

Gregory took in and released a deep breath, seemingly resigned to the task before him. He lay the invitations down on the table before him in a fan-like pattern, broken seals facing up and openly visible. he does not sit at this time, instead shaking his head and committing himself to begin. His voice was rolling baritone, quiet but clear as he spoke: "Thank you for not objecting to the formality. I will try to keep my words plain, and answer any questions after. Now to business."

"I have heard whispers coming from the Avonshire Township about persons going missing. Some of them came back none the worse for wear, or so I hear. Some have not. People might decide to leave the country life in search of their fortunes; you adventuring types know this, and others might simply find work with merchant caravans and the like. But something doesn't smell right about these reports."

It was a simple enough opening to the dilemma at hand. Gregory continued, "Of the ones who did return, none have said anything amiss about their time away. Went hunting, or just wanted to be alone, things like this. Again according to reports, they have been acting differently. Not quite themselves. What this means I could not say, as when I arrived to make a personal inquiry people were very hesitant to speak with me. That is unusual, of itself. I cannot justify committing soldiers to the area yet, even if we had many to spare. And the Constable in charge of the Township assures me that all is well. He is a cousin - well, cousin of my late wife's. I have no reason to doubt him, and yet, I do have my concerns. It seems like I am being left in the dark about something."

Finally pulling a chair out, the Sheriff say wearily down and leaned forward onto the table. "It is possible that my career as a military man, and now with the law, have made me paranoid. I dislike adventurers; this is no secret. They bring problems almost as often as they bring solutions. I dislike even more that I am hampered by protocol when my people might be dying. Protocol to which you are not bound. So here is my offer: Investigate this. Officially, you are here as independent contractors, hired on because of problems with Goblins in the outlying areas. In truth, I want you to find out what is happening in the Township, and fix it if possible. If you do this, I will pay you each twenty gold coins of the realm, and supply you well enough to reach any destination within a fortnight's march of this place. Should you choose to decline, please stay at The Infamous Pear tonight as my guest. After a good breakfast tomorrow, depart with no ill tidings earned from me."

He looked over to Victoria with an odd expression and nodded, adding, "I have spoken with your Bard while she was a guest of Fort Darenby's jail earlier today. We have come to an accord, and she assures me that the rest of you may have specific or special requests, too. If you do, I shall entertain them now."

Gregory leaned back in his chair and raised two fingers into the air. Within a few seconds, Guido was scrambled over with a large tankard of foamy ale for the elder Sheriff. "Thank you," he said quietly, palming the Halfling a coin. After a long sip, he looked to the people at the table expectantly.