Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Lewascan2@Sigil

And away we go. Do we split up? Do we stay together? Do we secure a good spot first and then start the investigation first thing tomorrow? Should there be frolicking involved? Why am I asking so many questions? Can I even stop? Is this the sign of a coming stroke? Was that last joke in bad taste? Would you believe that I have no idea?

All this and more to unfold. Huzzah!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Before the group set out on its whirlwind small town adventure in fine alcohol distribution, Cecily was kind enough to address the questions put before her and Lizbeth, one at a time. "Audrey, as best I can tell, went missing a couple of weeks ago. I couldn't say exactly. I didn't find out until later. About the wine... I didn't say that I was prepared to work something out. I said that I will have to work something out. I don't know how to fix it immediately. We had to leave in a hurry to get here, so..." She trailed off, shaking her head worriedly. "Until I get back to Rose River, my resources are limited."

The horror of The Great Cabbage Mule-ing of Avonshire mixed between the delivery stops notwithstanding, the two wagons made their way to various points around the now active Township. various banners and decorations can be seen in and around the structures and clear, open spaces in town, featuring colorful gourds, sheaves of threshed grain, cornucopias, and various other reminders of the Grand Autumn Harvest. Everywhere, scents of yummy foods wafted from windows and street stalls. Storefront signs advertised sales for ales and foodstuffs. Merchant wagons shared the streets with farmers' wagons, bearing the fruits of the earth as well as the products which could be crafted from them, all in abundance which could only be witnessed and celebrated properly in a proud agricultural region like that of Avonshire.

The first stop took the party through the center of the Township; a wide, open place where fitted stone lay smooth beneath feet and wheel alike, right in the middle of a park-like area which gave the town's center a feeling of being separate from the rest of the settlement. A large fountain sat in its center, seemingly rising as a part of the stone below, steadily streaming cold, clear water skyward only to tumble back down into a pool, around which was a flurry of activity. Musicians played jaunty tunes, townsfolk and visitors danced merrily, artists drew and painted for the masses, and a few food vendors sold easy, hot, portable treats at low prices.

Just beyond this scene to the north, past a short length of street, is a high wall with solid wooden doors, a closed iron gate hanging in front of those. Two guards stand on either side, spears at the ready. Beyond this wall, one can see the tops of what must be the largest buildings in the township; not out of place in a larger city but enough to stand out here. As the wagons approach, the guards do not move to open the gate. They do not ask questions, do not offer to assist unloading, and seem to be expecting them. This aside, everything goes without incident.

*

Neil & Bob's Public House is back toward the southern section of town, in the quadrant across from the great mass of canvas structures that houses, among other things, the Farmer's Market. The Pub itself is modest in nature and a bit dark of interior but clean. Only one barmaid appears to be present, and she is being run around quite a bit. The bartender himself introduces himself as Robert, the proprietor of the establishment, and bids you to make the delivery around the back. There is a notable amount of foot traffic going through here, most of the tables being full and every seat at the bar occupied. The barmaid is not especially happy at being shorthanded, but tries to stay in good spirits.

Little Lizbeth stayed back with the wagon, not wanting to come inside of this place. Cecily spoke with the proprietor while the barrel was being offloaded; his response was clear and load enough that everyone present could hear. "No, I got no private rooms available, Mrs. L'Rose. Your new friends want to stay here, there are beds in the common room open. Festival on, and such." Robert had a faux-accommodating smile on his face. "That reminds me, where're you staying tonight?"

Cecily returned to the wagon with the news, though her delivery was a little nicer. "Look here," she says finally, motioning to to hayloft almost diagonally across from the Public House, "It's not to your caliber, certainly, but my family does keep a loft right here. Closed up for the celebrations. If nothing else, it's quiet, keeps nothing but hay and some tools inside. Light a lamp up there, it's real cosy. You're welcome to use it."

*

The Farmers' Market is a bustling place, the area taking up a full quarter of the Township's space inside of its walls. People here look to be of rural origin. There aren't streets in this quarter, persay, more than there are open spaces around which tents and simple wooden structures are assembled around. Most everyone here seems to know each other, Human and Halfling alike, and it has the overall atmosphere of a county fair. Stalls sell farm fresh produce and earthen jars of yummy things like fruit preserves, honey, etc. A large wooden stage is constructed nearby, upon which now a Very Important Looking Gentleman with a loud voice and rotund physique proclaiming the start of the Hog Broiling Competition in just one scant hour. Off to one side is a series of tents that appear to be residential, if only temporary. In the midst of this is a stone circle which holds in a fire pit. Wood is stacked and ready to go for the evening. Pipes are being smoked here, fresh fruits eaten, and much making of merry is to be had.

The Very Important Looking Gentleman made his way over to the cart and wasted no time in being garrulous. Even obnoxious. Either way, he was excited. "Oh good! The wine is here! Hey everybody! Wine! HA!" He ran over to help Cecily and Lizbeth out of the wagon, giving an acknowledging smile in the directions of the party. "Good! It can't be a talent show unless there's a prize at the end of it, right? You bet your last potato I'm right!" He nodded vigorously, jowls wiggling in protest of the jolly Human's animated nature. "Oh! Just set it down over there, please! And thank you so much."

*

To the northeast section of the town lay a series of buildings that looked a lot like offloading warehouses with business space attached. This was the Traders' Market. Whereas the the Farmers' Market brought in all of the goods of the land around it, mostly agricultural, and many of the local tradefolk that depended upon them as clients, this place dealt with all of the out-of-town goods that had to be shipped in from elsewheres farther off, manufactured goods, etc., and anything coming down from the river to the north. Said river cut cleanly through this section of town, bearing personal and cargo boats, most of which stopped to offload goods here. This delivery took a little longer than most, as Cecily was not sure exactly where it was going. The customer was a The Avonshire Merchant Association, and it took a little doing to locate a representative who was not neck deep in business of some sort. This was not the fast paced, deal-or-die type of mercantile or trading location that might occur in larger port cities, but it was respectable enough and doubly so as they appeared shorthanded, likely because of the Festival.

Finally locating someone official enough to take possession of the barrel, very near to the east/west road through town, this older Halfling handed a gold coin over to Cecily. He kept staring across the main thoroughfare toward a quaint, well built storefront. The sign proudly had painted across it, "Jacques Mallard, Silversmith". Two things were notable about this building. The first was that it appeared to be closed, while the other businesses around it were taking advantage of the hustle in the Township; the second being that the windows were boarded up from the inside.

*

The final delivery, and the one which would have been the largest, went to Madame Marcie's Honey Barn. This one took them over the river toward the easternmost part of town. Like an open secret, this place stood as a testament to the fact that in Human society you might not find a particular type of skilled craftsman, but chances were that you would find shining, glorious Vice if you asked around.

If ever there was a spot that did not seem to fit into the rest of the Township, it was this place. True to its name, the outside of the building looked very much like a large livestock barn, or maybe stabling, except that elegant windows were constructed into it at regular intervals and the large, gaping aperture that might have been at its front (were it a regular barn) was instead an inviting looking landing and a set of double doors, quite possibly carved of rich mahogany. It looked very well maintained and with a fresh coat of paint. If this ever was actually a barn, it had been heavily modified past its original purpose. From inside, music could be perceived from some sort of keyboard instrument. It was not busy yet, but by the way people moved in front of it, they were expecting one hell of a night.

A young lady took notice of the wagon pulling up and excitedly ran back inside. Mere moments later a peculiar sort of woman exited the front doors. For all purposes, she had the features of a Halfling of indeterminate years with heavily styled raven black hair and a fondness for purple in her wardrobe. Lace and jewelry made striking appearances, and a fitted corset accented her already hourglass figure. Though her features identified her as one of the Shirefolk, the lady's height was impressive, considering. "Why, Mrs. L'Rose, it is so good of you to tend to our order personally." The accent presented by this woman marked her as a foreigner to these parts, but it was highly muddled and difficult to pin down exactly. "We heard about what happened, and I for one am so sorry to hear of your Father-In-Law's sudden passing. Everything work out well, I trust?" Her voice was equal parts sweet and businesslike. "I see. One third promised is missing. Well, we shall have to come to some sort of an understanding, won't we? I know that you are in a bind and I shan't boorish about it, but a contract is a contract. Even with the likes of me." A knowing smile crept across her face. "Oh, but you have such lovely companionship this day. Introductions?"

The woman strolled over to the party and extended a hand to each of the little troupe, "Charmed. I am Madame Marcie, and this is my Honey Barn. I do hope you all will partake of what festivities within speak to your proclivities. No judgement here, so long as we all play nice."

*

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: Avonshire Township Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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It seemed that no one was jumping to take care of the canvas-wrapped bones of sitting in the back of the wine wagon. Victoria assumed that this might have been a priority, but this was not so. Then she gave it a further consideration and realized that she was the one who tended to the remains in the first place and it was likely assumed to be her sole responsibility. Hells, it might actually be her responsibility, given that she was the only one in the party with any actual experience in funerary practices. Okay, and Necromancy. There was some overlap in practical skills there, like a macabre Venn diagram. So, with a practiced smile and a touch more pep than she truly felt in that second, Victoria sauntered to the back of the wagon to procure the canvas bundle which held (most of) the bones of little Lizbeth's grandfather. There was a decided amount of unvocalized surprise when she saw that Hugh had beaten her to it. Victoria cocked her head to the side with a smirk and made her way to the back of the wagon anyway, as there was another piece of business which required her attention anyway.

For the sake of propriety, or some other social concept which shared similar qualities to it, Victoria lay a hand on the now unmoving, burlap-wrapped porcine beast back there as well, cheerfully declaring, "Rise and shine, Morty! Our day has yet to be over!" The mindlessly loyal pig clumsily shuffled to its hooves and followed immediately behind the orchid garbed bard. There were some casual looks of confusion from passersby. So far, no torches or pitchforks. Or any indication that they held anything but guarded curiosity for the seemingly mummified, painfully gaunt creature.

Discussion concerning the people and/or establishment to be shorted thanks to the Goblin's thirsts piqued Victoria's interest for about seven minutes, after which time she mentally checked out and began to take in the scenery around them. It wasn't too amazingly cold right then, and people were all milling about in what appeared to be good spirits. Most of them, anyway. She enjoyed trying to figure things out about people in new places, even if she wasn't particularly good at it. Victoria could at least match the energy of the people around her, and for a lot of these people, it was the busied hum of a population just prior to a celebration. This aside, not knowing these clients of the L'Rose family and having no stake in the actual delivery (aside from ingratiating the party to Cecily and Lizbeth), she abstained from the vote.

Victoria took great pleasure in the impromptu tour of the Township which came along with the seemingly erratic delivery route, dropping off the huge casks of wine at their respective locations. While not extremely efficient a path, it did serve to get a fairly decent lay of the land. Not the details, mind you, but a good, rough idea of where things might be located.

In fact, the only thing that put a strained mark on their delivery service was the inexpert driving of Kosara, which Victoria really could not blame her for. Driving in a populated area with close conditions was more difficult than following someone on an open road, doubly so when one had to deal with a lot of other people and animals on the streets. Victoria gave support and encouragement where she felt it was necessary, and in fact it looked like the cheery Tiefling was getting better at it. Except for one tiiiiny issue with the mule reacting a little too positively with a cabbage seller. She moved to hop into the wagon and take over, lest more damage was done, but Kosara did well enough to get things back on track. Victoria added her own voice of apology to the man whose vegetables were purloined by the beast of burden, pressing a couple of coins into his hand, "For your trouble, of course."

It took Victoria a moment to realize that the novice teamster made a threat against the mule to turn it into something very much what she had done to Morty, her constant, woodsmoked companion and bodyguard. She raised her finger as if to say something, mouth already open with tips and pointers if she indeed had the idea to make her own version of Morty, but held herself back. This was not the time nor the place to divulge secrets of the hedge Necromancer's trade.

As much fun as this was, it did take Victoria a little bit to fully grasp the unspoken words that might have described what a "Honey Barn" was and why a lady named "Madame Marcie" would have one. Never to be called naive about such things, what threw her off was the use of the word Barn in all of this. Thematic, somehow? Or were these people more stereotypically rural than one might have been led to believe? Either way, this had been an interesting experience so far, and she was going to find out. Perhaps a little music along the way would add to the occasion.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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A series of questions poured from the oddest mercenary group and/or semi-standard adventuring party, the target of which was the somewhat more mature Cecily L'Rose. Fresh details of exhaustion seemed to form across her face. It was like a huge piece of stress had left her body and it was beginning to let her relax, involuntarily if need be. Still she bolstered herself and set to the questions in order that were addressed. "Oh! Yes of course. I need to get this wine to the people who ordered it. The one..." Her voice trailed off as she looked into the back of the wagon, doing a quick check to confirm what Kosara had said about the Goblins getting one of the casks. "We will just have to make some arrangements." A heavy sigh escaped Cecily before she continued addressing the inquiries set before her. Meanwhile, Lizbeth accepted the hug from Kosara, leaning in and inadvertently wiping her eyes on her new coat.

"Yes, so what I was saying earlier; I have an Innkeeper friend right near to here. It's a humble establishment, so he doesn't usually order the top quality stuff from Rose River. He did this time..." Cecily's words trailed, then came back to stronger cadence, "I do worry. One of his barmaids, a young woman named Audrey, went missing recently."

Inquiries about adventurers making trouble actually gave the lady a sort of nervous giggle. "Oh, that came close to being local legend, even if I don't know exactly what happened." The smile remained as she related, "A ways back, the boy from the Rentman Farm (Halflings, good folk too) went away with a bald, grey Gnome over to Fairwater - that's west of here - at their Constable's request to look into something. They got in cahoots with a carnival and routed out some thieves or bandits, or something. If you ask me, that Gnome was a bad influence... Anyway, Cavendish wasn't really happy, but the problem got fixed and he seemed to be okay with it after a while." She took another thoughtful pause, "But Cavendish lately seems to have gotten plain irritable. At everything. I don't think it's because of the Rentman boy and that Gnome, but he would've made me plenty angry. The um, the Gnome, I mean. Met him one time. It was enough." She shuddered once and got back to her point. "Anyway, I wouldn't take it personal with the Constable. It seems everything's just beneath him lately."

Cecily looked to Victoria and politely said, "Yes, yes I would. Thank you," concerning the use of the reins. Getting back into the wagon she was forced to abandon and completing her task was just what she wanted to do. Then somehow seeing to the interment of what remains remained. "And thank you for letting Lizbeth and I know what happened with some sensitivity and class. I know it could have been handled differently."

With everyone in agreement to help, Cecily gave a warm but tired, "Thank you all so much for this," and climbed up to the driver's seat on the merchant wagon. She took up the reins and checked to make sure everything was attached properly. Satisfied, she said, "The deliveries are late right now. The customers know why and I'm sure that they will understand, but they are likely to still be a little upset at the inconvenience. If you would please? The um, ...remains... if they could be moved to the other wagon until after the wine is delivered?"

Lizbeth moved up to occupy the seat next to her aunt, leaning against her with a more sorrowful and resigned expression. As the group readied in whichever way they wished to do so, Cecily outlined where that needed to go throughout the Township. "Two of them were supposed to go to the Municipal Building, north end past the The Fountain. A wall surrounds it all; we're just supposed to leave them by the gate. One goes to that Inn I was talking about, Neil & Bob's Public House. Another goes to the Farmer's Market, right over that way, then one other to the Trade Market next to the river, on this side. And last..." Cecily's face tightened with what might have been embarrassment at the mention of this remaining establishment, "Three of them to Madame Marcie's _{...Honey Barn...} just across the river inside the Township, proper."

Counting up the number of containers versus the amount promised to the different places in town, you appear to be one short. "If it's all the same to you, I have to work something out with whomever gets slighted. Please, you pick who misses a barrel."

With the south road now opened, one can more clearly see the increased foot traffic in the town. While not a bustling seaport, Avonshire Township is an important hub for the region, and it is a festival time. Businesses are doing brisk business, people from outlying areas of the region are here for celebration, and of course, with this being the festival of the harvest, farmers, animal handlers, and craftsmen bring in their wares to be observed, even entered into contests. (Biggest Potato In Avonshire, three years running! Huzzah!) The general attitude in the township is pleasant. Hopeful, even. Though the occasional slip into something more worrisome can be seen every so often. Rare but persistent, like the collective subconscious of the area advised caution amid the frolicking and festivities.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Lewascan2@Sigil

I'm glad the decision to assist the poor, weary Cecily and sad Miss Lizbeth was a party-wide unanimous affirmation. The object here is to give a good idea of where things are in town, from a character point of view. Also to illustrate a few hot spots. Now, seeing as there is another decision to be reached concerning the wine delivery, the final consensus may or may not effect plot points moving forward. Pick as your characters might and have fun with it.

Oh, and for those of you who wanted a brothel in town? You're welcome. Though it's a little more like a Burlesque than anything less savory. We must maintain some element of respectability. Sort of. Or the illusion of respectability. We'll go with that.

In any case, however you choose to help these two, be it moral support, parting the crowd for ease of mobility, charisma based roleplay to smooth things over with customers, or just buckling down with muscle work and getting things unloaded (which will be needed regardless of everything else), have this in mind as the posts move along. Any questions while the wagons travel through town or stop at the locations will be sorted.

Also a note: The stops, even if it is counterintuitive to locations on the map, will be in the order that Cecily mentioned them. I will go into descriptions with the next update, and you can decide where your interactions and/or investigation goes from there. When the deliveries are complete, it will be nearing late afternoon/early evening. If you have questions, and I'm sure you will, hit me up. When we get through this slightly clunky and awkward section and the characters have absorbed enough knowledge to make it less meta, stuff may proceed at a more manageable level of ...manageableness.

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: Avonshire Township Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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One of the talents which Victoria prided herself upon was maintaining objectivity and radiating approachable grace in the face of strong emotions. Most of the time. What stood now was not too dissimilar from the mixed feelings at a funeral. Except for the Constable, who she decided that she wasn't overly a fan of. He was just difficult in general. At least he was gone now. But to the others who were still around, Cecily and Lizbeth L'Rose, she could try to develop the rapport which they had begun a few moments earlier.

In her estimation, people suffering a loss wished to try to maintain normalcy as best they could until emotional weight dictated otherwise. No master of philosophy was she; merely a woman who had observed a lot of grief in her history. Cecily seemed like the type to press onward, so Victoria wasn't about to change that. In fact, she rather counted on this. "When it's time, would you like to take your reins back, Mrs. L'Rose?" she inquired softly, hoping that this might give her a better sense of control over a situation that had spiraled wildly out of that control for her. Of course, all of her supposition and ideas about the human condition could seriously backfire. Being attacked and having their livelihood's efforts stolen could have registered as a more pressing trauma than the death in the family, and this would sully her approach. But things seemed to work themselves out. They were offering to help as they could.

Given the choice between an Inn and an hayloft, Victoria would definitely choose an Inn. Now, there was a notation that went along with this as not every Inn room was created equal. In her hometown, Victoria was perfectly well set up with a suite, service and upkeep to her clothing and other belongings, fine meals, etc., though that was a long way away. So long as she maintained a modicum of privacy and the beds weren't infested with something awful, it would be just fine.

The others asked their questions. While bombarding the poor lady and her niece with inquiry wasn't the most polite thing ever, Victoria had to admit that some of them were worthwhile from the perspective of someone more local. That, and they unanimously decided to give them more help, thusly providing some time that they might be provided those answers. It was the right call, she thought. But again, what she did not know about this place and its people filled volumes of written work.

Of course, Kosara hugged people. It was what she did. No sense begrudging her for it.

Quietly, Victoria shuffled back to the wagons and began to get her things together. It looked like they were not going to have the second one within which one might split gear. Getting Morty moved quietly posed a challenge, as Victoria would soon find out.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Lewascan2@Sigil

Congratulations! You have finally made it into the Township of Avonshire, and a few lines have been drawn before you even got your whole ass past the front gate. Not to worry! Things begin to get a little looser from here. Sort of. Now is when choices can be made, and the overall story alters depending upon what avenues the group decides to pursue. Just remember, the goal described by the absent Gregory Arbalest, Sheriff of the Avonshire Region was to solve the puzzle of the missing townsfolk and correct the problem if possible. But other things may have muddied the waters, not the least of which is the coming festival.

Best of luck, adventurers. <insert evil laugh here>

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Cavendish listened with a malcontented sneer on his face for the vast majority of the explanations given to him by the party. Details which he appeared to find particularly amusing were met with a glance back to his assembled men. The more professional looking of the bunch seemed to share the Constable's amusement, with smiles being seen from beneath hands raised to shield their eyes from the sun. The other men, those in more common clothing with likely lent weaponry, listed uneasily from side to side, occasionally murmuring among themselves. A few of these looked expectantly to the Constable, as if waiting for something from the man.

Between moments of having his sport, Cavendish was looking over the new arrivals with an eye for detail. He didn't seem to observe much from the Bard, but kept his look of self-assurance as his observations of the others continued. A ruse, coincidence, the truth, or just a ploy to maintain control of the situation; this was difficult to say. The exception to this was a flash of confusion as the Tiefling started off the conversation with a barrage of reports that probably needed an interpreter, were one not present. In any case, as soon as those present said their peace to him, he unshouldered his great and shiny warhammer and slid it into a loop on his belt, then waved his men away from more serious posturing. Speaking to them, he said, "Well boys, it looks like these heroes my dear cousin sent handled it. Back to business. You men," he motioned abstractly at the militiamen gathered, "...won't be needed after all. Go on about your day. You are all dismissed, and thank you so much for volunteering this morning." He gave them a lingering look, and finished up with, "Leave your things with the guards."

Back to the party, Cavendish addressed some of their statements. "Coffin Goblin..." he mused, giving a little chuckle. He didn't seem to take Kosara seriously. To Hugh, he regarded the use of semi-formality with the Sheriff, responding, "I'm sure that Mr. Arbalest would love to hear you call him that. He's the type. Just remember, you all got hired to hunt greenskins. So long as you're in my town, keep to your own and leave the other vermin to me and my boys. I hope we understand each other." And finally to Kathryn, "Casualty? Oh. That's a recovered body. The L'Rose family," he jerked his thumb in the direction of Cecily, Lizbeth, and now Victoria (who was still comforting the child), "asked for help. Seeing as you recovered it, this isn't the constabulary's problem anymore. That's between you and them."

The Constable turned around to walk back the way he came, speaking one last sage piece of advice. "Keep your nose out of things that don't concern you here. You start getting notions, you bring it to me." There was a lack of desire to speak further evident in his manner, and he simply walked off, back up the road toward the township's center. The last few members of the militia were handing over spears to the three better equipped soldierly types and filtering away, apparently glad to do so.

*******

The group hadn't made it quite fully into the township just yet, but even from this vantage some things could be observed. Directly to the west of the main gate and taking up space as far as vision allowed, given the circumstances, was a vast array of canvas and other cloth structures like large tents and pavilions, around which many working-class types could be seen. It was orderly and clean, as much as it might be, and seemed to have a number of hastily assembled stalls wherein farmers sold goods, some directly out of the back of wagons. It had the feel of a huge Farmers' Market, where the goods of the region could be acquired by all. Other than this, one could occasionally hear the beating of a smithy hammer or telltale sounds of wood being rasped down or lathed. Most of the people coming out of or going into this section resemble farmers or laborers or some kind. To the east, more permanent structures were raised, with shingles and signs indicating various legitimate businesses, many of which catered to travelers. And straight ahead, even through the din of foot traffic and occasional horses, one could see great trees toward the center of town. The main road led right into them, like a park in the town center. Throughout all of this, the decorations for the upcoming Harvestide festival could be seen in the forms of autumnal themes and stacking of colored gourds.

Cecily began to approach the group, followed by Victoria had a supportive hand on Lizbeth's shoulder. The two of them seemed to be getting over an emotional moment. "Your friend told me... what happened. I'm just sick over all of this. Um... so I want to repay you for everything you have done, but I didn't bring anything of worth with me. The wine is already paid for and just needs to be delivered, so... Look, I'm sorry, but if you can help me just a little bit more, I'll help you however I can while you're in town. I know an Innkeeper, of sorts, but I don't know if it's a place up to your standards. Hmm... Oh, my family does own a hayloft in town, if you need... No, that's silly. Okay, maybe after your contract is done, I can invite all of you back to the Rose River Vineyard for a while as my guests? Would... would that be okay?"

"Please?" finally piped up Lizbeth, wiping her dampened face with her sleeve. She pointed toward the wagons while blinking red-rimmed eyes, adding, "That's my Grandpa."

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: On The Road -> Entering Avonshire Township Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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A sigh, sad smile, and shake of the head was all that Victoria had left to dedicate to the current intra-party drama. She had enough drama in her personal life and the job at hand to wish to deal with more. She kept to her words and quietly, but by zero means meekly, walked away with her new shinys and salvaged weapons.

As she was going to be leading this wagon train of two, it stood to reason that she might want to stash her recently acquired items in her chest, located within Morty's small pull-cart in the party's wagon. The hickory smoked animal itself would stay with her, seeing as she was under no illusions concerning the looks it was given by certain members of her present adventuring group. So Victoria stowed her belongings, piled her backpack back on top of the chest, and gave Kosara a quick pep talk to elaborate her faith in the Tiefling's ability to drive the wagon before returning to her own appropriated conveyance.

A quick cantrip make short work of the blood on her favorite slim coat, which she quickly replaced over her black, silk underclothes and layered her reinforced leathers over this. Simple Prestidigitation had to have been her favorite utility magic, hands down. Did it make one lazy? Maybe. Did it solve numerous daily difficulties at a thought? Definitely. But the hole that remained in her sleeve could not so easily be repaired by her - yet. Any decent enough place of lodging which catered to travelers would have someone capable of such a repair, and if not, she was perfectly capable of taking up a needle and thread for the job. Victoria just didn't want to if she could avoid it. At least she was able to get her big, jaunty, bard-y hat back upon her head. She liked that hat. It matched her charcoal grey cloak (which paired well with just about everything) and had a lovely bit of bright aubergine plumage as accent.

As soon as everyone else was ready to go, Victoria prompted the already beleaguered oxen to strain against their yokes and pull the slightly lighter wagon onward toward their original destination. The journey itself was uneventful, yet the sudden change in atmosphere as Avonshire Township came into view in the distance filled Victoria with a sense of excited wonder. Just a couple short days ago she was fully prepared to bypass all of this hubbub on her travels west, to the sea. Even if there wasn't an adventure afoot she might have wanted to see what this local Harvestide festival was all about. Just for a day or two. Until the silver in the form of tips started to slow and the best wines flowed less rapidly. That was ever the difficulty with festivals in unfamiliar lands; one never knew when the peak day were.

Passing by the stretching dots of tents and merchants, Victoria was keen enough of sight to pick out a fruit seller a ways in front of them. She fished out a copper coin from her belt pouch and called to the vendor, "Hi! Hey, may I get a pear from you? No, not... The one with the blush. Oh, thank you!" her coin sailed through the air, almost to be caught but smartly recovered after he tossed a pale green and red-purple oblong fruit up to the cheerful Half-Elf. She bit into it as the wagon lumbered by, issuing a sound and expression indicating a positive, yummy experience. "This is so good. Thank you!" It was finished off, damn near core and all, long before they made it to the gates proper. One thing she did notice during this time was the large burial ground near the woods and just outside of the city walls. She had a feeling that she would be visiting there before they departed. There was lore to be found in great graveyards of a region. This one might prove fruitful, in exchange for a few songs for the deceased. Victoria glanced back to the unmoving form of Morty in the back of the wagon, silently recalling the uncovered secret which led to its initial reanimation. What else might she discover from within hallowed grounds?

This thought served a minor distraction as they almost entered into the Township proper. The game was certainly afoot now, as a trio of new and seemingly important faces met theirs with introduction, the most important-seeming being that of the Constable. As the rather haughty man spoke, Victoria risked a warm smile and a wave at Cecily and Lizbeth, hoping that her nonthreatening demeanor might smooth some feathers while the others in the group made their statements to the Constable.

Unfortunately, the first rollout of information from Kosara served to reveal to the guy in charge, this Cavendish, that Victoria was capable of using magic. Or he would be just as soon as it was revealed that she was "V". Not that it wouldn't be revealed eventually, given her proclivities for showing off, but the fact that any information about her was spilled gave her a touch of annoyance. It wasn't anything that could be helped now, so went to her to press on and attempt to salvage any advantage she might from this situation.

The first thing Victoria did was put on the most open, personable demeanor that she could, making every effort to comply with the orders requests of the Constable. She looked the man over, trying to figure out something of his motives or intentions, only to come away with nothing. Nothing at all. Outside of his swaggering attitude in front of what she could only assume was a couple of town guards and a barely organized militia, he didn't give away a thing about himself to Victoria's perception. As there was no soft spot recognizable to apply social pressure, she resolved to move on the situation cold, utilizing pure charisma. When there was a clear opening to speak, she took to it comfortably. "Oh! Our apologies, Constable, sir! Please allow me a short introduction, if you would?" She paused for a half-second, then spoke, "I am called Victoria Belmont, of the Ashhaven Belmonts." The last part was stressed to see if he was familiar with the region or the family mentioned, fully not expecting him to be. But it gave an impression of someone with connections. Or at least financial influence.

"I had first heard word of you back at Fort Darenby; had I but known you were moving to handle this personally with a force of fine, brave men, we might have extended hearty cooperation. You must believe that we had no intention of stepping on anyone's toes. However, as my colleagues rightly stated, the good Sheriff did put us to this task. And..." Victoria leaned a little closer, lowering the volume of her voice, "...there are certain personal aspects with which I shouldn't want to trouble a man of your importance, especially with the festival making things more hectic for you and your very important duties." A knowing nod, and she continued, "With your permission, Constable, may I please speak with the bereaved and give them a little peace of mind before we continue?"

Yes, Victoria was fully aware that she was sucking up to an authority figure. Yes, it was a little shameless. Also yes, it worked. Cavendish stared at the purple-clad Bard, attempting to figure her out but (apparently) learning less about her than she did about him. Without word, he breathed a sigh and motioned his head behind him, in the direction of Cecily and little Lizbeth L'Rose. "Thank you, Constable," said Victoria warmly. In truth, she didn't give a rat's pickled hindparts about this Constable aside from the hassle he might provide her, given a long enough timeline. The other two, though? They deserved to know about the dead guy they found first, and from a compassionate voice. That aside, their acquaintanceship and being in their good graces could prove beneficial to their actual task here in town. Now was a good time to give them comfort, and to a lesser extent, secure that grace. Prioritizing them over the local law enforcement seemed like a good place to start.

Behind Cavendish a few paces, Victoria doffed her hat and took a knee, putting her eyes a bit lower than young Lizbeth as she got their attention and opened a dialogue. Her words were kept quiet and direct, evocative of reaction from the both of them. While the elder Cecily put her hands up to cover her face, Lizbeth reached out to Victoria to catch her in a hug. Not exactly what she was going for, but when in Avonshire, and whatnot.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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A brisk wind whipped up, but only for a moment. Half a moment, really. This weather seemed a little temperamental now that the sun was high in the bright, azure sky. The day had warmed decently, maybe even to the point of being comfortable in comparison to the frost-bearing night previous, though that wind cut through thinner clothing like a muffled gust of glacial breath. So long as the air kept still, it was actually a rather pleasant afternoon. Past the dip in the road, trees began to thin out, granting better view of the lands around which began to take their more expected view of broad, rolling rises with shallow clefts, dotted with the occasional copse of deciduous trees with an odd evergreen or two reminding them of days more verdant, and promising for its return after the months to come.

After a short while, cresting a higher hill brought with it the first signs of non-agrarian civilization - a boundary wall made of rough-hewn logs reaching skyward, set to nestle together as a fortification capable of keeping out wildlife and give security to those within. Three great roads intersect at this town; the one you travel upon from the south, one from the east, and one from the west. A great wooded area as far as the eye can see stretches behind the Township, to the north. Cutting through the town to one side is a running river. The walls are built to accommodate its flow, working with it rather than struggling against, as if the river had a part to play in the town's operation. It pauses briefly to form a small lake just outside of town before meandering elsewhere in the region.

Notable upon your approach is a fortified sign of black iron and rich wood which labeled this place as The Township of Avonshire. This place stood as the true start to your adventures in the region, beckoning with its quaint rural charm mixed with a bustle of an active settlement.

Though it has been said before, it bears repeating: Welcome to Avonshire.

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Let's get a little business out of the way first, shall we? 126 silver coins were looted from the Goblin's corpses. A total of 11 daggers, 4 shortswords, 2 shortbows, and three empty quivers were also recovered (minus that which was already claimed by characters), so far as weapons went. Also on the bodies but not taken were sets of leather armor that were best left with the corpses. Curiously, there was also a long letter written upon several sheets of coarse vellum, wrapped in leather. The language is not familiar to anyone in the party. Also found among and around the ashes of the fire were a handful of metal coat buttons, likely from the clothing of the deceased.

Farms, both large and small, are more common along the road and visible among the hills surrounding the Township. They become more closely packed the nearer one gets to the town proper, but none directly adjacent or connecting to Avonshire. This clear but unutilized land, probably originally a protective feature, has become host to many tents and organized campsites in the interim. Wagons appear to be used as temporary lodging for a number of people. Families hung laundry on hastily improvised lines, merchants sold fruit, bread, potatoes, etc. to the masses, and teamsters established roped boundaries for their animals in these places. The smell of cookfires and stews mixed with upturned earth and horseflesh in this area, establishing all of the sensations common to human habitation with the exception of the more acrid aromas of industry. There was the overall feel of a great event gearing up in the near future - one which could draw a crowd from all over the region.

Just to the east of the Township and near the forested area to the north stood a graveyard, likely the largest one in the area. It featured a few scattered trees, mausoleums of fitted stone, and the ubiquitous rows of granite or marble gravemarkers, down to simple wooden affairs. A wrought-iron fence surrounded the whole of it.

A huge banner reached across the southern gate into the Township, clearly printed letters standing out so that it can be read easily from a great distance. It read, "Harvestide", and it was a safe bet that similar ones were hung across the other gates. This was a word the party had heard mentioned in snatched of conversation among the tent-dwellers they passed by, and was actually mentioned with some importance by official folk back in Darenby. The other gates had a moderate amount of traffic entering and exiting, laden with goods in the form of crates, bushels, and no small amount of barrels. The road from the south (your road) seems blessedly empty. No traffic coming from the same direction as yourself, and no traffic exiting Avonshire headed south.

The approach to the southern gate was relatively open. A few permament buildings stood outside of the walls, technically part of the town and likely for specific prupose. The gate itself was flung open wide to admit whomever wished entry, with two guards were stationed there as a token presence to sort out the extremely obvious in the way of troublemakers. Naturally, a group of mismatched, combat ready persons in a caravan of two, bearing Goblin ears on a string no less, did draw attention.

As an example of the unexpected but apparently benign, a man wearing common clothing, simple sandals, and a wide brim hat of natural fibers approaches from the area near the lake. He has a few smallish to medium sized fish on a line carried in one hand, and a stout fishing pole slung over one shoulder. Cheery of disposition, he walks right by the wagons, pausing only long enough to issue a salutation: "G'mornin! Nice day for fishing, ain't it?" followed immediately by a chuckle of, "Huah huh!" He does not stop for response, but continues merrily on his way into town.

Just inside of the gate, a bustle of activity which had nothing to do with merchant traffic nor the upcoming Harvestide could be witnessed. A group of maybe twenty men, mostly commoners from the look of them, stood boasting and reassuring one another of their solid masculinity, despite the nervous looks of many. Their presence blocked off any more forward movement from the wagons, forcing a full stop. They were armed with simple spears and the like, except for three of them who actually appeared to be professional fighting men of some sort. Leading them was a lean fellow possessing a hard set to his eyes, grey sharply influencing the once sandy brown hair of the man. He wore a shortsword at his side, and carried a noteworthy, well crafted warhammer that he held with familiar reverence. Speaking to this man were two women, one a woman of maturity with a worried, shocked expression and the other no more than thirteen or fourteen of age. The older of the two suddenly looked to the group and pointed, calling out, "There it is! Constable Cavendish, there it is! Oh, praise be to the Light!"

Just as relieved but a little more pragmatic, the younger asked aloud, "Is Grandpa with them, Auntie? Can you see him?" Relief appeared to be contagious, as many of the men huffed out great sighs and muttered not-so-silent platitudes to whomever was listening above that they didn't have to go out looking for diminutive green bandits, armed with whatever cheap militia weapons were issued to them.

The Auntie of the pair opened her mouth to answer the young lady, but was instead cut off by the man in charge. "Don't you worry, child. I already told you everything will be alright, so, I am going to see for myself. Don't you move." Constable Cavendish sauntered up to the wagons with a practiced swagger, patting the head of his very spiffy hammer with the palm of his hand for emphasis of his air of authority.

Whereas the younger lady did not move, the older followed along behind Cavendish. Eyes went to all of those visible in the party, hovering briefly over the string of Goblin ears. He paused, letting any wrong impression that might have crept up do so, then cleared his throat and began, "I'm Cavendish, Constable of the Avonshire Township. I want all of you to please step out in the open and tell me what happened. 'Cause, it looks like we got us some heroes here. Now, heroes are welcome in my Township, but I got to make sure. So..." He leaned his hammer over his shoulder and cocked his head to one side, "You good, law abiding folk who did a good turn, or did you just kill some bandits and take their plunder for yourselves? Speak up now. What's your business here?"

Trying to give some softness to the otherwise scratchy situation, the lady behind Mr. Cavendish spoke up, saying, "I'm sure they're just lovely people, sir." and then to the group, "Hello there, um, I'm Cecily L'Rose. That's my niece Lizbeth back there, and, if you're okay with it, I would like to talk to you after the Constable. We're so happy to see you, really." Nervous and uncertain smiles came from both Cecily and Lizbeth, unsure themselves if they were talking to good folk or bloodthirsty mercenary types, yet willing to give the benefit of the doubt - to an extent.

Cavendish shot a look back at her, but soon returned his attention to the group. His eyebrow raise was practically insisting on answers.