Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Lewascan2@Sigil

With the intent of keeping things moving forward, it will be assumed that whichever choice the group makes concerning the wagon will simply be carried out without need for another post. Likewise, the business with the animals in stabling will be handled by Cecily, off scene. One will have access to the mule during business hours of the stable, barring more clandestine actions. Same for the wagon if it is kept there instead of the hayloft. Cecily and Lizbeth will be around if any more questions need to be asked or the like, as the stabling is going to be a quick affair, before leaving again to bury their dead before nightfall.

We have hit the point where progress continues at the direction of the party, and how they wish to proceed with the information and leads given. Game time, it is late afternoon, and while businesses are not closing down for the day, most hours of operation for crafts or merchant goods are in the home stretch.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Hayloft

The momentary burst of seriousness from Lizbeth faded back into what one might expect from a little girl who lost her grandfather. The notes of moisture returned to her eyes and a quiet, sullen demeanor encompassed the whole of her, from expression to posture. The calm reassurance that the adults would handle things did not alleviate the grief of her loss. The Prestidigitation gave her the beginnings of a smile, but the subject matter confused her as to its relevance to the current situation, even if she was not consciously processing this thought. Little Lizbeth's eyes darted from Kosara to Kathryn, then back. "So you two are, like, really good friends?" Though clouded by a haze of welling emotion, her words seemed to hint at something she wasn't openly vocalizing.

Cecily heard the exchange between Hugh and Kosara, such as it was, and mentioned, "Mr. Fields used to work at Fort Darenby, like I said. I hear he has an arrangement with the Sheriff. I'm going there in a minute to leave my oxen. I'm sure Lizbeth can handle your mule, unless you want to handle him yourself."

Content to break away from the attention, Lizbeth made her move over to the wagons, intent to conform to her aunt's wishes and make herself useful. A little something to keep her hands busy and mind focused wasn't a bad thing, either. "Do you want to keep your wagon in the loft or at Mr. Fields's place?" she politely asked to no one in particular.

The words of Victoria rolled around in the elder Mrs. L'Rose's brain for a moment or two following their brief back-and-forth about family deities and possible plans for interment. "Thank you. I would rather this take place sooner, so I shall be back in a few minutes, after the oxen are handed over." She appeared to have noticed something about the bard, suddenly mentioning, "You have a hole in your sleeve, young lady. I can take care of that for you, if you like." If nothing else, she seemed to want to be helpful.

The Public House, quite nearby, is still brimming with business. No one seems to have taken any note of the comings and going of the travelers in and around the hayloft, engrossed in their own business, or more likely, their own festivities. From somewhere inside a song breaks out which is quickly taken up by a chorus of many novice voices, resulting in a blur of oft conflicting syllables only recognizable as a song because of the verbal cadence. Nevertheless, the people in and around Bob's seem in good spirits.

The Fields Stable, also quite nearby, is less busy. The building itself looks to be an open warehouse type of location with a small farrier's smithy setup in the front. Within, one can see lines of individual stable stalls and a wide open section in the back, all of which is plainly visible because of the open nature of the front and the wide, barn-like doors far in the back left open for light and air to circulate. Despite the lack of business relative to the bustling Pub in the vicinity, it seems a cheerful enough spot as casual glance.

It is still daylight, not quite suppertime yet but definitely after one might take Tea; shadows lengthening upon the ground on account of the sun making its usual path across the mostly clear sky. The wind has picked up a little, blowing moderate gusts which contain a note of autumn chill; while not freezing, it certainly is not the most comfortable. The attire of the average person about the streets reflects this as coats and cloaks are the norm, quality and cut reflecting the various social strata of the Township.

The real movement is back up the street from which you came, back toward the main north/south thoroughfare. Now that things are quieter on the end of the militia which was gathered there at the point in time of the party's arrival, foot and vehicle traffic from the people set up outside of the high log walls has resumed. The building festival atmosphere is palpable.

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, L'Rose Hayloft Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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"...hair the night off?" mused Victoria, her face tilted slightly to the side on some confusion. This was a riddle of some kind, she assumed. It didn't make sense otherwise. Or at all, so far as she was aware. This was an eccentric lady who ran a business that had a complicated standing with the locals, and she was being funny. That, or the Madame knew something that Victoria did not. But as this grand puzzle did not directly concern her, nor their mission so far as she was aware, the aubergine Bard let it drop.

Seeing as the mood of the hour had the rest of the party moving elsewhere, Victoria went along with this. But not before a quick farewell. There was no sense in using a her more diplomatic talents to establish a useful contact if they were just going to leave unceremoniously. "Thank you so much, Madame Marcie! I am ever on the search for exciting venues to perform within! And a little money never hurt anyone, either." The sudden mental image of pouring a handful of silver pieces into a sock and sapping out some poor bastard suddenly sprung up unbidden. Then loading a gold coin into a sling and pegging a city guard at fifteen paces. Then force-feeding a captive coppers until their belly lay distended, preventing any movement that didn't result in a wet jingling sound. She immediately pondered never using that phrase again. If utilized properly, a little money could indeed hurt someone. Waving, Victoria bid her, "I'm hopeful we'll meet again very soon," and turned to join the rest of the party.

Morty remained out of sight, for the most part, until Victoria issued a mental command for the smoky beast to heel. Unencumbered by the errand cart it usually pulled when not utilized in a more martial capacity, it more or less trotted its stiff-legged gait behind and slightly to the left of its master. Victoria opted to walk next to their borrowed wagon until they made it back to the street containing Bob's Public House, the hayloft, and the heretofore unmentioned stable ran by a man named Fields. Mild puzzlement flashed over her part-sylvan features, a glimmer of what she thought might have been recognition. It would have to wait for now.

Perhaps establishing their base of operations first was the best idea. A nondescript place for them to retreat back to, if necessary, or plot their random acts of nefariousness whilst they sharpen their knives. Of course Victoria didn't think that this would be the case exactly, but bardic license was a thing. Giving The Truth Scope was a popular descriptor, too. Actually entering the place was a sort of reveal - having expected a livestock barn with a loft they might use, Victoria was pleased to see that it was just a place to pick up and drop off hay whomever needed it, without the presence of animals whatsoever. They probably did good business with the stable across the way. Of particular note in this tidy little building was the block and tackle lift. This, Victoria went to immediately.

Getting her small pull-cart out of the back of their wagon was simple enough, laden down though it was with her travel chest and backpack. Both of these she placed on the lift, then making liberal use of the device to get her belongings to the floor above as the others saw to Lizbeth's comfort. She was a cute kid, Victoria had to admit. Even reminded her a little of a cousin. Lizbeth had seen more than a child her age should have seen and the wear upon her was showing. But call her selfish, Victoria used the opportunity of others being distracted to stow her gear.

Rather than make direct attempts to make the child feel better, Victoria addressed Cecily directly. Her words were soft, velvety, and filled with a sense of warm understanding. "Your father (in-law?)" She thought there was some mention of that earlier. "His bones did not deserve to be left where they were. I am not a Cleric and by no means do I speak on a deity's behalf. That said, if you would please allow me, I believe I can give him a proper, even poetic interment. This is my profession when I'm not in a mercenary Goblin-hunting group." The last part was spoken with a lilt, suggesting a touch of humor to buffer against the crushing seriousness of he occasion. "If I have your permission, I will need to know your family's faith, that I may respect the scene accordingly."

Cecily took a few seconds of consideration before finally sighing and responding, "The family follows Chauntea, mostly. Growers, you know. But..." She hesitated, as if a little embarrassed to continue, "...he wasn't very religious, but I think Papa L'Rose worshipped Lliira." Sudden seriousness came from Lizbeth, who locked eyes with her aunt even as the others tried to cheer her up. A conversation unheard might have passed between the two of them, and Cecily corrected herself, "No, you're right. It was Olidammara."

The second Victoria heard Cecily respond, she went to gather the canvas-wrapped bones of the deceased. She paused upon hearing the name of the final deity mentioned, package in hand. The strangest look crossed her face; part surprised and part amused. She knew of this deity. This was not one she would have suspected to come out of Cecily's mouth. Victoria put on as diplomatic a posture as she could, her mind trying to recall the specific celebratory rituals of Olidammara and responding,"Interesting. Unexpected to be sure, but very interesting, Mrs. L'Rose." All smiles and reassurances, Victoria related, "I can help you. Truly, I can. We're going to need more wine."

To Marita, Victoria asked quietly, "You're the godly one out of all of us, so... your input has a lot of weight, in my limited estimation. I can take care of this, if you want to start the investigation; we should be done before nightfall. What would you prefer?"

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Cecily was astute enough to realize that the concept of a hayloft wasn't the Bed & Breakfast experience that Marita might have wanted. Or any of them, for that matter. "I assure you, if you decide to accept my invitation to the vineyard, you will have much nicer accommodations. It's the least I might offer for what you have done for my family." She sighs, and gives one piece of information that she hopes brings comfort, "There is a lamp inside, and a big ceramic vessel that watchmen use for a firepit. Some stacked wood, too - or there should be. Privy house just to the back. I've stayed there myself, before. Once or twice." She promises again to give the group the grand tour, following the completion of the deliveries.

The question posed by Kathryn concerning the state of the silversmith's location was met with a blank look for a moment, as if Cecily was lost in thought. When she finally spoke, it was with a mild expression of hopelessness. "I really don't know. It was open a week or so ago, last time I was in town. Whatever reason Mr. Mallard had for boarding up from the inside, it must have been recent."

Little Lizbeth L'Rose has been very quiet, up in their wagon. She stuck to the driver's seat, staying near to her aunt as best she could unless there was a barrel being rolled off of the wagon and the elder Mrs. L'Rose needed to climb down. Her face kept moving with waves of grief and expressions of longing, seeing all of the fun which was going on around them yet feeling too guilty to ask if it was okay to join. Especially during the time that the wagon made its way down toward Madame Marcie's Honey Barn, she keeps a very low profile, not venturing to speak.

But as for Madame Marcie herself, she appears quite taken by the positive attention being doled out to her, especially by Kosara and Victoria. In fact, she appears to have an immediate elevation of spirits, reflected in the words and tone she uses to both Cecily and the party. It is to Mrs. L'Rose and Kathryn that she first gives address, saying, "Ah, but come now. There's no need to be sorry, really." Her accent, as foreign as the rest of the party is to this area, stresses a little more as she continues, "One cannot reliably predict the aggression of Goblins, now can they? No, what we have here is the cost of doing business, one which Mrs. L'Rose will have to tend. But I do not insist that it be settled this day. Oh no! Both of us are way too busy for that. Send me a free one when you can or credit my account. The inconvenience of it is my cost of doing business."

The lack of desire to open conversation past the simplest of introductions, as well as the general attire of Marita, is really all that Marcie seems to need to know about the Cleric. A half-second of sizing one another up and coming to their perspective judgements later, and the Madame gives a polite, knowing smile up to the adventuring Clergywoman, and that seems to be that.

But to the more conversationally active of the group, Marcie had much to say. "A Tiefling dancer from the southern deserts, and an actual Bard? How exquisite." She listened for a time, interest developing as each of them went into the speeches they gave and questions they asked, something very near to delight finally accenting her face. "I have no idea what a Simsimiyya, nor what the Grey Requiem is." She waved her hands, as if warding off gnats, to embellish her thought of, "Mere details." A moment later, she offered, "Hmm... You two could do well for yourself here. I would be soft-headed not to at least ask if you would like to do some work during the festival. Profitable work. Entertainment, mind you, not... well, only for entertainment. Scruples, of course. But you, Miss Kosara, thank you! Your hair is just gorgeous as well. Rare, and gorgeous. As for my raven locks, well... woman to woman? My secret is that sometimes," Marcie looked around and spoke at a whisper, as if to prevent others from hearing a trade secret, "Sometimes, I give my hair the night off."

A wink and then she brought herself back to full height, speaking loudly enough for everyone else to hear, "My door is open now, or you may come back later and we can shuffle some shows around. I'm sure I can find something mutually profitable for a ...so very strong lady..." This obviously aimed at Kathryn, "...to pass the time in my little corner of Avonshire." Marcie waved and strutted back toward the doors of The Honey Barn, her boots making a hollow clacking sound upon the cobblestones, feeling much better about herself and life in general.

After the initial conversations with the Madame were concluded and things began to wrap up, Lizbeth leaned out of the wagon in Cecily's general direction and reminded that, after deliveries were done, she promised to let them in the loft. The older lady responds, "Ah yes, of course. For those of you who are interested, please follow me back to the loft." Cecily spoke as if distracted, quickly straightening up to see to her affairs.

For those who chose to follow Cecily back to the Hayloft, you can tell that she remained quiet and somewhat distracted, despite all of the cheerful celebration around you all. It wasn't until the group got back to the street which held the loft that she began to speak again. "Bob's Public House is just across the way and up a building, here. Next door to that and just across from the loft is a stable run by a man named Fields. Human, used to work with the soldiers over in Darenby. And here," She dropped down from the now much emptier wagon, removing a bar and a lock from the big double doors to at the front. "Here is the family's hayloft. It's only used for the storage of hay and straw, some tools. Animals are kept across the street. This is closed up now, but there should still be several bales of fresh hay in here." She reminds of the privy out back, ceramic fire bowl, and oil lamp. There is also a cart in here, to one corner, and a few barrels near to the front of the ground floor.

Hayloft

The floor is made of the same cobblestones as the street, Otherwise, this place is built of stone and well tended lumber. Bales of hay are present, as is a ladder reaching to the next level up. This is not the only means of accessing the second floor, as a loading block and tackle can be seen on a pulley system, attached to a wooden platform. Right now, that platform rests upon the floor, but it won't take a genius to operate the system from either the ground or second level, providing a simple elevator. The ladder itself can be moved, or taken up behind someone on the higher floor. Double doors can be spotted on either side of this building on the ground floor, both of which can be barred from the inside. The entire place smelled of mown hay and tooled wood.

Wandering in from the wagon outside, Lizbeth spoke to her aunt with the start of moisture in her eyes. "Aunt CeeCee? What are we going to do about Grandpa?" Her lip began to quiver slightly. Lizbeth held it back as best she could, but she did just lose a family member and had to run from a Goblin attack, only to find out that they stripped the flesh from Grandpa's bones and ate his corpse. Her ability to keep it together was fraying.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Lewascan2@Sigil

Congratulations for surviving this far.

The group is now officially in the middle of the Township and has a decent lay of the land. The options are wide open and there are multiple avenues of investigation available for those who wish to do so. Likewise, establishing one's safe zone or a fallback spot is a viable option, as is attempting to curry favor with some of the colorful locals. Of course, there is always the Napoleon gambit (I'm going to show up, and I'm going to see what happens), possibly involving joining the ongoing jocularity of the Festival which has yet to really kick off in earnest. In any case, for the next while I will update, I will react, and if anyone activates a planned encounter or uncovers something interesting, I will be very sure to let you know.

Welcome to the meat of our adventure. The next series of choices are a bit more sandbox in nature. Best of luck, Adventurers.

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, out and about Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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Victoria hadn't imagined that making a mundane delivery of huge casks of wine would actually be fun. But here she was, actually having more of a pleasant diversion than she might have considered. Maybe it was the allure of the festival and all of its exciting notes that spurred on her morale, or just the opportunity to see how another land embraced the changing of the seasons; this one with a sense of upbeat optimism. Well run festivals were a joy to Victoria's senses. Sights, smells of good food and flowers, the music (probably the biggest draw for her) that served to broaden her own professional horizons, and a hundred different, tiny details that she might never have known about had she not been there to witness them personally. This was facilitated very effectively with their roundabout route throughout town, and for once she was grateful for a sub-optimal, meandering path.

Upon reaching what appeared to be the biggest amount of hubbub, this being in the middle of the town which featured an interesting fountain; one which seemed a little more elaborate than one might have built for a town of this size. The music and dancing got into her head and rattled around a little bit. For someone who coaxed and utilized strands of The Weave in the same manner as one might compose and play a song, music was important. Lyrics were spoken incantations, the movement of feet were as drawing runes upon the ground. The instruments played served as the materials which bound it all together. Even if no metaphysical powers came to fruition, no mind beguiled nor mote of fire thrown at one's enemies, every song played with heart and talent was a magic spell all of its own, capable of great things from a skilled performer.

And so Victoria broke away from the group to join the throng circling the fountain, dancing to a tune which she did not recognize but made a point to commit to memory. She gave a quick mental command for Morty to stay with the rest of the party, but soon lost herself in a whirling, uptempo cavort, familiar enough to her in style that she could meld into the locals in deed, if obviously not of appearance. This was celebratory and rural, honest, forthcoming, and beautiful in its lack of unnecessary nuance. And so Victoria danced with the locals. By the time that the wagon had rolled past and was exiting the town square, she had made three complete revolutions around the fountain and could have gone for more, except that they did have a pressing job to do. With some regret, Victoria pulled herself away from the dancers, gave a proper, hat-sweeping bow, the jogged to get back to the party. A broad smile lay set upon her lips which did not falter until long after they moved from the party going on in the town's center. Helping unload the wagon was just an afterthought, following this.

The odd and provocative title of the Inn they were supposed to be lodging within drew her interest well enough, and while the proprietor appeared to be a sort of jackass, the barmaid had Victoria's attention plenty, as she was doing the work of, and putting up with the bullshit due, at least three waitresses. Her eyes hovered for a moment until she realized that she was beginning to stare, then politely smiled and tipped her hat, mind returning to business at hand. In short: No private rooms. Beds in a common area. Hayloft nearby might have to suffice. It was not ideal, but this was not the only game in town. Possibilities of other places to lodge flitted about in her head. Surely something could be managed. If not, the hayloft was preferable to the open sky. She wouldn't mind a quick tour after the delivery run was over.

The Farmers' Market was likewise interesting to her. This was where the salt of the land, local growers and craftsfolk gathered to have their own, more homey and rural version of the festival, as best she could tell. Offloading the single barrel, or helping as she could by lining up planks to form a ramp (as physical might was not her forte) seemed like so much less of a chore, hearing how excited they were to get this massive container of wine. Then she found out why. "Oh, there is a talent show?" she inquired with an optimistic, ambitious tone. Victoria was a lady of many performing talents, and adding the huge cask of wine to her personal belongings would fetch her a tidy profit, even if the party had their fill and they sold the rest for a silver a flagon. She smiled sweetly at the man, preparing to schmooze like an Argenti bureaucrat at a diplomatic supper.

She was stopped cold. "I'm sorry, Miss..." The Very Important Looking Gentleman looked over to Victoria, a blush coming to his cheeks as he saw the dexterous, charismatic Half-Elf smiling sweetly at him, eyes a-sparkle and the world around her dimming against her radiant sense of presence. His resolve almost buckled. Almost. "Miss... ah, Lady. This is for local folk only, and sign ups are done with. Maybe next year? Or! Or you all might come by after, and we could throw a real party, yes? Maybe? Well, think about it. Lots of fun, you know!" The made Victoria smile a little more genuinely. Yes, she was denied. But the festivities of the workaday unshackled from the oversight of the lordly was often the most unrestrained and honest of times, surrounded by more or less good folk. In her experience, anyway.

In contrast, dropping off wine at the Traders' Market was a runaround, and mostly a bore. The tiniest spot of intrigue came with the view they all got at the Silversmith's place. Victoria wondered why a shop owner would close up and then board their windows at the outset of a huge business period. It made no sense. But, that mystery would have to wait for a little while longer, at least. There was more wine to deliver to one final place. Jacques Mallard was a name she would try to remember to ask about later.

And what a final delivery it was. This was a colorful place, certainly, with certain details that might give one less-than-innocent ideas about the nature of what did or did not occur within the walls of the Honey Barn. The owner of this fabulous Barn made herself known, introductions all around, and Victoria could not help but notice that Madame Marcie was the tallest Halfling that she had ever seen. This had to be a gimmick somehow. But a shrug later, V established that it was likely not helpful to probe into that topic at this time. A couple of the others had their own questions and bits of conversation with the rather dramatic looking woman, and Victoria herself felt compelled to make her own attempt at influence.

She picked up on the Madame's comment that Cecily had lovely companionship. Stressing lovely as if it might hold some meaning or another. Also, she seemed to have a proclivity for purple as well, though hers were more muted in nature. It was a point where she might begin. "Not remotely as lovely as that corset, Madame." She accepted the woman's hand and bowed slightly, sweeping off her most Bard-y of hats with a flourish. "So sorry for my informality, Madame. It has been a little adventurous as of late and I have yet to properly relate the story! I am called Victoria Belmont, Bard of the College of the Grey Requiem. You may call me V, if it suits your proclivities." A broad smile and a replacement of her hat, and she continued, "I simply adore your style, Madame Marcie! And I do so detest that those Goblins got into the wine earmarked for your establishment. I'm sure that you and Mrs. L'Rose can work something out, really I do. She's an honest woman, I think. But before we get into the drab necessities of whatever business talk needs being said, you must tell me where you got that scarf. It's gorgeous. Envy is making me green. Absolutely green, Madame." This was an unabashed attempt at fostering camaraderie based upon common interests and sociability. At face value. It seemed to be working.

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.