Sigil

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, heading out of town (East) Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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Annoyance came first. The eternal extrovert that Victoria was, it was a fact that the overabundance of people milling about her and the procession she was with prevented her from getting to where she wanted to go. Being just a few inches over five feet tall, the less vertically challenged Humans prevented her from getting a clear look ahead of them. The nearer to the town square they moved, the slower they seemed to go. So getting back to that emotion, Victoria was annoyed. At least no one seemed to mind Morty. If they did, no one said a word.

Beyond the general impatience of the moment, they were without one of the usual items necessary for proper funerary dedication to Olidammara. The thought was to pick up some wine on the way to the graveyard, but with how busy the town seemed right then, doubt crept in. When they had come to a near standstill with unseen fun stuff just ahead, Victoria knew that she had to do something. Perhaps there was a way that she could turn this difficulty into an asset. Her wheelhouse was people after all. Mostly the live ones, too. There were plenty of those around.

A sigh exhaled from Victoria's lips as an expression of resolve tightened her features. She unslung her violin and carefully lifted her bow to the strings. The instant a note resonated from within the belly of the acoustically crafted wood and escaped into the greater world around them, a smile graced Victoria's visage. Nigh joyous brightness shone in her eyes, crystal blue points contrasting the darker, more macabre markings on her face. The second note came, a louder, drawing sound which caught the attention of those around the tiny procession. More notes began to pile upon the first two, adding into a progressive melody greater then the sum of its parts, taking attention away from the town's center and to the Bard herself.

Her appearance was exotic for this Township, her music brimming with passion and talent. Initial steps of a lively dance encouraged people to shuffle back a pace or two, but not move so far as to get away from the upbeat, musical woman. Some even began to clap their hands or stamp their boots in cadence to the song, such as it was. The townsfolk of, and visitors to, the Township of Avonshire proper needed very little in the way of encouragement to act in a manner of joyous, harmonious frivolity. This resulted in a crowd doing its best to move out of the young Half-Elf's way, parting before her and closing again behind the funerary procession. Victoria moved up to join Cecily, keeping a pace behind her and to the side as this was her funeral march to lead, even if it was to more upbeat music than usual. Maybe not for Olidammara, but this was guesswork.

What was even more interesting was that Victoria's gambit to get freer movement got the group followers. With the idea that this was another side event in the overall festival, the Bard began to "Pied Piper" the people of Avonshire in the wake of the errand cart containing the remains of the deceased Mr. L'Rose. Unexpected as it might have been, it did lead to them making amazing time. They cut seamlessly through the town center, where music and food was to be had, and to the main thoroughfare leading east, out of town.

Before they had gotten too far, Victoria paused her music and addressed the crowd gathered around them all: "Good people! Good people of Avonshire! This night of thankfulness for a successful harvest is spotted by a moment of grief for some of your own. Your man, L'Rose, of the Rose River Vineyard, is to be interred this very evening, and by his wishes we praise the Roguish God of Wine and Works Most Clandestine, Olidammara!" A few cheers, some clapping, and a few questioning faces met her very gothic-looking gaze. She raised her violin once more to play, but first spoke, "This is a touch impromptu and rather hastily assembled, so the bereaved were not quite as prepared as they would like. But communities come together, yes? Help in times of need? People of differing faiths standing proudly under the same banner of societal unity? So I guess what I really want to ask is..." Pause for effect, watch the anticipation of what might be said next grow, then, "...might you all spare a lady some wine?" The inquiry came with a charming, mischievous smile playing across her face that colored her words intrinsically, and then a sly wink to hammer it home.

By the time the music began again, cheers rose all around and the procession continued with complete strangers joining them, many doing what they might to secure the finest of available vintages on the way out. A religious service done for the God of Rogues and Roguishness was a rarity in this part of the country; between that and the call of excellent music, this was a thing to witness.

Still, not one soul seemed to notice, or say anything about Morty, who kept mindlessly following Victoria's mental prompting onward.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Neil & Bob's Public House

With the fiscal day coming to a close, the festive evening had picked up. Traffic into and out of the Township became more fluid; more of a two-way give and take between the good times within the walls and the campsites outside of them. There is an increased number of guards at each gate - four instead of the usual two - but what most people inside the walls will see is a reduced guard presence. Not that anyone seems to care as the majority of people have a jovial attitude all around. The locals, however, can be spotted by their somewhat darkened expression, like they all have the same secret worry despite the celebratory actions in which they engage.

The Public House of Neil and Bob is brimming with activity. Their one remaining barmaid is definitely earning her tips this evening. There are far too many customers for her to keep up with everyone, and so she sticks to just the round tables in the center of the main room. The scene at the bar is busy, coming and going in waves as the bulk of the patrons come up to get their glasses and tankards refilled. A large slate sign behind the bar bears thick, chalk marks, proclaiming not just a reduction in menu variety due to being understaffed, but also a reduction in price for the festival. If one is hungry, the only thing available is mutton stew with in-season vegetables and dark, grainy bread. Drinks seem to be limited to beers, wines (two house wines, a red and a white, plus the Rose River Fortified Zinnoberrot, sold at a markup), and a tiny few selections of whiskies which aren't getting much exposure. There is a simple but amply sized stage tucked in the right-hand corner of the main room, just as one enters the establishment; at the moment it stays unused, except as a place for two or three people to sit upon its edge and sip ale. Suffice it to say, this is more of a local watering hole than an upper class establishment.

Bob himself seems happy enough, even if none of the joy reaches his eyes. He doesn't much bother keeping a tally of his income as the people pay for their drinks, just giving it enough attention to see that enough has been forked over before sweeping it either behind the bar or temporarily into an apron pocket.

When he comes around to Kathryn, bob scoffed once and fetched a decent sized pitcher from behind the bar. He moved over to a large barrel and cranked the tap, allowing a foamy, reddish lager to pour into the sizeable container. He is a professional, making sure that every bit of two silvers get into the pitcher before shutting off the spigot. It hovered in his grasp over the bar until Kathryn's money hit wood and the hand pulled away. "Yeah, I remember you. You can have your drinking contest; makes no nevermind to me who pays, long as someone does. But if you think some outsider's going to corner me into an interrogation because of beer I would've sold anyway, well... I'm not as stupid as you think I am." He seemed very sure of himself.

*****

The procession going to the graveyard consisted of Cecily L'Rose, Lizbeth, Victoria, Morty (bearing the pull-cart of canvas wrapped bones), and now Hugh bringing up the rear. Getting onto the main road leading north to the town's center was an easy enough task - Cecily waited for a gap, grabbed her niece's hand, and strode assertively into the masses. Following was also simple. It was almost impossible not to as people gathered along the side of the road, went the opposite direction on the other side, and pressed onward behind them.

This forward progression was slow but steady as the crowd seemed to move at a more casual pace. An individual might traverse this more quickly, weaving about and muttering the occasional "excuse me" but a group attempting to stay together was at a disadvantage for more hurried motion. It was especially dense around the more arboreal area near the city center. Movement slowed to an ambling walk the closer one got to the expanding field of centrally placed cobblestones, prompting serious consideration on finding an alternative route to the east gate.

Up ahead of the press of festival goers, in the center proper, the sounds of dance and merriment could be heard. Whether it was a show being put on, an event of some kind, or merely the same type of celebration as the last time the group passed through (albeit more active due to the hour) remained to be seen.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Lewascan2@Sigil

Hello again ladies, gentlemen, and all those blatantly refusing to accept the societal norms of binary existence (See? I can say it differently, you yutzes). Stuff is starting to move along. To recap: The party is split into two groups. Maybe three, but we'll get to this in a moment.

Group A is headed to the very nearby Neil & Bob's Public House to do whatever one does when they're trying to participate in a rather covert investigation, which in this case apparently means gambling on power drinking and asking obvious questions to the staff. No judgement here, this IS a way to go. It is an adventuring party, after all.

Group B is headed toward the graveyard just outside of town. What was supposed to be the quickest way there has become clogged with so much Human (and Halfling) cholesterol, making travel slower than expected. The good news is that everyone seems to be in positive spirits; the bad news really only applies if you don't like being around people. There are a fair amount of them.

Then there's the wild card. Our Tiefling has not committed to a location nor course of action when she gets there. Toss a coin, roll a die, place your bets, etc. There's a great big town (for the region) to do great big stuff in, one way or another, if going it alone is the order of the day. Otherwise, the safety of the party is still an option.

And the investigation commences! Go forth! Carpe that Diem! Be the best You that You can be! Get one of those tiny Victorian spoons and scoop ALL the marrow out of the roasted thighbone of your grand adventure! Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzz-

Okay, now I'm a little out of breath. You all do you. Next cycle begins.

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, Hayloft -> Heading out of town (East) Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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Vanity was a trait of Victoria's. Pride in her appearance, maybe even skirting upon (but not quite) excessive was certainly part of her personality, so the offer from Cecily to repair her garment was taken with polite, reserved gusto. "That is amazingly kind of you. Thank you, really. I'll have it ready by the time you get back from the stable." To Marita, Victoria just nodded. This was the plan now, apparently. She would do her thing, and try to meet up later. Circumstances permitting, of course. If something changed, maybe even just her mind, this would have to be reassessed at that time.

Victoria rested the canvas bundle containing a mostly intact human skeleton in her small pull-cart and gave a mental command to her ever faithful companion, Morty, to take up the rope. It occurred to the Half-Human lady of Sylvan features that this would be the first time she utilized one dead thing to transport another. A second of consideration for the faith of the departed crossed her mind, until she reminded herself that the faith in question was to Olidammara. Of all the deities, he was the least likely to give a rat's swollen hindparts whatsoever.

A shrug upon her shoulders and a song in her heart, Victoria ascended the stairs, beck up to her belongings and a speck more privacy then the downstairs. She gave some thought to closing the doors in the upper loft (or would those be windows?) but ultimately decided that expedience had a higher priority to modesty. So she quickly removed her tastefully studded leather armor and her slim, purple coat, to again reveal the black silks beneath. Her travel chest was her next stop. From this she acquired a black waistcoat with a high collar and slipped it over her shoulders, followed by a flowing length of light, purple fabric which she tied into something of a cravat. Past this the ceremonial Bard went into her cosmetics and touched a few things up, but mainly applied a grey preparation around her eyes and onto her cheeks, giving the faintest appearance of a mourning and death. Not that such an application detracted from her own charming sense of charisma, but it did seem to fit a festival atmosphere. Maybe not this festival, but surely one of them. As a precaution, she rightly rearmored.

Satisfied, Victoria climbed back down the ladder with her damaged coat and bid a silent command for Morty to follow. She made it outside in time to see Cecily and Lizbeth return. Neither had anything to say about her new appearance nor the means by which the dead person's remains would be transported. Her violin case hung from her back, anxious fingers waiting to bring it back out as soon as they were clear of the bulk of the people around them. "After you, Mrs. L'Rose. It is only fitting that you lead this procession, even if it is just the three of us now." The older lady began to mention something or another about compensation, but Victoria raised a finger to her own lips to request silence on the matter. "You have promised to fix my jacket. And I have already received compensation for my efforts. This is all we need discuss on the matter. Please, after you."

Resigned to this course of action, the three of them, Victoria, Cecily, and Lizbeth, began the walk to the center of town and to the east, out to where the graveyard stood.

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.