Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Sigil@Lurking Krog

The three locations have been updated. Out of them, it looks like all parties thusfar interacting have their own group of locals (of varying sizes) with whom conversations can be struck. I will accept attempts at dialogue or skill rolls for additional information, should the named NPCs have anything to say and are willing to do so, for the next post if so desired.

In the meantime, engage with your surroundings. There's stuff to do. Make stuff up if desired. Roleplay to the very STEM of the asparagus! Do not let your minds stagnate on mere tropes within the greater D&D community! Allow your imagination to sprout into something firm, yet malleable! Praise the pagan RPG gods in all fo their pagan RPG glory!!! <insert evil laugh here>

Ok, going too far. To summarize, good job on you all, let's keep the momentum going, for there is much in the way of investigation to do. Many thanks for keeping on with the story.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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The sun had finally dropped below the horizon, leaving the world around you to slip into a hazy, misty night. The fog did not help much with visibility, either. While not the thick, hopelessly obscuring fog that it could be (and in fairness provides a lovely ambience), it does limit vision to one's immediate area. Darkvision is not helpful in this instance, either. This does not effect anyone who is still indoors, which means that Marita and Kathryn are in the clear, but Kosara in the Farmers' Market and Victoria at the Cemetery are under the effects of this more plainly.

The almost-full moon and colorful sky gave way to a cloudless night full of stars. It would be quite pretty for those who appreciate stargazing but otherwise doesn't help with visibility against the fog and torchlight. More disappointing for those attempting to gaze upon heavenly bodies is that they would have to find a higher elevation to truly appreciate what is otherwise a swirly myopic blur, again thanks to the fog.

The temperature began to come down. It was slow at first, but as soon as the sky darkened it became obvious that Autumn was well advanced and the unseasonable cold that produced frost the previous night was coming back. With this dip of ambient warmth and lack of sunlight, the streets began to clear out. There were still enough people to give the appearance of a town with an active nightlife, though the numbers were not that of the hectic festival of midday.

As with the last update, the party finds itself in three places around the Township: Neil & Bob's Public House (which is still quite busy), the Farmers' Market (which is clearing out some, but not as much as the rest of the town), and the Cemetery (which is always a great place to be in a D&D game at night amid a rash of disappearances). Let us continue.

Neil & Bob's Public House

The tumble of the one patron which so neatly deposited the beer onto Marita gave rise to a roar from the crowd, both applause and raucous laughter. Like most things happening in the epicenter of a region-wide celebration, it was given intense emotion one moment and moved away from the next, for whatever piece of diversion might come next.

Otherwise, Marita's work was fairly simple. Let it be stressed that simple does not mean easy. As uncomplicated as this was, there was a mystery as to how Lea did this by herself, and a testament to her experience plying her trade. It was a gift. However, Marita's grasp on the tasks at hand were good enough to net her a tidy sum in tips for her efforts. A new crop of mixed coins jangled in her apron pocket; coppers enough to equal four silver coins of the realm in addition to three actual silver coins from more generous and/or drunkenly heavy tippers. Such cash could really only come to a barmaid during a special event such as this one.

A period of time that might be considered a lull creeps up. Business did not really slow down, but for a single shining, amazing moment, everyone's drink was full. People had stew in front of them, and while chatter was at an all-time high, nobody had a hand up at the tables and no one looked about with expectant eyes for someone to serve them. From inside the door to the kitchen, Lea waves her hands to get Marita's attention, then holds up two big bowls of stew with large chunks of bread resting partly submerged on top. The experienced barmaid jerks her head back toward the kitchen, motioning to follow.

Back at Kathryn's table, the trio of festival goers took her up on her offer to share the table, except for Smiley, who shook his head and wandered off to the bar to divest himself of some money for another pitcher of beer to place in front of the burly warrior lady, and one (of lesser quality) to split between his friends. At the table itself, the Ambitious one gave a gracious grin and motioned for Scowly to sit. Over the din of the Public House, he remarked, "Well now, you didn't have to do that. Your table, fair and square. Unless you got up, then I promise you we would have taken it before you got back from your first ale-piss." This sentiment was seconded by Scowly, whose face hadn't softened from the defeat just a moment ago, by nodding and muttering something in agreement.

Ever the talkative one, Ambitious continued, "Let's be friends. For the next hour or so, at least. My name is Maurice. The happy guy bringing you back your beer right now is Lawrence, and the big, grumbly fellow here we call Curly."

When the beer arrived and was poured, Curly's demeanor seemed to have shifted a little toward being more sociable. "Yeah, rematch." He was very positive about it in very few words. "After this one," he added while holding up his mug of beer, a caveat coming from a supposedly dry throat. The additional qualifier was added, "Loser buys next round."

Lawrence clears his throat and gives a brief explanation that indeed, they were locals. The three of them had been kicking around the region as work came up for laborers, farming or otherwise, and in fact did a little brick work once upon a time to the repair the drainage under the town, and even a touch of teamster work for visiting merchants that took them all the way to the coast once. Mostly unskilled labor, but folks in the know were aware of their presence.

"So how did you know about the festival, Miss Warrior (it is Miss, right)?" coming from Maurice. "And how were you able to find a room in town at this season? Most everything's booked a week out, unless you know someone."

Farmer's Market, Talent Show Area

There are irregular light sources that allow for more or less reliable, unimpeded vision within their areas of illumination. Braziers are lit, as well as a couple of permanent campfire areas, giving variations of bright and dim light to cut through the foggy evening. The braziers are more for warmth than light, their red-orange coals glowing quietly to cut through the dampness and chill of the ambient air, assisted by torches and oil lamps where possible. What might lurk beyond the reach of their light remains up to the imagination.

There are still quite a few people wandering about here, laughing, drinking, or getting something to eat. This is also a place where many of the working class would set up for the night in canvas tents with slightly raised wooden floors. Some were settling in for the night on cots or hammocks, others were preparing their evening meals over communal fires. Still others were plying wares at lowered prices to the locals from their own wagons, stewpots, or tents. Some popular spots had small barrels, crates, and boxes for seats out in the open while steaming, mulled wines, tea, and other hot beverages were being distributed. Conversations here were garrulous and open, while rumors were being discussed aloud. As mentioned before, this is a place for the common folk to have their own party.

Toward the western side of the area, the scent of seasoned woodfires wafted, along with the telltale scent of searing and roasting swineflesh. It was moderately and evenly lit against the night, and was the busiest part of the area. Teams of people were getting dug in for a very long session of the incredibly slow preparation of pork, and all that which might accompany it, for the next day.

The people of the Talent Show didn't seem to be done yet. For the night, yes. In total, no. Several people were declared to have moved on to the finals, to be held around dusk the following evening. Their barrel of very fancy wine was still around, being kept relatively safe until it can be awarded to the winner.

And finally, walking among the folk of the land, there was a lone figure in common clothes with a big, floppy hat and simple sandals. One might think this person might be put off by the temperature on account of his modest attire, but a cheery smile matched equally optimistic blue eyes as he walked along, a stout fishing pole in one hand resting across his shoulder. As he neared Kosara, he paused. "Mornin'!" he greeted, continuing with, "Nice day for fishin', ain't it? Huah hah!" before continuing his determined stride elsewhere.

Beppo, The Amazing Crying Man, leads Kosara (and in truth very obviously wants to be seen with her on his arm) over to one of the more poplar spots near a brazier and procures from a canvas storefront two wooden cups of steaming, spiced wine. He initiates a pleasant enough continuation to their conversation, eventually leaning in to explain, "Just sometimes, I dab a little mint extract under by eyes. Gets 'em started, at least." He was very quiet, almost at a whisper. Placing one finger across his lips, he reiterates, "But don't go telling nobody."

Cemetery

"Monsieur L'Rose once ate a whole jar of pepper jelly on a dare. The Rentman stuff." proclaims one man, only lightly addled by drink. This was generally accepted by the congregation as a whole.

"Yeah!" says another, "Standing on his head!" A couple of laughs from this one, though it wasn't the funniest thing to say.

"Big man with the ladies in his youth!" states yet another, "Used to ask 'em to dance two or three at a time, he did!"

"Yeah!" came a shouted agreement from a couple others. They were finally getting this game. Every third proclamation was followed up by a toast in his name, along with mighty shouting of "MONSIEUR L'ROSE!"

Full circle this ran around and around, finally getting to a point where one man shouts above the din of his fellows, "And he wore a blue ribbon around his tallywhacker, because he said it ALWAYS won first prize!" This was followed by a roar of laughter and continued chanting of, "MONSIEUR L'ROSE!" A few of them suddenly began to feel self-conscious of their antics, owing to the presence of little Lizbeth, which began to bring the mood down a little bit.

Meanwhile, the young girl had asked for and acquired Victoria's slim-fitting purple coat from Cecily, and wrapped it around her shoulders to ward off a bit of the foggy night's chill. It looked like a dress on her. This kind of boisterous activity wasn't unknown to either Cecily nor her young charge. They came from wine folk; growers, vintners, merchants, and imbibers, all. And owing to the deity lauded by the former family patriarch, such roguishness was expected. "At least he didn't follow Ela," Cecily muttered.

Overall, the fog wasn't quite as annoying as one might assume out from behind the walls. It was thicker, heavier, and threatened to make uneven ground perilous, but the torches brought by the people of Avonshire as well as the lanterns from the Gravedigger did much to provide visibility. There was a cost, though, as the fog obliterated any chance of sight past the range of the torch fires. This seemed to bother nary a soul above ground nor below in this particular cemetery. Alcohol flowed, merriment was had, and the late Monsieur L'Rose was getting a lively, if not factually accurate, sendoff.

The disarticulated skeleton remained wrapped in canvas, nestled at the bottom of the hole provided for it. Whether the deceased approved of the party going on above his bones or not, they weren't telling.

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: Cemetery, east of Avonshire Township Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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The flaw in the great plan to get the public involved was that despite them clearing a path, providing ample light, and procuring a very respectable amount of wine for the ceremony (such as it was), they were possessed of a whimsical bent birthed of alcohol and the yearly festival. Victoria's knowledge of the funerary practices of The Laughing Rogue, Olidammara, was adequate to the task, her personal history being a strong factor in this regard, though she had questions. Foremost among these questions was why this man followed a deity better suited to ne'er-do-wells and the socially unstable. There was a connection to wine there, true, but Lliira sounded much more suited to such a person.

People were complex. The Gods knew that her own family had some interesting tidbits of fact about them that would surprise the general public, were they to know - herself included. So this was none of her business about which to ponder aloud. Her task was to put the man in the ground with as much honor as a person of laity could, hopefully while bringing clarity to the emotions of the people in attendance. In this instance, putting on such a performance effectively would be easier than with other crowds, seeing as they were already mid-celebration and partaking of mood enhancing libations. So Victoria began.

The first few notes which flew from the friction between bow and string upon her violin were drawn out, clear, and designed to draw attention. It worked. Muttering and side conversations ceased, allowing Victoria to speak. "It is said that there is a temple of Olidammara anywhere there is wine, song, and laughter. It is also said that any place that sells ale counts as a shrine," a smile flashed, allowing a moment for others gathered to get in their own murmurs of joviality. "...so I take that last statement with a grain of salt."

Victoria knelt to recover one of the bottles of wine given over to her for the ceremony, straining a little to open it. The cork gave way with a very audible and hollow pop. "Before I play a song on behalf of the departed, let us raise a toast in his name. Does anyone have something to say about the late Monsieur L'Rose?" She raised the bottle to her lips, but paused, a wicked but disarming smile gracing her features, "In honor of the occasion and deity involved, it doesn't necessarily have to be true." Or believable, for that matter, as long as it was in the interest of entertainment. "There will be time for honest dialogue after the earth was covered him." Bottle in hand, Victoria waited expectantly for someone to speak.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Lurking Krog

Looks good. Please transfer your character to the CS Tab and jump in as an appropriate opening presents itself. Be advised that as soon as your post hits the IC, you're stuck in the loop with the rest of us, subject to the rules and policies outlined in the initial post of this OOC, plus whatever oddness I feel like making up on the spot. Best of luck with that. And welcome aboard.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Sigil

Update is updated. I do hope that I have provided enough interesting and diverting things for the party to involve themselves with while still pursuing the investigation, more or less.

I have made a couple of announcements in the Discord about changes made to this RP, and in part (for anyone else keeping up with our grand adventure) some of that will be revealed here. The status for the Avonshire campaign has changed from FULL to APPLY. While this is not a first come, first serve thing, I will give the initial option to those who have already gone through the application process, meaning, invitations will be sent over the next couple of days. Anyone else who in interested must go through the process detailed at the start of this OOC. Slots are very limited.

For the present group of players, per usual hit me up via direct message or in the Discord for questions, clarifications, or for rolls. Merry Adventuring.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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The last light of the day turned the sky to a soft, dusky collection of orange, red, and purple hues. The temperature dropped noticeably once the sun found its way to the horizon, but at least the wind had the common decency to quiet down somewhat. It stands at about 47^oF (8^oC) and will likely drop further once night sets in more fully. To add a little more ambience to the evening, a low fog has formed, fortified by the presence of the lake and river nearby. Inside of the walls of Avonshire this makes for an interesting glow, set off by the various light sources that come with Human and Halfling civilization, even if it does reduce vision at a distance. Outside of the walls, such as the location of the cemetery, the fog makes life a little more interesting. A blanket of atmospheric white concentrates low, laying lazily about bushes and headstones, though there is plenty all around to make details fuzzy at more than a handful of meters.

One saving grace to this is a moon that stands nearly full; a waxing gibbous that will very soon become the last full moon in the Autumn harvest season. Past this, the coming of winter is a pressing matter of time. In any case, nighttime's lunar companion is big and bright enough that it assists the Township's light sources to hold the dark away well enough, and provides dim illumination to the lands outside of the walls in addition to the last of the fading twilight. This will become darkness in fairly short order.

The party finds itself in three different places around Avonshire Township: Neil & Bob's, the Farmers' Market, and the Cemetery. The first two are (more or less) safely within town, the latter is outside of town to the east, right next to the forest. Let's begin.

Neil & Bob's Public House

As Marita approached Lea, the overworked barmaid plastered a bright and cheerful look on her face and prepared to give her best "what can I get you, sweetie?" speech. The words died in her throat as Marita mentioned giving her assistance. Immediately, the facade dropped, a look of growing fatigue replacing it though with a touch of gratitude mixed in the details. "Oh, thank Grace for you, then. I haven't had any help for a while now." Her shoulders slumped and she allowed for a moment of weakness to show before mustering what remained of her resolve.

"Do you have any experience? Nevermind, it doesn't matter. We're only serving stew and bread tonight. They ask for ale, bring them the house stuff unless they want something specific, then tell Robert, he'll handle it. Same for wine. Clear tables, take the stuff to the back room. Daisy will wash and stack for you. Aside from that, just keep up. Take um... those tables there." She pointed to a cluster of four tables nearest the door, barely visible in its entirety through the people moving about the bar. "If you need help, ask. Oh! and if anyone gets too handsy, don't be afraid to 'accidentally' spill something. I'll back you up. Thank you so much for this! We'll split tips later!" Lea scurried back to her duties, which in this case involved unloading empties from a recently abandoned table and wiping it down for the next knot of thirsty festival goers.

In the back, a lone Halfling woman of early adult years stood upon a stool, scrubbing out a series of bowls and stacking them to dry. Barrels of house ale and wine were clearly marked and actively tapped, and the barrel of Fortified Zinnoberrot rested on its side upon two sawhorses, their rigid crossbeams carved to nestle the curvature of the huge barrel. Daisy was a lady of few words, cleaning and organizing as she went along, looking almost as run down as Lea.

Considering how busy the Public House was, it was a stone solid miracle that Kathryn was able to find an unoccupied table toward the middle of the room. Happenstance put this as the very table that Lea had just finished clearing and wiping down, and the fact that Kathryn was able to snag such prime tavern real estate earned her some ire. Far be it for this to go completely unchallenged, after a few moments of sitting alone, the (sort of) Half-Giant saw a trio of locals staring in her direction and speaking amongst themselves. One had a smile, one a scowl, and the last a fairly ambitious look about his face. All were Human, male, and bore the look of laborers of some sort out for a night on the town.

When they noticed that they had been spotted, the ambitious one tapped the scowling one's shoulder with purpose and pointed them all toward Kathryn's table. "Big girl, ain't ya?" he said when they arrived. He did not look overly impressed by the implements of warfare adorning the Fighter's person. "Rough and tumble type. Look, there's only one of you, and three of us. It isn't exactly fair you get this whole table all by your lonesone, so... You should let us have it." The Smiling one shot a disapproving look, which was picked up by Ambitious. He relented. Just a little. "Okay, tell ya what: I'll challenge you straight up for the table. You bet my friend here," he motioned at Scowly, "at arm wrestling," The humor in his voice was near to tangible, "and not only do you keep the table, but I'll get your next round. You lose, you lose the table. And you're paying for our next round. Deal?"

Sure enough, Scowly was a thickly muscled fellow, his arms seemingly accustomed to extensive manual labor. This guy kept an unwavering gaze at Kathryn.

Farmer's Market, Talent Show

The presence of the pretty Tiefling was noticed among the salt of the earth that were the inhabitants of the Farmers' Market section of the Township almost immediately. People of Kosara's lineage very painfully rare in this place, and this earned her a multitude of different looks ranging from curious to fearful to outright awestruck. Some looked on with disdain, as if angry she had shown up but not quite enough as to say anything directly. Others were openly cheery and willing to embrace the newcomer. Especially if there was money to be spent by the attractive outsider. It was a mixed bag of reactions, all in all.

Most of the people who had tent and wagon businesses were packed up for the evening, yet the occasional call of vendors trying to sell ready to eat and easily portable foodstuffs could still be heard. This was a festival, after all, and where there was celebration there must be refreshment and restoratives. Plus, if one overindulged in alcohol, it was best to have something to expel rather than wretch out empty bile behind a tree by one's lonesome.

Here and there, one can spot tents that appear to be temporary lodging; simple cots and hammocks which can be utilized by anyone with a couple of coins to rub together, like a teamster trying to save money or a farmhand from a far section of Avonshire resting before the long trip back home. Many of these are situated around a central brazier which serves as light, heat, and a cooking area for these residents. The area has the look of a tent city or army encampment, be it mostly a place for local agricultural wares to be peddled and a place for trade to happen among the working class of the region.

A pleasant smell of smoldering, seasoned wood can be detected somewhere to the west, this combined with the telltale heaviness of pig fat made it rather easy to determine the sources. A small series of wagons, portable smokehouse setups, and meat cooking apparatuses both open, and contained, plus a couple set up for pit-style preparation were the obvious suspects. Men and women, Human and Halfling, young and old, all types milled around these things bringing together ingredients, cutting and sorting them for the easy to identify pitmasters and regents everlasting of the grill, who oversaw their small, mobile, barbecue fiefdoms like royalty in their own right. This was the Hog Broilin' Event alluded to earlier, and things were just getting warmed up.

The largest crowd, however, came from the low stage set up amid a cluster of official looking individuals including the Very Important Looking Gentleman from earlier. The seem to be reaching into a hat to pull out names, the order of the names pulled being recorded with chalk on a wide slate board. The torches, once unlit, are now alive with bright-burning flame which gave the place a warm and fuzzy glow, in part due to the fog diffusing much of their ambient light. Once the list was completed, a few words boomed from the Very Important Looking Gentleman. "Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for being here another glorious Harvest Festival. Now, we all now the rules: Avonshire residents only, if you didn't register before the deadline your name didn't go in the hat. You have until the sand runs from this hourglass to show us your talent, and we judge based on applause! In case of a tie, the honor of the final say goes to ...Yours Truly... And remember, just about anything can be a talent! Now, who do we have first... hmm... Aha! Mr. Dumas, and his fine Hammer Balancing! Mr. Dumas? Ah!"

An older fellow, Human, with a thick grey beard and long woolen coat walked up to the stage; he had a great sledgehammer in his hands which he set to the side. Opening his coat, one can see a grouping of several smaller hammers on his belt and in a harness at his sides. Thick suspenders hold his pants up, lest the weight of the blunt tools remove his modesty. The next moments are filled by him holding one hammer and stacking all of the other ones on top of them in interesting patterns. His big finale had him tilting his head back and setting the handle of his big sledge to his brow, its head pointed toward the heavens like a tall, blunt T. Mr. Dumas maintained this pose until his time ran out, bowed, collected his things and stepped down to respectable applause.

Other acts of moderate interest come and go; juggling hatchets and making shadow puppets, singing bawdy songs or playing a tune on a homemade flute. One man was able to cry on command, from one eye, the other, or both as he wished. When he stepped down, he picked up a sandwich board advertising his ability to do so for two copper pieces, should one want him to. Yet another lady blew notes across the top of several bottles, each with differing amounts of water in them to produce different pitches and create a cheerful song. This was a very provincial entertainment scene, not a spot for prime performers of their era. Truth be told, there were a few acts which were examples of genuine talent, but for the most part this was an excuse for the working classes to have their own sort of party. The promise of really good wine was an excellent excuse to draw a lot of people into it, though there was already plenty of lesser quality wine and spirits already flowing around the Market.

Cemetery

The fog was thicker here, and while the nearly full moon shone down along with an impressive collection of stars in the heavens, it still could not quite illuminate as well as the torches brought along by the collection of quickly assembled and half-drunk mourners following in the wake of Cecily, Lizbeth, Victoria, and of course Morty. By the time that they had gotten to the cemetery, the noise of merriment and string music had the resident gravedigger already out of his tiny cottage on premises and walking to meet them. He had a shovel in hand, but by the way he was holding it, it probably wasn't meant for moving earth.

Upon seeing Cecily, the fellow relaxed a bit. Just a bit, as the whole scene was highly unusual and hearing the occasional muttering of Olidammara did little to assuage his concerns. The briefest conversation and the exchange of coins for promised service followed, and somehow this older man took to his task of making a hole in hallowed ground with contained reverence. The fact that the hole didn't have to be remotely as big as his usual "burying the whole casket" width and depth helped matters along. A few quick silvers for parting soft earth was worthwhile, even at the outset of the evening proper.

Wine, as if turned out, was a commodity that the people of Avonshire was very capable of getting hold of when asked, and the wide circle of these people had no difficulty sharing it among themselves and, as requested, setting a number of bottles aside for Victoria to do ...whatever she intended to do with it. They were wines of widely differing varietals and values, some of which could be spotted by a layman to the craft and others requiring a sommelier to properly pair. This prompted the question from one of the more intoxicated members of the group, "Does one serve red or white with a burial?" prompting a slew of hissing laughter from some and admonishment from others.

Cecily remained quiet for this; Lizbeth as well but her face held more emotion than her aunt.

After some time had passed, there was a fresh hole dug in front of a large, preexisting stone marker which bore the name "L'Rose". behind this marker was a simple mausoleum of the same grey stone, its doors covered by a locked iron gate. The bones, still wrapped in canvas, were nestled into the shallow hole, and suddenly a lot of eyes were on the now appropriately festive Half-Elf Bard.

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.