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 Action: N/A Bonus Action: Morty Reaction: N/A

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The intriguing possibilities of what she suspected lay to the south drew Victoria's attention. It made sense that the Honey Barn would be the perfect spot for an afterparty (and an excellent place to pick up some extra spending money while simultaneously showing off; two pastimes of hers). The place was not dissimilar to other, similar establishments with which Victoria was familiar, the vast majority of which had a closing time well beyond that of more respectable places.

Yes, Victoria wanted to head that way, but she was being followed by an animated hog which was pulling an errand-cart full of bottles of alcohol. Considerations beyond the mundane logistics of what she might do with her belongings aside, she simply didn't want to bring that many loose bottles of wine into a place of abject hedonism in the middle of a celebration. More bluntly, she didn't feel like sharing with the locals. So instead of braving the side streets of the Township by her lonesome (except for Morty, of course), Victoria took the better lit and more familiar path of the main thoroughfare west, to the fountain in the center of town.

There were very few people out and about at this time, at least relative to the hubbub that buzzed about the town before. A few late nighters headed east, to the Madame Marcie's place, Victoria imagined. There were a couple of odd looks at the strangely decorated Bard as she sauntered past the splashing and gurgling stone centerpiece on her gently curving route south. She shined them on with a look, an expression, or a wave in a display of disarming social agility, as was her bailiwick. So without regard to being a lone Half-Elf of stunning, nigh deityesque qualities wearing death cosmetics being followed by a hickory-smoked abomination toting a clinking cart full of wine in the middle of the night, Victoria was completely unmolested by the populous at large thanks to her subtle and shiny powers of unspoken persuasion. One even stepped out of her way with the tip of a hat and a polite bid of a pleasant evening before stopping to pet Morty. It was a little unsettling.

Curiosity concerning the fountain and its place among a township whose greatest claim to fame was agricultural trade got her wondering about what source of water fed the thing, how it had gotten there, and where the water went following its ascent and descent. Careful watching and listening, even while walking by, gave a fast indicator of signs of a drainage system along the main streets' sides. Curious little point. It must have been the river itself, utilizing the very storm drains that kept the town from flooding. She would file that tidbit away for later. Any more conjecture on this thought was suddenly smashed by someone greeting her in passing. It was a familiar face, sort of, which gave a familiar if not amazingly accurate greeting of, "Morning'!", startling Victoria out of her thoughts. The man continued, "Nice day for fishin', ain't it?" followed by a genuine sounding chuckle of, "Huah huh!" before he and his grand, sturdy fishing pole continued on in the night to whatever business called him hither.

Victoria was content to label this one of the oddest nighttime strolls of her adult life thusfar and simply continued to her ultimate goal - the hayloft, that she might store her ill-gotten wine and the cart which bore it. She tried to ignore the sounds of novice voices singing about (if she got this correctly) women with large posteriors floating from behind the fog, somewhere to the west of her.

And so Victoria found herself now outside of said loft, one tiny pull-cart and sides of pork poorer, yet again reviewing her options.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

Update is updated in the IC. Do how you do. As per usual, Discord and the OOC here are appropriate places for questions, comments, and clarification, and my PM boxes are always open.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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To summarize the weather: Cold but not freezing, light wind, lots of fog. Like, just off the Thames level of fog now.

The Harvest Festival was a thing which was observed for several days. The vast majority of the people present in the Township knew this, and sought to pace themselves somewhat. Like a carnival coming into town, one did not have to get all of their merrymaking done in a single evening. A pace must be set, and so the locals set it appropriately by clearing out of the streets, for the most part, as the evening progressed. Many of the visitors made their way out of the town's gates, retreating to their tents and wagons in the scattered but respectable temporary villages.

Others filed into their respective houses; those visitors lucky enough to have found commercial accommodation found their inns and boarding rooms. Most of them, anyway. There were a couple hotspots of activity within the foggy community yet, if one knew where to look. Luckily, one of those places is more obvious than the other. Unluckily, the more obvious one is more of a "warmspot", that being the Farmers' Market area.

Out of those few still out and about on the streets of the Township, many appear to be in varying states of intoxication, and/or move with the kind of purpose that only an afterparty can muster. Of those seeking additional entertainment this evening, the general direction of east, toward the river bridges, is a popular direction. Those of you inside of buildings will only notice this in passing, if one looks out of a window or goes for some air. Or hits the privy. They've got those, y'know.

Neil & Bob's Public House

The breakneck pace of the business in Neil & Bob's leveled off to something more suited to middle-of-the-week business, albeit an unusually active one. A number of people even decided to call it an evening and excuse themselves for matters unattended, such as passing out in a warm bed or a cold gutter, depending upon level of drunkenness involved from person to person. The cacophony of loud, intoxicated conversations dulled to a moderate amount of background noise, and actual conversations could now be had without having to raise one's voice. Most people are satisfied with their food and drink at the moment, leaving the staff to tend to existing clientele rather than deal with the revolving door of foodservice madness.

Back in the kitchen, the meal between Lea, Daisy, and Marita continued. Daisy was a woman of few words, but after a moment or three of horking back as much stew and bread as her relatively small frame would allow, she piped up in a catty tone, "Yeah, I don't know what..." pause for a belch one might consider impossible coming from a Halfling in terms of depth and duration, "...got into Robert. He used to be a real 'people guy'. Robert even took an interest in a local kid - Halfling - who had a talent for hedge magic. Sponsored his 'adventuring' career at first." Her face darkened, a look of annoyance washing over her, "And his friend. Nasty little cuss, that one. And that was no sort of life for a raised proper Halfling boy to live, neither."

Lea gave a short laugh and added, "Oh, come on! I liked those two. They were funny. Hmmm... But yes, Robert used to laugh more, too. Then a few weeks ago he just ...stopped. Closed the bar down for a couple days. When he came back, it was like he was tired of everyone. Well, almost everyone." The barmaid shook her head and returned to her meal. "We should be getting back soon."

Meanwhile, back at the table in the center of the taproom, Lawrence took up the gauntlet of primary speech as Maurice took to slowly sipping his beer and Curly just sat, looking discontented. "Weird things and Goblin hunts, huh? Well okay, I'll keep my eye out, but there's not a lot of Gobbos in these parts, not usually." Something seemed to dawn on him, and he spoke again with elevated vigor. "Say, are you with the group that liberated the Rose River wagon? You're famous!" A yell across the room to Robert came next, as Lawrence ordered, "Hey there, Bobby-Boy! Bring out a flagon of the good stuff for Lady Kathryn's table here! Yeaah! She's the reason we got the good stuff in the first place!"

A round of boisterous Huzzahs came up from around the Public House as many agreed aloud, the general idea being that it was enough of an excuse as any to drink. Some few even came up to shake Kathryn's hand and give congratulations. But after a while, the scowling face returned to Mr. Curly, who immediately rebuffed the idea of sipping on wine. He finished his mostly full ale in a series of mighty quaffs (that's with an "A"; mind our of the gutter, people.) and slapped his tankard upon the table. "I ain't paying for my next beer, hero or no!" His elbow hit the table next as his sleeve wiped away the bit of ale that lingered on his lips. And face in general. "I'm ready for that rematch, hero. Hah!"

Also meanwhile, by the stage, the Cummerbund couple looked to be readying to head out for the evening, their fun for the night almost fully had. Courtesy was with them, as both stuck around to answer Rickard's last question. "Our business? No..." A pause from the man, continuing, "I mean, everything affects business, one way or another. So we came along to see to things personally." The lady added, "Oh, but what about that one shop? My dear husband here wanted to buy me something nice while we were out this way, like a ring or a locket, so we stopped by a silversmith's place near the river, but... all boarded up. From the inside. Strange. Something must have been affecting their trade, I think." Man and lady nod, give their polite goodbyes, and exit the building hand in hand.

Farmer's Market, Talent Show Area

Beppo gives his personal opinion on the application of garlic, which amounts to easy detection for others and thusly should be avoided. "But you experiment around, young lady. Personal discovery is a good thing - But - a good, tearful performance should only get help in appropriate circumstances, and never to cheat at a contest like this, you see. Mmm hmm. Are you enjoying your wine?"

Furthermore, the old man doesn't seem to fully grasp the concept that Kosara puts off, as walls around important structures has always been part of his culture. However, his thinking being a little amiss, he answers anyway. "It is kind of funny. Like, funny strange, not funny ha ha, y'know? Yeah... Nobody's allowed in there anymore, like they're protecting our crop percentage or taxed silver. Or whatever land deeds and Crown papers need more protecting, and the like. Constable Cavendish and a few of his guards come out every now and again with Township business, but I never see a soul go in anymore, 'cept them." He shrugged. "Well, not my business. Not a bit. They can have their clubhouse. My little hobby farm is good enough for me."

With the exception of the carts and tents catering to the all-night hog broiling crews, the Farmers' Market area is becoming more like a sub-community that all agreed to loosen up a ways and settle down to a meal. Most of them put away thoughts of hawking wares, content to get their sleeping arrangements together before setting up meals for themselves, friends, family, coworkers, etc. The place began to have a more domestic feel, and outsiders mostly cleared out. Beppo was content to sit and sip his beverage in the chill and foggy night air for as long as Kosara wished to hang around.

From a circle of tents clustered around a communal fire, the scent of root vegetables and herbs came wafting by. A simple repast for simple folk after a long day of work and merrymaking. Things slowed down. From somewhere in the gloom, the sound of boisterous and inexpert singing could be heard belting out a jaunty barroom song about a rotund lady named "Fanny" and certain coming-of-age exploits that were best sung about whilst inebriated.

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 -> eastern Avonshire Township, middle bridge Action: Performance, Prestidigitation Bonus Action: Morty Reaction: N/A

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The bottle of local wine was still held near to Victoria's lips as the people of Avonshire embraced the spirit of the occasion a little too well. True, the name Olidammara was known far and wide, heard of among those who knew little about specific gods and the proclivities thereof, but this sudden oneupmanship certainly fell in line with the jovial chaos that the deity in question seemed to appreciate. Maybe the Laughing Rogue had a hand in the festivities; it was not likely that his name was invoked in a rural, agricultural community such as this, and even the gods had to get bored sometimes. In fact, the thought of that particular god setting his awareness to Victoria's doing gave her equal parts of amusement and anxiety. She was no Cleric, not by any means, but this was not a power she wished anything from aside from passing interest. They were on a serious investigation. So she shook the momentary "worst case scenario" thoughts away and took a long pull from the wine bottle in her hand.

It was nice. Clean. Floral. Just a note of citrus.

Aside from the wine, one thing that piqued Victoria's interest was Cecily uttering the name "Ela". The young Half-Elf gave a single, mildly surprised chuckle at this but did not engage with the sentiment further. She had heard many things about those faithful to Ela, some of which prompted her to make sure her coinpurse was still on her person. Luckily for her, Victoria managed to maintain an unchanged demeanor in the process.

With the mirthful boasting form the peanut gallery winding down, Victoria took another quick sip from her bottle and then set it aside, deftly plucking up her violin's bow and setting it to the strings. As the first beautifully haunting notes swelled from the expertly crafted instrument, Victoria called upon a thread of magic from the Weave about her, aligning it with the music which she called into being and channeling it to the bones, below. It was no act of Necromancy, of which one might accuse her, but a simple conjuration of fire to caress the canvas which swaddled Monsieur L'Rose's osseous remains. The glow outlined his bones for the briefest of moments before the cloth caught alight, giving an eerie but quite pretty show, prompting the silence of all present.

When the fire began to subside, Cecily took up a handful of soil and tossed it upon the remains. Lizbeth followed. Then the nearest townsperson. Then another, and another. This chain continued to the musical talents of the macabre-looking but still amazingly fetching Victoria Belmont. The already light wind stilled; the setting lit eerily by softly hissing and crackling torchlight refracting off of the now denser fog. Despite being out in the open, it gave a sense of privacy and formality to the ceremony.

Once everyone present dropped a handful of graveyard soil, the caretaker saw to a more formal filling in of the hole. He might have waited for the "guests" to leave, but this was very last minute and there was a desire not to leave remains exposed throughout the night so that stray dogs could get at them. People understood and accepted this. Even so, the gathering had become more morose, muted even, as funerals tended to get. This was to be expected. Lizbeth, still swaddled against the cold in Victoria's too-big purple garment, tugged at her black vestment and asked quietly, "Do you know any poetry? Grandpa loved it. I think he would want someone to recite something over him. Please?"

Victoria gave a small, quiet smile, looking into the child's eyes. There was something familiar about the look that Lizbeth had. Very familiar. She just couldn't place it. Maybe it was something about her own formative years; a sense of greater understanding of death and loss mixed with an instinctive leaning toward the needs of the living in the face of death. Deep inside, Victoria did have some wish that the little girl did not turn out quite like she did. There was a loneliness to her life that was hard to quantify. "Yes, child," she responded sweetly, "I know some poetry." Indeed she did. Many verses went through her thoughts right then, some belonging to acolytes of The Raven Queen, some venerating the Jasidan faith, and a number of Elven verses, none of which were really appropriate to a person of this background. Finally, she chose to speak an excerpt concerning death in a more general way:

"Here the stars no longer shine,
And bitter is the wine,
That flows between my lips,
In our garden that withered so fast.
Two roses, red and white,
The princess and the knight;
We'll always be here.
We will be waiting for,
Now and forevermore.

We are the evening's curse,
For better and for worse,
For you left for your ghost,
And I am the reaper of souls.
The pyres burning bright,
Flames reaching for the sky;
Now you are gone but,
I'll write the eulogy for you."

The caretaker wrapped up his work and patted the soil down with the flat of his shovel. His efforts finished, all that was left for him was to depart. Slowly, some of the townsfolk shuffled up to pay a final respect to a man who they probably didn't know personally, and return to what remained of the party back in town, or to their own places of rest for the evening. The three of them spent a few long moments around the freshly moved earth. There were quiet tears and whispered comforts. Victoria and Cecily shared a glass of wine from the many bottles left by the others, with Lizbeth getting a single sip for herself purely because of the occasion and the customs involved.

On the way out, the caretaker was kind enough to allow Cecily the use of a lamp, with the promise of its return the next day, and the three of them made their way back to the relative security of the walls of the Avonshire Township. The entire time, Lizbeth kept looking to the side of the road, straining her eyes and ears as if she noticed something out in the fog and darkness. Worried, she clutched closer to her aunt. They did make it inside without incident, much to Victoria's relief. The Bard had kept a confident face about her, but chose not to draw their attention to the fact that her hand was on the hilt of her slim sword almost the whole walk back.

The party atmosphere had died down considerably in this part of town, though Victoria was almost certain that she could hear something going on in this section, a little farther south of their location. The Honey Barn, maybe? It was around here. They hadn't quite crossed the bridge spanning the river which cut through town before Cecily stopped and said to Victoria, "We're at a boarding house near the Silversmith's, there." The lady pointed toward a building with light glowing dimly through curtained windows. It was a polite way of letting her know that they were about to part ways. Still, Victoria had every intention of staying put until she saw them actually enter the building. Cecily continued, "Are you very sure that I can't give you anything for... well, for doing what you just did for Papa L'Rose?"

"No, don't you worry even a little bit about that, Mrs. L'Rose," came Victoria's immediate response. "I told you before that I already have all the compensation I require from you. And from Monsieur L'Rose. Our account is settled. It is very kind of you to offer nonetheless. Just please get yourself and little Lizbeth indoors safely." Her words were warm, kind, and delivered with the surety of a person granite in their belief.

Both Cecily and Lizbeth gave the Bard a heartfelt embrace before leaving, the younger offering back her purple coat immediately thereafter. Victoria accepted it with a smile and waited on the bridge, as she had planned, for them to get inside. That handled, Victoria began to fold her coat to stash in Morty's pull-cart when she noticed that the hole in the sleeve was gone. Just gone, and she didn't see an opportunity for it to have been repaired since Cecily took it from her. That was curious. Instead of packing it, she shuffled off her cloak and slid the coat back over her svelte frame. If was her favorite one, after all. The cloak then covered this, hanging heavily in the foggy gloom of the night. It was getting colder anyway.

Victoria was now faced with a decision: Should she check out the noise south of her, maybe get involved in some more fun? Should she find the rest of her party? Safety in numbers was a factor. Or should she drop off her cart full of varying wines and maybe her burlap-wrapped, hickory smoked companion in the hayloft they were using for their lodging? Decisions, decisions. While she quickly thought on that, Victoria's hand absently found its way into a pouch on her belt. It contained a set of diviners' bones - small bones and/or teeth, among other relics of finished life for the purposes of divination or necromancy - and brought out one of them. It looked very much like a phalange, or human fingerbone. This one was scorched black along half of it, quite near exactly. She rolled it around in her hand for a moment before replacing it in the pouch with the rest. Yes, she had already received her compensation.

Having made her decision as to where to go next, Victoria looked to her beast of burden, intoning, "Let's go, Morty." Their day wasn't quite over yet.

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.