Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: Remains cold, just above freezing. Occasional light winds.

Time: It is now toward the later hours of the night.

Ambience: The fog is still thick, like puffy clouds clinging tightly to the earth. The large, one-phase-away-from-being-full moon diffused its light through with some effort. Places of illumination within the Township became even more infrequent as businesses which catered to the late night crowd closed up shop. The darkness is made more complete by the oppressive fog, preventing even darkvision from penetrating very far into the night.

Outside of Town: The roar of the flames almost drowns out the screams of the dying as the Lich King's forces push through, their unspeaking, undead forms bringing torture and demise to merchant and festival-goer alike.

Now that I've got your attention, take a breath. (Ahem) The camp and brazier fires around the temporary dwellings have dulled mostly to red-orange coals. Most of these people have turned in for the evening, anxious to return to the Harvest Festival the next day with a night of good rest and a clear head. A slim minority of them, however, have decided to stay up and drink some more.

Neil & Bob's Public House

Robert gave Marita a long look before shrugging nonchalantly. "No." It was flat and direct. "If you're done taking tips, that's fine by me. I'm sure Lea won't mind getting her tables back." Counting tips, Marita managed to secure for herself five silver coins of the realm, most of which was in copper coins. It was a generous haul for turning over four tables in a neighborhood watering hole, especially for someone without much experience tending tables.

As for Lea, she took a moment to stop by her temporary helper for the night (that would be Marita) and give a warm, generous thanks. "I really appreciate the help during the rush tonight, Miss Marita. Here," she says, pressing a few coins (3 silver) into her palm while making what appeared to merely be a friendly gesture. A little quieter, Lea suggested, "Have a glass of something nice on me, maybe?" before moving on to her duties around the taproom.

The taproom itself has taken on more of a subdued tone, with people finishing up their meals for the most part and many settling up. Finding an extra seat isn't an issue anymore for the alert for one. Those remaining seem to fall into two main camps: Regulars who stayed out a little later than they intended to, and others (local and otherwise) who have overindulged in drink. Scattered examples of other options remained, but they were not the norm.

A series of drinks were poured and set up in front of Kathryn. Her ale, of course, and Curly's ale, in addition to the refill of the pitcher asked about earlier. Lawrence's insistence on getting Kat "the best stuff in the house" was taken to heart. As it had not been poured yet, Robert took the opportunity to fill a carafe with the heady, vermilion-colored wine that the party had rescued earlier that very day from aggressive Goblin-folk, and plunked four glasses onto the bar around it.

The center table still housed Maurice, who glanced every so often to the door, expecting his friends to show up any at moment. He had been one of the first to notice the hubbub at the front door, and seemed glued to the area now to see what happened next.

As for the guy who passed out at the doorway - he appeared to be easy enough to rouse. Eyes fluttered briefly as his brain tried to process everything and his eyes focused on the nearest thing to him, Kosara, before quietly but urgently asking, "Where... where am I?" Fear laced his words, as palpable as anything else in the room.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

As expected, and mentioned a few days ago in the Discord, my work schedule has taken a ballbat to the side of my skull, making this the most coherent thought I am capable of typing at this time. So, in accordance with the deal mentioned, I will be a day later getting the update posted. Some of it got done, then my brain restarted in Safe Mode. So here we are.

The other half of this deal is that everyone has an additional day extension to get their own posts in. It just wouldn't be fair otherwise.

...and this concludes our broadcast day. Thank you and goodnight.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Sigil
Hey, permission to edit my last post for color coding?

@Sigil
Sure, go right ahead. I see what you're talking about. Fix the damn thing.

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: Hayloft -> Neil & Bob's Public House Action: Prestidigitation Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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It had been a while since Victoria made an appearance without her trusty not-quite-living sidekick, Morty. Ever since the harmony and cadence of the Weave brought this secret to her, as revealed in teachings that most Bards simply wouldn't have had the ability to master, she had been traveling with some version of a lesser creature gifted with animation. For the first time in a while, Victoria was going to be in a location with allies present and their belongings nearby. Not on the road, not by herself.

Something about that was troubling.

But seeing as the hayloft was empty of people and the last time she spied any of her group they were headed into the Public House, Victoria thought to enter. She didn't exactly need more wine (that was NEED, but such necessity was open to interpretation and argument), though a plate of something hot and filling might do her some good. It wasn't the most pleasant night out what with the fog and chilly weather. In truth, though her urgings to visit the Honey Barn and see what festivities were a palpable force, getting something to eat and some rest to regain her fuller abilities sounded really good right then. Her more impulsive nature brought her to the pragmatic decision, which was a rarity to those who were aware of her personal history.

Victoria wasn't but two steps toward the Public House when two of the patrons within burst through the front door like their pants were ablaze, one of the yelling something about ...sprinkles? Yes, that was the word. Somehow, impossibly, the orchid-clad Bard was certain this was the fault of someone in her party. A sigh and a head shake later, Victoria resumed her steps toward the pub's main door. Her posture shifted from the slight weariness she felt to something more confident, her stride showing equal hints of sensuality and control. Every movement displayed coordinated dexterity and decisiveness. Her very jaunty, feathered, bardy hat nestled atop her red-auburn hair at an angle just rakish enough to be fashionable without trying too hard. She was to meet a new public for the first time, and the event simply had to be memorable.

A collection of drunken reprobates threatened to upset the carefully crafted persona Victoria had adopted for herself. Two moved to block the doorway while others flanked her; not immediately being hostile more than they were half-drunk and hoping to assert alphamale-esque displays for the pretty, exotic, young Half-Elf with crystal blue eyes, just as much as assure each other that they were "men among men", unafraiid to go after what they wanted. The problem was, so many times situations like this would turn into something much, much worse. "Woah, hold on there, m'lady," slurred one, puffing his chest out like a mighty pigeon, "There are dangerous people in there. You should stay with us."

"Yeah," said another, a sloppy grin on his face, "We're a lot nicer then those assholes in there. What's your name?" General murmurs of agreement and stifled chuckles followed. This was not a situation Victoria wished to be in.

A polite refusal was in order, until it needed to be impolite. She slipped her very floppy hat off of her head and looked up to the Human men on three sides of her. "Sorry boys. I have business on the inside, so if you'll please excuse me?" She reached past one of the ones in front of her and swung open the door, but they did not budge.

"Why ain't you gonna give us you name, pretty little girl? You gotta give us something, or you won't get by. What's it gonna be?" This coming from the one directly in front of her. One to her side reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. "This's a nice coat. You some kind of rich girl, huh? Rich girl gone slummin'?"

Enough was enough. Victoria's smile was still there physically, but her mind was already judging things like distance and time, and quickly running at what magical ability she could muster that wasn't immediately fatal. With a voice that was honey-sweet yet streaked with authority, she stated, "Again, sorry boys. I'm not interested and you need to let me by - "

She was immediately cut off by another to her front who drunkenly blurted, "Give us a kiss, then. I'll let you by. Can't account for my mates, though." This was backed up by laughter from the others, and the press of bodies crowing a little closer around Victoria. "Yeah, me next," came a supporting opinion to her side.

"...hells with this..." she thought to herself. Men were disgusting sometimes, a sentiment which carried far more irony coming from her than any of these plebeians would be able to understand. She closed her eyes and lowered her head with a sigh, seemingly in defeat. "Okay," she finally said, her tone hollow.

When she raised her head again and opened her eyes, they had taken on the hue of an inky, corrupted blackness, like gelatinous coal coated with a film of ebon oil. The effect was disturbing, paired with the marks on her face from the funeral service which she had not removed yet. Her smile returned, this time menacingly enchanting, giving off the impression of a snake eyeing down a field mouse. "Mmmmmm," she purred, raising a hand to her silver, raven skull brooch before reaching as if to cup the cheek of the larger Human in front of her. Victoria's nails were black, and her palm appeared to drip heavy with energy birthed of necrosis. "Yes, give us a kiss. The Queen demands her count of flesh, and of souls. You are but a snack for the ravenous, but with your friends..." A devious laugh escaped her lips and she took a single, confident step to place her so close to the men in front of her as to feel the heat radiating from their bodies.

Trembling, the first man lost control of his bladder, darkening the front of his pants. The one next to him screamed, "Oh gods! Don't let her touch you! Don't let her touch you!" as he scrambled away, falling into the open doorway and then picking himself up, hurrying to escape in any direction he could. The others scattered like fish in a pond disturbed by a hurled rock, most running for the main thoroughfare to the west, but a couple of the others trying their luck in different directions. But the first one who demanded a kiss of her, the one with the damp trousers, fainted dead away and fell back into Neil & Bob's Public House.

When the commotion began to die down and the collective, drunken shouting of the men who thought they had the upper hand faded into the distance, Victoria dropped her prestidigitations with a disarming giggle, covering her mouth with a hand. She re-affixed her bardiest of hats to her head, and stepped over the mess of a Human to enter the Pub proper. Scanning the crowd (most of which was staring in her direction with a mix of emotions across their faces), she finally saw Kathryn and, giving a friendly wave, strode purposefully up to her. As a courtesy, she kicked the unconscious man's leg out of the way of the door so that it could swing closed on her way to the bar.

With a warm and personable voice, she greeted her adventuring associate with, "Dame Kathryn! Hi. Where is everyone else?" Victoria was acting as if nothing had just transpired. It probably wasn't the best approach at keeping a low profile, certainly, but maybe if she ignored it the problem would just go away. Right? "Oh, I promised you a drink, didn't I?" Cheerily, she attempted to signal the bartender.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

And the update is up. And dated. Updated, one might say. I warned you that this might happen. I told you, but no one believed me. Well, who's laughing now, Billy? Hmmm? WHO'S LAUGHING NOW?

I digress. Getting to the point of it, the festive Township of Avonshire is slowing down to a sleepy, nighttime crawl, with most of its residents and visitors calling it a night. More clandestine activities might be had, a couple more chances at conversations, possibly, or this might be a time to think about getting a nice, long rest in. Of course, there are opportunities to be had, were one to look for them.

Also take into consideration that this festival will be around for a while longer, and there will be other chances to experience all that Avonshire has to offer the visiting adventuring professional. But don't mind me. Please, discuss among yourselves. And keep those dice handy.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: Remains cold, just above freezing. The air is still, interspersed with occasional light winds. The fog remained thick and buttery, spread liberally across the grand slice of toast that was Avonshire.

Far above the Township, beyond the reach of the fog and yet still visible (though diffused) through it, a waxing gibbous moon looms large in the nighttime sky. The temporary villages and family clusters of campsites outside of the walls; tents and wagons of many varieties, began to settle in more solidly for the night. Fires burned low. There was a great sense of finality overtaking the outside of the walls. Inside, the number of people on the street was now vastly reduced. Lamps were allowed to burn out in many places, leaving dim light in the few remaining parts of town where people were still active.

Again, many of these details will not be readily available to persons who remain indoors, though reasons and excuses are abound for stepping out to get some night air. Then again, there are a number of good reasons to keep yourselves inside, so, follow your bliss on that one.

Neil & Bob's Public House

At this point in time, things are becoming stable in Bob's little slice of heaven. Not slow, persay, but the hectic pace from earlier had mellowed considerably. No new patrons have entered the establishment in a while, and anyone without a designated place to it and relax had filed out. Tables were mostly full and no one was ordering food anymore, though calls for refills were commonplace. About half of the barstools were open, the other half claimed by locals, and Robert used this opportunity to begin some spot cleaning. The classic image of an older barkeep wiping down his profession's ubiquitous horizontal surface of smooth, polished wood (or a "bar", for you purists) with a damp rag was represented adequately his hour.

Back in the kitchen, the meal between Lea, Daisy, and Marita had concluded. There was general agreement with Marita's sentiment about getting back out to the taproom floor. Daisy took the dishes from their meal and went back over to her workstation, climbed up onto her stepping-stool, and got back to her cleaning duties. On the way out, Lea noted the lessened business with a weary smile and said to her temporary co-worker, "Oh! This is much better. Marita, if you want to hang up your apron, I can handle this. If you don't, that's fine too. I've got enough in tips over the last couple of days to live on for the rest of the month. You're not stepping on my toes, either way."

The center table saw a little more action as Curly rose suddenly, despite the possible head injury and definite wound to his pride, and announced in a loud, clear, only slightly warbling voice that he needed to relieve himself. Of course, this came out as an announcement of, "I GOTTA MAKE SPRINKLES!" before he hauled ass for the door. Larry followed at Maurice's silent encouragement, to make sure he didn't fall headlong into the hole over which the outhouse stood.

At the bar, Robert noticed Kathryn and Rickard, though his business was mainly with the (sort of) "Half-Giant". He deposited the ale requested in front of her, swiftly followed by the glass of wine in front of the Elf, the latter of which he looked over with a suspicious eye, then came back with a decanter filled with a heady, red wine. "Your new friend wanted a flagon of 'the good stuff', Lady Kathryn? Well here ya go. He's going to be paying for it, too." Some common cups were plunked down next to the container of what was likely to be very good wine. Robert slid the money paid thusfar off of the bar, and went about his business.

Farmer's Market, Talent Show Area

Beppo's face turned to mild disappointment as Kosara wrapped up their time in a neat little bow and gave him a quick hug. He had little more to do than wave at the departing Tiefling, tap the last couple drops of mulled wine into his mouth, and saunter over to a gathering of locals where stew of some kind was being prepared. All things considered, it was a pretty good night for the old fellow. In very short order, Kosara's form was swallowed up by the darkness and fog, leaving the slowing actions of the Farmers' Market to their own devices.

The Hayloft

The interior of the hayloft is quiet and calm, if a bit dark. The exterior, however, is a touch brighter. This is one of the better lit parts of town, thanks to the fact that it is across the street diagonally from Neil & Bob's, even though it is best described as dim illumination. There are a few people out here as well, each in varying stages of drunkenness. Mostly they keep to themselves. Mostly. Being men of the region and alcohol a factor, it is only a matter of time before they might note the presence of unfamiliar, apparently unattended women with aesthetic qualities far grander than to which they are accustomed. Words unbecoming of a gentleman would follow shortly thereafter.

One point to break the possible tension comes in the form of a rather large fellow staggering out of the establishment, screaming something about needing to make "sprinkles", followed by a more level-headed chap who appears to have his best interests in mind.

The stable directly across the street is closed up for the evening, and appears to have been for quite some time. From the look of it, it would not take a lot to enter the premises anyway were they determined enough to do so.

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.