Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Sigil@Arty Fox

Why hello, all my Edgelords and M'Bladies!

We have come to an interesting choice, or couple of choices, to make. Time is a factor, though that is far from the only one. Several points known and unknown weigh upon the group, and believe me when I say that the list of Current Clack occurring within and without the town's walls will continue, though character decision can influence these events.

(Insert evil laugh here, make random comment to increase tension, pour myself a scotch and try not to pull a muscle patting myself on the back. Yay!)

As always, hit me up in our Dicsord by DM or tagging me in the OOC channel. I welcome questions, comments, and concerns, as well as requests for die rolls or other bits of game mechanic niftiness.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: The rain remains quite light, but this lessening of precipitation seems to come with a noticeable drop in temperature.

Time: Settled afternoon. Cloud cover remains, but it looks to be clearing up a little - just enough so far to get a good idea where the pale sun it located. While still freely in the sky providing all of the light that conditions allowed, it is heralding the oncoming moonrise, and with it, the dim twilight. Short hours remain.

Ambience: More acrid smells associated with burning metal flare within the shop as Jacques continues his work. It is still significantly more comfortable in this building than it is outside, even if a lack of conventional seating is apparent. The soft glow of the lamps illuminate with much greater ability than the glow from the flameless forge, though all do their part.

*****

"Hey! Who was that?" called a voice of alarm - the same voice that showed its own brand of somewhat cowardly concern for the goings on within the Silversmith's place. "What are you talking..?" The man seemed almost fully flabbergasted at the novice attempt at deception. "No, that's ... that's all wrong! There's something wrong about this!" he declared, taking a step backward and closer to ground level on the stair in front of the door. "I shall find help! Don't you worry!" Though there was a lack of retreating footsteps right at that moment.

Jacques Mallard, taking on a manner of pragmatism in this unsettling time, gave Baronfjord a nonverbal gesture to go ahead and open the back door even if his Dragonborn guest wasn't exactly paying attention. The use of the door did not run in conflict with his desire to have the Guard out of his place, nor his present stipulation on timing. As the awning-covered door swung open, a blast of chillier air swirled into the shop, reminding those inside that they were indeed into an advanced autumn season and the weather was not always their friend.

But speaking to weather - the rainfall was almost tolerable now and appropriate clothing would keep one more or less comfortable in the short term without getting soaked to the bone. Voices could be heard through this doorway, but their owners were not visible. Instead, this seemed to be an echo of the murmurings from people on the front side of the business, reflected from the stone wall of the next structure to them. This door opened to a wider alleyway, which framed around the building proper. One might be able to escape notice by going around this building to the south, though making such an attempt would temporarily put them within line-of-sight with the main thoroughfare in the process. It was a small gamble to attempt sneakiness rather than simply fleeing noisily. To the other side, one may simply walk around the building on the side opposite the door, though that would lead one in an obvious path to the front. For the more surreptitious, there was one shuttered window facing the alleyway which looked to be in some disrepair, though what lay in the otherwise featureless stone building was anyone's guess.

Marita's blunt assault of the Guard was not unnoticed by the silversmith. The only thing he scowled about, however, was the use of the unfinished mace. He waved it off and gave a quiet, ever-so-slightly annoyed "Pray don't mention it," before getting to the actually important topic at hand. "Yes. Robert's package is ready and boxed, please get it to him swiftly. And..." He took a single sheathed dagger from his collection and placed it upon the box, explaining, "In case you can't get back in time. It's a loan, I expect it back. Do you understand?" He eyeballed everyone remaining in his workshop with this statement. "If one or more of you choose to stay, I should have your commissions done before nightfall. The one may catch up to the others before the sun sets." If they could not, well, this building was safer than most. "I can probably talk Pitor down, so long as he doesn't think I'm being held against my will. Though I am obviously a bad liar."

Noting the manner in which Kosara left the place and giving thought to what he had witnessed concerning her just recently, Jacques commented, "Your friend, she is one of the goodly folk? I know her people have a reputation, but... I worry, is all. Keep yourselves safe. If we get through this alive, I might be more help to all of you yet."

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: Interior Silversmith's Shop Action: N/A Bonus Action: Morty Reaction: N/A

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So much for unattached curiosity. What began as an annoying disagreement between adventuring colleagues quickly degraded into a potential melee within closed quarters right next to a craftsman plying his trade with molten metal. "Of course," Victoria thought wryly to herself, "nothing could possibly go wrong." More than this, the nature of her Bardic College and preferred school of spellwork meant that she was fairly versed in what could happen if a group of nervous townsfolk become united under fear, ignorance, or outrage. To her opinion, the situation which was fast shaping up with the people outside and the wily but blunt gambit of the Guard inside with them was the first domino to fall, the end result being a riotous mob assembling with torches and pitchforks unless it was nipped in the bud immediately. With a shake of her head, V quickly packed away her ritual materials in preparation for hasty movement, whatever form that would take in the coming minutes.

This was one of the reasons why her modus operandi tended to involve ingratiating herself to the public somehow when coming to a new area. For instance, when she performed a funerary service for a known and respected member of the greater community. Unfortunately, she was also associated with a barfight the previous evening and did perform some actions that might have spread necromancy-ish rumors about herself. The irony being that she used an illusion and a cantrip, not like they could tell the difference. And she hadn't been in town long enough to foster the appropriate goodwill and/or celebrity that might have saved her from a mob looking for a target, either. In short, her stance on non-involvement just got its legs cut out from under it.

Following this revelation, the first thing Victoria did was mentally alter the standing orders on her smoke and salt preserved undead swineservant, Morty. No change might be noticed from the burlap enswaddled beast, though a mote of concentration might have been caught coloring the Bard's sharp and nigh flawless features, if only for a half-second. The second thing she did was to buckle on her swordbelt. The slender and much prettier weapon remained on the counter in front of her for easy access (and because she still wished to examine the handiwork of the talented Mr. Mallard). Both an appreciation for beauty and a touch of vanity were hallmarks of Victoria's psyche, as any insightful observer might recognize, even in this potentially perilous moment.

Finally, Victoria's normally very controlled expression switched to one of disbelief and anger as Kosara ...Kosara-ed... In the most painfully foolish manner that she could possibly think of, and the purple Necrobard was no stranger to bad decisions, herself. "Are you suicidal?" she whispered through clenched teeth, forgetting herself and her composure for just a moment. It took a lot to truly surprise Victoria. This did it. There wasn't enough time to fully process what came after; to her estimation this was about to turn ugly and if someone didn't handle it, and soon, she was going to have to do something less civilized than with which she was comfortable. A slow hand gripped the hilt of her newly worked rapier even as she opened her soul to the lines and threads of magic within her. Even she wasn't completely sure what or who would be the focal point of her attention.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Sigil@Arty Fox

Update is posted! Here is the point in time that I say something pithy and banter a bit, but... I think I can summarize things with a quick and simple: Best of luck.

Find me in our Discord for questions, concerns, or rolls.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: Light rain, and though no one inside can tell, the temperature is beginning to drop slightly.

Time: Late afternoon. The cloud cover does not overly prevent the after-midday sun from illuminating the Township in any appreciable way though it's difficult to pinpoint exactly where it rests in the sky.

Ambience: In contrast to the dropping temperature outside, the silversmith's place is quite warm and just a tiny bit hazy. The two lamps lit by Jacques earlier and the constant dim glow of the flameless heat source under the pot forge provide adequate light to the room as a whole, though shadowy corners remain. The doors are solidly closed and barred with a heavy beam, front and back both. The fellow by the door is still there, and he's getting very curious.

*****

"Um, hello?" The knocking continued from the door, even more uncertain than before. "I, I, um, I don't... Who is that? Is Monsieur Mallard okay?" The words spoken came from a lower, male voice, though the lack of overall confidence did not make this person seem hostile. There were a scattering of other words spoken though they made a little less sense than they probably should have. These words halted as the people inside made their own statements as if listening. A bit fainter, one from within could the same voice, presumably calling behind himself, "I don't know! I'm trying to find out!"

Meanwhile, Jacques gave the smallest of attention to the door or anyone else inside of his shop. He was working, and did not seem to like the distractions. He shook his head and selected Kathryn's axe next, preparing the same silver wire as with his last inlay, but paused as Marita replaced her dagger with the larger mace. This rerouted his attention enough to make him change his next course of action. "Hmm..." he mused, giving a simple nod and turning to his small pot forge. The oil used to quench his glowing metalwork while maintaining its integrity found a different use as he quickly applied it to general areas of the weapon which would not, in a mixture of his opinion and common sense, require silvering. The process itself took little time. It took even less time to dip portions of the business end and pommel into the crucible of perpetually heated silver and quench them in rapid succession with just enough care not to lose a drop of his precious metal. During this process he lightly dusted the mace with an impossibly fine powder. One more coating overall and he looked to Marita, "This is still quite hot." Jacques picked up a small jewelers' rod and began tapping the piece again and again, leaving a dimpled, hand-hammered appearance in the softened silver. "Overlay, rather than inlay for you. When it cools more fully I shall remove the excess and rebalance it. Is there a flourish or symbol you would like in the metal? There is a time factor, but I was expecting to work on more than just these few pieces." He kept up his tapping, occasionally brushing the item with a piece of rough leather.

Concerning the Great Moral Debate of what awful things to (or not to) do to the prisoner, the silversmith voiced no opinion. he barely gave this a look of disapproval whatsoever until things began to get loud. Hoping to break up the more aggressive train of thought, he answered Kathryn's question. This earned her an odd look, as if he was explaining something he thought might have been obvious. "The full moon lasts for three nights. Tonight is the first. Tomorrow night is its zenith."

The prisoner himself was awash in a sea of conflicting instincts, even if this didn't show more than a general sense of apprehension on his face. The threat made to him - and as much as it was spoken with generalities it was most certainly a threat - was something that he didn't seem to react to past twitching his head in the general direction of the speaker, this occasion being the Dragonborn fellow he had crossed swords with earlier. One could almost make out a tiny change of expression; a nervous twitch at the corners of his mouth. It could have been either amusement or anxiety, difficult as it is to read body language from a bound and blindfolded man.

Kosara's gambit led to stunned silence from the other side of the door. At first, a stillness fell upon the whole of the place, inside and outside both, as the people tried to process this new event, relayed from an unfamiliar voice and delivered with a sense of mirth that did not fit a post-streetbattle between guards and outsiders in a rural town scenario. After this stillness wore off, several things occurred in rapid succession:

First, the man outside spoke loudly, with fear coloring his earlier concern, "What? What have you done with Monsieur Mallard? Can you hear me in there, Jacques?"

This was immediately countered by a VERY annoyed silversmith, shouting, "Curse it all! Pitor, yes I can hear you! I have friends over - they're obviously drunk. Please hang up my sign and leave!" It was not a cover story that would hold up with any critical thinking whatsoever but it was all he could come up with in the moment. Jacques shot a withering scowl at Kosara.

THIS was immediately countered by the prisoner, moving as much as his binding and injured arm might let him, and called out, "HELP! They're hurting us!" His face was split by a wicked smile.

Jacques responded tersely, looking at both Kosara and Kathryn, "Get him out of here. Don't care what happens after he's gone."

The Guard himself shook with restrained laughter.

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: Interior Silversmith's Shop Action: Ritual Casting Identify Bonus Action: Morty Reaction: N/A

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Far from ignoring the smaller pieces of drama going on within the confines of the Silversmith's shop, Victoria noted them silently and moved to complete her ritual casting. She tried not to give it any worry as she (if forced to speak honestly) had no interest in interfering with whatever mistakes might be made involving a situation she wanted no part with to begin with. Either this would serve as a learning experience or everything would work out satisfactorily. Despite the uncertainty of this coin toss of options, Victoria had little choice but to finish her spellwork.

Illumination of the mind was a difficult thing to place when viewed on the face of another. Doubly so when that face splashed with the darker colors of an already grey school of signature magic. Clarity might have also been a appropriate term for the feeling, but such a concept mainly came from an act of self-realization, whereas Victoria's was the result of plucking the strings of the Weave, listening to the music therefrom, and interpreting the melodies and harmonies that were formed from its reaction with the object in front of her. In short, she divined scraps of useful, magical information about this item and pieced them together to form a cohesive whole. She smiled.

The color faded from her face and eyes; darker aspect of her hair reverted to the gorgeous red-auburn she was graced with from birth. Her overall demeanor maintained as it had previously, only now it was a little more believable that she had information and wished to openly share it.

"The Constable had a very interesting, very storied hammer in his possession," Victoria began. Her eyes lit up as she noticed the rapier next to her on the countertop, obviously threatening to derail her train of thought. She looked very much like she was about to melt into a puddle of saccharin gratitude until the caught herself, cleared her throat, and continued. "This does not appear to have anything malevolent upon it, to give that clarification. It is lightly enchanted for accuracy and damage, which is commonplace, but - and this is rare for a hammer - this otherwise carries similar properties of a moontouched blade, radiating soft, constant lunar light when held aloft in the darkness. There is no requirement to attune to a new wielder." Victoria thought for a second or two, then finally said, "There is something else within, as well. Locked away. Circumstances have to be met to unlock it. Whatever they are, I cannot tell."

Looking to Kathryn, she finished with, "This is a fine weapon, Lady Knight. I do not believe that it was originally made to enforce the ego of a small-town Constable."

Business out of the way (and still trying her best to remain uninvolved with the drama involving ...anything else... Victoria turned her attention to what had become of her previously stylish yet utilitarian sword. Her face was absolutely beaming. Whether or not she got to use it for its intended purpose that day was immaterial. This sword was stunning. Even a little personalized. Very much worth the small payment and the short wait. Victoria was anxious to see that became of the others' selections.

For the first time since entering the building. Morty moved to be near its creator. The Bard absently reached a hand down to scratch the burlap wrapping on its snout, still looking at her updated sword. She didn't even react to the knock at the door. Short of ducking out of the back there wasn't a thing she might do about the situation and just sought to see how it might resolve with unattached curiosity.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Sigil@Arty Fox

Good day, Edgelords and M'bladies! We are back up and running in full form, doing both the D and the D, as befits our heathen proclivities. With this in mind, we are back to our regular posting cycle. Stuff IC seems to be winding up to a head, which is expected with the coming nightfall.

With this in mind, remember that the Current Clack is still a'clacking, regardless of what characters are doing in the area. Depending upon where said characters are they may have the possibility to influence these events, but, we can't be everywhere, now can we? And even if we could, resources are finite things. (insert evil laugh here) Best of luck, and remember that questions, roll requests, etc., can be placed in the OOC Lounge of our Discord.

Happy gaming, odds be ever in your favor, so on, and so forth.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: Light, steady rain continues to patter across the Township. Now that the rain has lessened appreciably, the temperature shifts to something colder.

Time: Late afternoon. There are but a smattering of hours before proper nightfall, so far as anyone can tell with the sky's ever-present cloud cover.

Ambience: In contrast to the dropping temperature outside, the silversmith's place is quite warm and just a tiny bit hazy. The two lamps lit by Jacques earlier and the constant dim glow of the flameless heat source under the pot forge provide adequate light to the room as a whole, though shadowy corners remain. The doors is solidly closed and barred with a heavy beam, front and back both. There are sounds of movement coming from the outside, small at first, common to a town full of people stirring.

*****

Jacques remained quiet as the discussion around him had less and less to do with the work he was doing and more with their plans for the immediate future, however short it might end up being. The focus for him was on the weapon he was inlaying with silver. Sure enough, as soon as the blade was done (and cooled with room temperature oil) he inverted the weapon and held it fast within the vice he used earlier. He had mentioned treating the guard and pommel to account for the differing balance the item had now. Luckily, addressing this took very little time. The metal-liquifying stylus made a short task of the less crafted materials of the slim sword, putting into it the same type of patterns he had inscribed upon the blade but in remarkably less time. Inserting the plaited silver wire and welding it into place in a semi-liquid state was again short work, thanks to his white-hot stylus. Another application of oil and he gingerly moved Victoria's sword to the counter near to her (with thick cloth as it was apparently still very hot) as she performed her ritual magic on the Constable's hammer. Though he said nothing, Jacques nodded with an amount of personal pride. This was one of his better works. (Skill Check: 24)

The weapon was transformed from a quality but mundane utility cut & thrust sword in a style favored by Human craftsfolk, more likely to be seen on a battlefield than a dueling circle, into a nigh aristocratic tool of efficient stabwork. The lingering oils on the sword reflected the twinkling light of the lamp nearby to reveal a differently hued metal swirling and dancing within the greater amount of steel present, flush to its dimensions and notably darker toward the edges as if outlined with permanently oxidized argent. The style was breathtakingly similar to designs found on contemporary Elven jewelry, though not quite with their reported complexity and thread-thin lines. He was a mortal Human after all, versed in the style to a degree but without the centuries to practice. The lines and swirls made enchanting designs that bore similarities with both sheet music and organic, leaf bearing vines. One versed in such things might be able to discern more upon closer inspection. This was a piece of art.

Before collecting any other weapons to work upon, Jacques addressed two points which Kathryn had made about their present situation. "Your knife, there," he motioned to the dagger taken from the Goblins after their first skirmish, "wasn't made by any Goblin, nor Goblin-kin. I'd say Humans made it, and not too far off from where that young lady's rapier was forged. Or by a weaponsmith from there. I don't have a practiced eye for weapons and I can tell it's decent work." Jacques mumbled something to himself following this, shaking his head as if debating something to himself. "There's a couple of people in my family that found a talent for magic. Not me - can't cast a stitch - but I learned some things and gifting holidays were ...interesting... sometimes. Like my silver stylus, there. And..." He moved to the desk/table near the back door which held the book, skull, and what looked like they might have been alchemical or ritual supplies and opened a drawer. A felt bag was retrieved, from which he poured two stones into his hand, one of which he set on the counter. "One of you hang onto that. This place is secure as any in town, but you're right, Cavendish might come back. Or he might send his cronies after me, or just burn my place down to the stones. If something happens, and you're still offering help, I'll send you a message through this."

One stone he pocketed, then returned to his pot forge. "Axe and dagger next," he said with a tired but determined voice. Jacques paused for a moment as Marita offered up her dagger, giving a glance down to her mace and then back up to meet her eyes. With a touch of hesitance, he managed to say, "Be a lot faster with your cudgel. But I'll do this if you want. Tell me if you change your mind." He set the blade down next to the others in line for silvering and got back to work.

His tangent about the mace over, Jacques returned to the question of Kathryn wanting to learn about inlaying silver. "If you're already trained as a smith, I guess that you already know how to inlay a metal. Takes a lot than the way I do it. You can see the technique I'm using with this, and it's only because of this item I have. Scrapes through forged metal like hot cheese. Heats small items malleable ready and quick, too. It's like cheating. If you want to learn how to work silver specifically and learn the craft of a jeweler, then I might be able to help. Provided we both survive the next three nights and you can devote good time to learn from me. If you find me after, I'd be open to it."

The Guard, now more obviously coming around, jerked against his constraints and let out a dull groan which he tried to stifle as best as possible. He failed miserably. Coming to full consciousness or nearabouts to it, Guard flinched and moved his head away from the sound of Kathryn's voice closeby. He audibly hissed but otherwise did not speak, neither to say anything in his defense nor answer the offer of food and water.

Meanwhile, at the front of the building, a hesitant series of small knocks sounded from the main door. Behind it, a strained voice issued, "Um, Monsieur Mallard? ...Monsieur Mallard, your, ah, sign? Sign has fallen. Do you want me to put it back? May I come in, sir?" Another knock sounded, a little bolder this time.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

Feel free to look over our OOC initial post to familiarize yourself with the setting and character generation rules. You can submit a character for approval here in the OOC at any time. Let me know if you have questions.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Ever Faithful

Nearing the end of this part of the RP. If the group collectively agrees to continue, there are two more adventures outlined in this setting.