Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

A shorter update, to be certain, but one which hopefully contains details which can be followed up on. If I missed anything or if there is a dangling question IC unanswered, do let me know. <insert evil laugh here> And as usual, drop me a line in our Discord for the usual stuff.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: It has passed cool and gone to cold, but not yet freezing. Low to still wind, and fog remains the bulk of what one sees at any distance.

Time: It is the beginning of nighttime. The sun is officially down, the moon is officially full, and the screams have officially started. Officially.

Ambience: The exterior of the building stood as a cold mockery of a place where one might go for a short vacation or temporary lodging, no doubt heightened by the growing discomfort of the evening. The trailing festival decorations and stacks of colorful gourds lend a more eerie feel to the structure, rather like the atmosphere of an abandoned carnival at midnight. The moon floats quietly overhead, visible through the fog if nothing else was. The sound of rats just beyond visible distance is quieter here, further away, as if the swarms of tiny animals did not wish to approach.

*******

The interior of the Bed & Breakfast is quiet, but not oppressively so. The only source of light on the ground floor is that of Lizbeth's candle, or was until those from the party entered the building with their various points of illumination. The ground floor was open and almost sterile in appearance, as if taken to by a meticulous housekeeper. Stone and tile surfaces clean, wood polished, everything arranged in particular order. A lounge area toward the front of the room boasts well constructed (if a bit rustic) furniture, and the table settings on the other side of the room are near to immaculate.

Lizbeth herself looked much like a lost child at a county fair. She glanced about uncertainly, looking from person to person who had just entered as if to receive an answer to an unasked question. The note in her hand was slightly crumpled, having been held tightly by the young girl since its discovery. When Kathryn asked for it, Lizbeth nodded her head slowly and shakily held out the note for her to inspect. It was short and very pointed, written with a bold hand and in large, blocky letters:

WILL BE RIGHT BACK.

Tears formed in Lizbeth's eyes, silently trailing down her cheeks. She might not have known exactly what was going on, but deep inside she had an approximate idea and her sense of denial was faltering fast.

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: Exterior B&B -> Interior B&B Action: Perception Check Bonus Action: Morty Reaction: N/A

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"Yeah. Poor idea," sighed Victoria. The fact was that all of her stuff was still there, tucked away in a backpack and a chest, both neatly stacked in a charming little errand cart which was ordinarily pulled by her formerly dead porcine companion. Also, lots and lots of local wine. Their little hideaway was not remotely the sort of accommodations that she preferred, but it was warm, comfortable, and had an elevated position where they could rest with a touch more discretion. But so mach as Victoria did not want to give too much in the way of agreement with the Cleric, a grudging acceptance of Marita's assessment. If the rats were spying for the bad guys, letting them see her return to all of her goodies in their safe(?) little loft was not the best of ideas. Even though Victoria agreed, she absolutely did not have to like it. "On the other hand, in a pinch I don't strictly have to be seen..." She flashed a quick but prideful smile. "...as tragic as such a thing is. Though it will limit my versatility of spellcraft later in the evening."

The second option, that being a wholesale slaughter of as many rats as possible, was also interesting. Victoria wondered how many rats constituted a "swarm", for the purposes of re-animation with tiny wisps of necrotic energy. She would have to let go of the husk that was Morty, a tough, smoky creature that served her well (at least for a while yet), and the tradeoff would be something less defensive and utilitarian. Thought provoking in the potential use of the creatures' corpses. Responsible even, given the neutral Necromancer's unofficial credo:

"Reduce, Reuse, Reanimate"

Jovial a thought as it was, it did very little to keep Victoria's spirits up when the first scream sounded. Things were happening elsewhere in town; expected things, and not too far away. Her ability to detach from this was put to the test, owing to a couple of key points, which included that she was somewhat familiar with a few of the people in this town. Many were okay folks and she didn't wish any harm upon them. It sounded very much like harm was being visited upon someone, however. Victoria internally applauded the pragmatism of the group in what seemed like an unspoken collective decision to not go running off, instead sticking to the task at hand to assist their friends and allies. Luckily, one such ally had just revealed herself in the doorway of the Bed & Breakfast.

Instinctively, Victoria noticed that something was off about Lizbeth. She seemed different or disconnected somehow. But Kathryn seemed to be making connection with her, so the Bard did not attempt to interfere. She was a little jealous actually, as she thought she might have some sort of greater understanding of the young girl, but this passed. Training her senses upon the surroundings as she entered the building, V held a breath and pressed her hat to the side of her head, as if to amplify her ability to hear more clearly. Maybe it was useful and maybe it was not, but it served to demonstrate what she was doing and, with her very uninteresting abilities of perception, every little bit was going to help. In this instance, she picked up something, but her announcement was interrupted by hearing more screams outside somewhere. Finally, she pointed up to the ceiling, pointing out a small amount of movement as the ceiling let it be known in the quiet voice of well-structured carpentry that something was standing upon it.

"The guests are upstairs?" she whispered in almost imperceptible volume. Lizbeth responded with a silent nod in Victoria's direction. Guests were here, but Aunt CeeCee was gone. How many did that make that were missing, that they personally knew? The question did not rest easy in Victoria's thoughts.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

Brace yourselves, hold your loved ones tight, and make sure you have something sharp nearby. The Update has been Updated, for better or worse. It looks like there are a few things to discuss among yourselves in the Discord OOC, which is probably for the best. Just remember, as per usual I have a Current Clack going on; a series of preplanned events which may or may not be influenced by the party's actions - both choices that have already been made and choices that have yet to be made - which will occur on a timetable.

As always, please direct questions, concerns, die roll requests, etc. to me in the Discord, and maybe also supplicate to whatever power is likely to show mercy in this given instance.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: It is cold. Not freezing yet, but cold in an unseasonable fashion, as was the previous evening. The fog had a constant presence, thick and lingering, but at least it wasn't raining. Wind is low, calm even after the earlier downpour.

Time: Dusk is upon you. Cue the music.

Ambience: A full and heavy moon hangs in a sky that has now officially darkened. It is the not only the brightest, but the only light that one can readily make out thanks to the oppressive, ground-based cloud cover. The tension in the air around one thickens in ways that even the dense fog cannot fathom. The sounds of water dripping from places on high to the ground were no longer present, but if one were to listen carefully one might catch the faint sounds of water being whisked away by the thoroughfare's drainage system. If one were to listen even more carefully, they might just pick out the random sloshings of rodents within what standing puddles remained, desire to avoid the frigid water making their movements more frantic.

These pieces of proximal ambience aside, a sense of painful stillness permeated the Township. Considering the bustle of the festival from just a matter or hours ago, one knows full well that the settlement is populated. Everyone seemed to be instinctively hiding from the unknown, or at least uncertain danger among them.

The scent of porkfat and tangy wood was still carried upon the air.

*******

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The steps in the direction of the Bed & Breakfast, be they taken lightly and with care or the stomping recklessness of a drunken neckbeard, were fully unimpeded. No force moved to stop, nor even delay, as the group moved steadily along the road; a very short walk from the Silversmith's place to where their first allies in Avonshire was quartered for the Harvestide Festival, within a stone's throw of the centermost river bridge if the fog would have allowed. Visions of massing rodents remained unseen, but not fully undetected. Their original gambit of staying just out of sight at all times (unless set upon by a flung source of light) was reestablished, but one could still hear the same shuffling noises if they knew what to listen for.

Coming up to the door of the B&B, the sound of rats lessens into the distance. A truer quiet settles upon the area, as it did when the party neared Jacques Mallard's place of business. The building itself boasted a green roof and door, with a sign indicating its purpose. A detachable addition also proclaimed a lack of vacancy. Yes, this was the place. Not much of a surprise, but there was a lack of bright light coming from within. Windows were closed and curtains drawn, shutters latched as applicable. From this close proximity, one could see a small source of light from behind a curtain, possibly a lit candle or something similar, judging only by its illumination through a thicker cloth.

At that moment, a scream cut through the night air. It was feminine and blood-curdling, ending with a choked, reflexive sob. While difficult to say precisely from where it issued, one can tell that it likely came from farther up the roadway, possibly even on the other side of the river. In the stunned seconds after the scream, the door to the Bed & Breakfast creaked open. "Can you help me, please?" came a voice, its source still obscured by the fine, wooden portal, though light did spill from behind it. The voice was familiar to most of the party, if colored, likely by emotion. It was Lizbeth L'Rose, though her face was only partially visible from behind the door. "Aunt Cecily isn't here. She left a note, but I think something is wrong." Her voice trembled as she spoke.

Another scream split the foggy night, this one joined quickly by a second - both from a different direction than the initial outburst. These two sounded like they came from somewhere north of their location. The cracked door of the Bed & Breakfast pulled shut for a moment, before opening just a little bit once more.

"Won't you please help?"

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: Exterior Silversmith's -> Exterior B&B Action: N/A Bonus Action: Morty Reaction: N/A

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Even more light. Yes, Victoria understood that not everyone was going to be able to see the same way that she did when visible light went away, but she was giving serious wonder as to why an illumination cantrip, multiple torches, and a magical hammer with the ability to shed silvery-white moonlight when held aloft was necessary all at once. She couldn't see any better with all of this light than without it either, thanks to the dense fog. So it was a rather surreal experience for her to stand within a brightly lit area, surrounded by puffy, white fog, which in turn was surrounded by darkness. Actual darkness, which in this situation of contrasting brightness, Victoria's eyes could not pierce. She was in a semisphere of brilliance surrounded by a horde of rats.

The thought that the light might be helping to keep the rats at bay didn't immediately come to her, either. It was another in a series of annoyances from this evening, tempered by a sense of purpose that she did not ordinarily possess. Maybe that purpose was because she saw something in the Human girl, Lizbeth, and wanted to help keep her safe. This feeling aside, when the thought did occur to her that the light provided service aside from helping the night-blind, she gripped the hilt of her slim sword a little tighter, unsure as to whether she specifically wished to get into a stabbing match with a swarm of pissed-off rodents.

The Bard cocked her head to the side at the Dragonborn's words, giving them consideration. Sarcasm was rarely out of place in times like this, in her opinion, and she had to give a nod of appreciation. Somewhere, there was a God or Goddess whose portfolio included sarcasm as a sacred act. While the identity of such a deity did not immediately come to Victoria's mind, she was sure this unknown power would look favorably upon the moment.

Victoria found her footsteps hurrying to follow Kathryn as she moved down the thoroughfare. So long as she was caught in the middle of a huge ball of light, she might as well be in the immediate vicinity of someone tromping about in heavy, clanking metal armor, too. It completed the whole motif she had going on with being as noticed as possible. (And if the God of Sarcasm could read her thoughts, they would be truly blessed, indeed.) But in fairness, speed was becoming more of the essence of their task then subtlety, so it made sense. Plus! if anything bad happened, she would be standing behind the large, physically powerful woman with the big, magic hammer. This also made sense. To the Bed & Breakfast it was, then, to collect their allies and spirit them away to what safety could be provided to them.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

And so it begins in earnest. The full moon is up, the group is out in the open, and the festivities are about to commence. Good luck.

Message me in Discord for rolls, questions, and the like as per usual.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: Ambient temperatures hold firm somewhere between merely annoying and near-freezing. The fog continues its assault on one's distance vision, given strength from the river and recent weather conditions.

Time: Night proper is set to fall at any minute.

Ambience: Oh, the shallow breath being held in trepidation that was this township was palpable as a metaphysical certainty. The swift and jittery intake of air past the teeth of a condemned man as the axe descends toward the back of his neck would be an apt comparison. Tension is especially high amid the stagnant fog, which reveals only those festival decorations are nearest to the group while simultaneously giving them a ghostly outline. The sound of dripping water is constant, if a little hard to overhear amid the other, less settling noises of movement just outside of the party's light sources. For the more sensitive to things of this nature, the place feels sick.

Yet somehow, elsewhere in town and in truest dedication, the barbecue continued unabated.

*******

The torchlight glided through the mostly still air in a decent enough arc, clattering to the cobblestones in a very near to even, three-point landing. It sputtered and flickered a little at hard connection was made but remained mostly steady, extending its illumination just a touch farther into the oppressive mists of the evening. Beyond the reach of the magic by its sheer virtue of piercing the fog, the mundane incendiary rod did what the cantrip could not - give those nearby a glimpse into the deeper concealment surrounding them.

This glimpse lasted but for a sparse second, revealing to those perceptive enough to catch it the sight of a series of reflective, red eyes. Dozens of them revealed in that one segment of orange light from the looks of it, burning with intensity and animalistic curiosity before instantly turning and scampering away. Tiny, slender feet and long, skinny, erratic tails visible as they scurried away from the sudden heat and light; yet still other outlines of large, round ears and long noses in front of twitching whiskers which bore closer witness to the torch before they, too, had enough and pulled back. The same noise of movement sounded again at this sudden introduction of a fire, obviously coming from these small creatures en masse and rippling out into places the light did not touch - and beyond - like a wave or chain reaction of movement.

Rats. Uncounted numbers of rats.

Luckily, they were not around the door of Monsieur Jacques Mallard, who finally opened his door with a thump and a start. He bore in his hands the tools of injury left to him and sought to distribute with as little fanfare as possible, urgency splayed across his face. "What? Oh, you almost didn't make it. Quick now, and be off with you!" His words were a little more terse than probably intended, perhaps forgivable by the occasion and peril waiting to be experienced. Nevertheless, he was true to his word, pulling off what would have otherwise been impossible by the standards of normal smiths, unassisted by a piece or two of magic.

The first items he distributed were to Kathryn. A hand axe and a dagger, both of which had floral patterns deeply engraved into the metal and lines of forge-fresh silver gleaming from the expertly etched grooves. Whatever their origin before, they now looked like a matched set of light, silvered weapons for the slayer-on-the-go. Were one to replace handles or wrappings they would look quite new. A quick polish, sharpening, and coat of oil were likewise apparent. A little detail work and they would be truly princely of quality.

To Marita, the silversmith handed what looked like a complete overhaul of her mace. Instead of an inlay, hers acquired an overlay of silver in the more painful portions of the weapon, every inch of it mottled with tiny, regular indentations, by the design of skilled hands. The same treatment was given to the pommel for a more appropriate balance and a portion of the shaft was bound by braided wire. The crown of the head of the mace was adorned with a vectored version of the traditional holy symbol of Pholtus, a silvery sun with a smaller lunar crescent, as he had noted on Marita's person earlier. The quality of this weapon rivaled that of his work with the Bard's sword, but in a highly differing style. Any Champion of Law would require absolution from their immediate and unwanted covetousness of such a tool of bludgeoning prowess.

"Thank you for helping my friend," he said, "And thank you for trying to help us all." The topic took a swift change as he belted out, "Now please get away from my door while I slam it and set the bar back up. You know how to reach me if you need." Jacques held up a stone, partnered to the one given to the group from earlier that day. "And I know how to get in touch with you. Good luck tonight. Try not to die." A man of his word, the door shut heavily. Sounds of reinforcing it could be heard from the other side.

The last light of the setting sun faded slowly from view, turning twilight into dusk.

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: En Route to Silversmith's -> Exterior Silversmith's Action: N/A Bonus Action: Morty Reaction: N/A

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Before one could say, "Yeah, a little TOO quiet"," their environment took steps to correct it. The scrabbling movement just out of sight of their group was more than a little disconcerting. Magical light against fog did not work out quite so well for her as it might have for others, it turned out. When Kosara's illumination brought the twilight up to something more full, all that it did for Victoria was turn the limiting, colorless effects of the dying daylight against thick fog to slightly more colorful effects of dying daylight against thick fog. It was useful to the Humans in the group (and probably the Dragonborn as well, she really wasn't certain) and didn't hinder her as the fog stunted her Elven darkvision just as much as it did those who could only see in the light. Still, as the Tiefling was being polite enough to pass out magical light sources, the least she might do was give a polite response in kind. "Thank you, but no. I should want a hand free for my own expressions of magic." Her other hand was already occupied by her sword; an item that she used less frequently than other measures of defense but undeniably a useful tool for the purpose. Plus, it was really pretty now.

Attempts at stealth were pointless in this hour as well. The light, useful as it was, might as well have been a dinner bell or well positioned sign advertising conditionally free ale. Victoria still kept her footfalls light and deliberately placed, relying on her dancer's agility to keep her mobile and ready for whatever lay concealed within the fog. She made it a point to hover a little further away from the magically shiny blade or anything else which might suddenly come alight, not from a hesitance to be around nor fear of the brightness, but because of the tiniest of annoyance of its presence. Morty kept to her heel with its own sort of lopsided synchronicity, obeying the standing commands given unerringly. It wasn't as if the creature had a choice.

The continuing sounds of movement just outside of their field of vision was disturbing. So long as nothing came within the radius of visible area from the fog beyond there could be some sort of plausible deniability. The flipside of that particular coin meant that one's imagination might play havoc on them as they attemped to suss out the unknown but obviously present. The extremely tense details of their situation heightened this. And sadly, as a True Bard (if at least half Necromancer), Victoria had a healthy and reaching imagination. But they were close to where they needed to be now, and the party would be stronger for this shortish walk.

Around this time, Baronfjord asked a question, which Victoria felt obligated to answer. Her head was scanning what painfully little she might try to make out through the fog, saying, "It isn't the first time here I have had the notion of being watched. I shall be happier when we have secured our people behind friendly doors."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

Okay, you got me. I updated a day early. I have my reasons, most of which involve me being horribly irregular of schedule over this weekend. This being said, don't feel pressured to pump your posts out a day early, yourself. It's all good, we'll work it out. NOW, we're entering a point where awful things might happen, and in fact I am rolling for random encounters as this setting calls for it. Per usual, please message me in our Discord for stuff, let me know if you need something rolled or a ruling on stuff, or just ask me for clarification. Best of luck moving forward. You might need it. (insert evil laugh here)

ROLL THEM DICE, PEOPLE! YAY!