Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

So yeah, that happened. First things first: Everyone has one additional day to post for this cycle. That out of the way, yah... Welcome to a more narrative experience. Have your characters react however they need to, request whatever roll you want in our Discord, and enjoy the semi-plot-relevant descriptors. If you did not intend for your characters to enter the Municipal Building or stay to one area, don't worry about it and just go with what is logical for him/her/they to experience.

Also, be thinking and discussing among yourselves how you're going to want to divvy up found items/treasure, if you're wanting anything. And of course, have in mind which direction to go next.

Thanks!

EDIT:
Kathryn's net didn't survive the onslaught of necrosis and death throes of the Constable. Just throwing that out there.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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The pitch-blaze crackled on with constant intensity, sizzles and pops forming an irregular cadence in the otherwise stillness of the chilly, flickering night. Even the once heavy roar of the tree which burst into flames quieted somewhat as the majority of easily consumed leaves were exhausted, leaving a giant, spindly-armed torch in its wake. With luck and the damp conditions of the evening it had not spread to the other trees, and the sticky blaze upon the cobblestones had not moved appreciably enough to give additional worry than was already present. Call it a stroke of luck in an otherwise down situation.

The prisoners, all of them freed from their hastily constructed wooden cages, had already made their way out of sight by this time, all headed along the western road away from the town center. Though a Halfling was among their number, the "guests" of the right hand cage were making excellent time escaping as a group nonetheless. Horror makes for a powerful motivator, and some carrying might have been involved. If the nerve-wracked survivors heard the call to come back, they weren't responding.

This was not to say that someone hadn't heeded the call to assist. A cry of FIRE can get people running, even in horrible situations, it was a primal beckon. Though it did not seem that anyone was going to show at first, but as the party discussed options as to how they might handle the continuing conflagration, the first of tentative steps made their way nearer to the Township Square. A muttering of cautious voices could be heard from the far side of the eastmost spilled flame; casual inspection showed wavy orange illumination on a few of the locals' faces, and hands carrying tools repurposed as weapons. And some kid who picked up a dropped Guardsman's spear earlier that day (great parenting, there). Scattered questions split through the air, each having something to do with the level of safety present for them: "...they're gone? Are they dead? Did you kill the ratmen? Where's the Constable..?" Others wept, for their fear, losses this night, and sheer stresses of living through terrors that an agrarian society was simply unprepared to face.

All could tell that an otherwise intangible weight had lifted from the area, like a great emotional breath could be taken in relief from a trauma they were uncertain was torturing them - until it finally let up. Many let tears of relief fall. but that jackass kid with the appropriated spear caught sight of the flaming Wererat Abomination who had fallen back onto the barrel and gasped, "Eewww! What is that? It looks like someone shaved a bear and left it in the oven!" This got a couple of nervous chuckles from the townsfolk, right up until they caught sight of what he was talking about. One of them vomited into his hat. Another vomited into the first man's hat, too. Others started in alarm, but one corralled them into some sort of applicable action.

"Pine tar fire. Come now, let us get sand first, water after it's down," he suggested abruptly. The others, given something to do that did not involve shaking in their boots, fell in line. Throughout the chaos of the last few hours, having a task that they could handle readily gave a sense of control they were lacking, even if the task was relatively simple. The first man gave a wave in Kosara's direction before heading back off to locate buckets and fill them with the appropriate materials. In retreat, one could clearly hear the query of, "...and where in any Hells is the fire brigade?" Mysteries abound this night, apparently.

*******

The search of Cavendish's dusty remains does in fact net a set of keys, which Kathryn was able to find in a rather conspicuous spot (for keys), but the search did net other things. In and around the body lay a nicely crafted dagger with matching sheath, 50 gold coins of the realm (a rarity in a place like this as the common coin is a silver Argent), the sheath for his shortsword, a belt with covered holster for (what used to be) his hammer, and a whip with curious metal slivers braided into the fall and popper of said weapon. The powdery former Constable wore a set of leather armor standard to the Guards of this area, though this one was now scarred by necrotic energy, and a brass insignia suitable to be worn as either a badge or cloak pin bearing (among other things) the title CONSTABLE.

*******

The keys present numbered six, each of which were similar in construction and heft. All blackened metal on a ring of the same material, and as it turned out, all completely pointless as the party approached and entered the Municipal Building. To start, the gates on the main wall were open. Not thrown wide open so that one may guide a laden wagon inside, but just enough so a Human-sized person might step through. Maybe even a plump one. Entering is an easy enough affair.

This far away from the fires outside and behind the walls, lighting is almost nonexistent. The full moon provided just enough light not to stumble over what is directly in front of one's feet. Those with a viable light source or active darkvision are greeted by something less expected - Neglect. The courtyard between the walls and the front of the building proper bore the appearance of a once decent spot, now turned shabby from a lack of upkeep. Bits of trash and scraps of wood lay scattered among the unmown grass and ill-tended bushes. To the right side of the courtyard is an open-front stable with eight stalls, two of which contain horses in dire need of care. And a good shoveling. They look miserable. There stood a spot nearby which may have had carts, wagons, or the like, but now stood empty, save for some wheel tracks, bereft even of grass.

The main doors to the front of the building were also open, this time battered open. The red-painted wooden doors splintered around where a door lock might have been. They open without a struggle, but with a startling, tinny squeal of hinges that begged to be oiled. What they reveal within is an awful continuation of what lay outside.

This was far worse than neglect. It was a willful and long-term vandalism of a place which was once the seat of civil authority for the region. There were no internal doors visible. None standing, anyway. Ripped from frames which stood as regular apertures in walls which had long been defiled with copper-brown stains and gruesome handprints. Trash littered the floor in places, kicked into piles in larger rooms or shuffled into corners. There were the usual features which one may expect to find within a Municipal Building; a small courtroom, a town hall style meeting place, a couple of studies for persons of official occupation, all of which were ransacked and destroyed. There was even a decently sized room containing records, either pressed into books or tucked away in scroll cases - or what was left of them. Pieces of things ripped or used as impromptu personal cleaning devices, treated in the same manner as the rest of the building.

Sounds of tiny feet and shuffling garbage could be readily detected off and on as one progressed through this place. It was unnerving, given the evening everyone had just experienced, but nothing could be detected except for the occasional rat. Normal looking ones, perfectly comfortable in these environs. Otherwise, there were no signs of life.

But what was worse in this place was the smell. It was urine and rot, mixed liberally with the oppressive reek of mold. It seemed to get stronger the farther one went back in the building. As near as one could tell, far behind the courtroom in this building stood a mostly intact armory. It was still a hotbed of neglect, but less rubbish littered the room here and it was not entirely cleared out of useful things. Two sets of leather armor remained, as well as several truncheons, a couple of spears, and a decent enough light crossbow. Three shortbows remained as well, and a fair amount of ammunition for the ranged weapons. The place could use a good dusting, overall. But that smell got so much worse here. It was like a butcher's shop left to fester.

The highest concentration of this came from a single, closed door (possibly the only one left in the building), toward the back of the armory.

The aroma shifted into something resembling embalmed death as the door opened, revealing a set of stone stairs descending into a pitch dark basement. With light applied or with darkvision, it revealed much the same sight, this being dark splotches and streaks of something once liquid, dried to flaky stain upon the walls and steps. The descent of these fetid stairs brought with it another sense of quiet, if not calm. Not even the rats wanted to be down here, it seemed. The scent of rot and wrongness persisted, reaching a crescendo as the steps opened into a wider area, still just as devoid of a light source of its own. Maybe it would have been for the best if sight was left unused. Sadly, between the party's ability to see in near total darkness and the magical, light bearing hammer, this could not go unseen.

A grievous outpost of the Abyss, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, met the eyes of the party. Regular prison cells lined the walls of this circular room, some with guests inside and some without. None of the bodies were moving. Some were in advanced states of decay. Some were only partial corpses. One was split cleanly in half, lengthwise, from crown to crotch, hollowed out otherwise. Another was merely a torso. In one corner, a bucket of eyeballs of various different sources floated in dark liquid. Hands occupied another one. Scents of preserving fluids mingled with the rot here. In the center back of the room, away from the staircase, sat a series of three raised tables. Each were soaked and stained in corpsefluids of various kinds, but one, only one, still held an occupant, of sorts. There were assembled but not attached, many select portions of reclaimed body parts, all thick of muscle and all bearing the same myanthropic features of the Abominations from the fight in the Town Square, above. It was incomplete. Still, even in death the bodies had not reverted back to (Demi)Human form.

Symbols and ritual circles were painted all over the floor here, and there remained a few trappings of lengthy ritual work. There were tools here, created no doubt for legitimate medical purposes but obviously not wielded by the hands of a healer.

There was no resistance to the party's entrance, nor egress. No traps to be sprung. Nothing that impeded any of their movements whatsoever. This building was, like the many dead in that basement, simply discarded after it failed to be useful anymore.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 3 HP: 10 / 23 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: Township Square Action: N/A Bonus Action: . Reaction: N/A

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Victoria was just fine with the idea of heading back to someplace with walls and good lighting, for the obvious protection and ease with which she may study her new prize. The fire was beyond her ability to affect, and while she might have some core skill to track over land, it was highly unlikely that she could be of much help with locating the wererat guards who seemed to have eluded them. Even if she had her Morty ready and animated, it fell beyond its senses and cognitive function to play the role of bloodhound. Basic animations were a multitool, not an omnitool.

Furthermore, popping into the Municipal Building at night in her condition seemed like a huge risk, considering that the group was fresh out of a pitched battle and were not at their best, by far. Maybe everyone had fled. Or, as a tiny part of her mind suggested, there could be survivors among the missing inside. Or treasure! Both were respectable arguments. However, a personal factor came into play when Marita mentioned Cecily. They had people that they came here to help, specifically. Little Lizbeth, back at the Bed & Breakfast, was promised her aunt back. Victoria saw Cecily head down the western thoroughfare, supporting another townsperson with a small entourage and that strange fisherman bringing up their rear. She could travel in that direction to meet with the survivors and tell them the good news. Then reunite the L'Roses.

"Very well, then," piped Victoria, very near to cheerfully. She carefully replaced the book she was just perusing back into the haute knapsack and secured it closed, after which she slung it over her shoulders. It was with a little too much enthusiasm, as the jostle reminded her of her injuries with sharp notes. All the same, it didn't blunt her apparent optimism as she adjusted the straps to better suit her frame and readied herself to move. Her sword found its sheath, her violin its case, and that case slung low about her side. It was a shame that her very jaunty, bardy hat was not present; she would have liked to flourish it upon her perfectly coiffed, red-auburn locks (even post battle it shone with a healthy, silky bounce), but one must endure these little obstacles to live the life of an Adventurer.

Upon recovering her fine, charcoal cloak, Victoria sauntered to Marita with a smile. "My, but you look underdressed for the occasion." She offered over her garment, keeping a welcoming look about her visage and studying the Cleric with her sylvan, crystal-blue eyes. "Please do borrow my cloak. I would bet that it highlights your naturally flaxen hair admirably. Oh! And I might have something in my trunk that would fit you, if you haven't an appropriate spare set of clothes. Do you like purple?" Her smile flashed into a grin for just a second, equally warm as it was mischievous.

"I agree with Marita," announced Victoria, as if she had been asked to weigh in on an issue at a Town Hall meeting. "We came to rescue Cecily. I say we complete that first, but..." Her face gave a look of consideration, "We will eventually have to take a peek inside the Municipals. It seems the right thing to do." She nodded, adding her two coppers to the discussion. The Municipal Building would still be there later. Preferably, to her thinking, with the morning light.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

Ello ello, all. I am seeing some interesting bits of insight, some is accurate and some is ...less so... but all are valid and part of the D&D experience! If you're reading this, it means that the Update has been Updated, as fits my heathen proclivities. But getting to the story at hand:

What we've got now is a bit of a wrap-up. There are loose ends to tie up, things to get identified, rests to take, and people to check in on. To this end, if you all would, please discuss what you want to get done (that your characters can accomplish) or any other things that you want to look into. Splitting the party isn't out of the question, but just because the trees are thinning it doesn't mean you're out of the woods. Character to character discussion isn't out of the question, as always, and in fact might be beneficial in the short and/or long run. So please, discuss among yourselves in our Discord, hit me up for rolls and/or judgements, and let's get to some of these loose ends as expediently as possible, that we may proceed to the scene Epilogue and the horrifying, eye-puncturing setup for what comes next. When this arc comes closer to conclusion, I have things to distribute. Thanks!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: The air is still an interesting shade of chill in the foggy autumn night, but the harsher edge seems to have been blunted from the wind. The barest sprinkles of rain fall here, but almost infrequently enough to make one wonder as to whether there was actual precipitation in the first place, though if one craned their neck upward, they would see the same fleeting reflection of firelight in the tiny droplets as a few moments ago. Maybe it's just the roaring fire, but the weather seems to have relaxed a little bit.

Time: The night time is the right time.

Ambience: The fire is still a-firing, and thanks to the damp weather recently it doesn't seem to want to spread any farther out, either. Still, the light and warmth are noticeable and not completely unwelcome. The initial shock of the battle is wearing off at this point, allowing minds to question possible injuries and bodies to report their state of readiness. The overall feeling for many is OUCH. Another piece of luck - no one has immediate, life threatening damage. Otherwise, the place seems quiet, overall. Even the rats, or most of them, have scurried away to parts unknown.

*****

The once living husk of the Wererat Abomination settled onto the cobblestone ground with a fleshy slap after being freed from its fiery Bastille. It was horribly burnt, as one might be after sitting in a pitchy blaze for a while, and in fact was still partially on fire. With most of the hair seared away, there were three obvious qualities of the corpse that anyone present could detect: 1) The creature was constructed of several different parts, stitched together with coarse but tight, wax-string cording. 2) Contrary to the other myanthropes who were knocked unconscious or killed, these things did not return to a more human form. 3) A burly, hairless wererat is truly ugly as hell.

In contrast, the gnarly smell of burnt wererat hair is significantly worse than that of the porkfat and aromatic woods that continues to waft in from the west, even though it is severely blunted by the crisp, acrid vapors of burning pitch.

Those giving passive interest in the possible locations of the Guards have come up with nothing; neither hide nor hair, spore, obvious track, nor bit of errant flora to give up their proximity to the group. There have been no threats of attack forthcoming, either. It seemed that the Wererat Guards were still at large, doing what wererats tend to do best when not under the subjugation of a more powerful being: Surviving.

The town, aside from the cooking and the burning, held little in the way of other overt stimuli. On the one hand, random screams could no longer be heard from differing, random directions, but also no one dared to poke their heads out of their homes to see what fresh hell awaited them. Prudence, possibly. Or cowardice. Maybe a bit of both. Of course, the fact that the town center was difficult to see from most of the rest of the town might have something to do with a lack of immediate fire response.

Then again, another factor to consider is that the Municipal Building had the best view of the Township Square. Absolutely nothing had come from that direction, not even spiteful words from other guards, militia, nor thankful adulation from town officials. Certainly not a volunteer fire brigade, hauling buckets and other firefighting accoutrements.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Eviledd1984

I caught this earlier and am just now getting back to it.

For yourself or anyone else reading this with interest: Most anything you need to know is in the first post of the OOC. This is a generally good aligned series of adventures, and interested parties need to fill out the CS with rules provided. While I am taking applications, I might not necessarily bring in new characters immediately, as we are finishing an arc presently. New characters that enter play will have to do so within the framework of this setting.

Hope this helps you or anyone else peeking in for a moment.

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: Township Square Action: Skill Check (Arcana x2) Bonus Action: . Reaction: N/A

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Almost totally bereft of spellcasting ability and having fully tapped out her Bardic abilities, Victoria did not want to get into another fight so soon. Hence, when the voice reverberated through her brain without actually speaking, her hand tightened around the hilt of her sword. The words cut into her, speaking just enough truth to cut to her center while still allowing her plausible deniability if questioned about it later. Naturally, she assumed that everyone had heard the words spoken about her, as she had heard the whispers of everyone else's secrets. Or hints of secrets. And of course, the reference toward promises of things fixed, problems handled, etc., even if it also came with a threat lurking nearby. She did what she did for her own reasons, neither righteous nor ignoble in nature, and she would harm no one that she did not absolutely have to to ensure that her goal was met. But this? A contract with an unknown entity that just casually destroyed one of its own acolytes? And what was the payment for the boons offered?

The truth was, Victoria was tempted. She already toyed with forces that many found abhorrent (unless they needed something), and had been exposed to many stories about people given choices like this. Admittedly, it usually didn't work out for the mortal in the end. But, if such a person was very clever or was able to bargain back out with something the entity in question wanted even more, they might walk away with a scrap more power, completely off the hook. But therein led to a different sort of problem for Victoria. She had once jumped into a poor decision, and this became a focal point in her life, around which everything following took heavy and direct influence. No, she just couldn't. There was still time to handle it on her own.

The mental decision against it was followed swiftly by a sudden, sharp sensation in her midsection, like a sharpened hand of ice gripped her entrails and drove her to her knees. Maybe it was a coincidence. Then again, is was equally likely that she was a Bugbear alchemist. It left as quickly as it came, prompting Victoria to wonder if this was indeed related and not an unsubtle reminder of the wounds she received during the fight. So she picked herself up, barely registering the anguished call from Kosara yet responding with a glance and nod when she recovered.

Victoria rose, surveying their surroundings. It felt like everything was over for now, but she knew full well that there were at least two more armed wererats out there someplace and she was not in the best condition to fend them off. The situation hinted that they had run off to save their own hides. Right then it would be an acceptable outcome, if potentially temporary. As Kathryn pulled the smouldering body out of the fire, it was met with a flare-up of the pitch fire. This tiny increase of light extended Victoria's vision just enough to make out a lumpy shape sitting to one side of the short road leading to the Municipal building. It was a fleeting moment, but enough to pique the Bard's curiosity. "I'll just be a moment," she said absently.

A couple of steps brought her to the dusty remains of Cavendish, who happened to be in her way to her actual destination. She knelt carefully and snatched up a rhombus-shaped shard of the late Constable's bony remains and slipped it into a pouch. She might boast an interesting collection, given time and opportunity. But this wasn't her overall goal. Studied steps brought Victoria to the edge of the light, leaving only her outline visible to those back in the square proper. She went to one knee, opting for a quick stand if necessary, and set her sword down in easy reach while she inspected her find.

"Knapsack?" she said softly and with surprise. A "A nice one, too." She unbuckled the main section and looked inside. It contained books, mostly, as if the owner attended a large city's institute of higher learning. She gingerly slid one out and opened it with caution. What dim light there was allowed gave way to a revelation. Rituals. These were rituals. Skimming a few pages, Victoria was delighted to see that she understood some of them. In an mostly academic way, but she could process some of the information reliably. "Later, when it's safe," she whispered. There were a few more things in here; ritual materials and inks, chalk, etc., but most of this mundane when compared to the knowledge inside of the books. This piqued the most studious of her curiosities. Victoria pocketed some of the sundries but lifted the knapsack up, recovered her sword, and returned to the rest of the group.

"Our adversary was a learned man, else he was attempting to become one," he started, attempting as optimistic a voice as she was capable. There was no sense adding to the situational weight if she could help it, and morale was one of her profession's bailiwicks. "He likely also planned for an expedient getaway, given that this was packed up and ready to go, closer than reasonably nearby." She smiled, giving a look around at her recent associates (all of whom were still alive, if in various states of disrepair) and the flaming carnage around them. "I believe this qualifies as our act of altruism for the season," she continued, her voice light and noncommittal as if speaking with humor in mind. "But permit me my point of selfishness, if you would please? I so enjoy quality leather, like this ...ridiculously well crafted knapsack." It was an accurate description. It looked like the kind of container designed to keep spellbooks safe, quite possibly because it was designed for the purpose. "Also, I can make use of the knowledge inside, I am quite certain. Whatever clues we may glean from these materials, I intend to retain them. It is my sincerest hope that we might puzzle out a little bit more than we now know; I could not place another wiggly, asymmetrical piece upon the table, myself." She supposed it was due in part to her excitement at her find. Nobody was perfect, after all. Not even her, regardless of the positive opinion she might have for herself. Her history had definitely revealed that to her, reminders of which crept up daily. Her flaws, however, did not extend to the physical, noted by the dappling of Wererat Abomination fueled firelight across her delicate but hardset half-sylvan features, an expression of excitement and genuine curiosity making her eyes sparkle and face flush. Victoria picked up one of the books to give it a better look in the more favorable light, skimming a page or two. Then she reminded herself, "Later, later." They were not in a good place for academic perusal - yet.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

Edgelords and M'bladies, murderhoboes of all shapes and sizes, I wish to extend a warm and spiffy congratulations to you all, as we have officially LEFT INITIATIVE ORDER! It's been a little while since we've gone through this (about three months of a boss fight), so let's recap what this means:

Posting rules go back to regular cycles and characters have full range of action. Everyone's timers have been reset, and you all have seven days to get a post in.

Some of you are more damaged than others and resources are scarce. This is to be expected and might limit your viable options moving forward for the rest of the evening. However, now that things are either toast or missing with little chance of return, I feel comfortable explaining a few things for the curious, not that this is an exhaustive accounting of stat blocks or background that characters would not be able to access. In short, here's a glimpse, but there is a lot more:

The Rat Abominations were Flesh Golems, with a couple of caveats. First, as they were pieced together with fully hybridized wererat parts, they gained a flaw - Resistance to silvered weapons. Basically, a normal weapon, even a silvered one wouldn't do anything to a Flesh Golem, but these took half damage from them.

The Guards were standard wererats, but I gave them Rogue levels. Extra sneaky!

Cavendish himself was a wererat with Fighter (Champion) and Warlock (Tome) levels. He did not land a physical crit attack during the fights. Be very glad about this. I also gave him a couple of extra bonus abilities involving summoning and controlling rats.

NOW, to a little treasure business. Ordinarily I don't handle things this way, but I want a clear and fair distribution of the goodies this time around. So when you roll the Constable's body (or what remains of it), in addition to any mundane things that might come up from a search, specific items will find their way into specific hands:

Baronfjørd: Cavendish's shortsword slides right in front of you at the end, there.
Marita: The party Cleric finds a ring while pouring dust out of a glove
Victoria: Must content herself with a short stack of books she will find useful.
Kathryn: Has already claimed an item of noteworthy interest. Good for bonking.
Kosara: The Celestial Warlock remembers a pendant that she caught a glimpse of just before the fight started.

Per usual, tag me in Discord for rolls or judgement calls. We're headed back to RP portion of this and moving to chapter one's epilogue.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: Tiny sprinkles of near-frozen precipitation reflected the fire like thousands of tumbling pinpricks of light, visible through the omnipresent fog, disappearing long before they reach the ground. The air seems milder here, however. The warmth of exertion and unchecked fire might play a role in this, however. There is barely any wind now, as if the Township itself holds a nervous breath in, unsure if it is safe to exhale.

Time: Nighttime. The night was yet young when this fight began so it couldn't have progressed very far, but it feels much later.

Ambience: The white noise of crackling fire played as the dominant sound of the battleground. Blood was still hot under one's skin from the battle, hammering in the ears of the combatants as the only competition to the fire's constant murmuring. If there was any saving grace to the environment, it was that there was plenty of warmth and light about - at least among the cobblestones. Blood, breath, and fire took the majority of one's perception, and adrenaline hadn't yet calmed enough for the wounded to feel the full brunt of their injuries.

*****

Blood poured from Cavendish's throat. He seemed more surprised about it than anything else. This turned quickly to shock as he lost strength in his legs and collapsed to the ground. The net still covered him, damaged though it was, but most of the undead rats which had covered him had already succumbed to other attacks from the group, collateral damage soaked by disposable puppets. With the life draining from the creature who had once been a respected enforcer of Law, those remaining ceased their actions.

There was still life, in the most temporary of meanings, left in the Constable. His hands grasped impotently at the chiefest of wounds which had downed him, as if futilely attempting to keep the blood within his neck; the impulsive actions of a man who did not wish to leave the living world just yet. Cavendish could not maintain his hybrid rat form any longer. He was too close to his own demise. This offered him a last look upon the world with human eyes, which teared up in a swirl of emotions. Maybe regret was one of them. None but he could say, and he wasn't speaking.

Not that Cavendish wasn't trying to speak. He most assuredly was, but only the most gruesome of wet consonants could bubble through the blood which seeped from his lips and down the sides of his face.

"Yes. We did have a deal," spoke a deep, resonant voice in the Common tongue. It did not originate from any one place, seeming to echo within the minds of those present as much as from any tangible location. "I have honored our deal. You will honor it, too." An encompassing darkness fell over the town square, blotting out the firelight but keeping precious, clear illumination over the unfolding scene. Time might as well have stopped, except for the grotesque and inevitable passing of the Constable. "You have accomplished most of my latest task. I grant that you did try. You paid with your life for the attempt. I might not be cross about this, except that your death was caused as much by your arrogance as your task."

Cavendish weakly held one hand up, motioning as if to complete a somatic component for a spell. Or maybe a wordless supplication for help. The disembodied voice responded, "We still have an agreement, yes. You have paid your portion of service with your life. Now..." A sense of wrongness permeated the rapidly thickening air around the Constable, "You will continue to repay your debt with your soul." It was not menacing of tone, nor retributive, nor even with a hint of sarcasm. The voice was calm. Respectful. Blunt, businesslike, but not particularly cruel. "I would have given you more earthly tasks to perform. In time, I still might. For now, I claim what is mine."

Tendrils of inky, necrotic blackness rose from the ground. What rats remained in the area scattered, leaving only the dead in their wake. The undead ones ceased to function, dropping to their sides or simply collapsing under the weight of their overly damaged bodies, now that animation left them. The liquid-black wisps were confined to the immediate area of Cavendish's mortal form, undulating briefly as they attained their full height of approximately three feet, before straightening, and lashing down the fallen Warlock. They pulled his wrists and ankles out as far as they would go and bound his torso immovably, like a man being staked out to die, but did not stop there. Every place that one of them touched him began to decay. It was rapid. A few seconds at most. Cavendish regained his ability to vocalize now, and he did, screaming with tortuous wails of putrefying agony. As his flesh melted away and muscles turned to maggot-ridden sludge, he kept screaming. When the fleshy parts of him fully disintegrated and he was left as a sticky skeleton, he kept screaming. It wasn't until his bones became pulverized matter that the noise faded, and even then, psychic echos continued for a moment more. All that was left of the Constable was a pile of clothes, equipment, dust, and a few scraps of bone. Some phalanges and a moderate amount of his skull were still recognizable as such.

The darkness lifted a little. One could tell a distinct, lightening gradient, but only up to a point. Then the voice came again. "Your minds and souls are fresh. Even a little naive, except for one of you. Perhaps two. Potentially quite capable, if mentored properly. I would entertain an arrangement." It paused, allowing whatever emotions to process among the group before continuing, "I have peered into you all, far enough to know that such an arrangement would be better for you than opposition. Even indirect opposition."

"Priestess, who struck the final blow - you have older loyalties that would appreciate being reacquainted; entities with whom I might communicate. The sizeable warrior fled responsibility of clan and community for the illusion of safety, leaving nefarious things to fill the vacuum left behind. Those once friendly turned opportunist and you became a liability to them. If only they knew where you've been, now deprived of your protector. Devil-spawn, you draw your power from a creature you call family, but who manipulated you away from your home for its own purposes. It can be easily erased from this world if I so chose. Sylvan-blooded, do you think these people would tolerate you if they knew what you were, or why you are trying to amass power for yourself? And the crippled Dragonfolk - I know what resides in your nightmares. It hasn't forgotten about you. It never will." The voice, as it went from speaking about one person to the next, was still heard by all present.

"It took you long enough, but you have tasted victory this night. You will be hailed as heroes, for now. I shall give you time to consider an arrangement. You would receive answers you need and fix problems you face. And yes, there is power to be taken. It would be preferable to accept this offer before the World Born Dead takes notice. For now, enjoy the rest of your festival." The voice faded away at its last sentence. The prevailing light of the area was restored, and the great pause that overtook the area lifted. The fog was less oppressive, thinning to something more reasonable for the temperature and season. A previously unnoticed weight was cast from the Township. Even the flaming tree was a little cheerier to behold.

The burning carcasses of the Wererat Abominations, however, could not be helped. The stench of their smoldering husks was remarkable.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Guard 1

Location: ??

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Crickets. In the distance, crickets could be heard chirping. Granted, nowhere near the ongoing fight; there was simply too much in the way of crackling fire and shouts from most of the parties involved, but the crickets which were not so close to the battle were singing their song to the foggy, full-mooned night. Most importantly, wherever Guard 1 is and whatever he's up to, the crickets don't seem to care very much.

<chirp chirp>

<chirp chirp>

<chirp chirp>


@Dragoknighte Marita is up. Good luck.