Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: Southmoor Action: Ritual Casting Phantasmal Steed Bonus Action: Familiar Stuff Reaction: N/A

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The grand entrance left the impression that Victoria was going for, that being the social equivament of shock and awe. It was her forte, and often the overt nature of being flashy and potentially approachable served a more pragmatic purpose. The query posed to Cecily concerning soap was spoken loud enough to be clearly heard by those who were gathered around to see her performance, and she got her answer from multiple sources. More than that, Victoria was directed personally to a specific spot within a marketplace area to acquire said goods.

In the interest of maintaining these positive reactions, Victoria declined to animate her favorite Morty from its place within the wagon. (He didn't always make the best impression.)

Soap was on Victoria's shopping list, and whatever other sundries of personal attention might reveal themselves to her in the marketplace. The end of Harvestide left a few places wanting for product and others in over-produced or over-ordered abundance. She was able to readily locate a package of smallish, paper-wrapped soaps made with local, seasonal wildflowers. Scents of Avonshire's changing year wafted from the package as Victoria gave a satisfied smile, handing over her coins without a hint of reservation or the intent to haggle. "These are absolutely delightful, shopkeep!" she beamed as she accepted the basket of floral, aromatic goods.

Quite unexpectedly, something caught Victoria's eye. It was more than she wished to spend in this place, but it was an expense which she might easily afford. Another luxury item, of course, but in and of itself a necessary reminder of civilization: A tea set. Nothing particularly grand, not a thing which might grace the tables of landed gentry, but a respectable, functional, charming-in-its-folksy-craftsmanship set of cups, kettle, and a few small, associated pieces. Victoria acquired these at what she considered a deal, and threw in a little more silver for a respectable supply of packaged tea and a couple jars of honey. And by "respectable", the oft extroverted Bard acquired enough to sparingly last her the winter, in what limited variety a town like this might provide.

In what amounted to a the mental equivalent of a shrug, Victoria noted a group of stout young men loading a few barrels of an ale she recognized from her time spent at Neil & Bob's Public House back in the Township. A brief smile, a few choice words, and a few well placed coins later - one of the barrels began to make its way, via local couriers (though that might be a generous word to describe them), to the wagon. Victoria placed a silver coin into each of their hands, bidding, "Spare me a thought, gentlemen, as you raise the first glass this silver brings you tonight." The thought did occur that, unlike Victoria herself who was quite the vinophile, others in her party would have to ease themselves into only having wine available.

The time for her Phantasmal Steed's presence in the world was nearing completion. She could feel the ebb of magic as the spell wound itself down, and did not wish for its absence quite yet. Impressions had been established, and Victoria felt that it would really be a letdown to this impression were she to exit at the front of a the refurbished army wagon gifted to them by the Sheriff. To this, she spent the next handful of minutes with her recently acquired ritual book and reinforced her steed with more wizardly energies, essentially recasting the spell and changing none of the parameters. The great, hauntingly eye-catching riding animal was hers for another stretch of time, which would put them exiting the town in the same manner as they entered. Victoria wondered how she might vary the appearance of the creature in subsequent castings and vowed to experiment with this over the coming winter. Perhaps a semitransparent horse with wispy, ghostlike edges and a pronounced, opaque skeleton. Or something more like obsidian, with cracks of necrotic energy pulsing about its muscled form. It was worth study and experimentation.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: Road to Southmoor -> Southmoor Action: Ritual Casting Phantasmal Steed, Skill Check - Performance Bonus Action: Familiar Stuff Reaction: N/A

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There was a burst of spontaneous optimism from Victoria as they set out to continue their journey southward. As rallying as the fight was, and as potentially profitable as their spoils might be (provided she could find a crafter or a buyer in this very out-of-the-way region), it was a good feeling to be back on the road and in pursuit of a destination. Particularly a destination known for really good wine. Her thoughts went back to the Fortified Zinnoberrot that she had in the Township, and the fact that they were going to the place that made it. She was instantly curious as to whatever else they had stored in temperature-stable cellars back there. Not that she was a lush. Far from it; she might even be referred to as a bit of a cheap date. The truth was that her admiration for certain qualities of wines took priority over her desire for their intoxicating effects. Not that the latter was to be entirely frowned upon, of course.

Victoria had noticed the interesting way in which Lizbeth took to Kathryn's hammer. The valuable and magical spoils of battle against the Constable was being given no favors as the young lady made the air around her dangerous, as if it was the first time she had taken up a warhammer in her life. The last musing, Victoria figured, was likely accurate. It's not like the granddaughter of a vineyard owner had a lot of need to learn the use of martial weapons. And this one seemed to have her overbalanced. Victoria excused herself from the front of their wagon and checked its contents. After a moment or two, she emerged with a sheathed shortsword which had been collected from the Goblins they obliterated a week or two prior. The weapon was not made in a Goblin forge - as a matter of fact it looked like it was made in the same region that her own sword was, which raised questions for her unrelated to their current situation. It was Human craftsmanship, and fairly recently made.

After hopping down from the wagon, Victoria jogged up to speak with Lizbeth. She handed over the sword, suggesting, "Until your arm grows stronger, perhaps this is a little more your speed, Mademoiselle Lizbeth." She would have preferred to use the more familiar honorific of Miss, but she was the foreigner in these lands. Maybe when they knew each other better it would be more socially acceptable. "Your movements are more agile than they are powerful. Perhaps you might ask Lady Kathryn to start you with this, instead. There was also this lovely whip we acquired, if it piques your interest." Maybe it wasn't her place to offer, but no one had claimed it and, at least for now, it served a training purpose rather than a practical one.

News that they were close to a point of civilization was not surprising to Victoria, as she had glimpsed it from afar through the eyes of her new Familiar and had read the roadside sign like everyone else, though putting an expected time to it was beneficial. She was not accustomed to giving such estimations from a bird's eye view and it was immeasurably helpful. It also gave her time to prepare. A lady must make an entrance, after all; most especially if that lady was her. Victoria returned to the wagon and looked into her ritual book, refreshing her memory of the spell she had cast just that morning. The next few minutes were spent weaving together arcane energies in slow, steady amounts until it reached the appropriate composition to suit her desires. At the end of this time, her magical pursuits bore its inevitable fruit.

Materializing from wisps of mist and the stuff of shadows came an equine form. It was basic at first, cloudy, details shrouded in the fog of its own creation, but as the moment passed it came into clear, solidified view. The phantasmal steed from their initial outset reemerged from the ether; a majestic horse of truly otherworldly, haunting quality. The statuesque animal appeared as if carved from polished marble of the purest white, bearing eyes which reflected the post-midday sun in hues of ghostly, glossy purple. It had stockings, mane, and tail of oil-black, the latter two of which rippled and flowed as if underwater. It gave a great snort and shook its head in an almost ponderous fashion, then immediately accepted Victoria as its rider.

Atop her noble, if a bit unsettling steed, Victoria sent her raven ahead to seemingly announce their arrival. She did always like to make an entrance, for matters of drawing a crowd professionally as well as her own vanity. This town, Southmoor, wasn't as large as the Township to the north, but was just big enough to have some charming stores selling local goods, and to be frank, there were a couple of things that she had neglected to acquire for herself. Small luxury goods that she suddenly wished to acquire from local creators rather than from merchants along a trade route. Soaps came to mind. Cleaning up with the quick and simple use of Prestidigitation was useful, easy, and did a more than adequate job, but there was something about luxuriating in hot water with nuanced, naturally scented soap that was quite irreplaceable by the application of magic.

So as the short caravan of Adventurers and Vintners approached the town, apparently nestled within a rare copse of trees along the river, Victoria's raven familiar fluttered upon a signpost just within the settlement and gave its raspy call to those who would listen. Cresting the land to arrive in Southmoor then came the sight of two wagons and one purple-and-charcoal clad figure astride a great, phantasmal horse which moved forward seemingly without guided direction. The very feminine figure adjusted her especially jaunty, incredibly bardy hat upon her flowing, red-auburn locks, then drew a bow across the finely tuned strings of her impressive violin, allowing the honeyed yet powerful, stirring notes to ring out into the air and find their way into the souls of those who would listen.

The raven took wing again, riding the winds to circle above once, twice, and a third time to finally light upon Victoria's shoulder as her song continued. She swayed slightly in her saddle, moved by the enchanting force of her own music with eyes shut, simply experiencing the moment until they came upon the edge of the town, proper. She looked back to Cecily, on her perch in the driver's seat of her wagon, and declared, "Southmoor. This is just as lovely as you described, Madame L'Rose. Please, if you would be as considerate, where might a lady purchase soaps and other fine sundries in this absolutely charming hamlet?" Her smile radiated magnetic warmth just as much as simultaneous awe and approachability. Victoria scanned what she might see from her vantage point on her saddle and half-mused, half-projected, "Stunningly picturesque, really."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Update has been updated, which is probably plain to see in our IC via those lovely notifications we all get, so... yeah. This post is pretty redundant. BUT! Here are a couple particulars about this specific update:

The party has a final chance to do stuff before arriving at the Rose River Vineyard, so if you have any last-minute gift ideas or suddenly feel like cornering the market on toilet paper, here's your opportunity. It will be a fairly rural area for shopping or socializing, so don't expect those Big City Marketplaces. They will also be coming down from their own, much smaller version of Harvestide, so keep this in mind.

Anyway, consider arrival in town to be the end of the coming posts for this cycle, and the time before this on the road at a standard wagon's pace. There is ample time in the interim to get conversations worked out or introduce new concepts with which to foist bedevilment upon my plate as a DM. One can hop down from a wagon and traverse up to the other at a moderate jog, or hop down from the front one and wait a moment to get back to the rear one easily enough. Walking alongside will be a steady, somewhat brisk march. Or a leisurely stroll if you're seven feet tall, like Kathryn.

Per usual, send me a message via Discord for questions, dice roll requests, and the like. Huzzah!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: The cold air and occasional breeze remains unchanged. Winter is setting in.

Time: Mid to late afternoon. Since the last update, not a lot of time has passed.

Ambience: The more musk and acid scents of the butchered Ankhegs are likely keeping more natural predators at bay, if indeed any are around. A lighter mood seems to have settled on the recent field of skirmish in addition to the quiet along the settled moor.

*****

Putting the remains of the Ankhegs into the respective wagons wasn't quite so difficult of a task when many hands were put to it. This truth took an incremental and steady decline with the number of people who refrained from volunteering, but for the moment, Barbal Mosswater wasn't pointing any hard, deliberate fingers. Suffice it to say, the stuff got stowed properly and a thick, oil treated canvas tarp made its way to the L'Rose wagon for temporary use. The disarticulated corpses didn't seem to take up quite as much room as fully intact ones might, in no small part due to the Mosswaters laying claim to a large part of the bodies which did not involve the choicest cuts of meat and carapace. The gut pile, or piles, plural, remained where they were upon the field, possibly as food for scavengers brave enough to venture close. It was not very likely that the laborers would glean fallen grain from this end of the field.

The Mosswaters got themselves ready to leave after all was butchered and packed up. As far as they were aware the problem had been settled, even if a minuscule suspicion remained. Barbal announced, "We need to catch up to the ones who left for the Township. Cold should keep the bits and pieces fresh for a good while yet. We will be checking in after a day or two, I reckon."

Tarace added, with a moment of initial hesitation, "I say, ah... There's no guarantee that those three were all of them, and if I may? Something kept those things from settling in for the winter. And made them ravenous enough to devour half a flock of sheep. They mostly, hmm... They mostly eat dirt, you see." He left it with that final thought, though the implications were clear: Ankhegs might have just been a symptom of a bigger issue. And even if this problem was handled relatively easily by stout and stalwart Adventurers, there was possibly more to come for the unwary or underprepared.

The Halflings got their wagon back underway, rolling steadily back up toward the main road. Barbal gave a single gruff "Thank you," as they departed, barely offering a look back to the party or their hosts. Tarace waved with something bordering on histrionics.

The answer to Baronfjord's initial question to Barbal actually came from Cecily, who had since walked nearer to the fence to get closer to her niece. "Oh, I've heard talk of "queens" and "soldiers", like they were ants or something like that. But I believe Barbal was just being, um, well ...himself. And we do love him for it, even if he's a little more colorful with his talk than the next person." She shrugged, then turned to address Victoria's earlier question. "U cannot rightly say with certainty, but the Rose River Vineyard employs a Dwarf fellow - has for the past three or so years now - name of Urmdrus. He works our forge, does some carpentry, stonework, and the like. Wiry sort, for a Dwarf. He's proven to be excellent craftsfolk with almost any medium I've asked of him and works fast. But I must admit, the facial tattoos did throw me off when Grandfather L'Rose first hired him."

The older draft mule's slightly unsettled nature calmed down almost entirely when the Dragonborn Monk took a brush and a few soothing words to him. The former army mule appeared to take the attack better than many of the two-legged sapients in attendance did, and recovered with minimal support. A half-whinny, half-snort escaped him, which quieted to contented nickering.

Before it became time to leave, Lizbeth was having the time of her life, or so it appeared that way. She listened to Kathryn's words on the subject of the hammer and potential hammering, as well as advice on not hammering herself in the process. She did grip up on the device with two hands, as instructed, and gave a wince as she heard Kosara describe her accidental tail-ectomy. It even struck her as being a little dangerous when she added something about a properly sized weapon. This hammer was, at an exaggeration, almost as big as she was. This did not stop her from going out the suggested distance and giving a few two-handed practice swings before giggling a little and switching to extremely inexpert, overbalancing arcs with the weapon. In short, she was extremely not good with it. She barely had the strength necessary to hold it properly for any length of time. But she was having a genuinely good time. After a bit, she relinquished it to Kathryn.

With things loaded and nary a fly to swat in sight, a few moments of taking it easy/experimenting with weaponry, and animals settled down, Cecily and Lizbeth hopped back into their wagon and pulled forward enough for the party's wagon to have a easier time swinging back around to follow them.

Back upon the main road, one could barely make out the retreating form of the Mosswaters' wagon cresting a rise to the north, en route back to the Avonshire Township. The L'Rose's wagon turned in the opposite direction, following the simple signpost which read "Southmoor", and an arrow pointing down the road, quite oddly, to the south.

Cecily called back to whomever cared to listen, "We're coming up on Southmoor in about an hour, hour and a half. It's the last town before reaching the Vineyard by this road. Half of the people there work for us seasonally, and they comprise about half of our workforce during the busy months. We take laborers from the villages around the moors in this area too, but here's where the lion's share live. When it's not harvest, anyway." A moment or two of silence, and she mentioned, "Southmoor is the last place to make any purchases before we get home, if you need anything today."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: Laurent Farmland Action: Casting Prestidigitation. Probably more than once. Bonus Action: Morty, Familiar Stuff Reaction: N/A

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Progress with the Ankheg was slower than Victoria might have liked. Her experience with these creatures was limited to a few scraps of information one might glean from written materials, as befit something akin to formal education rather than a fuller, hands-on history of breaking down giant, chitinous beasts with a short blade. In fairness, the written word was good enough when coupled with basic survival experience. Be it that she was a cosmopolitan lady from a well-to-do family, her specialties of study recommended at least remedial, applicable knowledge of some grimier activities. As such, the naturally urban Bard handled the task with minimal difficulty - even if she would rather it take significantly less time out in the cold air without her cloak.

Hearing Lizbeth's vocal interest in learning the adventuring arts gave her a little smile, followed by a quick second of concern. Learning these things meant a desire to use those skills, and regardless of the stories she had passed along, being a Bard, only truly successful or truly tragic adventurers had their stories sung to crowds of interested people. Many of them - one might say the majority of them - did not even fare as well as tragic. As a Funerary Violinist and Adventurer herself, she had performed memorials for those whose lives ended in exactly that manner. So yes, a sudden score of worry came over her. Lizbeth was not quite a woman yet, by Human standards. But if she had her heart set on it she would indeed require proper training. Add to this the fact that Victoria was not her Aunt Cecily, nor was she her mother, and as such had no say in this course of action unless Lizbeth came to her personally.

Her thoughts on the matter were jolted someplace far away when the more aggressive Mosswater took it upon himself to help teach Kosara the ropes on Ankheg butchering. It would be a lie to say that she didn't try to eavesdrop, owing to her still incomplete knowledge on the topic, as she continued her work. She had plans for this dead creature and hoped that maybe Barbal might lend some insight.

When Lizbeth handed over the bottle and praised her singing (which in this case was the verbal expression of her spellcraft) and doubt in her ability to do the same, Victoria smiled back at her and was about to give words of encouragement, when she noticed something odd about the girl's expression. They didn't speak further, and the moment ended shortly thereafter. When she left, Victoria took a long drink from the bottle given to her. It wasn't her favorite way to consume wine, but it was refreshing and she was more thirsty than she was initially aware. As she brought the bottle down, she rolled her shoulders and got back to work on the corpse, barely noting the intact state of her slim coat.

When the creature was field dressed as best as she was able, Victoria gratefully accepted the assistance of the Halfling farmfolk in getting her portion of the spoils set aside in the L'Rose's wagon. In turnabout, she offered her assistance getting the agreed upon remainder of the corpse into his. Just as soon as she was physically able to, Victoria cast exactly as many applications of Prestidigitation as was necessary to remove the various unwanted bits of grime and bug from her clothing, freshen herself up, and then replaced her cloak and extraordinarily bardy hat upon her person. "A little blush, maybe have my hair reset, and I expect I shall feel more like myself," she said with a sense of overall satisfaction. Of course, the last part was unnecessary; it might have been impossible for her to have a "bad hair day," or at least it hadn't been witnessed by anyone who had spoken the tale aloud, to the best of her knowledge.

It looked to Victoria that her personal business upon the field had come to a logical conclusion, and so most of the concern with the place vacated her psyche without so much as a wistful glance back. Now was a time to look forward. To this end, Victoria extended a quick mental command to Morty, summoning the smoky, burlap-wrapped meat abomination to her side. She rested her hand upon its head, seemingly for balance, and extended another tendril of influence to the treetops, above. A throaty "CAW" sounded in response, and soon black wings fluttered, circling above.

Victoria got a faraway look to her eyes and a pleased expression as she gave a quick accounting of what could be witnessed from her new, magically enhanced vantage. "The main road is mostly clear of traffic farther out, and a town (I'm almost certain) over the next rise. No sign of other Ankhegs in the fields around us. At least, none above ground." The last detail might have been an important distinction to make, as there really wasn't tangible evidence of Ankhegs in the field in which they all stood until the ground was disturbed by a localized tremor.

The focus came back to Victoria's eyes and she looked around, noting what the others were up to. She was good to go herself but had no problems waiting on the rest of the group, as their quick battle turned into something of a social gathering, as one does, and far be it for her to impose upon a group having a positive moment. However, she did feel that it wouldn't hurt if one element of pragmatism was looked into. "Madame L'Rose," she began, getting the lady's attention with a soft, clear voice, "The carapace - I am curious as to whether there is anyone nearby with experience working this material. Or that barred, if there is a safe, decent spot we may store this until our departure?" Victoria knew some people personally who would fit the bill, but they were many, many leagues from her present location. They would also probably charge her an arm and a leg for the opportunity, as well.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

And the update-iness continues! Brass tacks of it:

The field dressing of the Ankhegs to remove meat and carapace will take two hours, give or take. This accounts for dice rolls, help provided, and other factors. At this time, the L'Roses do not seem impatient to leave. Helpful, even.

Anyone who drinks the diluted wine that Lizbeth is handing out needs to roll a CON save at Disadvantage will find that it is not unpleasant and quite refreshing. The mild amount of alcohol present is also, as Cecily mentioned, a lot better for cleaning than regular water. Just a bit of flavor for the posts.

If Barbel's offer is taken, he will wait until the carcasses are stripped and load what's left into his wagon, preferably with help. He will likewise volunteer himself and Tarace to help load up the party's goods onto the L'Rose wagon, and lend a tarp. If the offer is not taken, he will continue helping Kosara dress her giant bug and leave the party to their devices, claiming to pass the message along to Monsieur Laurent that the issue has been handled.

In either situation, the way is paved to either stick around and get more discussion in or have the party back on the road by the next update. Let me know in the Discord which way you want to play it. Per usual, any questions, die rolls, or concerns, please tag me in our Discord.

Huzzah!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: Still cold, as befits threat of oncoming weather. In the time since the skirmish, the temperature has actually dropped a little.

Time: Mid to late afternoon. The field processing of the Ankhegs has taken a bit of time, and the sun traveled a notable distance in the sky by the interim.

Ambience: The air took on a more acrid note; musky, acidic, but not exactly sterile as the insides of the great beasts were left open to the wind. Those winds blew with the same penetrating chill as ever, and the otherwise quiet of the lands around was near to absolute.

*****

Mosswater's and L'Rose's wagons figured out how to get themselves out of the bind they were in when the Ankhegs attacked. It turned out to be a much easier task when a horse-sized bug wasn't trying to eat them at the time, which would become an excellent lesson to pass along to future generations. To wit, they were now able to move freely back up the pathway to the main road, should they desire to. But at present, it seemed like none of them had an immediate want to leave the scene of the slaughter just yet. In fact, those remaining in their wagons began to climb slowly down to do their little parts to help with the butchering and harvesting of the giant buggies.

Lizbeth's eyes lit up when the possibility of learning how to swing a weapon from Kathryn came up, though she did look to the others with a similar sort of expectant gaze; the look one gives when they want something but feel a little guilty attempting to articulate their feelings. She stammered a little bit, saying, "Do you think, um, maybe I could ... more of the, hmm. Maybe I could learn about magic? How long does it take to learn your spells? Can I hit things with weapons and learn more magic? Can I learn both over the winter? You can train in winter, right?" The expression describing a stereotypical child in an equally stereotypical candy store bore weight in this moment, as a starry-eyed Lizbeth looked ready to gobble up knowledge from as many sources as possible.

Cecily answered the question put to everyone, concerning if they saw what scared the Ankheg, rather absently. "No. I, ah, did not. Wasn't that all of you that scared it? It looked like that from here." and seemed almost relieved to see Lizbeth suddenly find excitement in possibly learning something new, even if it might just be her guests humoring the girl. For the meantime, she did as best she could to rein in her niece's exuberance by giving her a task. "Lizbeth, sweetie? Help me with this wine dilute, please?" The elder L'Rose procured bottles from her wagon, some empty and some full, and began mixing drinking water with wine at a ratio which favored the water. "Make sure everyone gets a bottle, okay?" Cecily shifted her attention to the rest of the group and addressed accordingly, "Drinking and cleaning - That will give you your legs back if you drink it, and it'll clean you up better than just water. Keep those stains from setting." Lizbeth did as she was told, cheerfully passing out the bottles to whomever wanted them.

Tarace didn't really do much at all throughout the course of this, but did gratefully take a bottle and drank deeply from it, explaining it was, "For his nerves." Barbal, being a perpetually scowling sort of Halfling, reinforced Kathryn's answer to Baronfjord, "Yeah, them were Ankhegs. Lucky they weren't the big ones, might've had some problems there. But they were big enough, I suppose..." His voice trailed off and his eyes darted about as if searching the inside of his skull for a retreating thought. "I've seen them before. Not unheard of around here, mind you: 'Bane of Field and Forest,' they're called. Dead stupid as all Hells. Mostly eat dirt, too. They'll upturn cropland and pick off a few herd animals every year, but unless they're a ways south of here, they're supposed to lay eggs and sleep through the cold months. Why, if we found a suspected Ankheg burrow, we'd set at them around springtime with turpentine traps and have a big feast of..." Mr. Mosswater stopped, his ears seeming to twitch at the tapping and cracking sound coming from Kosara's great, greenish-yellow hulk of potential bug-meat. And then he snapped. "WHAT THE HELLSYA DOING?" He quickly recovered and stomped over to her butchering site.

The gruff Halfling pinched the bridge of his nose as if warding away a growing headache and took on a forced patience, saying through gritted teeth (at first), "O-right. You'll get some good meat that way. T'ain't all you'll get if you're not careful, and you'll ruin some good shell that way." He pulled a sturdy knife from his belt and tapped on the shell segment just behind the main claw of one of its front appendages. "See here? The tenderest, tastiest meat comes outta this place right here, but you have to cook it inside that shell. When it comes out, you can split it open easy-like, add some seasoning, and close it back up 'til it cools some. Beautiful, that. Just beautiful. BUT NOT IF YOU KEEP CHIPPING THE CARAPACE!"

At a distance, Tarace took another long drink from his bottle and confided in Cecily, "I kind of like it when he gets all surly like that."

Be it in a manner that was as loud as it was instructional, Barbal gave Kosara (unless directly prompted to leave) a crash course in removing the chitin from the creature to get at the meat without damaging it, what parts were best left inside the shell for immediate preparation, and a deep dive on a couple of his favorite Ankheg recipes. In short, the assistance that the Tiefling requested was given by the angry man, along with a few pointers to help out with her budding kitchen skills. Just in the most ass way possible. He also made it a point to take Kathryn up on her offer, "Yeah, I'm sure we'd be fine with taking some of this off of you - mind you, the meat I'm mostly after is the stuff you're not getting with this field dressing. When you're done hacking the carapace and the big cuts of meat out, we'll just take what's left, if it's no trouble to you. I aim to make some winter sausage. Never could with Ankheg before, it being a spring meat. But again, the sheep belonged to Farmer Laurent. This is his land, not mine. I'm just helping him."

Lizbeth, who at this point was passing out the last of the bottles to the party, paused at Victoria and smiled. "I like the way you sing. I don't think I can do that, though." The pause lasted an odd moment longer before moving along to Baronfjord. "I think this will help settle your stomach, Mssr. Chedgusah. Small sips?" She gave one to Kosara but retreated quickly, not wanting to get involved in the lecture from Mosswater. When Kathryn was given hers, she was met with the simple, childlike request of, "May I please try out your hammer?"

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: Laurent Farmland Action: Casting Healing Word, Skills (Nature, Survival) Bonus Action: Morty Reaction: N/A

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As the last Ankheg fell, Victoria cast her gaze back around the farmer's field-turned-battleground to make sure there wasn't another one (or two) approaching their location. Of course, from what little she knew about Ankhegs they would rather snatch one up from underneath the ground rather than approach in the open. Then a sobering thought hit her - from what little she knew about Ankhegs, they shouldn't be active right now. They should be sleeping off the colder weather and reemerge ravenous for fresh meat with the coming of springtime.

The revelation was concerning, as it made Victoria's mind go through a waterfall of possible cause-and-effect scenarios. But in the end, everything was just a jumble of maybes and half-invented conjecture. The more important issue of the moment was that streak of acid that seared the skin of her arm from thirty feet (thirty godsforsaken feet) away. A few years ago this would have had her rolling on the ground in agony, unable to do anything through the blinding pain. But she had been through much since then, and this was mostly an annoyance. Lucky for Victoria, she had a quick way to fix it. She allowed her mind to focus on the flow of the world around her, isolating a string of the Weave of arcane energy. She began to hum softly with it, changing the pitch slightly to harmonize with it, bringing about the single syllable effect of magic with reversed the damage on her flesh. When her skin finished knitting, the Bard kept the note going out of the sheer joy of doing so, and strode in the direction of her one and only kill.

Harvesting the Ankheg's carapace was her goal now. Absently, she drew her dagger - a favorite piece of sharpened steel of hers which had been with her since the beginning of her adventuring career; in and of itself without intrinsic value past its reliable craftsmanship but quite serviceable at a tavern table, a work area, or a closeup fight in equal amounts - and approached the recently dead creature. Its corpse, or the parts of it she wanted, was almost fully intact. She could work with this. Just before she committed herself to the task, she turned around to the others who were injured in the fight, inquiring, "Let me know if any of you require supplemental healing. I'm no medician, but I have minor ability to knit wounds and a little more magical presence left to potentially do so." It was probably lucky that they had Kosara on the team for this purpose; her ability to heal far outpaced Victoria's own.

When the steel first parted chitin from more fleshy binding within the Ankheg, Victoria was amazed at how readily it came apart, like the differing densities of once-living material gave a sort of channel to pass the blade through. There were a few things she wished to procure from this creature. One of them, for the rest of the party if nothing else, was the meat. But first, to preserve this meat properly, she had to remove the larger parts of the carapace intact. But before that, there was a little matter of the...

"Gods damn it all!" hissed Victoria. She had opened a slice in the creature's belly where the carapace was weaker and inserted her dagger farther than she had initially intended. The result was a split severance from which acrid ichor spilled in one moderately proportioned gush. The liquid connected with the trampled chaff upon upturned soil with a hiss, and a small amount of black smoke. It could not be saved, regrettably. But the rest of it was safe and it was now an easier harvest.

Before securing the larger sections of good meat from the beast, Victoria saw to its carapace. She was careful to remove the larger and tougher sections intact and split along seams, as it were, to keep any amount of reworking minimal. The segmented, overlapping pieces were given careful attention, with connective tissues sliced through with slow deliberation. Victoria piled like with like and, with a level of outdoorsy organization that might have been surprising from a self-proclaimed cosmopolitan socialite, set to harvesting a respectable amount of chitin from the downed creature. She was, as it turned out, more cleanly successful at this endeavor than retrieving the relatively suppler meat underneath. It looked quite like she had done this exact task before.

Kosara's query as to the nature of the Ankheg's sudden bout of fear left Victoria puzzled. "That wasn't one of your new tricks, Kosara, dear?" asked Victoria, wiping her forehead with the back of her sleeve. She spared a glance back at the L'Rose wagon wagon and gave its occupants a warm, meaningful smile. To the best of Victoria's initial ability to reason, she had figured that the sparky Tiefling had prevented the monster's attack against their hosts with some technique or magic unknown to her. The fact that Kosara was not the source of this reaction gave Victoria a sense of curiosity. Not enough to cease her labors, however.

Instead, the Bard focused her thoughts on her necromatic beast of burden, Morty. Perhaps she might need its assistance, and that of her errand cart, before this day was out. Her smoky, porcine companion reacted to the mental summons, coming to observable animation for its mistress. Victoria checked the position of the sun in the sky, then looked back to Cecily and Lizbeth. She was hoping to gauge any level of impatience they might have with this detour, as to intuit any impact it would have on getting to the Vineyard in a timely manner. In the end, no one raised a fuss so she just kept working.

As she worked, the vibrant Half-Elf regarded the long dagger in her hand. "Always use your own blade," was the popular, roguish maxim that Victoria's father had taught her, and were indeed the very words repeated when the man gifted her this item. Even if it was a little morbid (considering his former occupation), he had said that one always needed a good knife for any number of occasions and this particular one was good for every single one of them. The look in his eyes was darkly nostalgic and reminded Victoria of the stories told about her family prior to her birth. Some were more flattering than others.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: Partly cloudy, cold. Winds stir the grass and pushed-over grain stalks.

Time: Afternoon, still. The battle didn't take a whole lot of time, though the time dilation of combat may make it seem like longer.

Ambience: Two of the wagons stood facing back the way they had entered the area, manned by Mosswater & Co. and the L'Roses, respectively. The party's wagon remains as it was. Highlighted against the side of the hill are the curiously calm(ish) beasts of burden who were still attached to the wagons. There was a bit of nervous movement, but nothing that gave extreme concern of a runaway wagon. The field itself lay slightly more trampled than before, but now littered with the forms of three dead Ankhegs. The dead stillness returned to the land, punctuated by the odd, chilling wind.

*****

Victory!

Barbal and Tarace broke the shocked silence with approving applause, though admittedly started by Tarace, who was also the more enthusiastic of the two. The gruffer Barbal climbed down from his place at the reins and moved a little closer to the fence, most likely to get a better look at the aftermath. "Good show; good show indeed!" proclaimed Tarace, continuing, "That was excellently done!"

In contrast, Barbal Mosswater gave a rather monotone piece of advice, "Might've used turpentine. Mmm, pine. Messes with their heads some." He gave an accepting nod, relenting in a small way, "Fine sight, though. I shall tell Monsieur Laurent the tale in full. Fine sight, yes."

The L'Rose wagon remained quiet to begin with. Cecily stared over her young niece, apparently examining her to make sure she was truly alright. A shocked expression had her features just as much as concern for the girl; parental even if she was not her actual child. Oddly, Lizbeth's expression appeared strangely neutral. Her face showed an almost colorless pallor with darker notes beneath her eyes as if she hadn't slept well in days, but otherwise she appeared unharmed. Slowly, her color returned and she found within herself the wherewithal to speak. Cheerfully, even. "That was amazing! With the hammer, and the big arms, and that magic! And that one that just fell over after she sang at it! Wow, that's just... You people really are heroes!"

This was enough to break Cecily from her immediate worry, who added a little calmer, "Oh, and did you just see how Mademoiselle Kosara tried to ride it like an unbroken horse? Would you like to do that, Lizbeth? Ride an Ankheg into town and scare our vendors?"

The answer was an immediate, childlike, "Ew. No, Ceecee. But it looked kind of fun."

The Ankhegs that were taken down with physical damage gave the occasional twitch, slowing to lazy, inelegant motions over a couple of minutes before settling into utter stillness. The one which saw its end by psychic and necrotic damage remained fully inert, as if the formerly vital nervous system simply switched itself off, even to involuntary pulses.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

And here we are, our characters standing in a gore-spattered field of triumph. The good news is that they've figured out what's been going on with Mssr. Laurent's sheep. The bad news is that one can never be sure if you got them all. Time has a way of telling these things, and hindsight, as they say, is 20/20. When and/or if another session of sheep slaughter comes around, you'll know.

But those are depressing thoughts. Victory is at hand! Huzzah! Of course, even victory seems to come with a series of questions attached when you live thenlife of an Adventurer, and this is no exception. Something does seem a little bit off here.

In any case, we are out of Initiative order and back into Narrative. Standard rules apply for posting moving forward, and feel free to have your characters move/act independently (within reason). There is still a bit of traveling necessary before you get to the Vineyard, but luckily there is daylight left in which to do so.

Oh yes, and one of those feelings that something is off? Roll me a Nature check in the Discord and tag me. Best of luck!