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: Rose River Vineyard (Coach House) Action: Persuasion Check (30!!!) (Help Action from Kathryn) Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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Victoria had it in her mind to answer the interests put to her by the rest of her fellow adventurers. It sounded like the first real occasion that they sounded interested in the details of her background and circumstances. To be perfectly fair, it was also probably the only time she opened up about herself whatsoever. Baronfjord was right to question her motivation to study Bardic Necromancy, being as she was the overly social, pretty-of-face magic user who more or less openly had an undead thrall at her side to use as a pack animal. But this first, truly open conversation would be postponed by the circumstances of the evening. In this instance, the arrival of an uninvited Dwarf. Though to look at him, this wasn't exactly the standard issue hill or mountain dwelling son of Moradin to which she had been accustomed in her travels.

It was a pity. Victoria did truly feel like opening up just then.

Victoria listened to the sales pitch given by the industrious fellow. She did not truly know the full value of the Ankheg chitin, having heard only rumors of its use and only half-told rumors, at that. But she had the wherewithal to realize that this Dwarf valued it highly if he was going to offer rare services for their scraps and extras. More than that, it was possible that he was attempting to lowball them. Yes, he had skill. But he had no product upon which to ply it. So Victoria endeavored to push the craftsman's sense of ethic. The first step was to put him on the defensive. "Master Urmdrus? I apologize if my more sylvan tongue does not do your name justice, good sir, but if you will allow me to interject?" The others had given their blessings, it looked like, and the deal did sound good, but more might be wrung from this. She continued, "My pardon, please, but did I hear correctly that you knew we were lent the right to this building by the L'Roses, and then came to place without invitation, looked through our belongings in storage, and entered here without so much as a knock at the door?"

She let the accusatory question hang in the air for a half moment before continuing, "I understand. Well, I understand a little. Madame Cecily said this building wasn't in use recently and you are the resident crafter here. It was a minor oversight in the face of a long time of unfettered access. But I must insist that we all become better friends before such familiarity is appreciated."

Victoria looked like she was losing Urmdrus, or that her words her falling on annoyed, deaf ears until Kathryn offered the guy a mug of the local ale from the bar. And prior to them striking an official deal. This seemed to perk the Dwarf up significantly. A fresh mug of foamy goodness in hand, he indicated for Victoria to continue. Or get to the point. Whichever. The Bardiest of Necrobards breathed a quiet thanks to the presently inebriated Kathryn for better speaking Urmdrus's language than herself, and proposed a counteroffer. "Thank you. Please, pull up a seat." A deep breath in, back out, and then, "I have a good idea of what we have. Not expert by any means, but a passable approximation. And I understand that you are the skilled craftsman here. But the fact is, we are the only ones in... well, quite a ways that could properly appreciate the gift of your armor. The soldiers have uniform gear they have to use, just as Avonshire town guards. There are precious few mercenaries and we, I believe, are the only Adventurers in the area; certainly the only ones who brought this material to you. In the spring, if Ankhegs are even spotted, the locals will either avoid them or put them into a stewpot, provided they don't leave them to rot."

With an amount of humility to her movements, Victoria poured a second mug of ale and placed it next to Urmdrus, then returned to her own glass of wine. "And once we come to a more evened deal, I should be joyous to drink with you, Master Urmdrus. In fact, I should wish to learn more or your homeland and the stories they tell, if it pleases you to speak of it." She smiled warmly, giving the outward appearance of gratitude and interest. Her words to come did not support this assumption, however. "The fixed amount of goods you have discussed means that you walk away with the far greater share of the chitin. As for the steaks, I say have at them. Food should never be a bargaining chip. I find it uncouth at best. Take what you feel is fair, and if anyone else has a difficulty with this, take it from my share and eat in good health, sir."

A small sip of wine, and Victoria addressed the issue of the chitin itself. "Your skill will create beautiful things, I am confident. But we risked our lives to get this. Blood was shed. Assuming that your skills play as important a role in this enterprise, I would say that this entitles you to an equal share of the shell, and nothing more. I will also concede that you might have something in mind, else you wouldn't have come to visit so immediately. Your project comes from your share, and the rest of the chitin remains open to discussion for further use at a later time. Unless you wish to renegotiate with an equivalent in gold, which I will be more than satisfied to entertain."

"As for me personally, you were speaking of a light, strong armor that can be concealed under clothing - I am very interested in this. Maybe a bauble or two so that I may properly commemorate this occasion when I do not wish to wear armor, and praise the handiwork of Master Urmdrus the Craftsdwarf and Armorer to those in my social circles who would listen." Victoria raised her glass and held it out in front of her. "This is the deal I propose, and I will most certainly drink on it, sir."

While Victoria could not tell what Urmdrus was thinking, she could have sworn that she saw the older Dwarf trying to hold back a smile. Or a sneer. It was hard to tell.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Well, here we are again. A new cast member has been added, with several clues as to their origin and a possible deal is on the table. Then again, is blind trust in this strange guy really the best option? Or was this a carefully crafted piece of luck? FIND OUT IN THE NEXT EPISODE OF AVONSHIREBALL Z!!! (Okay, sorry, had to.) Basically nothing has been resolved from the last post to this one, and that's actually just fine, seeing as there's some good RP action going on and the interaction is comfortable. You all do what you're doing, if it works for you.

That said, Master Urmdrus has been hinted at for a month or so, and here he is. Whether he becomes a Jacques Mallard or a Constable Cavendish is fully up for debate, but he seems interested in something you have and has opened with an offer. Do with this what you will. Per usual, contact me with needs, questions, or dice shenanigans in our Discord, and may whatever god looks out for adventurers (Nuada actually, in this pantheon) smile on the lot of you.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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Weather: Mostly cloudy. It is becoming actually cold now, rather than merely chilly outside. the tiniest hints of precipitation still find their way to the earth below.

Time: Early evening. The sky is a lovely shade of deepening purple with the arriving twilight.

Ambience: The taproom's mildly uncomfortable temperature had been successfully abated by a pleasant mixture of the hearthfire, grapeseed oil lanterns, and the movement of active bodies within. The warm and filling meal, admittedly, did a fair amount of the work as well. Lamplight flickers along the walls in pleasant ways, giving cheery illumination. Scents of good food and better wine linger in the air, mixing with the pleasant lamp oil and burning hardwood. In short, it's rather nice.

*****

Lizbeth looked over the drawings of the interesting flora and fauna of the desertous regions past the mountains far to the south with interest. There were occasions where she would ask a small, supporting question like, "Does its face look like a horse's or is it different?" and observations such as, "So it's like thistle stems, but spinier. Okay." and "Grandpa said that you need to have friends in the desert, or you would proably die. Is that what it's really like?" Even the somewhat darker thought of, "So if the camels also store water, how do you get it back out?" was voiced. The last one had a somewhat unsettling smile attached to it.

The young lady kept her discussion about the Tinker's son rather terse, apparently preferring not to dwell upon it for very long. But she did answer openly. "He is clever, and good with his hands, like his papa. They only come by once in a while to see if we needed anything repaired that Urmdrus hadn't gotten to yet. Sometimes I would drop something of mine from a window or hit it with a hammer just so he might fix it, if I saw the Tinker's wagon coming up the lane." While her wish to speak about herself and her crush was repressed presently, her duties as a host were not. Seeing the growing state in which Kathryn was putting herself, Lizbeth rose from her chair and fetched a sizeable portion of bread and soup to help fortify Kathryn's blood against the less desirable effects of the wine, as well as a flagon of water. "Maybe we won't start training so early tomorrow, Lady Kathryn. It'll be okay." She smiled in a genuinely kind and nurturing way.

Oddly, Baronfjord's question put her a little off guard for a second. She recovered. "I really wouldn't mind having an adventure or two before settling down and having to take care of the family Vineyard, and Aunt Cecily tells me that the soldiers train for two or three months before they get into the Royal Army. With a real-life Knight training just me, I'm sure we can make me as good as any line soldier in like ...half that time! And all the rest of you showing me good things, there's no telling what kind of adventurer I might become before winter is done!"

Lizbeth was about to address Victoria concerning what Victoria had said about her upbringing, even with a familiar look on her face. But the moment she opened up to speak, the main door to the Coach House burst open, admitting an abrupt figure. The gloom of twilight silhouetted a figure of shortish stature and a shorn-bald head. As the figure moved into the room proper, the door swung back shut and the firelight revealed the sudden visitor. It was a Dwarf male, from the look of him. He had a thick beard, braided at the edges and cut to a straight across, broom-like shape at its end. His skin was a stony shade of grey, marked with thick, black, tattooed lines on the left side of his face. The build of this particular Dwarf was a little un-Dwarflike - he was broad of shoulder but slender of limb, with ropes of hard, sinewy muscle standing out in his bare arms. The Dwarf wore thick woolen garb, stitched for practicality rather than fashion and sturdy leather boots with metal toecaps and heels. A laden toolbelt was slung about his waist with items from a half dozen professions present, some of which would easily double as weapons.

He spoke to Lizbeth first. "Lizbeth. Safe, very good. Heard what you say just then. Maybe come to me; learn soldier craft." He spoke with a strange accent; strange at least for a Dwarf from anywhere around this region. Also, he phrased his words as a person for whom the Common tongue of trade was learned later in life.

Lizbeth cheerfully exclaimed, "Master Urmdrus!"

A quick "Harrumph," and he continued, "Tomas say your friends have Ankheg in storage. I look in storage. There is a lot." His eyes moved from person to person in the taproom, sizing them all up with scrutinizing glares. "Hum. Yes. You all save the women of L'Rose. I will help you. Help comes with barter. Yes?" Without waiting, he continued with his offer, "Few steaks of good bug meat, first. What remains of the chitin when I finish with it, second. Do what I want with it. In return, help. Chitin makes good armor. Weightless armor. Durable, light shields. Shows enemies you killed Ankheg. Reinforce Human chain with tough green plates. Reinforce leather, hide under clothes. As good as Underdark centipede shell for armor. Deal with me?"

His eyes found the cask of ale on the bar and he licked his lips lightly. Cocking an eye back to the group, he suggested, "Drink on this deal?"

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: Rose River Vineyard (Coach House) Action: Spellcasting, Minor Illusion Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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And odd, strangely guarded expression came over Victoria's generally serene face when Kathryn gave the hypothetical of her voice dropping a few octaves. She quickly adopted a more or less genial smile to brush it away with a polite "Thank you, Ser Kathryn." A small sip from her glass and a touch of thought later, she continued her response, "I assure you, I am emphatically common-born. Unless you count my Elven heritage, which some Humans do." Seeing that others had raised an eyebrow at this concept, Victoria related further, "My parents are independently wealthy; they are considered 'New Money'. After making their fortunes in the world, they invested in properties, transportation, goods, et cetera. They are now successful merchants with a respectable network for trade."

Victoria settled into her seat proper and pulled her bowl of soup a little nearer. She unfolded a napkin and placed it into her lap, angling a spoon to take agreeable portions of the thick, yummy dish to her mouth. After a bite or two (and a polite affirmation to Lizbeth on the quality), she continued. "Up-and-coming traders move from the outskirts of the capitol of the realm and settle in a rich trade city nestled between the sea and the forest a short jaunt away. Then they hire private tutors which were previously only available to the children of Barons and Viscounts, but for whom gold is the final arbiter of their insecurities involving the Class Divide." It seemed that there was always a separation between the social classes that having wealth might move one up toward, but never fully breach. "And while those of a bluer bloodline adore people like myself and my ...cousin..." Victoria took the moment to conjure up a flat, unmoving image of a Half-Elf with striking, dignified features, dressed in dark finery. The familial resemblance was positively uncanny.

Her face took on a mildly bitter expression as she gazed upon the image she had cast into view. She swiftly righted herself and completed her thought. "...as we're both quite pretty and are in high demand for society events - especially noteworthy funerals - people like us are regularly reminded that we are not of the true, blood-right aristocracy of the land. I can walk among them, speak like them, know what they know, and even have more money as a family than a some of them. But I assure you, regardless of how well known the Belmonts of Ashhaven are known (and we most certainly are known, within circles) I am most definitely not one of the nobility." Victoria did break into a genuine smile over her wine glass as she voiced her following thought, "Though my sisters are convinced that at least one of them shall marry a prince."

Victoria was feeling quite talkative in the moment, and moved on to address the questions raised about her knowledge of wines and discerning the qualities therein from just a taste. "Now, Father was the roguish type (according to Mother, who insists he has gotten much better recently) but he had a discerning palate and wanted his children to share that trait. No doubt someone like Madmoiselle Lizbeth has a better grasp on this than myself, but even I can tell you that the circumstances of the grape's growth, maturity, processing, and aging, not to mention what kind of grape it is, leaves elements of flavor, aroma, texture in the finished wine. You just have to know how to interpret the signs it reveals. I can do so as a cosmopolitan sipper of fine vintages. The people who live and work here would make me look like a sanctimonious novice. Even the laborers would have an intimate knowledge of the local wines."

She waved off her latest statement as a bit of a digression from her overall point. Getting back to it, she continued, "The longer lifespan that the Elven half of my lineage provides next to my Human neighbors meant that I was still comparatively young when my formal studies drew to a conclusion. My family allowed me to take to the road with their caravans to receive a broader, more worldly, less formal education on other cultures, and relevant to this conversation, the local flavors of their wines, among other things."

Another sip, another gesture, "Or to put it with incredible simplicity, my proclivity to Necromancy aside, I am a Bard. I know a little bit about a lot of things." Her smile was prideful, maybe even a bit cocky as she spoke, swirling the wine in her glass around. She glanced back to the illusory image of the handsome young Half-Elf she identified as her cousin, shook her head slightly, and flicked her fingers at it. The spell faded into the ether like sugar dissolving under pouring water.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Okay, everyone roll for Initiative. Ahem, sorry. The evening progresses as one might expect it to. I mean, it's perfectly normal to have people wait hand and foot on road-traveling adventuring types in a charming, rolling estate full of generational wealth and suspiciously successful grape harvests for large scale wine production, right? And because it's so normal, it's really a good time to get nice and sloppy on extremely fine wine they're just giving you, bottle after bottle, cask after cask. There's no reason to get paranoid at all, now is there?

Well good on ya! I'm proud of your levels of trust. Now to business:

The issues with room selection and topping off the meal are still on the table, if you want to get into specifics. To be clear, you have the full run of the Coach House, so if you really want to stay in the servants' quarters near the stable you can do that. Or set up a bedroll near the taproom's fireplace. Or crash in the kitchen. But the beds will be a lot more comfortable. It will be another tick in the Current Clack timer that I use behind the DM Screen before something awful happens something does indeed clack, so please continue on with the festivities. Unless I'm lying. I do that sometimes.

Per usual, contact me in our Discord for die rolls, questions, or sudden breaking revelations about your surrounding that you previously missed and have to voice so that you cannot be accused of metagaming later. Best of luck!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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Weather: Clouds blanket most of the sky now. The temperature begins a steady drop from the mildly uncomfortable to the genuinely cold. Anyone outside might even catch the odd droplet of precipitation, hinting at possible rain before the night is through.

Time: Early evening. The sun has dipped low, but this is difficult to tell from within the stone walls of the ground floor of the Coach House.

Ambience: The initial impersonal chill of the Coach House slowly abated as the fireplace did its work admirably. Lamplight did the rest of the work for illumination in the form of what one may assume to be grapeseed oil, from the light scent of it burning upon thick wicks. The clink of dishes highlights the meal laid upon the table nearest the taproom's fireplace, which carries its own inviting aromas around the room.

*****

Lizbeth took the odd string of words unceremoniously spilling from Kathryn with a grain of salt. Her tone was slightly amused as she looked to her wintertime mentor with an inflected, "Ew." She maintained a smile, however, and swiftly replaced the now empty bottle on the table with a fresh one from behind the bar. "It's okay, Dame Kathryn. I have my eye on the Tinker's boy, anyway. Or, I did, but Grandpa forbade it..." She seemed lost in thought for a moment, "I guess that doesn't matter anymore, does it?" The girl sniffled a little bit but quickly forced herself to recover.

The main door opened suddenly, admitting two of the vineyard's Human laborers in heavy coats. They were wheeling in the barrel of ale, moving wordlessly (though with a grunt or two) past the threshold and into the room proper. Further acts of leverage and strength of arm got the barrel onto the smooth, polished wood of the bar, whereupon they expertly hammered in a spigot and set it upright. _{"...enjoy your suds..."} said one in quiet, sarcastic tones. The second man took off his hat and slapped his companion's shoulder with it, motioning for him to return outside. As if the previous exchange did not occur, he addressed the party assembled. "We got any personal items from your wagon in the common room on the top floor, on account of us not knowing which rooms you wanted. Your um, armory? Is here at the bar, and those Ankheg parts are strung up off the floor with ropes in the outbuilding. Lemme tell you, when old Urmdrus heard you brought in intact Ankheg chitin, he got real serious. I guess that's how their kind shows excited. Expect a visit from that one, for sure." He shifted from one foot to another, "Unless there's anything else you'll need from me, Miss?" This last part was directed at Lizbeth.

"Yes please," she answered politely but firmly. "Do make sure that the drinking and washing water is fresh from the well. Take care to refill, do not top off. And please? Tell your friend to be nicer to these people if he wishes to come back for work next season. They are our guests. Aunt Cecily and I owe them our lives, besides." She fished out a silver coin and pressed it into the man's hand with a whisper of, "Thank you for helping us tonight. I know it's getting cold out there."

Lizbeth made the leap from bubbly teenage girl to Lady of the Manor very quickly, and returned equally as fast. She wandered over to the recovered weapons on the bar, taking stock of them. The daggers, she mostly passed over. She paused at the shortswords, one of which she was still wearing at her hip, and flexed a shortbow to test it. Then her eyes fell upon the spear and the whip. her fingers played across the haft of the first, but quickly moved on to the Constable's whip. She uncoiled it carefully and looked it up and down before carefully replacing it on the bartop. "I want to learn them all." she said aloud. No concern over who they had belonged to nor what they had been used for. By her tone, they were just the tools she needed to learn what she wanted. "And your sword, Miss Victoria! And the big hammer! I'm not so strong, but if I train really hard with you all... Well, we have a winter, if you'll help me." How to fight, how to think on her feet, strategize, put a weapon into something standing before her - these thoughts burned in her eyes just as much as the flicker of firelight. Some unknown quality was motivating her.

She broke out of it quickly, remembering her duties. "Oh, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. Lizbeth moved to fill water glasses and make sure soup was portioned. She garnished with a touch of fresh tarragon leaves and coarse salt, and poured glasses of wine all around. She giggled at Baronfjord's assessment of the wine on the table and nodded in agreement. It was indeed wine. It was white. And it was sweet. She also took Baronfjord's advice and set a place for herself at the table, complete with full settings and enough food to satisfy her fill. She only took a partial glass of wine, however, opting to mostly sip from a water glass."Aunt Ceecee doesn't want me having but a little, until I'm older," she confessed.

"Miss V is mostly right about the wine." Lizbeth announced, holding up a forkful of roasted pheasant. "It's the same sweet grape as our Honigblume, and it was early season, so it's a lot drier. No blend, though. We were experimenting with aging it in polished stone rather than oak barrels, so it's pretty neutral, and we added chestnut staves halfway through to mellow the flavors. It didn't catch on enough to warrant the expense. We still do some like that for just us." She shrugged, and dug into the food in front of her. With her mouth partly full, she added, "That other taste in the wine? Grandpa said it comes from the land. Like the ground flavors the grapes. He said it doesn't happen anywhere else like that. It's why our wine is special."

The laborer returned again, intoning that the water had been handled and that the containers had been wiped down with a stock wine prior to refilling, just in case. "Thank you!" Lizbeth said cheerily. The man departed, leaving the Coach House truly without presence aside from the party and their young host/guest. It seemed a little quieter within the taproom in the growing evening.

Completely off topic and a little late to the discussion, Lizbeth curiously inquired, "Yeah. What is a camel?"

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: Rose River Vineyard (Coach House) Action: N/A Bonus Action: Morty, Familiar Stuff Reaction: N/A

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The estate was impressive. No doubt about it. The lands around had the unmistakable feel of generational labor, capped off with generational profit. It was a grand enterprise from just a glance, seemingly separate from the rest of the region by orders of magnitude. If the soldiery of Fort Darenby had these kinds of resources, they would be a much more formidable force at arms than they were.

With this thought, Victoria's mind was left to wander back to the first morning she spent in the town surrounding the fort. Having visited the local cemetery and taken shelter in an open mausoleum overnight, her actions were noted, prompting a response from the constabulary. She then spent the next number of hours as a guest of Fort Darenby, eventually to be questioned by Sheriff Arbalest himself. On the upside, she was able to meet the man first and get in some impromptu negotiations before the actual meeting time. On the downside, Victoria was certain that the Sheriff's opinion of her had taken a sound hit.

But this was not a mausoleum, and this was not a holding cell in a country fort. This was a rustic but immensely comfortable set of circumstances for lodging, given to them over the worst parts of the year. Victoria had intended to make it to the coast before winter arrived proper; purchase passage on a ship headed north to more familiar ground. Maybe stop in on her home for a little while. Aside from her family's nigh luxuriously appointed home, there was a very comfortable suite in a highly respected Inn in Ashhaven where she used to reside, which may have been able to allocate for her a semi-permanent place to take some relaxing downtime with hot baths on the regular, excellent wine, and room service, so long as she helped fill the establishment regularly. Being here delayed her own plans, but to look at what she had available, Victoria didn't mind a bit. In fact, in an odd, rural way, it reminded her of home.

Victoria was happy to deal with room assignments after supper and their belongings were offloaded. She was specifically concerned with the spoils of their victory against the Ankhegs, and was delighted to note that they had a storage area, apart from the relative warmth of the main building. That last detail was going to be crucial in keeping their recently slaughtered giant bug meat as fresh as possible.

Be it a touch of defensiveness, Victoria waited until most everyones goods were offloaded before giving animation back to her loveable porcine companion, Morty. She wasn't certain how the concept of obvious necromancy would be taken by the laboring staff, and it was much easier to explain after the fact than to channel necrotic energies openly.

The question of the loot from the Goblin fight and other such skirmishes came to Victoria's mind, which was mostly weaponry at this point. It seemed like an opportunity was present, should Lizbeth take Kathryn's tutorials in the combative arts seriously. Mostly light weapons, couple of bows, arrows, and the like, but also a spear from another confrontation and one final item: a whip with minuscule silvery, metal barbs - the whip held by Constable Cavendish prior to his ugly demise. No one had claimed it. Maybe the budding warrior Lizbeth L'Rose could do something useful with the otherwise cruel device.

Within not too long a span of time, Victoria found herself in front of a table, laden down with what appeared to be a more than adequate if somewhat basic supper, and a few bottles of wine besides. The enigmatic Bard bid her Morty to a corner of the room, to stand motionless lest it draw undue attention. Briefly, Victoria considered draping a tablecloth or something similar over the salted and smoked beast, but eventually dismissed the idea.

Her great, black corvid, originally perched atop her forearm as she entered the main building, now fluttered it's wings in what amounted to a great, feathery hop over to a nearby table, away from the rest of the group. It's sharp eyes peered around until a higher perch was spotted along the mantle, whereupon it changed locations again. It cocked its head sideways, looking to its Mistress In Purple, who rewarded the ebon bird with a gentle laugh. "Yes. Right there is fine," she assured her Familiar.

The gift from Kosara fell definitively into the "thought that counts" category, yet the addition of local art (which is what Victoria assured herself it was) combined with the sense of joy she got from her Tiefling companion did bring a true and warm smile to her face. "Thank you very much, you dear, sweet girl. I regret that I had not the forethought to reciprocate." Victoria began fastening it loosely to her left wrist, declaring, "I shall wear it immediately."

There was a mote of disapproval from the Bard as Kathryn procured a bottle of wine for herself and took to it in a manner that was frowned upon by certain elements of polite society. She ignored the proverbial foot that the much more imposing lady was feasting upon, what with her less than perfect selection of words, instead to focus on the issue of the drink at hand.

"If you wish to down something quickly, Daughter of Arcanaple, there is a barrel of local ale procured for the occasion. Otherwise, if I may?" Victoria filled a glass with the wine paired to the meal, but only about a third of the way. She gave it a swirl, checked to see the cling against the glass, and inhaled the delicate vapors thereof. A small taste - no more than a few drops - followed by a short, abrupt intake of breath partially aerated the taste of wine, allowing Victoria to catch a more complete flavor profile. "Early season white. I cannot pick out the specific varietal, but this is the same grape as the icewine, or a blend, I'd bet. Oak aged or neutral barrels, one... and an interesting quality I can't quite put my finger on."

She paused for a second or two, her face showing a scrutinizing quality. "There is something else in here, too. It was in the Zinnoberrot, and the table wine at Neil & Bob's, which I believe was from here as well. This is early season, but there is an undertone of maturity. Like, noble rot or, or... fruit dessication from a young, healthy grape. It sharpens everything and the flavor is exquisite, don't get me wrong. One of a kind. But it seems so familiar..."

Victoria's thoughts, concerns, even train of thought took an odd turn as Kosara went into her discussion about the proclivities of people's bedroom antics and, oddly enough, camels. The Bard's scholarly visage dropped into something a bit more incredulous as she turned back to lock eyes with Kathryn. She wide-mouth downed the contents of her glass with a subsequent hard swallow and shake of her head. Looking at her tanky associate, Victoria gestured her free hand to punctuate the single word, "Nevermind."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Congratulations! You're there. The main setting for Act Two has been reached, and for better or for worse, you all have landed slap in the middle of the THERENESS of it all. So, as the Update says, settle in! Get comfy. Relax. Let your guard down. Get yourselves out of that itchy, heavy armor. You're probably safe here, right? Right?

Well, whichever way you play it, there are rooms to divvy up and decisions to make, a meal to be had, and Stuff. Lest we forget the Stuff. And the Things. It's important. But for now, per usual, any questions, concerns, or die roll request, please contact me in our Discord. And rememeber - courage.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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Weather: The winds are picking up, bringing with it the unmistakable tinge of colder air. Fall is falling; winter makes its approach

Time: Late afternoon. You still have the light, but not for very much longer.

Ambience: Wind blows over tall grasses and moves the occasional tree on what are the moors of the southern Avonshire region. The sun hangs lower in the sky to the west, providing a breathtaking view of the rolling hills, low vegetation, and hardy flowers which still showed their pinpricks of color dotting the landscape. Southmoor is behind you, and not too far away now sits the end result of your day-long journey.

*****

The southern road continued on for quite a way past Southmoor, but that was no longer the route taken by Cecily. Past the town lay a broad stone bridge which crossed the river, and past that a gentle split from the main road. While the southern road continued through the moors and to the mountains far beyond, Cecily expertly guided her wagon along this parting from the main with the surety of one who had made the trip on a regular basis. To emphasize the confirmation of a L'Rose homecoming, a smaller, not-quite-roadsign displayed for all to note that one was arriving at The Rose River Vineyards.

It seemed like nothing at first - simply another stretch of road painted with the colors of late afternoon - but the moment that the wagons crested the next rise, a veritable sea of still-green rows of vines, all cultivated to meander along regular segments of vertical framework, separated into differing areas and the road itself by low, rail fencing. It stretched as far as the hills allowed one to see, interrupted by the truly breathtaking bend of the river and, in the distance, a series of buildings culminating with what could only be described as a country mansion.

In hindsight, words were dropped and certain associations made concerning the Rose River Vineyard and its elder patriarch, the enigmatic and quite deceased Monsieur L'Rose. The wine was notable across this region and others, the family had smaller, related ventures around Avonshire and had some holdings (like the Hayloft). Even the more recent confession that the vineyard employed half of the people of Southmoor and a lot of the surrounding villages gave a proper hint. But the actual wealth of the L'Rose family, at least in sheer land and holdings, was vastly underestimated by context. In short, the elder L'Rose was (prior to his death) positively loaded.

The wagons' approach, once it got much nearer to the Big House proper, was noted and kicked off a flurry of movement from what remained of the service staff during what was essentially the main "off season". There was still a bit of time before crossing into the homestead portion of the estate, and so Cecily filled in the time with a little bit of a speech. "Most of our people have been dismissed until springtime proper, but we still have a base staff available for upkeep over the cold months. Not to say that we aren't still producing," she added, motioning in a grand, sweeping gesture at the cultivation nearer to the estate house, which still hung heavily with fat, white-green grapes, some of which looked like they were in early stages of withering. "We still have our late harvest and icewine grapes left to pick and process. And the little holidays we observe here." She smiled wistfully, describing, "With the new Icewine production comes the tasting from that day, five years prior. It's kind of a tradition. Oh! And of course, you'll be there through Frostival, too!"

Lizbeth added, "Yeah! Everyone thinks that the Zinnoberrot is the best wine we have, but the Honigblume - the Late Harvest Honigblume Icewine - is the sweetest white there is. Other wine people who visit have no idea how the grapes stay good while the vines wither in the snow, but we're the only vineyard that can do it." She seemed especially proud of this. It practically beamed across her face.

Cecily supported her niece's statement by continuing, not without her own touch of pride, "They are my favorites, too. But I think I like the Icewine a little bit more. From a grower's standpoint, even with seasonal product loss and almost nonexistent insect damage, we still get over a ninety-five percent crop yield. No other growers in the region have our numbers. Sometimes it feels like magic, but it's just good agriculture."

A little further up the drive, Cecily directed the cart away from the main complex. There were a couple of waves from the scattering of people noting their arrival, and two laborers started at a run to meet up with the wagons a little closer to their destination. Said destination, in this case, was what appeared to be a moderately sized, two story building with a walled-off courtyard and attached stable. "This is our Coach House," she explained. "In times past, it used to be an Inn, before the L'Roses expanded their holdings to include this area. Now it is a perfectly serviceable place for long term guests, even if it hasn't had much use in recent years. I've had the building cleaned and stocked for your stay with us. You should find ample firewood and provisions, fresh food, and a full stock of wines at your disposal. Everything will be refreshed weekly by our staff. Feed and stabling for your mule will be provided and the animal will be exercised with our work stock regularly. The well water is clean and safe. And, I shall have a clawfoot bathtub moved into the building for you before the week is out."

The two laborers caught up to the wagon and offered to handle the loading and unloading of supplies, personal or otherwise. After a brief conversation, Cecily turned back to the group, informing, "I am told that we are running behind at the main house and cannot accommodate you with a big 'Welcome Dinner' this evening. There is a lovely repast inside, comprised of roasted pheasant, pumpkin soup, and brown bread. And paired wines, naturally. Please take the evening to unwind and I shall make sure you get the grand tour in the morning. And that proper welcoming feast I intended. Maybe a nice brunch, at the Big House? Well, I shall leave you to it."

From the vantage point at the Coach House was spectacular. It sat at equal elevation to the Estate House, yet was separated by a dip between smallish hills. It afforded an excellent view of the grounds, stretching out a far distance, and of the nearby river. Outbuildings looked tiny in the distance, and one could easily imagine this place in full swing during a busy season. This was a location that not only grew grapes of many varietals, but also made their wine and other products on site. The green of the vines carried a little farther into the autumn than was expected, and of course the late harvest grapes were still on the vines nearest to the Estate House. The wind picked up a bit more, prompting the laborers into action with whatever the party allowed them to unload.

"Aunt Ceecee?" inquired Lizbeth, looking very eager in the fading light of the day, "Would you mind very much if I stayed with The Ones Who Answered this evening? To ...help them settle in?" She was a little unconvincing.

"That is up to them, and it is an imposition to ask me with them standing right there. It is their house until Spring arrives." Cecily countered. "Well, if you are to stay here this evening, then you will be of service to our guests. Yes?" Lizbeth nodded her head. Cecily looked to the Adventurers and suddenly remembered, "Yes, and I will send Urmdrus to meet with you concerning your successful hunt after supper."

In a tidy amount of time, the sun began to slip further down in the sky. The aroma of roasted meat and hot soup called heartily to the group, and there was time to do a little exploration of their new, albeit temporary, home. The Coach House had three stories in total: A top floor with (semi) private quarters accessible by a set of exterior stairs, the ground floor with servants' quarters, a taproom, spacious and stocked kitchen, storage, stables, and a classic stone well. A set of stout stairs led down from behind the bar to a smallish but clean cellar, for all of their cellar-ing needs.

Lizbeth, apparently choosing to stay until she specifically heard a NO, busied herself plating meals for everyone in the old taproom and began stoking a proper blaze in a nearby fireplace. "Get it while it's still toasty!"

She never once removed the shortsword from her belt. Not once the entire time.

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.