Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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Weather: The air was cold and crisp despite the rising orange sun, which passed across the land unfettered by cloud cover. It was clear. Light winds gusted occasionally, carrying sharper notes of the fast approaching winter.

Time: Morning, first and finally. The long night had passed without obvious incident and the sun just crested the hills fully. It was still low in the eastern sky, indicating a decidedly early morning.

Ambience: The sky was clear, but a lingering fog remained in the hollows of the land, soon to be dissolved away as sunlight crests the hills fully. A twinkling layer of frost covered most untouched surfaces, reminding one that the throes of winter were very soon to arrive. It is a lovely morning, if one does not mind the cold.

Within the Taproom of the Coach House, a low fire burns in the hearth and the lighting is limited to a couple of lamps, and whatever is let in from the main door opening. The detailed aspects of cleaning up have been left from the previous evening - whomever was supposed to handle this did not appear overnight - but it is tidy enough to appear cheerfully lived-in as opposed to sloppy. After all, how much crud could accumulate in just a few hours, especially with an attentive host?

*****

Helping to set up a bath in the middle of the kitchen was not something Lizbeth had considered doing while getting tea together for everyone who wanted it, but the fire was hot and the cauldron of water was available to serve. And it was no bother at all! Especially for one of the people who saved her Aunt Cecily and kept her from harm during the Harvestide unpleasantness.

Admittedly, she was a little surprised when the Tiefling that she was alone in the room with stripped down immediately and entered the barrel of warm water. She stood quietly, unsure whether to avert her eyes or pretend that this was fully normal, as (she hoped) this was likely a cultural difference. being born on this land and growing up in rural Avonshire, Lizbeth was not a worldly young woman. Technically, she wasn't even a woman just yet. There was another year and a couple months before that was official. This surprise turned to shock when Lizbeth was asked if she wished to join her in the barrel, prompting a series of broken sentences that were meant as a polite refusal. "Sorry, um, that is, Mademoiselle Kosara... I couldn't, ah... I'm not, understand, comfortable with..."

Kathryn's arrival broke an amount of tension, allowing Lizbeth to let out a sigh. She turned around to pay more attention to the tea than was specifically necessary, repeating in brief the offer of tea for those as they walked in. She seemed glad for the diversion. The cheerful expression that had faded from just before was returned, uncomfortably at first until it settled in more naturally. "I'm going to finish this up in the hearthfire. And toast - does anyone want toast? Or is tea okay? Excuse me, please." Be it a little forced in delivery, Lizbeth gathered up a few items on a tray and left the kitchen for the taproom as quickly as she dared, to the table nearest the fire therein.

The remarkably short journey to the main room saw Lizbeth stopping short. Expecting to see an empty room to which she might escape an embarrassing situation, the young woman found a raven on the mantle, a whole, smoked pig to the side of the room, and a blue Dragonborn Monk looking slightly confused. She paused for a half-second out of surprise but quickly put on a positive expression, saying, "Oh, hello, Monsieur BB. I, um... Tea?" She moved over to her chosen place by the hearth fire with her laden tray and continued the tail end of her work.

Not to long after the tea and toast were prepared, a knock sounded at the main door. "Hello?" The door inched open just enough to admit a head, covered by a simple hood. It belonged to a Human male approaching middle years, slender, and speaking with a decidedly local accent. "Myself and the madame are here to housekeep. May we enter now?"

Another voice could be heard, gruff but feminine more than not, "They ain't gone yet? Thought them adventuring types carried way too many knives and left to perform acts of derring do way before dawn!"

The door swung open more fully now, to reveal the pair, the man apparently being shuffled in by his less patient spouse. "Very sorry about that," said the rather flustered fellow, "We'll try to manhandle your personal belongings as little as possible. Did you want us to start upstairs first, or in the kitchen? Oh, did we interrupt something?"

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: The Coach House (Leftmost bedroom, 2F -> Taproom/Kitchen) Action: Casting Prestidigitation and Minor Illusion - Acrobatics Check Bonus Action: Morty, Familiar Reaction: N/A

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Morning came, and with it an odd sense of purpose. Victoria had the opinion that, if they were going to be in this place for three months (give or take), she was going to reinforce her existing abilities and work hard to incorporate her newer ones into her repertoire as an adventuring Bard. It was a new day, coming into a new season, and she was rising in power. Yes, the most would be made of this opportunity. Now if she could just find a few willing people to practice her magics on, things would be just peachy. Or a gaggle of deceased ones. That might work, too. Being a secondary student of Necromancy, she already had a list of things she could use a cadaver for - today. But without these things, she would have to improvise. Music, and the musical mindset, was the means by which she manipulated the Weave of Magic, and if she could not practice direct spellwork, then she would strengthen her fundamentals therein even as she wrote and performed more complex, more impassioned music; strengthening her connection to her arcane arts.

First, she had to get herself out of bed. This was key. And while she was immensely disciplined in matters of music, magic, and pursuits involving her own vanity, Victoria's appreciation of creature comforts occasionally counterproductive to the image of that discipline. It was no surprise that she was the last one out of their bedroom that morning. The fire was low; mere embers at this point, and a greater chill was upon the room than was there the previous evening. No matter, she was getting up anyway. Preparations to seize the day were upon the young and talented Bard.

Victoria took advantage of the lack of people in the room and deftly shed her black silk undergarments, still beneath the blankets of her bed as she was not ready to face the cold just yet. She bunched them together and cast a simple Prestidigitation three times: Once to clean and freshen them, twice to smooth out any wrinkles that had accumulated over the night, and a third time to gently warm the garment to something perfectly comfortable with which she could stave off the cold for just long enough to get into something more appropriate to the weather. After slipping things back on, Victoria dared to exit the blankets and gingerly put her feet upon the floor. It was warmer than she expected. Someone was working in the kitchen, below.

After a quick, personal cleanup and a touch of cosmetics, Victoria donned the clothing she had left out for herself the night before. It felt good to dress in decent, fitting clothing with just a touch of extra to them, and in her signature colors of purple, grey, and black. Like the field uniform of a soldier ready to perform their duties, just without all of that unsightly marching and yelling. She looked equally ready to travel, play a concert, or engage in magical combat. And even if a fight was not forthcoming in the near future, she took it upon herself to buckle on her favorite dagger (always use your own blade, a maxim from her father) and her now expertly silvered rapier, a beautiful weapon decorated with vine and leaflike inlays of the lunar-associated metal which gave the obvious Human construction a touch of an Elven look, which she was immensely happy about. Victoria wondered if she was going to let the silver intentionally blacken for the look of it, as many did with their armor, or keep it to a vivid, reflective polish. "Hmm... I should decide later," she reasoned with herself. Procrastination about issues not immediately important was another of her weaknesses, were she being honest with herself. But to word of the immediately important which could not bear the curse of The sudden desire to make use of a chamberpot took hold of her, now that she was up and moving about. Far be it for her to risk a sudden entry to the room and see her in a compromised position, Victoria conjured up the illusion of a small privacy screen and made use of The Bucket. Too bad there wasn't a lid. But it did remind her - didn't they have their own magical chamberpot in their group belongings? She was sure that they did.

In the tradition of Bards making an exit, even when there was no one to witness it, Victoria swept on her cloak and placed her especially bardy hat upon her head, took up her violin and ritual book (both of which she slung across her back), and strode toward the door. At the last moment before leaving, Victoria stopped and sighed. Of course, they had a deal in play. She recovered the bucket and, carrying it slightly away from her by its rope handle, sauntered with as much dignity that she could muster down the hall and out into the fresh morning. A quick mental command saw Morty following at her heel.

Still holding that godsforsaken bucket, Victoria took just a moment to gaze across the frost-covered land around her, beyond the outer walls of the Couch House. It was quite a lovely sight, and the cold coloring her cheeks did nothing to detract from the moment. Not quite so much as a container of liquid "leavings". Snapped back to the waiting world of bucket responsibilities, the descent of the stairs was made. One step. Two steps. Three - and then tragedy. Well, almost. The slip of a foot upon a portion of stair that had already been tread across, the frost loosened from it but not removed, and a person of lesser grace might have taken a tumble. With the bucket. Instead, Victoria pivoted and sidestepped twice down the stairs, arresting her uncontrolled plummet with at least a quart of her associates' cold urine. As quickly as she dared, the stairs were navigated and she left the bucket near to the front gate, just a touch off to the side.

Victoria did not go into the Taproom immediately. She took the moment and empty courtyard to warm up her voice and test the acoustics of the place. She started by vocalizing a few scales at first, easing into volume from something meek to something powerful before going through a few classic vocal exercises. Nothing involving lyrics. Pure melody, showcasing the range and clarity of her honeyed voice and lung capacity. Then she went into something more free of notion, choosing in the moment the order of note after note, just to enjoy herself. She did not reach for her violin. This was not a time to limber her fingers with bow and strings. The nimbleness of her voice and strength with which she used it were fully enough. As she reached the apex of her vocalizations, her raven Familiar manifested in the Material Plane with a flutter of black feathers and lighted on her outstretched arm. Victoria smiled. It was time to go back inside.

The enigmatic Bard gently opened the front door and stepped inside. Her raven found a comfortable spot on the mantle while Morty simply remained at her heel, per usual, until he came fully inside. The necromantic animation then pushed the door closed and took up the same spot by the wall that it did the previous evening. There was no greeting from those already up and about before her; point of fact there wasn't anyone in this room at present. Victoria unloaded her book, violin, and swordbelt on the nearby table and went into the kitchen, where she did hear people.

"Kosara, what..?" was all she could say at first, turning to one side with indecision as to whether she should avert her eyes, or if the damage was done from a social standpoint. One might have also noticed the blush starting to color her cheeks. Luckily, she could blame the cold outside for this, but not for too much longer as she was now in a warm room. Victoria glanced to Lizbeth, who looked to be preparing some sort of herbal tea, and mentioned, "This is not the custom here, and she is still a child, Kosara." Victoria offered over her cloak, imploring, "Please. We may find someplace more appropriate later."

In an effort to change topic, Victoria looked to their host, saying, "I would absolutely love a cup of your tea, Mademoiselle Lizbeth. Is that grape leaf?" The blush was, unfortunately, staying on her face even as she continued holding the cloak out for her associate.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

And the group has survived their first night at the Vineyard. I'd call that a rousing success, even if you don't know exactly why this should be considered a rousing success. Now, the beginning of the post describes the place at night, but the end puts us out at morning. There are two reasons for this: 1) No rolls called for anything awful happening to the party at night, hence we could move along, and 2) The frigging post started at one time and ended at another. There! Hope we're all up to speed.

Consider us getting going the next morning with next morning shenanigans. Send me that DM for rolls, questions, etc, and feel free to do your thing (within reason) in the IC. Obviously, this means that we have gone through a Long Rest, with all of the game mechanic stuff that entails. Best of luck surviving Day Two. Or would that be Day One, as we arrived in the evening on the previous day? Whatever. Doesn't matter. You're all here now and have to deal with it.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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Weather: A solid, almost crystalline coldness settled quietly over the Rose River Vineyard. Partly cloudy skies continued to drop tiny, almost imperceptible slivers of icy water earthward while fog settled in the dips and hollows of the countryside.

Time: It is firmly within the grasp of nighttime. The night is young, but the sun has solidly retired for the evening.

Ambience: Stars twinkled far overhead alongside a waning moon, causing a quiet show of celestial brilliance in all places the cloud cover allowed. As far as the eye could see, the high places of the land greatly resembled a close-set archipelago, clustered within the sea of settled fog. The main house of the estate stood out as a grand silhouette, dotted with dim light barely filtering through thick curtains. Within the Coach House, things are slowing. The hearthfire in the Taproom has burned low, as has the fire in the kitchen; metal screens now cover each to hopefully prevent a catastrophic, building-wide blaze. Lingering, ambient heat remains downstairs, cooling very slowly in the night.

The individual bedrooms upstairs have their own peculiarities, but a few features in common are apparent. Windows are tight and fit snugly in their frames, refusing to let through the lightest of drafts unless unshuttered and opened deliberately. The glass is clear, allowing unblemished views of the vineyard grounds beyond. The fireplaces are not as large as those downstairs and share a chimney with them, their purpose being to heat a much smaller room. They provide just enough light for the average Human to navigate without tripping over their own beds but not a lot more. Those beds were quite adequate to facilitate a decent night of rest, being good, stuffed mattresses of tough quilted material upon sturdy wooden frames. Linen sheets and thick blankets dress them, and each feature comfortable, goose-down pillows. The atmosphere is one of measured hospitality.

*****

As the evening turned to night and the great diurnal switch flipped, the land and activities of those who tend the land rolled to an expected cessation. Occasional gusts of wind blew cast aside bits of the vineyard's unsecured foliage about, leaving a quiet rustle in the night. These were largely unnoticed by those settling in for the night, as the quiet hisses and crackles of their bedrooms' fires drowned out all but the most aggressive of incidental sounds outside.

Lizbeth took to her self-appointed duties as a servant might, despite the fact that she was their host, or one of them at least. It wasn't quite the worst of it, either. Just things which required immediate storage or things which could be rinsed out. As she and her aunt had mentioned that the Coach House would be seen to by the vineyard's service staff, Lizbeth's goal was only to make it easier for them when they arrived the next morning. To wit, she was finished in very short order and ran a quick cloth over the table which recently held their supper. She seemed happy, overall. And happy for any help that she received, even if she insisted that it wasn't necessary.

The news that Kathryn was taking the large, private room on the righthand side of the second floor gave her a resigned look which showed disappointment for only a moment before an idea crossed her mind. She bid those who were still getting settled in a pleasant night and took off at jog for the last bedroom down the hallway - the group one chosen by Kosara and Victoria. There was a second look of disappointment as she saw that both of the beds nearest the fireplace were already taken, followed swiftly by another optimistic idea for herself. "Hi! I hope it's okay if I stay with you tonight." She motioned to the fireplace and an extra bed, silently disclosing the motivations for her presence. Without further word, she found her way to one of the beds and quickly discarded her outer layers of clothing, leaving neutrally colored, covering garments underneath that, while probably not appropriate to receive company, were more than adequately modest for sleeping in friendly company.

She spotted the neatly folded clothing that, based upon the black, grey, and obvious purple of the fabric, had to belong to Victoria laid out upon her travel chest, and marveled, "Those are so pretty! Sometime, may I please try on some of these?" Her continuing optimism and curiosity about things from far away was considered by many to be an endearing asset, even if it was a little pushy sometimes. Her own attire was something more middle-class. Tough, utilitarian, and of good quality (in the manner of a country lady), but nothing quite as stylish as the Bard's. Even so, her tone was one of interest, not of envy.

Instead of settling into a bed as one might, given the situation, little Lizbeth grabbed hold of one of the mattresses with both hands and hauled it off of the bed frame, onto the smooth hardwood floor below. She looked to Kosara, bundled within her burrito o' blankets and softly said, "Sorry! I don't mean to disturb you. Just want a little closer to the fire." She smiled and dragged the mattress into the middle of the floor, positioned as to be near the better radiation of heat without blocking Victoria or Kosara's unfettered access to it. She lay down and pulled a blanket over her, and with a yawn, commented,"Thank you for taking up Aunt Cecily's offer for the winter. It's going to be nice having all of you around." Her eyes became heavy, as might happen when one did not know how truly exhausted they were until they lay their head down, and began to slip off into slumber.

*******

Far into the night, when sleep was at its deepest and the world around them was silent, the small form of Lizbeth grew still, even more still than hard sleep could explain. Her chest ceased the rhythmic up-and-down movements of respiration. Skin grew cold and pale. The color around her eyes and her lips darkened. No breath, no flutter of heartbeat, no discernible sign life could be detected, even if anyone was awake to witness the passing. All was still and silent, save for the muted, white noise of a dying fire.

*******

The next morning, the fires in the upper level bedrooms had gone down to embers. They could be resurrected rather readily with minimal help, but the heat which it put off was now subdued to a level that wasn't amazingly helpful. Still, the bedrooms were far more comfortable (as far as temperature was concerned) then the outside. Light filtered into rooms through curtains, providing a tiny amount of extra illumination to mark the coming day. The group bedroom, to the far lefthand side of the upper floor, provides an extra surprise: The mattress which was on the floor had found its way back to the bed from which it came, and the sheets returned with a precision. Even corners.

The otherwise quiet of the Coach House was interrupted by the sounds of something metal dropping, and the exclamation of "Darn it!" muffled through the floor. A gust of wind picked up outside, and for most, staying under the blanket for as long as possible might seem overall preferable to venturing out into the whole of the room, now somewhat colder than the evening before.

One setting foot outside of the second floor would notice a blanket of tiny frost crystals covering most of the surfaces around them. The sun reflected and refracted from this, glittering back a lovely display of the late fall/early winter artistry of nature. It was definitely colder than previous mornings - it had to have dipped below freezing sometime over the night - though this didn't stop the first of the laborers from ambling to work across the vineyard, tending to the slower season's duties. One's breath assuredly condensed in these lower temperatures, giving the impression of exhaling smoke with every go. The same tiny crystals of ice thinly coated the stairs down to the ground floor just as much as they coated everything else, making those handrails a necessity more than a luxury.

Inside of the taproom below, it was already warm - at least near to the bar and kitchen area. While the hearth was not lit, the kitchen fire was. A pot of water was set to boil and a selection of a handful of teas were made available by a friendly face, and whomever entered first was hit with a full force blast of "Good morning! I made tea! Kind of." It was, naturally, Lizbeth. She cheerily told a quick and simple tale of, "I was making tea, but I dropped the hot water all over the floor before I could steep anything, so... a few more minutes!" Probably less than that, but she didn't want to raise expectations. "It's an herbal blend of grape leaves and dried pear peel! Made it myself." Lizbeth seemed proud of her accomplishment, even being something as simple as morning tea. "Aunt Ceecee said something about a brunch, and I don't know if that was supposed to be today or another time, so I didn't do a breakfast. But there's stuff here, lots of stuff. If you're hungry. Anyway, um... Tea soon!"

Lizbeth smiled and returned to the kitchen, cheerful as ever.

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: The Coach House (Taproom -> Leftmost bedroom, 2F) Action: Casting spells (Prestidigitation and Minor Illusion) Bonus Action: Morty Reaction: N/A

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After the Grey Dwarf left, Victoria finally remembered the question that she wished to ask him earlier. It was shuffled aside amid the hustle and insecurities of negotiation, twice, and she was really left dumbfounded at the idea that she didn't come back to complete the thought. Or anyone, for that matter, as no one appeared to think twice when the oddly wiry Dwarf casually used the phrase "Assassin Armor," even if there was, admittedly, a question of language fluency at hand. Victoria gave this thought a moment of her time, contemplating what manner of girl Urmdrus thought she was, then mentally set it aside. Short of running after the guy in unfamiliar surroundings at night, there wasn't anything to do about this particular itch of curiosity. As long as the armor did what he said it would do, is wasn't so big an issue. And if he held a little more healthy caution about her based upon certain presuppositions or minor misunderstandings about her active adventuring profession, Victoria was just fine with it.

Also in Victoria's understanding, Lizbeth was correct. It might mean an early night for the likes of someone like herself, but this had been a long day and there was plenty to explore in this vineyard over the course of the winter. It seemed a touch daunting at first; staying the while of winter in the Avonshire region was not her plan as of a couple weeks prior. Quite frankly, she had her mind set on finding a ship headed northward, as close to her home the better, and booking passage. But this was a new experience, and Victoria did appreciate those. Plus, on a personal note, the Bard had taken a liking to little Lizbeth. Even if she didn't seem to want to learn her adventure-craft from her. Not everyone could be a Bard, she reasoned. And not everyone wanted to.

And speaking of not wanting to do things, Victoria had no desire to address the issue going on in the background of her talk with Urmdrus any more than she already had. As such, she gave parties concerned a diplomatic and nondescript smile as she cleaned up after herself and gathered what few belongings she had downstairs. "Well, I agree with Mademoiselle Lizbeth. It has been a compelling day. A compelling week or two, really. And after that delicious supper and superior bottle of wine, I believe that I am also ready to call it an evening."

Victoria took a quick accounting of her colleagues' preferences of sleeping arrangements, following the brief tour of the Coach House when they arrived. Baronfjord mentioned the central room along the back wall of the building (at least that is what she thought he had meant), Kathryn merely wished for a bed large enough for her to sleep comfortably, and Kosara wished for a bed near a fireplace. Victoria, too, wanted this. And so far, no one had offered an argument specifically for having a private room. Taking these preferences to their most logical conclusion, Victoria looked to Kosara, speaking with a matter-of-factly tone, "It looks like we are bunkmates; at least for a time. The room above the kitchen has two beds near a fireplace." She would have much rather found some excuse to take the room to herself at the other end of the building with the larger fireplace and comfortable chairs all to herself, but it seemed reasonable for Kathryn to need the leg room. Plus, if a reasonable accommodation was not objected to on her part, when she actually required one for herself (or just really wanted one), this concession would readily act as a point of leverage.

At length, Victoria retrieved her cloak and violin case. The former she twirled about herself and secured soundly; while she had not been outside since night had fallen, she did feel the incoming air when Urmdrus burst through the door and when he left. Not insurmountable discomfort by any means, but that did not mean she was going to enjoy it. Victoria almost wished that the winter season would hurry itself along and express fully so that she could acclimate to the cold and carry on. She did have one parting bit of near-sarcasm to impart before leaving: "You know... most of the time when the Knight duels the Dragon, it doesn't end well for the Knight. All those grandiose stories you hear to the contrary are survivors' bias. Or fiction." She gave a wistful smile, adding, "Of course, that is why we form adventuring parties. Lots more true stories about those."

A quick clearing of the throat and Victoria spoke to the motionless slab of tusked pork to the side of the room, "Come along, Morty. It's bedtime." The creature stirred to motion, following its mistress to the door. As if of its own accord, the largely forgotten about corvid hopped from its place on the mantle above the fireplace and flapped black, feathery wings in its journey to Victoria's outstretched arm. "Oh, and I do so apologze for not addressing the questions put to me earlier, with the intent of camaradrie, on the accounting of our unexpected guess. I will be quite happy to discuss them tomorrow, if you are still willing. I bid you a pleasant evening."

Victoria removed herself from the Taproom, swiping up one of the oil lamps and hanging the rope handle of a bucket in the crook of her elbow as she departed. It was dark outside, and darker still in the interior of the second floor. The lamp was useful if imperfect with its luminescent glow, prompting for careful steps. When inside, Victoria noted that her personal belongings most assuredly were where she had been told they would be, just inside of the main door to the second floor sleeping quarters. She bid Morty to pull the little errand cart containing her backpack, chest, and local wines to follow her.

The bedroom to the far left, be it with a few beds within, suited her purposes nicely. There were two beds near to the fireplace - she chose the one nearer to the door for herself - and set to building a quick fire with the wood present. As mucking about with a tinderbox was a thing to be avoided if she could help it, Victoria gathered up the simplest of magical energies, plucking but a few strings in the grand Orchestra of the Weave to prestidigitate a fire started. Satisfied, she doused her lamp and readied for bed.

The accommodations were straightforward but comfortable, clean, and more than adequate. Fresh linens on the beds and good, thick blankets brought a bit of warmth to the young Half-Elf's face. A quick casting of Minor Illusion set up a lovely floral privacy screen behind which she could change and see to her more private, end-of-day needs, even if it had to be recast every so often. Her clothes, boots, and person were cleaned and refreshed with appropriate castings of Prestidigitation, and Victoria slipped into modest attire consisting of black silk undergarments with respectable coverage. She preferred fine clothing of cuts and styles that held to modesty, such as it was measured by her culture and upbringing.

And so with a full belly and clear head, after a day of travel and combat, Victoria settled in for the night with Morty and her raven closely, the promise of new armor and vacation time in front of her.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

And the hits just keep on coming! Now with confirmation of the deal an the materials hauled off, it's only a matter of time (and apparently a bucket of freshly squeezed urine) before the party members capable of utilizing said equipment acquires it. Let us hope that our good Duergar friend doesn't have a previously undiagnosed heart condition or gets eaten by something particularly nasty that may or may not exist nearby. In any case, consider this another good RP round, let us close out the day with a nice, spiffy Long Rest upon a decent mattress under thick blankets, blissfully unaware of the horrors which might await. Or not. I mean, you're wintering in wine country, right? What's the worst that can happen?

Anyway... do that thing where you get in touch over our Discord for rolls, questions, or if you think I missed something (has happened before). Best of luck, and I do hope that we all have pleasant dreams. <insert evil laugh here>

_{Image unrelated - we hope.}

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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Weather: Actual cold has settled around the countryside, with one island of refuge within the Coach House. It is dark now, and the moisture of the previous hours is settling into a moderate fog, settling in the lower places of the moors and vineyard.

Time: Early nighttime. There might be almost enough light to comfortably see by right this moment, but swiftly, the dying of the day is upon you. The dim and cool have passed, giving way to the dark and cold.

Ambience: The bastion of rural comfort known as the Coach House continues to warm, nourish, and provide a welcoming atmosphere, despite the best efforts of its inhabitants (unintentional or otherwise). The dominant sensory experiences remain the crackling fire, the grapeseed oil lamps, and riveting conversation. Despite the drama of the moment, an observer might not note any great amount of tension in the overall feel of events.

*****

Amid the chaos exploding within the taproom in direct contrast to the civilized and impartial negotiations from the table, Lizbeth seemed invested. Invigorated even, as both talks and conflict drew to a cease. The stereotyped actions of professional adventurers were present for all to see, and the girl could just imagine herself in a seedy watering hole or place of ill reputation with dangerous people, contributing what skills she intended to acquire over the winter in pursuit of arcane lore, compelling quests, or rumors of that most coveted thing of all - loot. When Urmdrus gave the nod to help with her martial training, her expression became positively giddy. Reading the room, she remained quiet.

Urmdrus, on the other hand, kept stoic. There might have been the slightest flicker of something when the word "Duergar" was mentioned, but that passed instantly. He was still waiting, buckets in hand, for others to say something on the subject. Kathryn's formal introduction and notion that she was looking forward to the arrangement was enough of a confirmation for the older Dwarf, who nodded at the tall lady and gave a gruff "Hrm," to acknowledge. The words of Baronfjord required a little more explanation if he chose to answer, and one of his questions repeated that of the Bard's. It was probably one, he reasoned, to which he would have to give a response. "Make many things. Not a magician, but make many things." Staring at his unshod feet, Urmdrus further responded to the Dragonborn, "Chitin alone, not good as leather, wool for warmth." He snorted. "Good enough shoecrafter in Southmoor." But to the question now asked twice: "Assassin armor - Ankheg reinforcing leather. Segmented. Boil in oil to shape quickly, shape custom. Flexible. Tough. Ankheg plate, ankheg shield - soak in piss. Dry. Treat with oil, alcohol, fire. Chitin becomes strong like metal. Like alchemy." The last word, "alchemy," gave him a touch of trouble. But he managed nonetheless.

The tattooed Dwarf gave Victoria her own affirming nod and dropped the buckets abruptly to the floor. "Collect tomorrow after first meal." He held up a warning finger, saying flatly, "Just piss." He said this with the tenacity of a person with a specific incident in mind that still troubled him to the day. He even shuddered a little. But the questions were answered, the deal was struck, and he got some food out of it. A grunt and scratch of his nose later, Urmdrus turned and stomped back out the way he came in. To his credit, he did treat the door a little better this time. "...just piss..." he murmured to himself, trudging to the storage building within the Coach House's exterior walls and grabbing the chitin from inside, plus a respectable (but not too greedy portion of the flesh within. It took him three trips to snag everything he needed and place it into a work cart just outside of the Coach House, whereupon he lugged it off to parts unknown, presumably elsewhere in the landscape of the vineyard.

Lizbeth immediately sprung to work, gathering up dishes that needed to be cleaned and packing up unclaimed food which needed storage or disposal. Lucky for her, the night air would be plenty up to the task of short term preservation, so the majority of anything untouched (or minimally touched) went into baskets to be hung in the storage building on racks placed for this purpose. They were the same ones that held what remained of the Ankheg, so she made sure to put some distance between them. Before too long, only a moment or three, Lizbeth returned to the taproom and began to clean up the worst of the mess, what mess remained from the meal. "Aunt Ceecee usually sends people to handle cleaning when we have guests. But some things can't wait until morning." Her cheerfulness seemed to have no bounds, speaking with something close to glee even though the mundanity of chores and servants' schedules were being discussed. "But if it's alright with all of you, I am quite exhausted and I shall be readying to lay my head down. Excuse me?" With a skip to her step, almost a canter, the young lady began to gather her things and prepare for bed.

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: The Coach House (Taproom) Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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The duality of adventuring life was not lost on Victoria. They had participated in an event that had shaken the Township of Avonshire from its rough log walls to the cobblestones of its streets. They had battled back things conceived in nightmares and had their brains scratched by a power beyond their immediate comprehension. They were compensated for their time, though in Victoria's opinion not remotely enough. The Bard herself had several small ways to express herself artistically and socially, mostly in the form of music. As she was a bit of an extrovert, her social proclivities were sated by traveling to a new spot and meeting new people, even if it was just this one odd, ill-mannered Dwarf. But to the point of Victoria's train of thought on the situation unfolding, these were ways in which she unwound, whereas her new adventuring party saw fit to get hammered and flop about the confines of their lent vacation home. By every merciful god in the heavens above (and a few that weren't), Victoria hoped it would stay in the confines of their lent vacation home. For the life of her, she could not fathom the overall goal aside from just blowing off some steam.

It did appear that the responsibilities of negotiator and babysitter fell to her, which earned the rest of their group a raised eyebrow and annoyed look. Maybe two. But these she smoothed over, intent on getting back to the tasks set to her. "If I may, Master Urmdrus?" She used the honorific presented by Lizbeth first, unsure as to whether it had specific or general meaning in this land but hoping that, even if it wasn't appropriate, the attempt to emulate custom would be appreciated. "To your earlier address with Miss Lizbeth; her suggesting a course of action when she hasn't full accounting of the proceedings aside, how else will she learn? I do appreciate that you have no objection to her presence as we come to an agreement."

The blatant appropriation of a portion of their supper from the older, grey Dwarf was not missed. It was not a point worth arguing over, even if it was rather rude. The stony bastard was really pushing the phrasing of their earlier narrative, Victoria observed. "Perhaps another time, I might allow you to indulge in of some of my smoked pork. To be open, there has been an element of magic in its preservation." It was at this time that Urmdrus spotted Morty, standing as still as death in to the side of the room. He looked from the undead thrall to Victoria, who simply sat smiling with an otherwise neutral expression. To her surprise, the Dwarf nodded. It was not the nod of one accepting an offer so much as it was clarity of understanding. Nevertheless, Victoria continued as if it was precisely such an acceptance. "Excellent," she almost purred. "I shall make sure to set some aside for you."

With what felt like the vast majority of the business talk out off the way and a better understanding of one another, Victoria looked to address the last of the points at large and make one more request. "As the only one on this side of the negotiation that is paying attention, I agree to your caveat. Or rather, I will if you will agree to one of mine." Victoria looked around at the minor spellcasting, fleet acts of manual dexterity, and demonstrations of alcohol-fueled shenanigans. "Make my armor second. Take your time; really pour yourself into it. I've heard tales of ...Duergar? Duergar craftsmanship. I should wish to see this for myself." Victoria topped off her glass of white wine and raised it tentatively toward Urmdrus, who raised his tankard and clinked his drinking vessel to hers. He began to drink. Victoria followed.

When their drinks were drained, Victoria refilled her glass once again, saying, "Now that we have come to an understanding, Master Urmdrus, I am curious about two things. One, would you like another ale? By all means, please serve yourself. And two, why do you need us to 'piss in the bucket', hmm?" More questions might follow, but these demanded more immediate attention. Especially that second one.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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Weather: It is a moderate sort of cold now, advancing against the retreating daylight. Tiny, icy wisps of rain occasionally find their way groundward, though referring to the event as rain, proper, is generous.

Time: Dusk. There might be almost enough light to comfortably see by right this moment, but swiftly, the dying of the day is upon you.

Ambience: The taproom has warmed up to a quite pleasant, aromatically pleasing experience. Burning lamps filled with grapeseed oil, burning hearth wood, and the continued scent of the meal hung in the air with a comfortable presence. Simple but well-crafted flatware and dishes clink together, providing a special sort of background noise with the crackling fire. The fire and lamplight flicker with mellow orange and yellow illumination dancing along the walls and furniture.

*****

The mood of the Coach House turned from the serious to the remarkably less serious in a short amount of time. The majority of it, anyway. There lay a single island of direct and serious conversation still at the table where the majority of the evening's repast was lain. Not complete and total, dread serious, however. Master Urmdrus now had exactly as many foamy mugs of ale as he had hands, and it seemed like that was the way he preferred it. He cocked a curious eye in the direction of Kathryn when she spoke to him, tiny elements of distrust crossing his face with the flattery as it grew into something truly worthy of springtime fertilizer, but the ale sanded out the rougher spots of his mood. Or appeared to. It was difficult to tell with this particular Dwarf. It did manifest the intended effect of making Urmdrus more willing to hear out Victoria's counter-offer.

Lizbeth took to being quiet, for the most part. The overall mood shifted when the Bard began to speak, especially as the first part of it was too similar to levying an accusation. She did make one, tentative suggestion over her bowl of soup, "Maybe if we're counting everyone getting even shares, we should split all of the unused stuff evenly? Like, what they don't want for their armors and..."

She was swiftly albeit respectfully silenced by the wiry Dwarf, with a sudden look and intonation of, "You are not old enough to barter by Human years yet. I trade with these people, who brought me good chitin. Another year, little more, I can listen. Not yet." He turned back to Victoria and the rest of the group (who may or may not have gotten up to various levels of shenaniganry at this point) and hefted one of his mugs to his face. Nary a drop was wasted as he downed the liquid fermentation of local grains and set the drinking vessel upon the table. "Hmm. Not to barter with food. Shows respect." He leaned over the table to grab a small loaf of bread and some soup for dipping with the surety of a person who owned the place, else had the implicit trust of those who did. "Okay."

Urmdrus allowed the word to marinate in the moment while he chewed heavily on a chunk of orange-soaked bread. He then noisily slurped down a good portion of his second mug of ale, belched quietly(ish) and nodded. "Good." Then louder, so that the others could hear, "Good." I make the armor reinforcement for the tall one, assassin armor for Violin Lady. Hair decoration and ...hot weather garb... I make with armor cutting extras. But I keep enough to make... he struggled with the word in Common for a moment, "...cuirass. Yes. And shield. This is made first. Then one piece to do what I want - this is last." Anyone keeping up with the math on the deal as it was unfolding would realize that this actually placed him at a position where he claimed even less than the current deal. "Will cook Ankheg for us all tomorrow, if you give more of..." Urmdrus raised his empty mug of ale whilst simultaneously downing the remainder of the other.

A hearty belch later and the Dwarf raised from his seat and stomped toward the door. He stepped just outside and unceremoniously dragged in two wooden buckets that he had apparently brought with him. "We drink on this. I start tomorrow early. Also - piss in the buckets. All of you. Need this. I will collect tomorrow morning. Deal?"

Lizbeth began to sidle off, away from the table. She cast her eyes over to the random shenanigans the rest of the group was getting up to and wondered it it was slightly more sane than the conversation the was almost a part of. She did venture one question toward the older Dwarf: "Master Urmdrus, you'll teach me how to be a fighter with Lady Kathryn, too?" The obviously far-from-home Dwarf gave a stout nod, but remained unspeaking in hopes of getting an answer from the party before continuing.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Huzzah, huzzah!

Okay, maybe I gave that minor celebration a little too early. But a better deal has been struck, if the party accepts it. Unfortunately, if the plans mentioned in the OOC Lounge is any indicator of what's going to go down this posting cycle, then we have an interesting IC night ahead of us. Best of luck, I suppose. Things could be worse. All in all, I guess it's fair enough to say that everyone should enjoy the moment, for however long those moments last until the bottom drops out and we remember that we're in an investigation and combat oriented forum fantasy RPG. So pay attention to those details, keep your swords handy, and make sure your spellbooks are legibly inked.

Oh, but remember: You're on vacation, right?