Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Another cycle of posting comes to a conclusion, and another begins. The King is dead; long live The King. So let's get to the bare business if things first:

Shoe - Kathryn's acceptance of the necromancy being done to her has to be voluntary, or the spell won't take. To wit, I appreciate the explicit and direct mention of consent to such in the IC. Something official and open is appreciated as we may be skirting into PvP territory here.

Arty - Baronfjord is right to feel nervous. You've seen the Bard take out a giant insect with her voice and a casual necrotic follow-up, and she still hasn't answered his question from the night before. Experimenting with magic taken from a book previously owned by the warlock you all just killed is a little sus.

Rivaan - The initial incident moved Lizbeth's social reaction down to Cautious. The apology brought it up to Indifferent. Immediately asking her to serve you tea was ...certainly a choice to make. But the rolls were made and the situation has improved, so that's a positive note.

The immediately preceding point should be taken to heart - I don't believe that I have mentioned outright that I am loosely keeping up with the named NPCs and their reactions to party members, following interactions and events. It goes back to the bit at the start of the Act One when I mentioned that actions matter. This is, at heart, an investigative RPG with elements of combat throughout. Social presentation is just as important as a good swordarm. On the other hand, keeping true to character regardless of consequence is noted, too. Consider it a balancing act.

A.M. shenanigans continue. There is still time before the scheduled Clackery, so do your thing. To hammer the point from the last OOC post here, there is a timetable of events that occur, and the party's actions (either individual or as a group) will influence these events. Or they will continue unabated. If a charcater is in the spot where and when these things happen, you'll have your chance. But just for now, speaking in a very meta, DMish way, I will say that you're good for a bit.

Per usual, message me in Discord for rolls and stuff. And best of luck moving forward.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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Weather: Cold, but not overly so for the incoming season. Winds gusted into any unsecured clothing, reminding people of the inevitable seasonal change. There was but a hint of possible precipitation upon the horizon from the north, far away enough to not warrant immediate concern.

Time: Early morning. Maybe an hour and a half had passed since the first of the group rose from their slumber.

Ambience: Clear skies and just a hint of low-laying fog remain. The fullness of the morning is upon the Rose River Vineyard, illuminated by an almost cheery looking, radiant sun. It was even uplifting, if one were a morning person.

The fireplace of the Taproom keeps to its low flame, now partly obscured by the accoutrements of toast and tea preparation. It was, admittedly, a little dim within the room, but smaller table lamps help with this somewhat.

*****

It was awful; simply awful what Victoria was proposing. Killing one of the people in the Coach House just to drag them back to the living world seemed unnecessary. Heartless, even. But some not-very-deep part of Lizbeth's psyche was intensely curious. The concern vocalized by Baronfjord was reflected in her own thoughts, but she didn't speak them, herself. The nod she gave for Victoria to press onward with her display of death magic was backed with equal amounts of caution and exhilaration. Both of these feelings she kept to herself.

Lizbeth maintained a mostly quiet sort of caution. Victoria's words seemed to help a little, probably because she did not address the issue on her mind. There wasn't much of a reaction to the others, either. Kosara's apology was taken silently, and responded to with nonverbal cues of acceptance. Even Kosara's request for tea kept Lizbeth at arm's length, though she did set a cup from the Coach House's inventory down on the table near her, for when the water came up to temperature for steeping.

The apology did seem to act as a catalyst for her to open up a little bit more to everyone else, however. To begin, she crossed the room to address the couple who were present to tidy up the rooms. "Please start with the bedrooms first. The servants' quarters weren't used last night. Thank you." This was effective enough to get the two of them moving toward the door, and out of the group's hair for the meantime. Though the woman did give a lingering look over toward the very still (yet upright standing) pig near the wall as she went along.

She then addressed Baronfjord as if he had just spoken instead of the awkward pause which had just passed, "And you shan't hear a word otherwise, Monsieur Blackberry. This is your home for the winter, anyway." Her tone was flatter than normal, especially as compared to the previous evening's bubbly optimism. The morning had been uncomfortable for little Lizbeth, with the accident in the kitchen and the other event.

Something closer to a smile came about when she heard Kathryn agree to participate in Victoria's magical experiment. Not so much of a look of personal delight as it was intense, visible curiosity burning behind her eyes. "Oh thank you, Lady Kathryn! It's a very brave thing to help show me something like this. Please, use this table over here," she offered, motioning to the one nearest the bar but also within ample light of the hearth. She then looked expectantly to Victoria, inquiring, "This really isn't going to hurt her, right?"

The cleaners, morbidly interested in whatever was about to happen, stuck next to the door. The man had his hand on the doorhandle as if to leave in short order, but remained transfixed, rooted to the spot next to the exit.

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: Kitchen -> Taproom Action: Skill check (Persuasion, DC 10, Advantage) Bonus Action: Morty, Familiar Reaction: N/A

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Any color which tinged Victoria's cheeks took its icy leave. The vast majority of her instincts bade her to remove herself from this situation and see to her own interests. But this incident was embarrassing at best for Lizbeth, and the Bard had grown rather fond of her. Add to this that she was one of their hosts for the winter, or at least the niece of their host, and Victoria had no desire to lose their spot for the winter. Given a little thought, were they to be disinvited from the Vineyard, she might yet be able to go with her original plan to make it to the coast before the snows come, and acquire passage on a ship bound for her home to the north. Could she have made it in time, before the roads became perilous? Maybe. Quite possibly, in fact. Especially now that she had access to a stunningly fast Phantasmal Steed that responded to her better than any real horse might. But this didn't account for her clothes or tools, nor her errand cart, equipment, and her Morty. And of course, as ran through her thoughts just a moment before, she had grown rather fond of Lizbeth L'Rose on a personal level. She seemed like a good kid with a ton of potential, a little of which she had already glimpsed. Victoria made her decision.

Folding her cloak back over one arm, Victoria wordlessly removed herself from the kitchen and followed Lizbeth out to the Taproom. There was a general lack of interest in the servants moving to clean the kitchen, as her intentions were focused on the young lady in front of her. She draped her garment over the back of the chair nearest to her belongings on the table and kept a respectful distance, keeping herself to inquisitive yet casual tones as she spoke, first to their Dragonborn companion to offer a quick, "Oh, good morning, Baronfjord. I didn't hear you enter." Her attention then went back to Lizbeth. "She is a creature of the desert sands, as I am one of more temperate, cosmopolitan proclivities. As you are of these rolling hills and fantastic, fertile soils. The songs of our lives all harmonize with the variety of our origins and the events which bring us to this moment. Ever changing moving forward; penned indelibly looking back. What is normal and expected of one song is unseemly, even grotesque to the ears of another listener. And if we're speaking confidentially, Miss L'Rose," She bent down just a little and dropped her voice slightly to give the impression of privacy, "Of the two, I believe you are the more responsible." She let it the sentence hover, smiling at the girl preparing tea and toast. Standing back to full height and pitching her voice at normal levels, she concluded her thought with, "The variety and beauty of these songs, taken objectively, are amazing to behold. But if you find yourself uncomfortable like this again, do come to one of us about it, and it shall be handled. Okay, Lizbeth?" Victoria held her eyes with the steady surety of a promise.

Then she suddenly brightened. Her hand trailed over her new Ritual book; a lovingly crafted, if a bit macabre piece of work. "Oh, Lizbeth?" Victoria said playfully. Her smile broadened with potential mischief. "How about, while the tea steeps, I show you an interesting piece of magic? I could make someone - someone in this building, I don't know... die. Then bring them back in a few minutes. Would that make you feel better?" She them whispered, "It would make me feel better."

Intrigued, Lizbeth nodded her head. This decision might have gone either way, but something this off-the-wall piqued her curiosity enough to agree.

Victoria smiled in her small victory. She really wanted to test this spell out and now she had an excuse. Gingerly tiptoeing to the kitchen door, she cracked it open slightly and asked aloud, "Lady Kathryn? Kat dearest, our friend is feeling a little down. Would you mind, if you please, helping me demonstrate an arcane ritual? I need a willing vi- recipient of the energies. You shan't even feel a single pang of discomfort. Of that, I am dead certain. Come, let us give Lizbeth a little show." Big smiles, bright eyes, graceful movements, and flowing optimism took over Victoria as she mentally poured over what may come next.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Let's keep the ball rolling with a.m. shenanigans. There isn't anything official planned with the owners and/or staff for a while yet, so if anyone in the party has a task they wanted to get to in the meantime (and it doesn't take more than a couple hours), there is time. Per my standard setup, there is a Current Clack of events unfolding; whether or not the party has influence on said Clack is up to them and their individual decisions and actions.

Hit me up in the Discord, leave me a message about stuff, blah blah, and suchforth. And best of luck with those conspiracy theories in chat. Huzzah!

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.}