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: The Coach House: Taproom Action: N/A Bonus Action: Morty, Familiar Reaction: N/A

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Smugness of expression wouldn't have been too out of line of an accusation, were it to be aimed at Victoria. Thoughtfulness, too. She had a lot to think about. The initial suggestion from Baronfjord concerning keeping the "YET" part of her musings about magic (specifically the part where she might remove life from a living subject and then returning it via necromancy) left unsaid was heard, processed, and silently rejected. Sure, she flashed a quick smile and wordlessly let him know that she was aware of this suggestion, but did not go into it further. Maybe she would look into it, if she ever became powerful enough to do so. And if she was capable of actually doing this, there was no way that she wouldn't make it known - within the appropriate circles, of course. Still, for the moment, Victoria had successfully completed a new piece of Ritual Necromancy, and this was an accomplishment worth some amount of celebration. She hadn't even flexed all of her arcane muscles yet, either.

The simple acknowledgement of the Dragonborn fellow's words turned into a look that might have included an eyeroll, were it not for Victoria's tendency to maintain a plausibly acceptable facial expression for most situations, be it persuasively or deceptively. But there was some truth to his words that she was not willing to get into right then, as he referred to the fact that her demonstration of magic might damage a reputation or two. It reminded her of the locals back in the Township who accosted her in from of Neil & Bob's Public House, demanding her womanly attentions before they would let her by. She handled it bloodlessly, with the application of the simplest of magics to darken her eyes to a shiny tar-black and used her words to promise them truly abyssal tortures. It solved the problem, but admittedly, did start others. Her reputation took a hit. But Victoria penchant for certain magics, her natural beauty, and a flair for the dramatic sometimes did that. She was ever the darker showmistress.

With all of this in mind, Victoria gave a shrug and turned her attention to her magical test subject. The change in demeanor was direct, but fluid. "Kathryn!" she began, speaking as if greeting an old friend after a month's absence. She even extended her arms as if to initiate a hug, but did not immediately approach. "You did so well, Kathryn. Everything went through with nary a snag nor hitch, and you were an excellent recipient of my magic. You should be proud of yourself. Truly." It might ave been layered on a bit thickly, but her delivery sounded downright sincere. She was feeling a little guilty about essentially dragging her into a situation that didn't involve her, and using the opportunity to test out a new spell for the first time under the guise of cheering up Lizbeth. But it did cheer her up. And the spell did function exactly as expected. And Victoria did learn things from this. Nevertheless, she wasn't exactly pure of intention, and she hoped to alleviate some of this. "Thank you. And yes, it was only a couple of minutes. We established that you had no signs of life, I did a quick tactile test," that involved her open palm and Kathryn's face, but she wasn't going into details here, "and I brought you back. Otherwise, it would have persisted for about one hour. Let me know if you have any questions, or if you feel a little 'off' for the next little while, okay? Just in case. You should be fine."

The call of her raven could be heard from the front of the Coach House; three dull croaks against the relative quiet of the morning. This went along with the mental command she gave the spirit-given-shape before sending it outside. Something was approaching. Victoria tensed for a moment, her hand reflexively but discreetly seeking the hilt of her sword on the table, even if it wasn't the most potent weapon she had in her arsenal. The smile returned to her face when she saw that it was Cecily. "Oh, good morning, Madame L'Rose! This is a truly breathtaking place in the country you have here, especially in the early light. And yes, I should positively adore to join you for a proper breakfast in a little while. Do we need to ...hmm... dress for the occasion? I am, afraid that I do not know all of the customs in this area - but I would like to learn."

In contrast, her interaction with Kosara in this moment began with something akin to a threat from the curious Tiefling. But her words addressed the situation with something akin to snarky grace. "I agree; that is good, then. I would hate to be Celestially Blasted. It sounds most inconvenient, now that the lady of the Vineyard has invited us to breakfast." Victoria smiled, content in the humorous sarcasm of her words and inflection, but inwardly her mind was calculating the potential damage Kosara could do with her preferred attack spell, as compared to her own application of debilitating psionic energy which she could inflict with her voice, supplemented by her backup attack of necrosis. If it came down to an actual brouhaha, Victoria might have to cheat. And while it was almost for certain that Kosara was just having a bit of fun, the fact was that she was a Celestially inclined spellcaster and Victoria herself leaned toward Necromancy. Were they not brought together by the fate of receiving those letters from Sheriff Arbalest, it would not be an impossibility to have seen them on opposing sides of a conflict. Victoria hoped nothing of the sort would come to pass.

The raven croaked again, sounding three calls before falling silent. This time it preceded the appearance of Urmdrus. "Good morning, Master Urmdrus." She intentionally used the honorific which Lizbeth insisted upon the previous evening, mostly because Victoria did not know what the usual term of address was in this instance. "I left one by the main archway, to the side. i hope it is sufficient. And, um, I look forward to seeing the fulfillment of our agreement." The last part was rather diplomatic in delivery.

Back to Cecily and Lizbeth, Victoria seemed eager to explore her new surroundings a bit. Maybe it had something to do with what Urmdrus was saying just a moment or two ago. "If it pleases you, Madame Cecily, Lizbeth, I wouldn't mind in the least helping set up. Even if all I might give is moral support in the face of vastly superior epicurean talent. Oh, and I still have a good bit of lovely smoked pork to contribute, if you would accept." Victoria smiled pleasantly, moving to get her belongings from the table.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Once again, I sit here typing stuff, and once again, you sit there reading it. It's like staring up at the moon, wondering if my players are looking up at the same moon, and I feel ...sick. Why are you bogarting all the good moon so's I can't have any? Give someone else a chance, damnit! You're like teenagers that refuse to leave the bathroom!

Fine. Keep all the good moon. I'm still the guy rolling the big dice. Anyhoo... consider the events of the post taking place over the course of 20 - 30 minutes. Morning is progressing as mornings do, everyone can get seconds or thirds of tea if they wish, and a bit of toast isn't going to ruin anyone's breakfast. But situations are brewing, and stuff is slowing coming afoot. As a side note, the odd things are beginning. You are catching whispers of it embedded in the updates starting with this one, so please pay attention.

Once again, any questions, comments, concerns, die rolls, etc., please contact me in Discord. Best of luck, and thanks for joining me in my only mildly traumatic storytime.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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Weather: Still cold. Bearable for those accustomed to a temperate climate, but the overall change is still felt with certainty. Clouds farther out have shown a hint of approach. The wind is still wind-ing, reminding one that its bite is still a factor.

Time: Morning. The sun is firmly in the sky now, beaming down unfettered upon the hillsides.

Ambience: Mostly clear skies remain, sans the approaching cloud cover in the distance. The fog in the low-lying areas has mostly burned away under the scrutiny of the high morning light. The Rose River Vineyard has an overall uplifting feel from a distance, while a few more workers could be seen dotting the grounds as they casually went about their day.

...except for this one lady...

Firelight from within the Taproom has been supplanted by the colder, pale light from outside thanks to the door still held open by the petrified cleaner. This also has the effect of releasing a noticeable amount of the heat out into the open air of the vineyard. Not to worry, however; it is swiftly replaced by a brisk intake of wind from outside.

*****

The screaming lady's noise of mortal terror faltered, as putting one foot in front of the other took a sort of macabre priority in addition to continuing to properly regulate the intake and expulsion of breathable air. This was a misplaced act of survival. She didn't even seem to realize that her husband wasn't running and (not) screaming along with her. Apparently, the very notion of ritual magic that resulted in effects which duplicated precisely the effects described by its caster moved her to some very real, very intense emotions. Being fair, the intended result was to use magic to instantly kill someone and then drag them back from eternal slumber, as cast by a person with a flair for the dramatic, and visited upon someone of such size and strength that they might reliably fill in for a plow horse in a pinch. It left an impression.

Inside, the husband of the pair remained as he was, unsure of what to do with himself and genuinely hoping that this was all some sort of horrible custom among the Adventuring community, as was their oft foreign, ever-traveling wont, preferably . His relief was genuine in appearance as he let out a startled yelp with Kathryn's "resurrection", followed by a deep and only slightly shuddering sigh. The underlying mix of nervousness and barely contained excitement remained, this evident by the fact that he still absently held onto the door handle. He had no idea what to make of this situation and, quite frankly, likely stood in fear of his own personal safety. To his credit, though his hand was white-knuckling the metal device, his arm was significantly less rigid than earlier. He did not leave immediately, citing, "Ah, well, myself and the missus still need to clean, so... yeah." He shifted nervously from foot to foot, as if waiting to be allowed to leave unmolested. Then a thought occurred to him: "Hey, where's my wife?"

Striding up the hill perpendicular to the lady sprinting down it was a familiar face, attired in clothing more appropriate to a moneyed lady of the country; a long, moss-colored skirt almost (but not quite) hiding stylish but functional brown leather boots, a muted, matte purple corset with white lacing, over a white, long-sleeved chemise. A black, floral shawl was draped about her shoulders and covered her head like a hood to stave away the worst of the wind from her ears, which was pinned up with a tasteful, grape motif brooch. It was Cecily L'Rose, naturally, which could be detected through the still open door as she walked through the archway and into the courtyard of the Coach House. She gave a polite series of knocks on the obviously open door before poking her head in, saying, "Good morning! I don't mean to intrude, but I'm looking for my niece. Is Lizbeth still here? Oh, there you are!" She discretely entered the Taproom and looked around, noting a sense of energy and event from the people present. "Is everything okay? I just saw one of our domestic people screaming down a hill toward the laborers, saying something about a murder. Would anyone care to explain?"

The ever curious and attentive Lizbeth took up the question by explaining, if not entirely accurately, "They were showing me magic, Aunt Ceecee! Dame Kathryn was dead, and then she wasn't, and now the tea is ready and there was a ...barrel..." An odd look crossed Lizbeth's face which quickly subsided as she continued, "I mean, there was an argument and the Knight Lady couldn't feel herself getting slapped while she was dead, and our houselady got scared because she's never seen magic before (I think), but everyone's fine here! It's really incredible! It's like, all those strange things that happened might not be bad, right?"

Cecily raised a hand to cut the conversation short. "Oh, it that tea, Lizbeth? It smells like apples - would you please pour me a cup, if you have enough?" She seemed a little short with the girl, as well as terse of speech.

"Oh, um, sure!" she responded, gathering another cup from behind the bar. "It's grape leaf and apple peel!" The exclamation was downright optimistic. In short order, a steaming cup of aromatic goodness was handed off to Cecily and she sat at a nearby table.

The more mature lady inhaled the vapors deeply and took a tentative sip. "Oh, this is nice." It wasn't her favorite, but the statement was said in earnest. "I'm going to sit here and enjoy this tea for a few minutes, if nobody objects. But I came up here for a reason - Due to some changes in domestic staffing overnight, our Welcome To Rose River brunch has to be moved up to a somewhat simpler breakfast, in about a half hour or so. I hope you do not mind. We're just a little shorthanded, and this is the slower season besides. Only one section of field to bring in, only one wine to make. But it is so worth braving the cold to have. Anyway, will you join me sooner this morning on the terrace? It's behind the main house, just follow either path around." She sipped her tea again, visibly enjoying the hot beverage. She then added rather slyly, "Maybe you can tell me all about this 'murder magic' over eggs and pepper jam."

Another face appeared in the doorway, this one less polite in its arrival. A more diminutive figure with grey skin and facial tattoos gruffly barked out, "Ho there! Here for piss buckets. Hope I will leave before angry mob gets here." It was Urmdrus, dressed precisely as he was the night before in utilitarian clothing and a tough leather apron. Now, a rather large forge hammer was strapped across his back that wasn't there before, and one might hope that it was due to his workload and not anything nefarious. He impatiently tapped his foot, repeating, "Piss buckets?"

The only one who gave pause to this latest arrival was Cecily, who maintained a look of absolute confusion.

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: Dropping Spell (Feign Death) Bonus Action: Morty, Familiar Reaction: N/A

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The screaming woman gave Victoria a quick moment of thought. She glanced over toward her Raven familiar and issued a quick mental command, nodding toward the door. Without hesitation, the intelligent black bird croaked once loudly and took to the air, rapidly flapping its wings until it exited through the open portal and disappeared from sight. The spirit-made-flesh had its orders. Calmly, Victoria turned to young Lizbeth L'Rose.

"This is not true death, Mademoiselle Lizbeth," remarked Victoria, her face still colored with evidence of her preferred College of Bardic magic. "I cannot levy direct death upon someone, in and of itself, nor can I bring back someone who has genuinely passed beyond the Veil." She thought for a moment, gave a grin with sparkling, ambitious eyes, and solidly added, "...yet. But you see, our own Kathryn, noble Knight of Arcanaple, is likely conscious and mostly aware right now. If I have translated the effects of the this ritual correctly, she would be without sight or ability to directly interact with her surroundings. Her body has, for lack of better words, paused. No blood moves, no breath. Disease or poisons would sit idle, as unmoving as the Lady herself. Unless she has decided to take a nap, Kathryn hears our every utterance. The only thing I am unsure of," Victoria leaned over the supine form of the tall woman, her voice trailing into a studious, inquisitive tone, "...is if she has tactile sensation right now. Can she feel things? The ritual was unclear."

Victoria heaved out a big sigh and shook her head. There was really no way to know without subject feedback, or unless she experienced the effects of the spell herself. Being as she would not be able to rouse herself out of the spell until its full duration had passed, the Bard of the Grey Requiem decided to go for the faster option. "Let us ask her."

Riding boots deftly stepped up from the wooden floor and onto the table, astride Kathryn's torso to acquire the appropriate leverage necessary to carry out her experiment. Curious eyes regarded Kathryn's features as Victoria knelt down closer to her, red-auburn hair spilling down to frame her face. Then suddenly, a hand shot back and immediately swung downward in a fluid arc, connecting with Kathryn's cheek. The popping sound was almost articulate. Stinging, but not physically damaging.

Victoria hopped off of the table and moved to Kathryn's side, speaking clearly in her ear, "By any chance, Dame Kathryn, did you feel that?" She placed a hand on the lady Knight's sternum and released the energies of the Feign Death spell. Kosara was correct; it was best for her to come back to life before people arrived.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

And the Update is Updated. Here we lucky few are here to witness this; we may even pass this information down to our grandchildren (or pets, you do you, kids aren't for everybody) that posterity may know of the spiffiness of this update. So... yeah. We have passed by the next few minutes in game time with a ritual that isn't taken too amazingly well by the civilians in the room. But it was effective, the visible results were posted in the IC, and the spell description, along with repercussions and hidden effects, are detailed in our Discord. That being said, all we have left to do is react to our surroundings and hope that something awful doesn't happen in the meantime.

Anyhoo, get with me for questions, concerns, or dice rolls, per our usual channels. 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: Cold and mostly clear, except for a glint of possible weather on the horizon. Wind does as it does, occasionally making its presence known in controlled gusts which serve to remind all that winter was on the threshold of the moors.

Time: Morning, still. Barely a quarter hour to twenty minutes has passed since the last update.

Ambience: If a word can be used to describe the day thusfar, crisp would be a qualifying one. Hints of fog remain in the hollows as the sun spreads gently along the higher places of the great, standing waves of green hills. It's a lovely morning. A smaller staff of workers begin to stir around the Vineyard, noted by occasional movement and the odd line of smoke. Were one to look toward the Estate House, one might witness curtains opening and life beginning to buzz thereabouts, as a.m. chores commence.

The dim lighting within the Taproom crackles every so often, giving percussive sounds to the low murmur of simmering water. These two sounds blended into a very domestic sort of song, whispering of quiet creature comforts. It also looks to be the only sound in the room as everything has fallen deathly quiet following the last-moment exclamation of Kathryn before magic appeared to claim her life. Looking at the faces of the locals, that quiet might be extraordinarily short lived.

*****

Lizbeth looked shocked. Elements of fear crossed over her countenance and her mouth stood agape, as her mind struggled to process the thing that she saw that simply should not be. Yet there it was, despite the choked-off word of regret from Kathryn, Victoria whispered ...whatever she whispered... and the powerful warrior fell as quiet and unresponsive as death. There was a small part of the young woman's mind that thought this was a trick, like stories she had heard of Bards and their ability to impress and entertain with magic, beguile others with their words and put on impressive but illusory performances, and the like. But the color upon Victoria's face, conviction with which she spoke of her history with magic, and the sudden jolt that brought Kathryn to a nonliving state smashed those expectations. This wasn't a pantomime for the purposes of entertaining. Lizbeth needed a moment.

Curiously, after she took that moment, the shocked look altered. Still surprised, still hovering on the edge of disbelief, but not shocked. An impressed smile formed on her face as she dared to step a little closer. Almost grinning now, out of nervousness as much as wonder, Lizbeth stumbled out queries. "Oh, she's not... Is she? Yes, you said you were going to make someone die, but, you can bring her back whenever you want? She's not DEAD dead, right?" Then, after her wide eyes regarded the lack of movement from the chestpiece of Kathryn's armor, the girl asked with sudden and unexpected eagerness, "May I check?" Her eyes became bright and inquisitive, her face a beacon of excitement.

After receiving a small steel mirror, Lizbeth placed it beneath Kathryn's nose to check for breath. Seeing nothing condense upon its reflective surface, she raised a grapeseed oil lamp near to the downed Knight's face and, with her free hand, gingerly opened one of her eyes. There wasn't the slightest response to the light in the way of motion, nor involuntary pupil contraction. Then the heart - an ear laid upon her chest told nothing, even if it would have been a little more difficult to tell with a layer of mail. Smiling with a glint toward the macabre, Lizbeth raised one of Kathryn's arms and let it drop back to the table with a boneless thwap. "By the Light," mused the girl, "She's dead."

A scream broke out from near the doorway as the matronly cleaner held a hand to her face in horror. While her husband still had his hand on the door handle, she wasted no time in grabbing around it anyway and flinging herself outside. Sounds of her alarm could still be heard, retreating alongside heavy footsteps. The man, looking more than a bit shocked, himself, stood rooted to his spot, asking in a hoarse voice, "This is a trick, yes? This is a trick and she's not really dead, and this is a trick. Yes?" The door was still held open, as he had not decided yet whether he was going to run and wanted to keep his options, and escape route, open.

Out among the rolling, vine-covered hills of the Rose River Vineyard, a bald, tattooed Dwarf sat at a simple wooden table within his living quarters above a reasonably equipped smithy. A bowl of uninteresting, grain-based mash lightly steamed before him and a wooden spoon containing a small amount of this neutrally colored (but probably quite nourishing) foodstuff hovered near to his face. He had the occasion to poke his head out of a window, vexed by the sound of someone apparently screaming and running for their life, to be met by the sight of the cleaning lady hauling herself mightily away from the Coach House. With a grunt and a sigh, the Dwarf closed the shutters and shook his head to assert his personal philosophy of Nope. Urmdrus returned to his bowl. This fell neatly into the realm of "not my business", and he was sticking to it.

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: Ritual Magic (Feign Death) Bonus Action: Morty, Familiar Reaction: N/A

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"No, Master Baronfjord," Victoria said in a voice like frozen honey - cold, sweet, and perhaps a bit distant - in the manner of a woman of exceptional charisma and a detached, morally grey nature; which was exactly the Bard's description once the smiles and customs of polite social upbringing were stripped away. "Neither a rabbit nor a duck shall be sufficient. I require something willing. I require something sapient. If the Lady wishes to volunteer, then it would be positively rude of me to withdraw the ritual."

Victoria spared a glance in the direction of her raven, which immediately snapped for the piece of bread in the Dragonborn's hand. A tiny smile graced her lips now as she turned her gaze back to him. The bird's sudden caw after chopping back the fragment of bread was giving curt translation by its mistress, stating flatly, almost at a whisper, "Thank you."

She turned her attention to her books. They were still sitting on the table, next to her swordbelt and violin, safe within the finely crafted knapsack which used to belong to Constable Cavendish. There was more within that book than Victoria could fully grasp - yet - but that which she needed for today was fully within her arcane capabilities. "Funny that you would mention 'Bones of the Damned'. There are few things that I prefer for the ritual." She produced two items from her belongings for the occasion; a scrimshawed bone flute from within a long, black bag which appeared to be carved from a femur, and a dark cloth wrapped around a series of small bones and teeth. Among the many, one of them was a shard taken from Cavendish's desiccated corpse, another a tooth from her previous Morty, yet another appearing to be a finger bone which was burnt black on one side, liberated from remains for which she later oversaw their interment. Naturally, she said absolutely nothing about the origins of the more notable pieces of the set, even if she did give over a quiet smile and distant look. "No blood needed for this piece of Necromancy. So no, good sir; no ritual dagger this time."

In a dramatic switch of mood, Victoria's face began to beam with expectant warmth. She looked to Kathryn with this expression as the very beginnings of darkness began to manifest around her eyes, like a thin line of smoky cosmetics being applied by the minuscule brushtip of barely building magic. It seemed to brighten her already luminous, crystal blue eyes by contrast. With a voice as comforting and sweet as could be managed while channeling necrotic energies, Victoria looked to her towering adventuring associate and patted the table in front of her. "Please, Kathryn? Lay down here." She bundled up her cloak and lay it at one side of the table in question, silently bidding that Kathryn rest her head upon it. "Get comfortable. I know this spell as a ritual. It will take a few minutes to build up the necessary power to manifest."

The rather offputting covered book which was previously wrapped in oilcloth sprung open, flipping through page after page until it settled upon the correct one for the task at hand. Victoria cast her bones upon the black cloth, noting which ones settled where, inside or outside of the white, quartered circle thereupon. She set her bone flute next to it, keeping physical contact with it as necessary. Her eyes continued to darken in the manner that one might have witnessed when she was in the midst of spellcasting in battle. The color of necromancy spilled down her cheeks in its traditional manner, for her, appearing as a liquid expression of sorrow, staining rivulets of black. "You asked me a question, Baronfjord. I forget the exact wording, but it was something to the effect of wondering why a nice girl like me is involved with Necromancy."

Victoria continued building up the ritual before her, putting her mind into the desired outcome and performing the mental feats necessary to channel the powers she summoned at a trickle. She was casting this spell more like a Wizard than a Bard, though the undeniable details of showmanship were apparent. This hybrid magic was a point of interest to the lady casting the spell, even if the subtleties might have been lost on those without formal arcane training. But even as her mind plucked the strings of the Weave and her calculations refined the notes which cascaded with magical energy, Victoria continued to speak. "I wasn't always a Necromancer. I am a True Bard, raised in a wealthy household and given the best education that a trade city had to offer. I played in taverns, inns, and the like, as all musicians do when trying to establish a reputation. As my family has money, the doors to more upscale places were opened to me. I put on performances for the people of Ashhaven, Khimn, and places of the region in covered halls and open-air venues. The fact that I am beautiful and well-spoken helped immensely." The last part was said in a matter-of-factly tone instead of a boast, as if this was an objective fact. In truth, it actually was, even if some amount of vanity flawed the woman's character. "The real acclaim came from my work as a funerary violinist. I blended motes of magic with clean, pure music, reflecting the emotions of grief and loss and giving them collective meaning. I would use this to weave together a noteworthy song for those who have passed, that their crossing be eased for themselves and their bereaved. In the end, ignore ethic. Demonstrate no judgement to the god a person prays to in the execution of their interment, save to let their beliefs dictate how they are laid to mortal rest."

A feeling of pressure came over the immediate area, like one moving from a place of high elevation to a valley too quickly. Lights dimmed, and the magic summoned began to take on a more palpable atmosphere. "After a long while of playing music like this, I began to concentrate on it. It was profitable. It served a purpose. And I learned things. In Death, we all stand as equals. Regardless of how exquisite your interment, regardless of how lavish your mausoleum, Death levels the field, from pauper to prince. There is also power to be found there. Unilateral power of the forces of life and entropy, the secrets of which may be found in the dedications to the dead, in the religious rituals of those doing the interring, even carved among the stones which build their crypts. The songs for the dead and dying hold power. All of these things, if you know where and how to look. One day, everything just started to make sense. This understanding led me to a truth. Be it a large Truth, or simply my truth, it is as thus:"

"Music and magic flow through everything that is, and death is the final, universal arbiter. I seek to better understand all three, as they are all connected by the same strings. Bardic Necromancy is a tool that binds it all together."

Victoria blinked slowly and let the last of the accumulating magics settle in. The last thing that Kathryn heard was the simple, dulcet whisper of, "Fall into Oblivion." A state as cold and solid as death settled over the tall woman as her breathing ceased, her body cooled, and blood stilled. For all onlookers, Kathryn was dead.

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.