Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

Double post. That was weird. Carry on!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

"Did you ever get the feeling that we're not really off adventuring in the world of Priomh, stuck in a series of strange and evolving events in the Avonshire region that threaten to drag us into something potentially fatal and/or epic? That we're really figments of a collective group of people's imaginations, and we're going through all of this purely for the amusement of these enigmatic figures? If this why almost all of us have a tragic history and abilities that elevate us over the average farmer or artist by leaps and bounds? Is everyone we meet and get to know going to die a horrifying and dramatic death right in front of us?"

- Legacy Adventurer, after way too many Svirfneblin "relaxation" mushrooms

Okay, deal here is that you have an open block of time to do things, explore, get in a task, etc. before you have a scheduled place to be. However, there is nothing forcing you to attend that breakfast. Even if you do, let me know what you're doing in the meantime. At present, there is a Duergar exile carrying buckets of piss to his workshop, a small gathering of workers around a rather distraught lady, a domestic worker running to meet up with them, the new lady of the estate returning to her home, workers in the field, and yeah, full hills of grapevines to get lost in. For later on, there is a river that hasn't frozen over yet and a town a short distance away, in case anyone wants to do a little sight seeing.

Questions, issues, I missed something, or you need a die roll handled, get with me on the Discord. Good luck. Things are in motion.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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Weather: Cold, with perhaps a soupcon of chilly. Mayhaps a trace of damp clinging to the morning. It's still within the ranks of tolerable for those accustomed to changing seasons, which is a wholly appropriate set of circumstances to the day.

Time: Morning. And what a lovely morning it is, too. The immediate chores of the earliest hours are handled, and people begin considerations of ante meridiem repast.

Ambience: The sky remains mostly clear, as it had been since dawn. The small interval of time has allowed the still rising sun to dispel the last of the fog in the low areas, leaving an excellent view of the whole of the vineyard, save for the spot just the estate house. The building itself is by no means the only structure within sight of the Coach House, but it is the dominant building of the area. The Rose River Vineyard employees, few of them that were out in this, their off-season, now wore the typical, broad brimmed hats of agricultural workers as they walked up and down the rows of the few areas still producing this late in the year.

One gathering of people remained separate from the rest, however. One lady, just calming down from an earlier fright, buzzing like an anxious bee to a trio of others and pointing in the general direction of the Coach House.

With the door now closed, the Taproom begins to warm back up a bit. The whitish light of the outdoors is banished to the exterior, and the casual, flickering orange of the fires and few lit candles returns. The scent of herbs and apples takes the occasion to concentrate in the now still air, a gentle and pleasant reminder of Lizbeth's steaming herbal tea on this cool morning.

*****

Hushed voices and glances up the hill toward the Coach House seemed to be the preferred social interaction of one group by the nearest cultivated field. Nothing exact about their discussion could be discerned except for sentence, which cut through the air like a sudden, harsh wind, "GODS ABOVE HE'S STILL IN THERE!"

These words were barely heard within the Taproom, and as the person still closest to the door, the remaining cleaner heard it better than anyone else within the building. This did not mix well with the anxious feelings of uncertainty already swirling around within his brainpan. "Oh!" he exclaimed, taking this as an opportunity, "I'm going to go catch up with her now, Madame L'Rose, Mademoiselle L'Rose. And, um, if it's okay with you, I'll send her home and handle the Coach House m'self, yeah?" He nodded hopefully, almost desperately, before backing out of the door once more. As the door was closing, he intoned something nearest to a response to Kathryn and Baronfjord, both, "Yes, all a big joke, big joke among Adventurers. It's all fine, no one hurt, I'll just pop off and find the missus..." The door came to rest closed within its frame with a soft clacking of wood upon wood. He was remarkably easy with it, perhaps out of a desire not to aggravate the people within - his employers or the likely insane, magic-dabbling Adventurers within.

Cecily adjusted the shawl about her shoulders and took another sip of her tea. She gave a polite smiled in the direction of the retreating domestic worker, and gave an amused "Sure," to the now closed door. It wasn't a huge issue and as long as the job got done, she wasn't especially picky as to how. Cecily even went as far as to give a terse explanation as to why she was taking what could be considered insubordination lightly. "I have more important things to worry about than this drama. My husband's father just died and we had to get him out bef... " She paused suddenly, a quick look of alarm apparent for a second, maybe, then continued, "Sorry, excuse me... and then this thing at Harvestide, the autumn production just ended - and it ended late - so it's going to cut into icewine times, and now we're shortstaffed with our house staff. I'll be honest, it's all overwhelming. Arnaud, er, that is Monsieur L'Rose (my father-in-law) usually ran these things. The people that manage the Vineyard and Winery know their jobs, but I'm half-certain that Lizbeth knows this business better than I do. I can handle money and balance a budget, but again, it's just so overwhelming."

It looked like Cecily felt a touch better, getting the little rant off of her chest like that, but she suddenly looked a little self-conscious. "I apologize, I don't mean to dump this on all of you. It's the slow season and we don't have to worry about work matters really until spring. Clear out the old harvest, put in some new vines. Grape growing as in life." Cecily finished her tea and set the cup back onto the table. She gave a little sigh. "In any event, no, no one here has committed any unforgivable acts to which I am aware. It's genuinely nice having you all as my guests for the season. It will be lovely to have you for Frostval and for Lizbeth's birthday. Yes, and to our private gathering where we cask up this year's icewine and sample a batch of last years'. It's a small, but exclusive event here at Rose River."

Lizbeth had taken the moments that her aunt was speaking to clear the table except for what people were immediately using, but as soon as Cecily seemed like she was stopping, added, "It's okay, Aunt Ceecee. We can figure this stuff out. And having the Ones Who Answered around would be really good in case something happens, right?" This earned a sudden, sharp look from Cecily, so Lizbeth took a different approach, "Like the Ankhegs, right? Hey, let me get this finished and I'll help out with breakfast!" She suddenly seemed bubbly.

But Cecily did regard the question giant bugs and rat monsters, "Not really. I mean, I've heard of Ankhegs, even seen them at a roasting party, but until today I've never seen one alive before. The ratmen? That's new to me, as of Harvestide. Our staff issues... no. We have a couple domestics that didn't come in. It's a scheduling issue. We are fine for this morning. But I will not say no to the company from Mademoiselle Victoria, nor from my lovely niece. As for the legendary (?) Piss Buckets, I have no idea what they are for, nor do I wish to involve myself. I wish you fruitful results in ...whatever this is. If you will excuse me, Dame Kathryn, Miss Kosara, Master Baronfjord; I shall see the rest of you in a half hour." She stood and made for the door, glancing back expectantly for those who would follow to do so. She gave a polite nod to Urmdrus before exiting.

Lizbeth gathered her things and left behind her aunt, giving the same expectant look to Victoria. On her way out, she slid a plate of prepared toast over to Kathryn, who had mentioned being hungry earlier.

Urmdrus seemed particularly unimpressed, overall. When he found out that the barrels weren't fully utilized over the evening, he gave a short huff and turned to grab the buckets from their resting spots, wherever they might be, in the meantime. Kosara's offer to help with the buckets was met with a gruff, "No." It was carrying buckets that he had already carried up here before, and according to those present they were barely filled anyway. Brief consideration had him follow up with, "Help? Piss more. Your Ankheg takes more time now." The group's Dragonborn associate was met with a strange reaction: The stoic, wiry Dwarf looked at Baronfjord with a perplexing gaze for a hard moment, then barked out, "HA," followed quickly by another, equally stony, "HA." He nodded his head and continued, "Funny. Drink more at night." He balled up a disproportionately large fist and gave him two quick, harmless taps on his arm. "Funny." Urmdrus exited to tend to the buckets.

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.