Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: Rose River Vineyard, Hidden Distillery Action: Cast a Spell (Prestidigitation), Skill Check (Arcana) Bonus Action: Familiar Stuff, Morty Reaction: N/A

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Getting dirty was not in Victoria's "to do" list for the day, though it was fair to say that it was a unfortunate side effect of things which were. To that end, the necromantic Bard availed herself of a spell often used, notably the most often used, of her repertoire. A simple manipulation of the threads of magic, gently pulling the bow of her mind across taut strings to play a single, clear note - which bent reality just a fraction away from its mundane standard in a way which pleased Victoria. In short, she cast a quick Prestidigitation to clean herself up. Now quite tidy and smelling faintly of lilacs, the Bard strode boldly into the aperture and down to the darkness below with her adventuring party, Morty taking to her heel. Her raven Familiar (for which she did not have a dedicated name yet) remained above, ready to alert in case of an unexpected approach.

The corridor was not long. Easily traversed and at a downward angle, making gravity do most of the work for them as they delved the few paces to get to the end, and to the room which lay beyond. Unfortunately, the sudden release of something she could only assume was magic had other plans. Not a plan to the detriment of her own, but plans nonetheless. In her case, everything suddenly seemed to reorient in a way that seemed familiar. Comfortable, even. A sudden shocked look rolled over her face and she said, "Did that just..?" followed by a confused expression. "Curious." Victoria breathed. She looked over herself, examining her limbs and patting along her torso, getting a feel for dimensions which should have been familiar. One might even have seen a touch of disappointment. Then she began to notice the others. Kathryn didn't seem affected by whatever this was, or so mildly as to escape her immediate discernment. Baronfjord looked like he just got buffed and polished with his new vibrant tone, and Kosara? "I think you've got something in your hair, Kosara," mentioned Victoria offhand, as if a bit of springtime fluff had found its way into her locks.

She continued, in response to the Tiefling, "Yes, I am. I rather missed..." She faded off thoughtfully and finally said, "...nevermind." For reasons of her own, Victoria chose to concentrate on the effect of the magic which touched them instead of the room they had all just entered. It only occurred to her in hindsight that Morty seemed to be unaffected. While the others took to their surroundings in the long forgotten distillery, Victoria attempted to translate their present situation in regard to the magic at work, as this clearly had to be a something arcane. The party lacked a Wizard, and so befitting her words in The Infamous Pear (and after the Goblin fight, for that matter), it was her place to be what they needed. Lucky for Victoria, she had formal training in Arcana. So she made her observations and came to her tentative conclusions.

When she finally spoke, it was with some level of understanding, be it incomplete. "I have to assume that this is Wild Magic, even if it dioesn't make a lot of sense. I have so many questions. But this feels isolated. And over with. Like... Hmm." Victoria tried to choose her words carefully. "Like dragging your feet over a lush carpet and reaching for a metal doorhandle. It stings you, but then is gone away. I believe this surge of Wild Magic is like that. An incidental buildup that has burned out now that someone touched it. I cannot say what caused the buildup; it is quite beyond me. The same magic that removes minor curses should handle it, if we choose."

While the others saw to the corpses in the room, Victoria took some interest in Kathryn's desire to tap one of the barrels and sample its contents. She was just about to vocalize a warning when the tall Knight took a sip for herself. To this, the Bard waited for a moment to see if anything odd happened to Kathryn. Satisfied that she did not perish right away, Victoria moved to join her. A small sip for herself turned the fair Half-Elf's face to a shocked scrunch, which slowly morphed into an impressed beaming. "This is delightful, past the initial shock. I was never a big fan of brandy, but this? Amazing." The initial worry of poison or some other trap to the liquor faded somewhat. After all, it has been sealed underground in a non-dungeon setting (debatable) for an undisclosed but sizeable amount of time. What could happen? "Did you find out anything from the corpses?" This did not refer to Morty, of course. Morty held no secrets from Victoria.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Let's the obvious out of the way. You all got hit by a Wild Magic surge. No, there isn't a save to make for this. You got what you got, and it may or may not be a little clue-ish. Or symptomatic of something. Or... Well, I'll let you all try to figure that out. To make things official:

Kathryn - Grew one inch. Seriously, that's it.
Victoria - Grew three inches. Congratulations, she's even more svelte now, and STILL the shortest member of the party.
Baronfjord - In a stunning example of "who the fuck cares?", our Blue Dragonborn JUST TURNED BLUE. Not kidding. Maybe it's a shade more vibrant, or however you want to flavor this, but there you are. You're blue. I hope you can live with yourself.
Kosara - What was supposed to be a beard full of feathers, I used DM fiat to change it to flowers growing from your already present head of hair. They do not replace Kosara's hair, just grow among it. Be careful brushing.

That done, you all have stumbled into a distillery of some kind with barrels stored here. There are also two dead people that you can see at basic inspection. Sooo... Please be in contact with me over our Discord for questions, die rolls, or if you think I missed something. Best of luck with the investigation! <insert evil laugh here>

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Old Distillery

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Weather: The cold wind gusts a little harder this morning, giving the occasional whistle over the landscape-encompassing sheets of white snowfall. No new precipitation as of yet, but the sky does indicate a real possibility of more to come. It is cold, but not bitterly so at the moment.

Time: It is now late morning. The sun, or what can be seen of it from behind the blanket of cloud cover, lays high in the sky.

Ambience: The immediate landscape around the partially deconstructed wall in the southern field appears cold and empty. Gifts of the high winter sun are more than ample to see by but provides little in the way of warmth past the barest amounts necessary to make the outermost bits of snow glisten and form frigid drops which threaten to freeze when the sun rests.

The landscape looks similar to those approaching from the Coach House - bobbing white hills, ornamented by inactive grape vines upon their frames, but this one also features a mostly flat stretch of pathway leading off of the grounds and onto the main road beyond the Vineyard. The remaining field nearest to the Estate House is unique amongst the rest of the nearby hills, being the only one with workers tending to vines which still bore fruit.

Getting to the "dig site" is a relatively simple affair for even the most marginally observant of people; whereas many footprints can be seen in high traffic areas of the Vineyard, only two pair can be seen moving to the south. Following those for a relatively short length of time will reveal a sycamore tree atop a hill near the river, at the base of which one might find two motivated women pulling rocks away from a tentative opening.

*****

Behind the dirt there were stacked rocks. The utilization of shovel and mattock were enough to break through these two barriers readily enough. It might even be stated that the barriers wanted to be cleared, thanks to the ease with which they could be brought down initially by two women with no particular claim to great feats of strength nor endurance.

But behind this lay something more interesting than an earth and stone wall. Not in the way of a grander bulwark which required breaching, but the more natural formation of roots, burrowing down through the soil, finding the path of least resistance to push ongoing growth in the pursuit of water and fertile soil. These proved to be more meddlesome to get past than anything else, and it was quickly deduced that the roots slid between two barriers: The piled rocks and what was likely once a stout, hardwood door.

The door might have once swung outward. It might have been on decent hinges. It might even have had the secrets of the divine carved upon it in perfect Orcish script, but one would never know it now. The brittle, once tough material had succumbed to the ravages of having being buried for an as yet undetermined amount of time. Years, probably. Or more. What could be sussed from the remains of the door was that it was once stout, fit within a stonework frame very neatly, and was heavily barred - from the outside. Removing it was easy enough.

The hole left in its place was approximately seven feet tall and six wide, possibly a little wider if one really took some time to clear things out, but immaterial to the necessity of exploration. Within lay a short tunnel, maybe twenty feet, with a more or less intact door at the end of it. The tunnel itself is earthen with stone supports, the integrity of which seems to be decent, if not optimal. Roots from the great tree above can be seen snaking in and out of the ceiling and walls here, possibly providing a greater level of stability than what would be present otherwise. A scent fills the air within this place as well; old organic decay mixed with something as sour as it was sweet. It gets stronger as one moves closer to the door.

The door itself is slightly ajar. This is only obvious as one comes upon it, but once within a few feet of it a tiny crack of brick flooring is visible on the other side of the doorway. Pushing the door open is an amazingly easy task to perform for whomever is in the lead. But all actions come with consequences, no matter how mundane.

Whether this consequence came about because of a hand upon the door, the presence of people within the dirt corridor, or some other thing which provoked the will of randomness incarnate, a shimmer expressed among the group. It was subtle, like a strange trick of the light that could be dismissed just as easily as an odd ray of moonlight filtering through trees. But in that moment, several things happened. Like the shimmer itself, some of these things were subtle. Not all, but some.

Kathryn suddenly felt her helmet scrape the top of the corridor. She hadn't moved a step since the easily dismissed shimmer, but it was a definite tactile feeling of her head making contact with the low ceiling above. Victoria noticed that her perspective had changed slightly. Nothing incredibly different, but just enough to be noticeable. That, and the cut of her light coat felt a hair different. Like a dimension about her had changed in a slight way. Baronfjord didn't seem to gather any difference about himself, though he might have immediately picked up what had happened to the others - subsequent examination of himself revealed that his scales seemed a bit pluckier of hue, like he had his scales freshly shined. Kosara had the most dramatic alteration - flowers now grew among her hair, as if they had always belonged there. Healthy, average representation of seasonal flowers of the area in nearly full bloom, making her hair a braided bouquet of color.

The party took what actions they required to come to grips with these alterations, but the room beyond still waited. The long and short of the place can be described as such: This was a thirty-five by twenty-five foot room with a lain brick floor. Rock walls with wooden supports held things together evenly enough, leading up to vaulted ceilings which, by look at the size of the roots which made up most of the ceiling, was directly underneath the great sycamore. The tree gave the room greater stability and likely was the reason that it was in as good condition as it was. There were several barrels in great condition and two large distilling tanks as soon as one entered, to the right. A few stacked crates were nearby, some with simple tools upon them, unused for long period of time. A thin layer of sediment and/or dust covered things here.

If one was concerned about feeling lonely, there's good news! Two corpses called this place home. Or they might, if not for the fact that they were quite dead. And they looked like they had been quite dead for a long time. Regardless, very dead Human remains tended to alter the nature of the discussion after the fact.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: Rose River Vineyard, southern field Action: Diggy Diggy Hole, Diggy Diggy Hole Bonus Action: Familiar Stuff, Morty Reaction: N/A

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Kosara seemed excited to get underway. It was a small mystery, after all. Despite the past few days she had spent under the tutelage of an authoritarian healer (not to mention the independent study and transcription of numerous written works Annick had insisted upon because "writing dedicates to memory") had worn her out, mind and body both, Victoria found that this curious point had quite energized her. She was going to spend the day in leisure, but this was just too interesting to pass up.

This was a rather adventurous occasion, and as such Victoria made sure to outfit herself for an adventure. It hardly mattered to her that this particular one was likely the dramatic uncovering of dirt from rock to find more dirt. And probably more rock. But the possibility of a payoff that something interesting was behind that rock demanded to be met with one's best. Perhaps she went a little too far touching up her cosmetics, minimalist though they were, but it was as much a ritual to center herself as mild vanity. Victoria was fine with both.

A tendril of necrotic energy, delivered unnoticeably through a mental connection, spurred the animated porcine beast of burden, Morty, to action. The burlap-wrapped creature moved with its choppy gait to Victoria's heel like a silent, subservient dog. It remained by her, following, as she strode out of the door and into the biting air of the morning. Another mental expression coupled with a raise of her hand summoned her great, black corvid to her; the raven Familiar appearing from parts unknown and already to wing, circling overhead. It dipped down to meet the Bard, landing briefly on her forearm before taking to the sky again with a rasping caw. Smiling, Victoria mused to herself, "Sometimes, being a Necromancer is just fun." While she could not claim to have the full abilities of a Wizard, let alone one specializing in Necromancy, she comforted herself in having a firmer grasp than other spellswords or lute-strumming Bards. And few True Necromancers could boast her sense of outright style and showmanship.

With her magical menagerie of two, Victoria accompanied her Tiefling associate to the site. Sure enough, it did look like there might be something to this. There wasn't a whole lot uncovered, but what showed was definitely put there with a purpose. Responding to Kosara's suggestions, she said, "Yes... You have Cecily's permission, correct? Then let us see what is back there." A spark of impatient wonder touched her voice as she pointed in the direction of a tool shed at the edge of this field, "They must have shovels we might borrow."

A few minutes later, Victoria had two shovels and passed one over to Kosara. "I never did get a taste for manual labor, if I am being honest." Luckily, they did not have to toil for long before the vertical earth over the stones fell away in clumps, thanks to the thinness of the layer and the recent freeze.

Soon, the majority of a wall made of stacked, more or less flat stones was exposed, approximately seven feet high and six wide. A few of the rocks at the top slid down, revealing what appeared to be a corner of a long rotting wooden door, clogged with years or decades of root growth. A sudden, sour-sweet scent of old organic rot stirred from the small aperture they has just cracked. "Kosara," began the astonished Bard, "I think you might be onto something here." She smiled and looked to her adventuring associate. "Should we try to rip through this or wait for the others? I think I saw a couple mattocks in the tool shed." Her grin was near to mischievous.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Apologies all, for the shorter summary and update this week. The holiday has me busier than usual, and these pumpkins won't carve themselves besides. Anyway, concerning the big sparring match, please do post as an aside, like it was an event that occurred prior to or concurrently with looking around or exploring the rumormill. And if we have a tiiiiny amount of a temporal paradox in the meantime, we'll deal. This world is a place of moderate to high magic. It'll get sorted.

Per usual, DM me in our Discord for rolls, questions, if I forgot something, etc. Especially that last part, I have a nagging feeling I missed something important. Ah, well. It will come to me or it won't, or one of you will let me know. Thanks in advance.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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Weather: No fresh snow falls upon the hills and vines of the Rose River Vineyard, and the day is bright enough through the even cover of clouds as to make things easy to perceive at a distance. The existing snow remains a wintry, bright blanket on the ground, muddled in places of usual foot traffic. Wind gusts only occasionally, and it is most assuredly cold enough to keep the present snowfall from melting.

Time: Officially now, let us give it the label of Late Morning, as opposed to the more generic "mid-to-late" of the previous update. Some time had passed, but not enough for the remaining laborers to pause for midday repast.

Ambience: It is a brisk morning here in the start of winter, proper. White and bright, a curious rhyming scheme to describe the day, is accurate as well as catchy. Folks here find themselves in warm clothing and thicker footwear than just a month prior as they work out in the vineyard. And work must be done, of course. The late harvest grapes must be harvested late, as the name implies, when the conditions call for it. Apparently, this is not to occur on this day.

The grapes which remain upon the vine, cared for by the staff still, were once pale green of color but now begin to have a yellow tinge and a touch of malformation to the skins. These details are marked by their handlers and appear satisfactory. Work continues. These grapes look in opposition to the few stragglers found by Kosara earlier in the week - them being small, dark, and generally unwholesome. The white ones are clearly intended to have some age before picking.

A couple of smaller barges make landfall at the beach underneath the Estate House. Cecily could be seen walking down to meet them, pointing and giving instruction as things began to be offloaded. The few persons crewing these boats were all Human, evident by their relative heights and builds from the distance as they delivered staple products to their clients.

*****

The talk with Urmdrus was, per the older Dwarf's proclivities, very short and very direct. He answered questions with as few syllables as possible and a gruff voice. "Armor resists acid. Not person wearing. Helps. Needs magic, better help person wearing." His grasp on the Common language showed its lack of complete fluency as he spoke, but he figured something out eventually. "Different. Yes. Different Dwarf." Urmdrus looked a little annoyed. But it passed, and he got back to work.

Kosara's discussion with Cecily concerning the partially uncovered rock wall bears a little fruit, but after said fruit was skinned and seeded, not a truly satisfying amount. There was a haze of confusion at first, until mention of a Sycamore tree was made. "Yes! I know that tree. Hugo and I had a picnic there once! Before it began to rain it was actually a lovely time. We harvested that area for the year already and if I'm not mistaken, it should be dormant for now. I'm sorry, I don't think I know anything about a buried wall over that way. It has been a while, and I don't walk the grounds so much. My husband was the one who grew up here; I just married into the L'Rose family." She gave some light consideration and added, "You have my permission to find out what you can about it, if you like. The Vineyard grew from diverse products at its founding. Perhaps you've stumbled across an old workshop. Wouldn't that be exciting? Yes, do look into it, please. You may acquire hand tools from any one of the worksheds attached to the fields."

Kathryn's time spent poking around with the local laborers was even less informative, but they did not particularly shoo the towering Knight away. The most useful bit that could be gotten from them came in the form of, "Ancient horrors lurking beneath the opulent manor? What? No! The only thing under the manor (most as I'm aware) is the main winery, proper! You can get there through the main house or..." The fellow pointed up to the easternmost gazebo, "That's how us paid-by-the-week folk get in." What was inferred from speech was that the main winery was below. Another point of idle gossip, such as only a rare few were being idle, came the vague opinion that everyone felt sorry for Lizbeth, as most of her family dropped dead on her at a tender age and something might happen to the Vineyard if Cecily died as well. Past that, it was hard to gather much that sounded remotely reliable.

For those who actually decided to take the trek out to the place mentioned, one would find it easy to locate. A sycamore tree standing by itself nearish to the Southern parts of the vineyard tended to stand out among the rolling hills of grape vines. Climbing the hill was also a relatively easy task, though the steepness of it made it slightly less useful to grow crops upon without terracing. Hence, only the sunny side was planted, near the river. Kosara's experience was also a useful tool in locating the place, as it could be indicated with a point and an utterance of thataway, or nearabouts. The description of the spot was dead on, as well. It was a spot on the shady half of the hill, just to the side of a worn path large enough to accommodate a farm wagon, now covered in a layer of crunchy, white snow. The mild hollow which held the rock wall looked like an excellent spot to step to the side as agricultural folk passed through with heavy burdens of their profession, or turn a wagon like that around, and likely was used for that purpose precisely. This time, about shoulder level for most of the taller races (Human sized, give or take) one could make out the space where frigid ground had cracked away under the weight of someone leaning on it, revealing a vertical space of intentionally stacked stones. It wasn't but a half-yard of exposed rock, but the very nature of its piling gave one heavy inclination to believe that it was much bigger than just the part showing.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: Southmoor Action: Ritual Magic (Phantasmal Steed), Casting Spell (Prestidigitation) Bonus Action: Familiar Reaction: N/A

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The Event:

...the woman herself was shorter than Victoria expected, given her reputation, though in truth she was about the same height as the Half-Elf who sought her out. Annick was Human, appearing to be in her early fifties, with voluminous, steel-grey hair which hung past her shoulders. Eyes as wintry as the season regarded Victoria suspiciously, and this was after her front door slammed open to reveal her, carrying a worn but polished shortsword in hands like iron. Her exposed forearms hinted at strength and ability which outstripped her slender frame. "Is this an emergency?" she asked stonily, noting the sword at Victoria's waist and taking in other details that she didn't seem to prefer. "Or is it about to be an emergency?" She shifted to the side so that a younger woman of similar build behind her in the cottage, proper, to have a clear shot with a simple but effective crossbow. "Well?"

Before:

"Certainly, Master Chedgusah," replied Victoria in response to Baronfjord's request to join her in Southmoor. "I am traveling into town to entreat a local Healer to take me as a student. To be straightforward, I intend to do this by myself. When a little shopping and sightseeing is done, I shall take my leave of you and find my own way back." Two travelers on the road was safer than one, and the idea of bringing Morty along with her was probably not in the best interests of making a favorable impression with someone from whom she wanted a fairly huge favor. She figured that her Familiar would be more than acceptable. Maybe even a draw. So Victoria extended a single, maintaining tendril of necrotic energy through her bond with Morty and reinforced the animation on the dead, smoky husk, prompting it with continuing instruction to do as it had been, with one slight caveat - she relocated the beast to another, mostly out-of-the-way spot to stare dumbly from behind its burlap wrappings. With just a touch of sadistic humor, she wanted their assigned domestic servant to remember that yes, that was a creature summoned by magic considered forbidden by many, and yes, it was capable of moving. Under what circumstances, Victoria intended to remain vague.

There was another summons that the arcane Bard intended to utilize. Grand entrances were always, well, grand, and her new ritual magic which allowed her to create her own, phantasmal mount from the stuff of shadows and imagination. While she might make it look like almost anything within certain parameters, she had thusfar chosen the same form the past few times she brought it to her service, and stuck with it this time, as well. As if carved of pure white marble with mane, tail and stockings the color of blackest oil and eyes which reflected daylight with a purple hue, this majestic beast materialized and pranced in place very briefly. The long, trailing hair of its tail and mane, both, moved with the subtle slowness of a thing underwater, even as the rest of it continued at respectable pace. Bit, bridle, saddle, and bags materialized along with it, fastened upon the creature like a bespoke suit. Instantly, the Phantasmal Steed and Victoria were of one mind and one intent, acting in concert to ensure an optimal experience of travel. And speed - this creature was unmatched upon the land. But speed was not the winning factor here, as she was going with escort. Victoria would be very impressed if Baronfjord could keep up with them at a gallop.

The good news was that she was that, with her steed traveling at a more leisurely pace, Victoria was able to play a little music on their way into Southmoor. It wasn't all that far away; close enough that the duration of her summoning would not elapse, certainly. People from this town and surrounding hamlets regularly worked for the L'Roses, after all. And while this helped her to make that grand entrance that she wished to, it was not exactly her biggest concern. Firstly, and with more than a mote of performance, Victoria dismissed her Phantasmal Steed just before entering the market area. She did not linger long. Manners, in most all cultures, demanded the presentation of a gift upon first meetings.

Victoria had no idea of the tastes of this lady (her hopefully future mentor) whatsoever, having only rudimentary knowledge of the overview of the most public part of her history. The idea then was to get a fairly generic gift that could be taken as thoughtful under the right circumstances, and she found this in the way of an artisanal basket bearing winter plums that seemed to fit the bill. Just to round things out, she picked up a small batch of rustic honey cakes, which also made their way into the basket. Victoria reasoned that this would suffice nicely enough, when paired with her sterling ability to win friends and influence people.

Finding the dwelling of this lady, following the description given by Cecily and the quiet intonations of a few locals, wasn't amazingly difficult. A home with something like a clinic attached to the front, in and/or by a copse of trees. The "copse" wasn't quite a forested area, more like a wooded park, as large trees were not amazingly suited to partly wetland moors in great amounts. But it was a fine and cozy looking cottage with a covered stone porch, garden off to the side, and collection of non-native plants growing close to the structure that one might lean from a window and sample if necessary. Victoria smiled. This was exactly the kind of place she might think that a respected local healer might reside. She stepped deftly to the residence door and pulled on a bellcord, enjoying the pleasant tinkling sound of tiny bells within. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe this lady was as sweet as strawberry pie and just as comforting.

"Good day, Medician Floquet! My name is Victoria Belmont, and I have been very keen on meeting you."

After:

Victoria was cut off yet again. "No, Madame, I am not with the army, I promise. I really..." This had long past silly and had gone into truly aggravating. That godsforsaken crossbow was still leveled at her, and this lady hadn't twitched her hand in the least from a ready grip on her shortsword as the barrage continued. "No, I am not hurt, and I have no desire to be. No, I do not wish to visit hurt on anyone within many leagues around. Yes, I am obviously not from here. Ashhaven, to the north; it's ruled over by Khimn. Yes Madame, with the Paladins. I'm sorry. No, I don't want to remove anyone from this lovely place." This whole situation had better be worth it. Otherwise, she was just going to spend her time over the winter learning scrimshaw, or fishing, or something less dangerous than talking to this potentially crazy lady. Victoria took just a moment to flitter her attention to her familiar circling overhead to make sure there wasn't a surprise waiting, then guided her bird over to a nearby tree where it could keep a watch over her.

Yet, the swordpoint interrogation continued. "Raven skull brooch. Ruby Lady's coin in your hatband. Sword. You brought a sword to my home uninvited. You're a death merchant, if you're not from the army. Take your basket of cheap crap and get the hells off of my property before you need a Medician. You've got nothing I want." Annick stepped sideways back to the door, now within the doorway, waiting for Victoria's egress impatiently.

Victoria sighed heavily. This was not how things usually went for her. "Begging a moment more from you, Madame Floquet; I have these implements because I am a funerary violinist. Or was, by direct occupation. There are symbols of non-malevolent deities whose philosophies guide much of my own actions involving giving proper respect to the dead and the beliefs of their people. I have even performed funerary rites by myself, as such things were appropriate. I only wished to learn the art of medicine from you, at least in basic, that I may help myself and my associates."

"And you wish to pay for these services with ... what are those, plums and cake? You have a big opinion of yourself, even for an Elf."

She let the comment pass without the correction of Half-Elf. "No, Madame Floquet. Of course not. This was merely a polite gesture at first meeting. I am a True Bard, and have the gifts of my more arcane musical abilities. I also have a small amount of direct magical healing at call, which I shall make at your disposal should you need for an emergency. And! And, ah... in instances where life must be allowed to pass, I am knowledgeable in every custom regarding interment in these lands. The living and the dead, both, deserve to be treated with the utmost of respect, and I am uniquely capable of doing this for your town. I wish only to learn from your experience, Medician Floquet, even though I know you are not fond of how you came by it."

"And you know me so well, yes? So you know that my favorite honeycakes are flavored with cinnamon, and you brought a batch. If those aren't, then we're done right now and you can turn back around and carry your perky ass back the way you came. So what is it? It's down to the cakes."

Victoria broke off a small corner of one of the honeycakes in her basket and brought it to her lips. Gingerly, she popped it into her mouth and perked an eyebrow. Shock began to set in as she realized that NO, they did not taste of cinnamon in the slightest. Nevertheless, the Bard smiled. "Absolutely, Madame. I can tell straightaway. Lovely cinnamon." The smile continued, showing a breadth of porcelain white teeth which she was blatantly lying through. Victoria did not hide, nor did she advertise, the fact that she cast a quick Prestidigitation over the honeycakes, specifically to add to and/or alter the flavor of the sweet treats.

Naturally, Annick could see right through it. She allowed Victoria to step up closer to her; close enough to take a cake from the basket and give it a cautious bite. She stared into the Bard's face, thinking. Then she spoke. "That trick. You can do that with medicine?"

Victoria nodded her head to the affirmative. Was this an in?

"Uh huh. We're already getting winter ailments in. Medicine can be bitter, and I need to see the children taking it. I know there's something else you're not saying. We will get to that after a while. It's about to get busier here and I can use the extra hands. Come on in amd we'll talk." If Victoria was very lucky, this wasn't a trick.

*****

"As it seems I have the next couple of days off, unless summoned. I would love to take a closer look at this wall you have found, Kosara," remarked Victoria. She hadn't quite taken a close look at the rotten berry that was offered, merely giving a bit of a glance before inquiring, "Pulsating? Is it bugs, do you think?" This was hardly Victoria's forte. It made sense in the moment, her not being witness to the items in question directly as it was discovered.

She had fallen into an agreement where four days out of seven saw her checking in with her new mentor, even if no work needed to be done. Maybe it had been an exercise in humility for a woman who was seen by many as prideful. Or maybe, like the older lady had said, she needed more hands with the upcoming winter. It did mean that she spent less time actually at the Vineyard than the others, having the equivalent to a day job while the rest of the party stuck close to home base. But she was back every afternoon and had three days to see to her own affairs. This day marked the first of those three.

So after a modest but satisfying breakfast, Victoria was quite ready to explore what interesting bits of lore and event that her associates found themselves a part of. So far, a hidden rock wall was the best option she'd heard this morning.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Congratulations on surviving the first week! Life does not completely suck after all, and there is a bit or hope shining in the distance. That said, if you wish to expand upon the activities of your characters during the time skip, that sounds like a fine idea. If you do not, figuring that its something to keep to one's chest, that's fine, too. Regardless, please make sure that your posts end at the new present time, detailed in the last paragraph of the update and described under the header.

Get with me in Discord to work out the particulars of the time skip from your character's point of view. And as always, send me a DM for questions, concerns, working out die rolls, figuring costs, etc. Thanks a heap!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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* We have experienced a time skip of one week. *

Weather: An even layer of snow has fallen upon the land; not so thick as to bury anything important in layered drifts, but enough to give all of the land around the even colors of a true winter. The snow came in fully four days prior, and in that time the temperature has not gotten warm enough to melt the frozen precipitation away, though it is not so cold as to halt the river with ice, either. The season has officially changed from autumn.

Time: Let us give a level estimate of mid to late morning. The a.m. chores around the Vineyard have been accomplished, breakfast has been had, and everyone not committed to a task is free to spend their day as they see fit.

Ambience: A glistening white landscape stretches out over the land as far as one can see, reflecting a pale sun back to the sky. Wind, cold and steady, prompts those unfamiliar with a solid winter to bundle as best they might, while the more constant temperatures allows those who are familiar to grow accustomed to it. Accustomed, but not immune. The hardiest Northerner will still tell you that it's a bit brisk out in comparison to just a week ago.

There has been a marked decline in field staff as of late, with the exception of the ones working the vines containing plump, white globules of fruity goodness. The grapevines maintain their bounty long after many of the others have gone dormant or with the cold, their pale, white-green bunches fading into a sagging yellowish - yet still clinging to something akin to vitality. Other workers have called it a season, as well, all but those needed to handle domestic work and handling the animals. They retain their positions by virtue of their livelihoods not being seasonal.

There does seem to be a push to clear deliveries by the river as quickly as possible. One does not wish to pilot an inland watercraft when ice begins to accumulate. The influx of nonperishable foodstuffs and small livestock for the winter is expected, and noted. Trade overland does not bear the same type of busyness. Upticked a little, as snow does make people nervous for travel, but nothing so hazardous as to invite an official road closing. So long as one keeps to the main routes, things are quite manageable for the meantime.

Hot drinks and aromatic spices form the regular during this time. Teas, and things which resemble teas but are in fact dried fruits boiled in honeyed water are common among the more and less financially comfortable with equal regard, particularly among those who are affiliated with the Rose River Vineyard. It appears that the L'Roses had a habit of giving little luxuries to their employees. Creams and the like were turned into custards, lest they freeze or spoil immediately, and local baked goods of all shapes and sizes make confident, frequent appearances.

People do what they can to keep warm. Even while at work in the fields, one may find break areas near to outbuildings with burn barrels, useful for discarding overgrowth, vine trimmings, and for keeping one's hands limber in the dropping temperatures. Despite this, the most work gets done during the middle part of the day when the sun is highest and on to the middle afternoon. As the day darkens, temperatures remind those out of doors that it is, in fact, the start of winter.

*****

Kosara's journeys out and about within the fields and hills of the Vineyard is quite an interesting one for someone unaccustomed to such charming locales. The difference between the rows and open spaces from the yellows of autumn and the sudden blanketed white of winter is striking, as if wandering through a whole new place. One can only wonder what glorious views may yet come during the spring and summer months. Two oddities appear during her jaunts over the week - one strange, possibly barely an issue at all for what Kosara knew about grape growing, and the other a genuine mystery.

For the former, whilst skipping happily about one of the fields which (as she came to understand) sported fat, purple-red grapes during spring and summer but now stood barren, the curious Tiefling saw a couple bunches of grapes forming on what appeared to be dead vines. Places marked for clearing and replanting, populated with vines bearing dry, brown leaves and brittle tendrils lay before her, supposedly incapable of supporting flowering, fruiting flora. But curiously, here were two spindly bunches of near tiny, near-black grapes with tough, withered skins. They even seemed to pulsate a little if Kosara really stared at them. Was it imagination? Maybe.

The latter (the mystery) came as the result of a minor accident on Kosara's part. Leaning against a smallish, shady hill which featured a prominent sycamore tree atop, away from the main planting areas, dirt gave way to expose what appeared to be intentionally stacked stones, as if to form a loose, uneven wall. The only part exposed of this wall was about shoulder high, but the fact that the stones were stacked in the manner they were hinted at the rest of the structure.

Victoria's time spent in Southmoor was almost a waste. Approaching the lady empty-handed was a bad idea, but what sort of gift does one get for someone who was semi-retired, a combat veteran, and generally wished to be left alone? Perhaps something personal. Or perhaps something practical. Somehow, the gift of one's presence (regardless of how flowery) just didn't like it would cut it with a woman with the reputation of Annick Floquet. The woman herself was shorter than Victoria expected, given her reputation, though in truth she was about the same height as the Half-Elf who sought her out. Annick was Human, appearing to be in her early fifties, with voluminous, steel-grey hair which hung past her shoulders. Eyes as wintry as the season regarded Victoria suspiciously, and this was after her front door slammed open to reveal her, carrying a worn but polished shortsword in hands like iron. Her exposed forearms hinted at strength and ability which outstripped her slender frame. "Is this an emergency?" she asked stonily, noting the sword at Victoria's waist and taking in other details that she didn't seem to prefer. "Or is it about to be an emergency?" She shifted to the side so that a younger woman of similar build behind her in the cottage, proper, to have a clear shot with a simple but effective crossbow. "Well?"

Victoria's return to the Vineyard later was marked by a very insistent, very bald Dwarf named Urmdrus running up to her with a thin rope. Without so much as a "by your leave", he began to place it to the Bard's body in various places and marking the rope with bits of charcoal. A guttural "Harrumph," served as the only thing which passed for discussion from the odd fellow. He retreated back to his workshop, measurements in hand.

Kathryn's next few mornings were punctuated with Lizbeth appearing early, sometimes in the small, dark hours of the day, just showing up before the tall Knight was fully ready to go, herself. It might have been maddening but for the fact that she had a decent enough excuse for doing so, that being Kathryn's own invitation, and likely full access to the Coach House besides. She didn't seem to mind the more limited morning training interactions of workouts and runs, though it was obvious that she was not in the same kind of physical shape as her new mentor. Lizbeth made up for this with an abundance of determination, almost to the point of obsession. Whatever was on the table was good for her, even if it did find her overexerting herself to the point of detriment.

The same treatment that Victoria had gotten from Urmdrus with the rope was also visited upon Kathryn, though he was forced to carry a stool with him to make the necessary measurements. "Hmm. Armor will be good. Need to piss more for me. Important. Piss in buckets." He toddled off as quickly as he appeared.

The instance of Kathryn's appearance at the workshop prompted a raised eyebrow and a reach for one of the Dwarf's *really big hammers* until he realized that it was her, and this was probably business. When the talk, or a close approximation to a talk with all things considered, turned to practice weapons, he jammed a stubby finger toward a corner of his work area where there sat a collection of woodworking tools and barrel staves of various sizes, as well as rough-hewn bits of tree which might pass for painfully overbalanced training items, including a great wooden mallet (that actually looked like it was intended to be a great wooden mallet for a practical purpose as opposed to a training implement). "Work there. Can watch. Don't get in my way." he returned to his work, which looked an awful lot like he was pulling a green, not-quite-formed cuirass out of a less-than-pleasant tub of hopefully unidentified liquid and taking an iron rasp to it every now and again. To one side, there was a simmering cauldron of aromatic oil that he would occasionally pull a segment of chitin from, bend in a specific way, and toss back in.

When he noticed eyes upon him, he huffed and pulled a cloth off of his workbench. It revealed a complete shield made of chitin - glossy dark green with metal fittings, and cutouts which contained silvery metal. The overall look was one of giant, overlapping grape leaves in horizontal placement. "Fine shield. Acid not touch. Maybe can enchant later. Armor, like shield."

It was a few days later that Kathryn was able to witness that Lizbeth was also taking training with Urmdrus, but nearer to dusk, and for about an hour. He seemed to have some skill as an unarmed combatant as well as familiarity with a variety of weapons. Rather than building her up physically, he attempted to drill the girl with technique. Organized technique one might use when grouped with soldiers, hinting at his background. He made it a point not to monopolize the training time in this way, as he knew Kathryn was her primary mentor. One could even hear him intone to Lizbeth, "I help. But Human must learn Human warfare. Duergar not best for you."

Baronfjord's request to work the stables was taken with a little bit of disbelief. To offer to work for the L'Roses during their time here seemed counterintuitive to the idea of thanking them for their noble and (mostly) selfless acts which resulted in her and her niece's safety. "I don't understand why you would wish to be an uncontracted stableboy, but if you wish, speak with Jon. He is quite large, and is the stablemaster, such as we have one - let us say the seniormost stable hand - and he is might be found at the stable in front of the Estate House. I will say, your beloved mule is presently in the stable attached to the Coach House. If it makes it easier, you might try to assist the stablehand who tends to your beast, there, until you are more comfortable. I shall make sure to send Jon to handle it himself and train, if this works better for you."

Wrapping things up with the breakfast, Victoria did acquiesce to some company going into Southmoor. Practicality stated that she could not stop one from leaving the Vineyard if they wished to visit the nearest town, and there was no desire to employ deception nor violence to make it so. She did insist that she meet with her potential mentor alone, however.

Shops and the like had not moved from the last time the group had been to Southmoor, and so locating what could be had for purchase was a relatively quick affair unless one wanted to take their time and spend leisurely day in the smallish settlement. What passed for parcel service was a little less obvious. While is was not referred to as such, the town's municipal building was multifunctional, it's few rooms each serving multiple purposes such as court, constabulary (of almost three people!), hall of records, etc., and yes, lettercarriers' office.

The fair haired man behind the counter was quick to explain that parcels traveling any great distance would cost a bit more than most were willing to pay and they could not guarantee prompt safe delivery outside of the region. But it was most likely to get there as organizations like this, regardless of origin, had some dedicated personnel. Items sent within the town would be put with the daily outgoing mail, while items bound for elsewhere in the region were collected every couple of days. There was a fellow who came down from the Avonshire Township at the start of the week to drop off and collect things bound for far elsewhere, and the appropriation of a private courier might be within one's best interest, albeit at some expense, to ensure direct delivery of one's letters if they had a truly lengthy journey to take. The man seemed helpful, if but a little full of himself.

*****

And so, it is mid-morning one week later. The sun is high in the sky and the air has all of the crisp qualities of the season. All open areas of the Vineyard have a blanket of quiet snow, and while the river remains in motion, people still try to pull fish from it. The party finds itself quite without the responsibilities of their chosen methods of occupying their time on this day and it has past both breakfast and constitutionals, giving those within the Coach House their first hour of being fully assembled as a group (outside of estalished mesltimes) in days. But with the pause comes the question for adventuring types - what to do; what to do?

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: Estate House (Terrace) Action: N/A Bonus Action: Familiar Reaction: N/A

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There was a certain amount of informality in Victoria's mealtime actions at first. When she put Cecily to the question concerning the proper rules of etiquette for the region and got back assurances that it was something akin to standard for her own homeland, a change came over her actions. The Bard carefully removed the pear from her dagger and cleaned the blade as best she might with a kerchief. She then sheathed the weapon and returned to her meal with a more structured set of behaviors. A piece of conversation she had with Kathryn, perhaps on the road or in the Coach House, came to mind. She was a noble lady without a lot of experience in the formalities of interaction with others of her social status. Victoria, however, was. It was part of her education and occupation, being able to move seamlessly from one event to another, if not as one of nobility then well enough not to call herself out as someone who didn't belong there. To this point, she made sure to make eye contact with Kathryn and shift into better articulated table manners.

The old roguish maxim of "Always use your own blade" was set aside so that she may disassemble her food in a genteel and courteous manner, giving less effort required for cleaning staff and making others with more refined proclivities as comfortable as possible. The pear was lovely as it was, but a small table knife and the fork provided divided the item into bite sized pieces, still roughly assembled, upon her plate. Victoria had added to this a sorghum cake with fruit preserves and carefully bid the scullery fellow still present, "Sir, if I may? Two egg omelette with a touch of cheese, please. Not too much. And mushrooms, if you have them. I can wait, if needed. Thank you so much." The bidding of thanks was not strictly necessary in this instance, but while she could potentially mimic a noble if she desired, she was born into a merchant-class family and believed that laborers shouldn't be invisible while plying their trades. To the food on her plate now, she took a portion of fruit preserves and placed it delicately upon her sorghum cake, careful for the spoon to not actually touch the item in question, and not in amounts large enough to trail off it and onto the plate itself. Satisfied, Victoria took a small sip from her coffee and filled her hands with the utensils appropriate to her food selections. She sat straight up, not touching the back of her chair as she worked upon her plate, with her face straight ahead even as her eyes kept to the food below her. Occasionally, she would scan the table to see if anyone was beginning conversation which may involve her, but otherwise kept to herself until she wished to initiate a point of conversation.

These actions were deliberate, and just slightly exaggerated for the purposes of educating any which would be able to view them. Kathryn, for instance. If the Knight who trained her didn't feel like teaching her how to be a Lady, then damnit, the socialite might give a tutorial or two. When Victoria was ready to engage in polite conversation, she picked up on something Kosara had said which angled into her personal bailiwick. "Dancing, yes. I have a great fondness for dance, as the mood takes me. It is superb exercise and keeps me limber." For those who had seen her move, especially in combat, she was second only to the Monk in fleetness of step and manual dexterity. And she did seem to dance in a rather acrobatic way, instead of plying a martial practice. "As the violin does for my hands, dance does for my body. One must keep one's girlish figure somehow." The last part was delivered with a coquettish smile. "And while I intend to dance, sing, and play music to the very limits of my ability, I do intend to make this time a learning experience. I wish to learn Medicine. Particularly Anatomy. Madame Cecily tells me there might be such a teacher in Southmoor, provided I can be convincing enough. If fate, or at least circumstance, decrees that we remain companions for a time longer, I believe these skills will be valuable to us as well as useful for me, personally, in my professional endeavors." She paused for a moment to consider her words, "It may be prudent to save what arcane or divine healing abilities we possess for the direst of moments, should such emergencies arise. And if we exhaust those skills entirely, it is likewise prudent to have mundane skills to fall back upon." She definitely stopped short of mentioning that knowledge of this would also make her a more effective Necromancer. Hopefully that part wasn't implied too vividly. "I shall try to visit later this morning, in fact. It would be polite to bring a gift. Hmm..."

As Victoria mulled over the possibilities, she took another sip from her cup, then looked to Baronfjord who had apparently chosen to sit next to the coffeepot. "Please, Master Chedgusah, would you warm my cup a bit?" She expectantly held out her thin, porcelain cup to the blue-hued Monk, adding, "And do let me know if I might hand you something nearby, of course."