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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5
HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A
Location: Rose River Vineyard -> Southmoor -> And Back Again
Action: THE GRIND
Bonus Action: Familiar stuff, Morty
Reaction: N/A | |
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Buildings smouldered in the dying light of the day, a hundred vertical lines of smoke marking the end of scores upon scores of hopes and dreams. Dead and dying lay scattered. Some were soldiers. Many were not. The skirmishers not declared the field safe as of yet, but that hardly mattered. They would all serve in death, one way or another, and she was the most dangerous thing out there, anyway. A job had yet to be done. This town was selected for a purpose.
Victoria rode astride a great, skeletal beast decorated with scrimshawing and armor plates, barely giving the area a close look. Her eyes were only for the prize of this location: a cemetery which served the population for many townships around. The quality of the dead here would make fine additions to bolster their ranks. There was knowledge and power present. Someone who already possessed both of these things was needed to dig it out.
She slid from her necrotic steed and walked through the ruined cemetery gate, eyes sharp and mouth twisted into a smile. She gathered her personal energies together from the ether and whispered them to life, a dirge in her heart and chant upon her lips and she directed them toward the ground around her. This place was no longer hallowed, which meant it was only a matter of minutes before her personal vanguard clawed their way from beneath the ground and shambled from behind mausoleum doors. Heroes, nobles, and peasants alike joined the dance and offered themselves to their new master. This was expected. When the townsfolk heard the call of Undeath and rose to meet her as well, it was not. Victoria's smile grew into truly amused laughter, as sweet to hear as the ringing of harmonious bells in the distance and as chilling as a glacial wind. Groggily, Victoria pulled in her first lungful of conscious air and stretched beneath her extraordinarily warm and comfortable blanket. The fire in the hearth had burned down to embers and she really didn't want to get out of bed just yet. But she had things to do. The memory of the dream came back to her in tiny snippets at first, but after a minute or so concentrating the Bard had pieced it mostly back together.
"...same nonsense I always see when I close my eyes..." she mumbled, even if it wasn't
exactly true. Personal jokes aside, it did suddenly snap her fully awake. There was something suspicious about this. Her mind scanned across the events of the previous day and narrowed down possibilities. This dream was something that happened to her. Perhaps Victoria's senses hadn't caught it at first because of her close proximity to necrotic energy, but even so, she possessed no immunity to its effects. The brandy, the wine, and her pig all came with a note of familiar flavor in common.
"How interesting," she finally said aloud. There would have to be a discussion with Kathryn about this.
The evening that the cider was delivered gave Victoria a sense of calm contentment. While she was a wine drinker primarily, there was nothing wrong with a good, crisp cider. She treated herself to a cup and sipped it slowly, savoring the regional flavor and warming elements to it. This was nice. Warm place to hang one's hat, the opportunity for study, and a fine collection of beverages that were politely framed as "social lubricants." If only she had a crowd to show off to, Victoria might be in bliss.
Of course,
nice turned into
near ecstatic when Urmdrus began distributing Ankheg chitin. Hers was amazing. Green was not exactly her favorite color, but the quality was obvious. It seemed almost weightless compared to other armors, even the lighter ones to which she was accustomed. And there was a curious black mottling to it, which confused her at first - until she remembered that the killing blow upon the creature was when she whispered notes of necrotic energy to penetrate the gargantuan insect, entering through the last attack she made upon it. Urmdrus had made her fatal strike into a macabre decoration.
"Marvelous," she thought, beaming pleasantly as she appraised the armor.
Casting the appearance of modesty aside, at least in part, Victoria shed her coat and high collared shirt with barely controlled excitement. The closest of garments she wore remained, sheer black silk that flattered her agile dancer's physique. She unbuckled and loosened a belt but maintained her dignity, as above all she was a person of mannered proclivities (if admittedly not
perfectly so). Then she slipped herself inside of the new armor. It fit like a standard leather cuirass and secured just as easily, but was immensely more comfortable. Even the corseted part seemed to flow with her movements. The segmented plates of chitin were more protective than hardened leather, lighter, and unobtrusive against her body. But when the word "somersault" was awkwardly mentioned by Urmdrus, the highly motivated Victoria did exactly that. A standing sideways vault took her into a full vertical rotation, hands acting like spokes of a wheel at the halfway point as she brought herself back up to a standing position. She felt nothing encumbering her movements. More testing was required. To this end, she stepped upon a chair, leapt into a handstand upon the table it was in front of, and pivoted to face back in the direction of her arrival. Victoria kicked from the handstand into a flip, as she landed deftly upon her feet back where she began.
A fist unaccustomed to being raised in anger (as Victoria preferred stabbing implements) rapped its knuckles upon various parts of the bespoke armor; midsection, breastplate, and shoulders. She smiled.
"Oh my, thank you, Master Urmdrus!" she exclaimed.
"This is practically a clothing accessory!" She began to replace her shirt when Lizbeth entered the Coach House, sporting her new armor and shield. Victoria had to agree with her assessment. It was, in fact, perfect. Her almost giddy reaction to Lizbeth's proclamation looked a lot to anyone observing like a stereotypically girlish bonding moment.
This seemed to be the last stress-free moment that Victoria had over the next couple of weeks.
Two major events took over the vast majority of Victoria's time, as well as many others in and around Southmoor. The first was the coming of a standard winter illness. In and of itself this was not unusual, but the number of visitors to Medician Floquet increased seemingly every day. And those were just the ones who traveled to meet with her. Mothers came on behalf of children with the older looking after the younger despite the fact that they all were afflicted equally. Others came in for themselves, regardless of their degree of illness. Their presence was to help cure the affliction, but paradoxically is served to help spread it to others along their way. Annick's reserves of herbal and alchemical remedies were spent nearly to completion rather quickly, and simply having the money from sales (when she chose to charge those who could afford it handily) did not make the medicine replenish itself. As Victoria was not skilled as an Herbalist nor as an Alchemist, her help in this regard was minimal. All she could do was follow instructions and help to alleviate symptoms. Things which she really did not want to clean up, she cleaned up. Much of the time Victoria used magic to aid with this, though Annick was not thoroughly happy about it.
It was a grind which lasted days and days. Much of Victoria's time was spent in Southmoor, helping out the Medician and her daughter tend to the sick. There were a few nights that she never made it back to the Vineyard, and offered explanation as best she could while insisting that the L'Roses and their people stay on the estate for the next while, until the illness died down. Slow and painful days ticked by until things were under control. Victoria, predictably, was exhausted.
The only upside was that, to prevent personally contracting the disease, the Bard got to attire herself in an oiled long coat and plague mask. It wasn't her style, but she had to admit it was iconic.
It was during a rare lull in business that Annick came to Victoria, a stern look upon her face.
"I took a long look at those grapes, Miss Belmont. It's encouraging that you didn't know what you were looking at. I know you're one of those adventurers that the Sheriff hired. And I heard a rumor one of them was a Necromancer." She seemed to spit out the last word with some disgust.
"I served in the last Necromantic Wars. Saw a lot of things - give me dreams I'd rather not have. Did things. I know you're the Necromancer they're talking about. Truth is, I've been waiting for an excuse to put a knife between your ribs." She said this coldly, without discernible emotion, like she was ordering a cut of meat from a butcher.
"You've been nothing but dedicated these past few weeks. Good bedside manner. Patient. You're even good with kids. I don't know why you're walking the path you are, but I'm convinced you're not like the ones we fought twenty years ago." Annick sighed and brought the focus back to where she started.
"Those grapes, and what you described sounds like desecrated land. You said the Vineyard is producing naturally. I can say that this isn't the right growing season for these grapes, and I've seen the taint of Necromancy more than most folk alive today. If you're investigating something up there, you might want to look into your own studies for answers. Now come on, I need you to flavor the medicine before the next batch of young'uns show." The next such event was a lot more sudden of onset. Not a disease, but an accident. Ice, building up on a lumber storage barn caused a collapse, or at least that's what they could get out of the survivors. Some logs came loose from the stacks and went on a rampage. People got hurt. It was late in the year to cut trees or process lumber, but occasional avarice or desperation for building materials drove one such location to push beyond the boundaries of what was safe. There would be financial and personal reparations to be made eventually, but the immediate need was to see to the injured.
There were an easy two dozen in varying states of physical disarray and a few vitally so. Victoria tried to do what she might, setting bones or sewing skin back together in a manner that was inexpert, but she did so under the explanation of the Medician herself and took to it better than she did tending to the sick. Considering the number of badly hurt townsfolk, Victoria's ability to heal magically was depleted quickly and, without time to send for those who might be able to help in that way, she had to get her hands dirty. Cutting, sewing, holding people down as painful treatment was practiced upon them, proper application of bandages seemed indeterminate of duration. In one instance, the now magic-less Bard had to assist Annick insert a hooked wire into a laborer's chest to lift a smashed ribcage out of a punctured lung. The procedure was successful, technically, but the man did not make it. Others were just beyond help and passed before even magic might have assisted.
Annick noticed the efforts, and failures, of her new student.
"Did the best you could. You saved a lot today. The fact is, you might make a better Surgeon than you do a general Healer. Got the hands for it." It was nice to hear, but did not bolster Victoria's confidence much. This was too much, too fast, and when her brain could make sense of it and actually take learning from the experience, she might find a mote of satisfaction. But not yet. Later that night, Victoria allowed herself to feel for their families. She would try to find time to be a part of the funerary service. That, at least, was her true calling.
When Victoria wasn't working for Annick, she was tasked with transcribing books on the subjects of general healing, humanoid anatomy, and diseases. She might be found at all hours of the night back at the Coach House sitting near the fire, pen in hand, carefully duplicating the texts in front of her or tracing diagrams. It might have looked like obsession were it not for the fact that she made it a point to treat herself to personal leisure time, and on the regular. Victoria was learning a lot all at once and had no desire to burn out.
Emotions were complicated things, she found. One evening after both of the emergencies had passed, Victoria stumbled her way into the Coach House and flopped bonelessly into a chair.
"I delivered a baby today," she announced flatly.
"A little boy. Good lungs. Medician Floquet says he's... he's..." Stress finally caught up to Victoria as she began sobbing. She covered her face and let real tears fall.
While it was good to get things out, Victoria felt more than a touch exposed. She rose, wiped her face and straightened her clothes, and grabbed her cloak. Dignity mustered as best she was able, the Bard took up her violin and made for the door, insisting that,
"I need to clear my head. Please excuse me." She walked out into the night air, careful to close the door behind her quickly so that she did not let too much heat escape. It was quiet out. White blanketed everything peacefully. Wind seemed nonexistent and the snow wasn't falling right then. A huge moon shone in the sky above, and it was downright pretty out there, if frigid. Victoria was glad to have her cloak and a good pair of boots to ward off the worst of the cold.
A few minutes later, Victoria found herself at the base of the watchtower overlooking the river. She carefully climbed the structure until she reached the top, which thankfully was mostly clear. A deep breath was taken in and heaved out, visible in the frozen air and ample moonlight up that high. She set her bow to strings and began to play. It was a simple melody at first which built upon itself, layering complexities and turning into quite the excellent performance. It felt as if she was alone in a world of darkness and snow; alone with her thoughts and the ability to process the last series of tough, draining days. A quick casting of
Minor Illusion gave her a simple percussion section to accent her music, and she soon began dancing atop the watchtower in the middle of the night, doing her best to get back an essential piece of herself.
She did an excellent job of it, too. Music was a skill she used to center herself, and in short order she genuinely felt better. She stopped playing and prepared to go back down. It was at this moment that she paused. In the distance, indeterminate of direction, the plucking of a stringed instrument could be heard. Clear but quiet notes from somewhere beyond Victoria's range of vision in the darkness traveled upon the cold, still air, reaching her pointed ears as her exerted breathing slowed. She was not the only one out this night. Perhaps it was time to return indoors.
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