Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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* The time skip was for three weeks. This post is, in part, during that skip. *

Weather: It is still below freezing, make no mistake, but the temperature is hovering just below it. The wind keeps itself to low gusts along the ground level, but the higher atmosphere demonstrates a more rapid movement of clouds, themselves scattered and patchy as they direct themselves with seeming purpose across an indifferent sky. More precipitation might be inbound, if probably not this night.

Time: It is early evening. Not quite dusk yet, but seriously planning on it.

Ambience: A cold evening settled upon the Rose River Vineyard. It was a rosy, purplish evening; quiet and full of folksy winter charm. Most people have been able to adapt to the weather, in part. That is to say, those who found cold weather fully intolerable can now, well, tolerate it with seasonally appropriate attire. In the intervening weeks, a fresh blanket of powdery snow had fallen, leaving just the area in and around the Honigblume grapes to suffer the wrath of the repeated trampling of workers' shoes. The multiple lit braziers, once an odd sight against nighttime's landscape, had become a reassuring sort of sight, regular in its appearance as torches were set to them every dusk over the recent weeks.

*****

Healer's Home

The rather antisocial Medician Floquet was kind enough to give Kathryn an audience, if indeed kindness was the appropriate motivating factor here. She was a slender, fit lady in her mid-fifties with a voluminous head of thick, grey hair, attired decently for a lady living the rural life, but maintaining her modesty with long skirts, long sleeves on a fitting, keyhole neckline top, and a dark grey cloak draped about her shoulders. She listened to the introductions given by Kay and wordlessly waved her inside, where she might have gotten a glimpse of Victoria, vastly overdressed for the task of maintaining tools and organizing books. In the next room, a particularly wet cough broke the relative quiet, a noise which prompted a younger version of the matronly Medician to grab up a few things in a basket and leave the room. Annick and Kathryn were alone now in a smallish room with a long, wooden table dominating the center and literature along the walls.

She waited for Kathryn to run through her questions, opting for a pause to answer. "You should stop trying to flatter me. Doesn't help." It didn't prevent her from accepting the offerings of yummy things, though. And she did continue, "Notables from the war still alive? Alive is a hell of a statement. More than half were dead when we fought them. No, I know what you mean. The Big Lich Master was sent to the Abyss by a Half-Elf fellow - Priest of some sort - and his friends. 'Spearhead of the Southern Campaigns', like we didn't do our part, too. Can't fault him though, he did kill him permanent. That was a long time ago and I was a conscripted forward area Medician. Field intelligence wasn't my thing. Sure, a lot of them might still be around. Folks like me, Sheriff Arbalest, Robert (the Innkeeper), and Constable Cavendish are still around." She gave a single, wry laugh. "Well, not the Constable. You all saw to that." Addressing the question about connection to this area, she gave a rather flat, "No. Heard a rumor there was supposed to be enemy troop movement through here. Never did happen, according to the locals." She gave a thoughtful look, then dismissed it.

When Kathryn handed her the dagger recovered from the "diplomatic envoy," Annick's face hardened. "Yeah, I know what they look like. Saw enough of 'em, not as nice as this one. Real fancy. Makes me curious how you came by it." She began to conversationally withdraw at this point. "So you want to know if I know any Necromancers around from the war? There are hundreds." The older lady glanced in the direction of the room Victoria was working in, continuing, "Some prettier than others. Some new ones that learned from the ones that passed. So many that we didn't crush or stab that got away. Let me tell you something, Lady Kathryn, it's called the Necromantic Wars, plural. What ended forty, fifty years back wasn't the first one. What ended twenty years ago wasn't the last one. There's a lot of good people in the Southern Deserts and the mountains beyond, but every so often, something rises to power and holds the living hostage with their dead, and then all of them decide to expand. More of you Adventurers than anyone likes to admit meet a wet, sticky end by coming across something they left behind, or a remnant of their power that hid really well north of here. I hope I answered your questions 'cause I'm not feeling too comfortable right now, so unless you need medical attention or want to buy something, I think our meeting's at a close."

Baronfjord's talks with Cecily fared a little better, if one looked at it from the angle of optimism. The proposal of a walk was taken openly. She even had a look on her face like she was expecting something conversationally heavy to land on her at any moment. Madame L'Rose pulled a rich burgundy-colored cloak over her layered tan linens and black damask waistcoat, hard-soled boots tapping occasionally on the flagstone walkway. She listened quietly, not reacting except to form tears in her eyes which she dabbed away with a clean, white kerchief. "I know that Lizbeth knows. She... she knows more than I want to tell myself." Her voice was quiet. Conspiratorial, even. "I could only trust her to move Arnaud's corpse. One must never let a body stay on these lands too long at night. It's why we had to risk moving him to the Township ourselves. Then, as you know, the Goblins, they..."

A wave came from one of the outbuildings, followed by a call to Cecily by name. It was something about rising acid and a sourish note coming from one of the vats. Cecily took sudden and especial interest in this, possibly relieved to break away from the conversation. As she began to beeline to her employee, she turned back to intone, "I don't know about any agreement, but it sounds like you handled it anyway! Maybe we're through with whatever this is, and we can just concentrate on the season, right? Sure. Please excuse me; perhaps we can pick this up the next time we have a moment. Oh, and please do continue training Lizbeth! She seems really motivated to learn. It certainly won't hurt anything. Thank you!" She hastily made her way to one of the L'Rose's winemakers, intent on focusing her attention on a problem that she could actually solve.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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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 parts around Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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The next three weeks were eventful. It might not have looked this way from an outside point of view, but the steadfast scheduling and rigorous study to which Victoria committed herself seemed uncharacteristic to those who didn't know her very well. As odd as it might have been to see a Bard - an actual Bard and not merely a shiny, otherwise employed musician - put herself to both arcane and medical study in ways that ordinarily only an obsessed Wizard might, this was a dual pursuit of knowledge and power. Those were things which interested Victoria greatly. She often mused that not too long before, she was dead set on making it to the coast and taking a boat back up to her homeland. But ever since she got that letter and decided to divert her attention away from her own issues by answering it, things had gotten interesting. There was a full education's worth of magic and skills to be found in this rather standard-looking farm country. Power. Knowledge. Victoria was on the cusp of a breakthrough that she otherwise would have missed. She could feel it on the very edge of her understanding.

The very next day after the long night and seemingly equally long morning, after she finally got some sleep, Victoria rose with a start. She had kept one of the long knives that she found on the undead corpses with the intent on looking them over with a fresh mind the next day. And keeping it, of course, as it looked utilitarian as well as expensive. It would fit nicely in her personal collection right next to the wire-wrapped dagger she was gifted from her father, on the outset of her adventuring career. The wavy pattern of the blade's metal, the brassy-gold floral decorations from its minimalist guard up through the bottom fifth of the blade, the amazing counterbalance of the black jade hilt with knob pommel, and thickened, "T" shaped spine gave her clues already when viewed with fatigue. Now that she was awake and armed with the knowledge provided by Kathryn, Yasmin Steel, she could view this from proper historical context. To whomever was present to listen when she came downstairs, she passed along, "I remember this now. Yasmin Steel, made famous from the master smiths of Damuscara, The Jasmine City. It is an older pronunciation of the flower's name. This... Wow. Stories say that every blade made from this was a masterwork, as it could only be formed by a master. Human craftsmanship. Legends also say it has qualities in common with cold iron." A thought suddenly struck her, like a dousing of cold water. "If this was a gift from an adversary, then it must not be threatened that we have it."

She left this sobering thought alone and focused on something else. The excessive amount of silk cloth that was tightly wrapped around the bodies. Black, white, quite strong. Flawless, even. The looked at the pattern of the stitching; black on black, white on white. It seemed to possess a sort of ethereal, not-quite-describable quality. Victoria reached into the breadth of her knowledge on Arcana, absolutely certain that she knew something about this. It rang a bell, so to say, even if that bell was faint and far off. She ran to her books, skimming through pages and giving the occasional mumble, until the found the clue which pulled it from her distant memory. "The silk. The shrouds that wrapped the diplomats' corpses - this wasn't known in the time period of the early Necromantic Wars, but if these are originals, then they have been soaking in necrotic energy so thoroughly that they are capable of taking enchantment immediately." Victoria gave an uneasy back and forth shift of her head, playing out how she might continue to vocalize the thought. "...so long as it's Necromancy. And you don't mind having used burial shrouds close to your skin. And there is a small chance of side effects. But this was a fairly recent addition to magical lore that the earlier practitioners shouldn't have been aware of. Anyway, this frightfully demands more research." Oh, but she had her eyes on one of the sheets of black silk now. Not that Victoria could do a lot with it right then, but it was an investment of time and opportunity.

The next week marched to the merry tune of near rigid scheduling for Victoria. She moved about a lot and ate little, surviving mainly on tea, wine (the occasional brandy), and whatever was already prepared and at the extreme ready. If she wasn't at the Healer's place in Southmoor, chances were even that she has her face buried in a book, copying it word for word, line for line, tracing the images therein to make as perfect a copy as she could. Victoria had already reproduced one of them and has moved on, laboriously putting quill to ink, quill to paper, and back again. In separate writings, she listed personal annotations and references, even creating bookmarks to organize the new writings. She learned the appropriate, official terms for various internal bits of anatomy as well as procedures, tools, medicines. Most of this involved trauma of some kind, like one would have to deal with in a battlefield scenario. Some dealt with illness, some with complications which faced people in similar environments. It was grueling to witness, even inspiring a little pity. Her sleep, still less fitful than she might have liked, came in shorter bursts and arrived on occasions that she might have preferred it did not. Often she was found asleep at a table, shiny black quill still in hand and face smooshed awkwardly upon the wooden surface in front of her.

Every so often, maybe once every two or three days, Victoria shook herself off and got a little exercise. A brisk walk, a spontaneous dance, an hour of playing her violin in different, sometimes quirky places. Watchtower, balconies, out in a barren field, maybe underneath that big tree on the hill. It always ceased with her getting back to her studies while at the Vineyard.

Back in Southmoor, it was much the same. Annick Floquet was a bit of a taskmaster as far as her charges were concerned, and Victoria found herself working alongside her daughter a lot of the time. This usually meant handling menial tasks while continually answering questions put to her by the Madame of the house, receiving reprimand or additional work were she to get a question wrong. Another week passed. Another book copied, organized, referenced. Annick was getting her personal library skillfully backed-up by what amounted to indentured seritude, but Victoria was paid off by the experiences given when the older woman had to perform a mundane act of healing or a surgical procedure. The Bard's ability to heal at a word came in handy on the few occasions that it was absolutely necessary to ensure survival, or if little could be done except recommend time to for the flesh to knit. By the time the fifth book was copied, organized, referenced, and Victoria was allowed to perform minor procedures on her own, Annick came to speak with her. "You have not been performing especially grand, Miss Belmont. This is not a trade for which you have amazing aptitude." Victoria waited for the inevitable continuation designed to dash her spirits, or to be sent away. Instead, "It makes your dedication to learning this craft quite respectable. You have your own reasons you're not telling me. But as I said before, I don't think you're evil. Anyway, before you quit on me, you needed to know why I'm making you copy my books." Victoria was all ears. "I obviously don't need them. But if you actually follow through, you will. You are penning your own medical library. Forcing yourself to transcribe everything by hand is the best way to commit the knowledge to memory. And in those tasks, you are doing fine work."

The rest of the day passed in silence from all of them. They knew the jobs to do, and they did them. Victoria spent most of her time cleaning and sharpening medical utensils, until dusk started to approach. She respectfully addressed her mentor, "Madame Floquet? If I may ask a favor of you?" The arched eyebrow of the elder Medician prompted the question onward, "I travel with a Lady Kathryn of Arcanaple. She has expressed interest in your experience in the last of the Wars. I know your hesitance is well founded, and you deserve your privacy, but I did promise that I would ask. She is ...well, I would imagine curious about the history involved, and some tales of your exploits defending the Realms. We are all trying to expand our knowledge for... well, we have reasons. Would you be willing to meet with her?"

Annick's thoughts drifted back to the necrotic grapes and feelings of desecrated ground. It evoked her own memories. "I might have my own questions. Sure. I'll meet with her tomorrow, just to see if I want to talk to her at all. I'm promising nothing."

The next day, Victoria forwent summoning her Phantasmal Steed so that she and Kathryn could walk down to the town together. The Bard gave a few of her insights on speaking with the taciturn, oft ill-tempered woman, but tried not to overload. She would talk, or she would not. As Kathryn bore no trappings of death, nor the dead, nor much in the way of any overt magical anything, she figured that the woman wouldn't meet them at the point of a sword with her daughter aiming a crossbow at distance this time. "I should say, Daughter of Arcanaple, this woman cares not for titles unless one of those titles can directly affect her. She is not easily impressed, and does not brook flattery. She is very direct. I am sure that the two of you shall get along famously. But more than this, you are a woman who is genuine and easily likeable. I stake myself on your success. You have got this." Truly, it was a Bardically Inspiring speech.

When they arrived, Victoria silently gave Kathryn a reassuring pat on her shoulder (which she had to raise her hand way up to accomplish) and a friendly wink. She then disappeared into the Medician's residence and set to organizing for the day's labors.

Following the harvest and extinguishing of fires within the Vineyard, Victoria was pleased to note the presence of Cecily, come to pay a visit. The quick arrival of their tasting day, a day which had been mentioned at the brunch a few weeks ago, perked up her spirits. Victoria was also quite glad it wasn't that day immediately, as she did need to get in some real rest beforehand and, if possible, find someone to invite. Polite greetings and responses to the positive were given, as this was not an event she wanted to miss. "Absolutely! Yes of course. Formal dress affair? Or shall we come as our casual selves? I am amazingly satisfied with either. Oh, perhaps I should just surprise." A beaming smile came from the pretty Half-Elf. In the back of her mind, she listed off that Morty was probably not going to be welcome as her "plus one", though she might sneak in her Raven unannounced. Either way, it was bound to be a pleasant night overall. Now who to bring...

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Hello again, Edgelords and M'bladies, and welcome to another amazing opportunity to figure out what the hell's going on in lovely, quiet wine country. This update gives us a time skip and a liiiittle bit of homework. But to kick things off with some clarifications:

The time, ambience, and weather portions of the update describe what is going on as of the evening of the nigh epic wine tasting, with the exception of the lit braziers (more of a coverage of the time in between). Their absence is discussed in the body of the post. Throughout the three weeks of the time skip, conditions will vary. Feel free to put whatever conditions you like as you describe your down time, so long as it is narratively responsible.

Last time skip, I asked you to describe a low point, lull, or failure that led to a learning experience in your studies and/or training. This time, I would like to see a success. Tell me how your characters overcame something, finished something, or otherwise did good and learned something useful from it. Or just an overall, feel-good example of genuine progress. Pretend a 1980s or 90s movie montage song is playing and really dig in.

OKAY - Good News: Urmdrus is done with Kathryn's armor. It looks damn spiffy. Hard as steel plates, flexible, and light. Very light, as compared to normal stuff. Taken alone, it might count as Half Plate, but layered with her mail long coat? PLATE. Congrats. You got plate equivalent at level 5. You're going to need it. Eventually. Again, he will remind that a sufficiently powerful spellcaster can easily turn this into armor of Acid Resistance. Oh, and I hope she likes green, shiny armor that was tempered with the urine of both friends and strangers. No, not kidding.

Further, within the passing of this time, further checks may be made WITHOUT Disadvantage on the things from before. In the instances of Kosara and Victoria (Kosara being from this area and Victoria's background Bardy knowledge), hearing the phrase "Yasmin Steel" and holding the items themselves will provide Advantage, but only if they get rid of the Exhaustion points first. i would also point out that Kosara will have a leg up in identifying mundane qualities of the loot, again owing to her background.

It feels like I might have missed a point in here someplace, but, we'll work that out as we go along. Please be in contact though our Discord for the usual stuff and dice rolls, and above all, have fun with it. Thanks!

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 three weeks. *

Weather: It is still below freezing, make no mistake, but the temperature is hovering just below it. The wind keeps itself to low gusts along the ground level, but the higher atmosphere demonstrates a more rapid movement of clouds, themselves scattered and patchy as they direct themselves with seeming purpose across an indifferent sky. More precipitation might be inbound, if probably not this night.

Time: It is early evening. Not quite dusk yet, but seriously planning on it.

Ambience: A cold evening settled upon the Rose River Vineyard. It was a rosy, purplish evening; quiet and full of folksy winter charm. Most people have been able to adapt to the weather, in part. That is to say, those who found cold weather fully intolerable can now, well, tolerate it with seasonally appropriate attire. In the intervening weeks, a fresh blanket of powdery snow had fallen, leaving just the area in and around the Honigblume grapes to suffer the wrath of the repeated trampling of workers' shoes. The multiple lit braziers, once an odd sight against nighttime's landscape, had become a reassuring sort of sight, regular in its appearance as torches were set to them every dusk over the recent weeks.

*****

The extremely early morning meal from three weeks prior was an excellent example of what can be done with available ingredients and skilled hands. While it was not consumed under the best of morale, it served plenty well to raise spirits and center thoughts. A fed belly led to a sharper mind, and everyone was fairly dulled by the time all was said and done. During this meal, Lizbeth kept her commentary to a minimum, giving her thanks to Kosara and nodding politely at Kathryn's story, even forcing a genial smile on to show her interest, but it was apparent that her heart wasn't in being sociable. To the point when Baronfjord asked point blank how she was feeling, tears spilled quietly as she answered, "Fine. Tired." Somewhere in the middle of consuming Ankheg stir-fry and delicious flatbread, she gingerly reached out a hand to take one of the curious daggers from the table. She removed it from its oddly intact sheath, sighed a bit, and slipped it back within. The exotic stabbing instrument remained on her person unless directly inquired into.

Following her being done with the meal, she quietly gathered her things, made her way up and out of the taproom. The silently trudged up the stairs and into the bedrooms, whereupon she claimed the bed that she used the last time she visited and fell immediately into a dead sleep.

As the days turned into weeks and time marched on, the young lady, Lizbeth, became a focused individual in her training. Everything that Kathryn could teach her was sponged almost greedily, as well as evening sessions with Urmdrus. One might often catch her seeking conversations with Kosara or Victoria, trying to steer them to the subject of their very differently manifested forms of magic. But no actual requests to learn spells or anything of the sort. It appeared at face value to be genuine curiosity, and not always the crux of her desire to talk. Sometimes it was just music or art or cooking, or merely how they were doing with their own studious efforts. But her martial training - this was taken seriously. She was often physically depleted from it.

Cecily made herself available sparingly, usually with the excuse that there was much to be done in preparation for the Late Harvest and the work which would then have to occur. But she did make herself available, for those who wished to speak with her. She was, as always, a kind and gracious host, willing to put out a little extra resources to make sure that her personal saviors were comfortable and happy in every respectable way, and taking honest interest in how they spent their time. There were no more offers of meals in the Estate House, at least not over the course of these three weeks, again citing business. After all, one woman was handling the whole of a famous Vineyard and the estate holdings during an important time of the year. Nevertheless, if one had a point they wished to speak about with her, she could be eventually gotten hold of.

Urmdrus, being the very image of camaraderie (sarcasm imtended), showed up mainly to take measurements with that damned rope of his, consume an impressive amount of ale, wine, or whatever was available, along with an ample helping of meat if it was a mealtime. A dwarf of many talents and few words, he would then toddle off to whatever project he found himself immersed within. One of those projects, obviously, was finishing the Ankheg armors.

Over time, the events of the early freeze night turned from a fresh, raw piece of horror and prolonged labor turned into a worrisome memory. Acts of quasi-supernatural shenanigans had faded away to little more than an odd prickling feeling for the most part, which seemed to give many of the remaining workers and the lady of the manor cause to breathe a little easier. People's schedules became more regular, including the various work programs and minor apprenticeships which our stalwart protagonists attached themselves to. Things even began to look up, on personal and professional levels. Minor successes were had and celebrated within this time. Maybe even enough to make some complacent. But these were a hardy lot of rural laborers and shrewd craftsfolk. Surely a little taste of good times would not lull them too heavily.

It was about two weeks from the incident that the braziers were no longer lit. The temperature continued to hover at or below freezing and the white drifted landscape endured, but the nighttime fires ceased. It was a head scratcher at first as to why they might decide to do this, but simple inquiry to any of the laborers or merely waiting for a couple of days let the explanation be known - they were waiting for the grapes to freeze, the vines to become dormant, and from this, the perfect time to harvest. The bulk of this wave of winter illness had passed, and with enough notice this time the Rose River Vineyard had enough assistance to make quick work of the picking. Past this came the processing of the grapes, a task which required a relatively shorter amount of work but by much fewer, more skilled persons, and the tanking up for fermentation. While this process would take a fair piece of time, it was a task of measurements and time only. This meant only one thing:

"And I should be truly honored, brave heroes," said Cecily, looking very near to cheerful, "if you would be as kind as to grace our family in the Tasting Room of the Estate House to sample the Honigblume. It is custom for us, once the harvest is in, to sample our reserves from five years prior. That is the reserve batch we are releasing for public sale this year." She went on to explain, "It is not an 'official' holiday, you understand, just something that we do among close friends and family. If you'd like, you may each bring someone as your personal guest! Oh, we'll have a lovely time, I'm almost positive. And it's almost Frostval, too! You can use this time to scout out gifts for one another. Do... do your people practice Frostval?" Perhaps a question better put before the suggestion, but she did seem to be a bit excited for the upcoming festivities.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: Exhaustion (1) Location: Coach House Action: Skill Checks: (Arcana & Investigation) Bonus Action: Familiar stuff, Morty Reaction: N/A

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It may have been a vulgar display of power, such as Victoria's meager magics could provide, to pass a message along to the rest of her party through her Raven. But to be quite honest with herself, it was a boost to her sense of vanity. Further self-honesty had her admitting that she was indeed a touch vain. But in Victoria's mind, she deserved a touch of vanity. Earned it, even. Others might agree. But for now, despite the seriousness of their position, she allowed herself a quiet smile and then set herself to what she wished to do. Well, before a fortune was callously destroyed by her working associates. Not quite to herself, she spoke softly even as the others were entering the Coach House, "We're obviously involved in something, and I do not prefer to be without compensation." A sidelong look at the somewhat distraught Lizbeth had her smoothly continue her sentence, "...unless it is to ensure the protection of our friends."

Their tall Knight clipping her head on the top of the door frame might have given Victoria a mote of mirth, but Kathryn looked like she wasn't in great shape and the bulk of the energy necessary for her to feel happy had drained away anyway. She offered a sympathetic, "Ooh. That does not look comfortable. Come, have a cup of tea. Water is on if you need more; I still have plenty of pressed black and herbal from Southmoor. Honey's on the table." There weren't quite enough cups in the set for everyone with Lizbeth present, but plenty of substitutes were available behind the bar. So she grabbed something a little bit larger for Kat and poured her a cup. Kosara was offered a cup of piping hot libation from the set, be it a smaller that Kathryn's mismatched one, it was aesthetically more pleasing.

Victoria's own cup of tea/brandy/honey was quickly finished. When the idea of food was brought up, she declined to involve herself. No, she had something she needed to do - or at least start doing - and as much as she could go for some food, it was probably best to leave well enough along at this point. Maybe just one of Baronfjord's biscuits. It was polite, after all. Okay, two. Then she was done. But thinking to Baronfjord's silent communication concerning his own claims on languages and the pressing incident, she merely waved it off. They all had secrets in one form or another and she was no exception. Adventurers, by nature, commonly dealt with unusual things about themselves. And if it was about his inability to figure out the phonetic to off-alphabet language issue, well, she had to use magic to get around it, herself. "Not to worry. I have no complaint if you have no desire to discuss something. Anyway, I am about to be busy again, anyway. Please excuse me."

Victoria made for the door, pausing only to recommend to Lizbeth, "Perhaps, hmm... Perhaps it is best that you remain here until I return." She was going to be dealing with corpses. Ones that, if they suddenly decided to be difficult (she did not know the full extent of the shattering yet), she was in a unique position to protect herself against. Victoria wrapped her cloak about herself and secured her new shawl around her head, slipped on a pair of gloves, and went to find their new, quite deceased guests.

*****

It was a while until Victoria had things sorted. And by "sorted", she meant putting the clothes into different stacks, ordered by general type, total outfit, and assumed intended gender, though the flowing nature and open styles made this difficult. It seemed that accessories and application really set the difference on that, meaning a "mix'n'match" philosophy was appropriate. Her eyes were keen for fashion, and as an extension of this she was able to pick up that these articles of clothing came from many cultures throughout that area that they would refer to as The Southlands, beyond the mountains. But this was mostly just clothing. Fine, colorful textiles, a number of which she set aside for herself - many of the purples and a few of the blacks, naturally. But others. A splash of color every now and again to keep things interesting. And it still did not come close to what might have been considered her share, were they to split it along even lines.

It was the vast amount of silk cloth used to wrap the now shattered bodies which gave her pause. Acquiring them was an exercise that did genuinely disgust the usually stoic-around-death Bard, as she unwrapped the frozen shards of corpse-ice and let it tumble with tiny tinkling cacophonies into the barrels provided. When she had nonchalantly (and a little greedily) shuffled the body bits into a barrel to be set aflame, Victoria pressed the textured, amazingly produced silks into as small a space as she could, and cast just as many Prestidigitation spells as was necessary to rid these shrouds of anything offensive, while still maintaining the quality thereof. Her eyes fell over the stitching of the black shrouds and then the white ones in turn, attempting to bring about a memory of something like this into her sleep deprived brain, even as cold-numbed fingers ran over them for a hope of some tactile clue. "...these mean something..." she mused aloud. "Even if their bearers don't know it." Victoria would personally have felt better about herself if she could remember what it was. But something was there. Maybe after rest and food, it would come to her.

But it wasn't the only thing of interest she found among the clothing.

After a while, Victoria returned into the Coach House. Her ability to clean and polish with magic worked very well for her, as she came carrying several bundles of silken cloth - some black, some white. One additional bundle with a bit of mottled purple poking out, obviously her cherry picks, and another, random article of fiery orange cloth which might have been a scarf or head wrapping which was folded around something bulky. She set the silks down upon the table next to where the party and Lizbeth were sitting, but unfolded the orange cloth directly onto the table before them. Five knives with decently crafted sheathes were uncovered; two single edged with a reinforcing "T" shape along the spine of the blade, three double-edged and curved, resembling small scimitars. All were ornamented and amazingly well crafted, but different enough of appearance as to not be confused with a regular military issue. Victoria picked up one of the single edged ones and gave it a closer look in the firelight. It bore irregular, wavy markings in the steel of the blade which gave her no small amount of curiosity. "I found these, one each, with the diplomats. I have not training in knife smithing, nor a lot of knowledge of these cultures aside from burial practices. So, I am open to opinions more expert than mine. Now, the silks?" She took a moment to give a dismissive gesture, "They're clean, It is alright." Getting back to her point, "I will need some time with them. After a meal and some sleep."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Apologies for the bare bones nature of this update; it is being written on the go. Anyway, the IC is full of spiffy, flowery text designed to be evocative of one's imagination for every adventurer's favorite thing - LOOT. No, I will not be going into exact details about specific articles, I'm leaving a ton of this for player's proclivities and merely provided descriptors to kick things off.

Also, I have left the majority of stuff open for discussion, as it concerns the current clack and any plans the PCs wish to look into. Consider this a continuation, of sorts. Aside from character interactions following this encounter, let's handle any dice rolls and such in the Discord and attempt to move forward. Or diagonally. I'm good with either.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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Weather: Cold. Determinedly so. Lucky for those still up and about, it is slightly less cold than it was am hour ago. Nevertheless, it is still below freezing, proper. The sky is getting just a touch more cloudy, and it looks like this may increase as the day progresses. The wind remains low in intensity but is still near to constant.

Time: Full morning. It is early yet, and the sun still hangs low in the sky.

Ambience: The area within the Coach House is buffeted against the brunt of the cold wind, though ambient temperatures remain uncomfortable to those unaccustomed to the cold, and/or are not dressed appropriately. For persons having weathered the worst of it overnight, this is somewhat milder. The light of the morning comes in readily despite the walls about the courtyard which still prevent the more directness of the grand, soft, winter sun.

This sun otherwise gave brilliance and life to the snow-gilded countryside and rows upon rows of mostly dormant grape vines. There remains an absence of people milling about the grounds, no doubt on account of the full night of labor on top of the previous day's usual undertakings. Were one close enough to the Honigblume fields, one might even hear the quiet rustle of several small fires within braziers, keeping just enough of the sudden, bitter cold away as to prevent the dormancy of those precious vines for just a while longer. From hill or rooftop, one might catch a glimpse of the river, come to apparent halt by the sudden freeze.

*****

Lizbeth chose to keep quiet as Baronfjord spoke reassuring words to her. While silent, her face yet bore a mote of interest working its way out from the disconnected anxiety that seemed to have hold of her. She was intently listening, however. Hooked on every word, just as soon as she learned that he also spoke Abyssal, and that it came about him in a manner which was, generously put, accidental. Her expression remained as it was, but slowly her eyes brimmed with tears, unrealized until she blinked once, causing lines of hot melancholy to dampen her face. She stoically scrubbed them away with her sleeve and, when he finished his story, nodded slowly in comprehension. Lizbeth took her tea in hand and slowly sipped, uninterested in the possibility of approaching biscuits.

After a long night of indefatigable work and a scare of a visceral nature, like a window full of light suddenly shuttered, little Lizbeth L'Rose finally looked tired.

Translated Letter

-
Respectful Greetings.

I express grief for the death of Master Arnaud L'Rose. I could feel the moment his soul left this realm. It is unfortunate that this death did not happen within the boundaries of his home. It would have been preferred. No arrangement of partners is perfect of execution, therefore concessions may happen to complete our transactions. Arnaud's children are dead. His remaining heir is not of age. So I call upon you to complete the terms of the arrangement.

As an initial demonstration of grace and good faith, I present you a gift. I pray that you accept the fine wools, linens, silks, and sundry goods layered upon my emissaries. It is a grand gift fit for nobility within my nation. This is a gift in true measure and does not come with expectation of compensation. It serves only to illustrate my benevolence before we move onto other matters. Please enjoy them without caveat attached, free and clear.

Terms for promised compensation for the initial agreement with Master Arnaud extend beyond death and have not been met. I hope you may represent his interests here, so that I will not have to turn to his family. I will allow adequate time for a decision to be reached, and even more for the terms listed in the original contract to be fulfilled. I am not ungracious. But there is a time limit. Enjoy your holidays.

Farid al Ramil Sabaj al Hazred

The transport of the bodies to, and/or near a burn barrel was significantly more difficult than loading them into the servants' quarters had been. It was like they had all gone as limp as ragdolls, and while they weighed no more than they did the first time around, the sensation was more than a little off-putting. Most especially because, while all this was going on, sandy shards of frozen, desiccated corpse continued to spill out where their faces and hands used to be. The bulk of their shattered and ground to fleshgravel parts made horrible grinding sounds against each other but remained within the layers of clothing as if contained with further means. It is either by merciful design of an unnamed deity or pure, sheer happenstance that it was still cold enough to prevent this from turning melting into rancid, pooling, formerly undead salad.

For those giving the five formerly diplomatic corpses an investigation, there are several fairly obvious things about them. Per suspicion, they are deathly slender, all of them, entombed within enough layers of clothing to fill a wardrobe. Varying types, representing multiple cultures present within the Southern Desert realms, the mountains thereabouts, and even types favored by visiting dignitaries. Each body was a full collection of finery, and each article was perfectly preserved, without so much as a stitch out of place. The textile work was amazing, the tailoring exact. And the styles ranged from basic coloration to true resplendent works of art. Clothing which a particularly wealthy Caliph of Shiekh might adorn favored consorts with, or with which a Sultanah would array her court's ladies. Clothing of courtiers, powerful merchants, poets, performers, formal wear for Knights in the service of an Empire, the looser clothing of Dervishes from their desert tribes and travelers seeking rich cloth to keep the scouring wind and sun at bay. The two most commonly glimpsed colors were white and black, though it seemed that everything was present; red, blue, green, turquoise, and lapis made important appearances, though the richest colors came in the form of royal, entrancing purples, enhanced, deep water blues, and fiery, mottled oranges, oft embroidered with gold, silver, and/or black. Silk, linen, and wool of a type so fine and soft as to be confused for something with a less common name dominated the materials, spun with master care and decorated by true artists.

This represented a fortune that was more than a skilled craftsman of merit and renown might make in a year, each set, easily.

Also obvious to basic inspection was the nature of why the corpses maintained the bulk of their shape, despite suddenly shattering. Each of them was wrapped expertly in an unblemished, unstained, continuous sections of textured silk, wrapped uniformly as if to intentionally maintain the structure of the person underneath it's rich layers. Pure of color and material, each were shrouded in this way with either black or white material. To unravel one would be to loose the shards of former human about the courtyard if not done with a delicate hand and some reverence. Nevertheless, these wrappings looked to the casual observer as being worth more than any other item present; the crown jewel of textiled cloth.

Of course, all of these things were over and around shattered, frozen corpses.

Within the taproom of the Coach House, Lizbeth seemed to have put aside her desire to remain quiet. She spoke with simple, near monotone words, "I think you are right, Monsieur Baronfjord. I would like someone to walk me back to the Estate House and to my Aunt. But if it is okay with you, I would like to sleep here for a while first."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 5 HP: 33 / 33 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: Exhaustion (1) Location: Coach House Action: N/A Bonus Action: Familiar stuff, Morty Reaction: N/A

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The majority of Victoria's goods were still in the taproom, as she had hastily emptied her errand cart in preparation of the previous night's events. As a result, she could wearily trudge over to them to retrieve her newly acquired tea set. It wasn't the most glamorous of items; simple glazed ceramic with a copper bottom, the pot and cups both, but it held a quaint sort of charm that hinted questionably at humility, considering its owner. The huge pot of water was still sitting at a covered simmer in the kitchen, be it much lesser of volume now. Still, it was much more than enough to suit her needs at the moment, which was providing a simple cup of tea for those present. The nigh-exhausted Bard filled her pot, packed a slightly more than appropriate amount of tea into a copper wire infuser, and set it to steep. While she was getting these things together, she spoke to Lizbeth. "Certainly, you may stay. We are only guests, after all. After tea, if you think it's okay with your aunt, maybe you should get some rest here." She gave a glance over to Baronfjord. While in agreement that she should have some time to collect herself, Victoria did take a liberty in suggesting that she more fully recover herself before leaving. She was unsure as to what was happening outside of their walls, but the shtick about safety in numbers came to mind. And if she was a threat, keeping her away from others might be a good idea for the meantime, too.

After enough time for the tea to steep, Victoria placed a full, steaming cup in front of Lizbeth, and then another for Baronfjord. She reserved hers for a moment, first putting a dram of the very interesting brandy into the cup before bringing it high with black tea. "I have honey, if either of you would care for some." A moment's worth of consideration informed her that she did indeed want a bit for herself, just enough to give her morning cocktail a bit of rounding. She inhaled the vapors coming from the cup deeply and sighed with satisfaction. "Lovely." The first sip was worth it.

Quick mental commands had Morty set up along the wall, nearby but out of the way. She took a moment to check in with her Raven, who had flown elsewhere in the hustle and bustle of their return. It was still within range of her sensory notice, and Victoria took advantage of this to look through its eyes briefly. This gave her an interesting view of Kathryn and Kosara in the courtyard, doing ...something... with the corpses. "What in Acheron's frigid gates..?" she whispered, invoking the name of an interesting Hell alternative.


Victoria saw the shovel. And the barrel. And the goods for making a fire out of it all. And her face dropped. "All that silk," she whispered. Summoning up her familiarity with the abilities of her Raven counterpart (which she was beginning to appreciate more and more as the days passed), she understood that this telepathic and sensory connection with the bird paired excellently with its capability for Mimicry. While presenting her wishes to this spirit-made-flesh at the speed of thought from within the taproom of the Coach House, the Raven itself manifested said wished outside, near the rest of her party.

The ebon, winged, majestic creature perched above the scene outside and cawed loudly to get their attention, then croaked in a recognizable but obviously approximated version of Victoria's melodic, colorful accent, "WAIT. Don't. Burn. Yet. Please. VaLUable. Maybe. Clues. rrrSearch later. TEA INside. Hot."

Victoria stood ready to make a move outside, just in case they wanted to continue the plan to set all that valuable silk, linens, and whatever other noble-worthy articles that qualified as vintage at the very least aflame. She intoned to Lizbeth that it was probably best to stay in the taproom or kitchen for the meantime, but declined to mention that the reason involved the shattered remains of previously undead creatures outside. Smiling through a tired expression, she turned to her Dragonborn associate and inquired, "Did you mention something about biscuits? That sounds heavenly." Her smile remained as she took a sip from her teacup, eyes regarding Baronfjord and Lizbeth in even measure.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Alright ramblers, let's get rambling.

Or to put it differently, and as just a little bit of meta information, this encounter is drawing to a point wherein new information can only be gleaned by continuing investigation of the facts at hand. Don't get me wrong, there will be other opportunities to learn more, and there are unplanned opportunities that exist within the setting if one looks for them.

Past the next update or two, we are moving toward another time skip before something else unsettling and/or special occurs. Maybe it'll be one of those holidays. I mean, the late harvest is coming and someone has to consume rich, imperialist tidbits while sampling icewine from the harvest five years previous. Wine that has been sitting, aging in casks underground, just waiting for an opportune moment to be consumed. Best of luck.

Oh, and as usual, hit me up on Discord for the regular stuff.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Rose River Vineyard

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Coach House

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Weather: Temperatures rise a little in the presence of the now full sun. It is still below freezing, but more tolerably with appropriate clothing. The breeze has slowed considerably but is now near constant. It is still quite cold. The cloud cover seems to be increasing with the new day.

Time: Morning, bright and quiet.

Ambience: The sun streams down over a near idyllic series of rolling hills inscribed with the meandering lines of grave vine supports. There is a quiet cold that sweeps over everything, doubly so as the staff remained indoors - partly because of the hour, but greatly influenced by the hard night which had just passed. Cut paths of footfalls mar the smooth snowfall in the most trafficked places in and around the fields nearest the Estate House, which still bear the glowing braziers keeping the remaining Honigblume varietals from dying off in the midst of the sudden temperature plummet. The river's usual hum in the distance, ordinarily barely audible in the quietest times of the day, is as still as it was an hour ago, covered with a questionable layer of glassy ice.

*****

Inside of the Coach House, it has gotten a bit warmer. While it was nice to be out of the wind, the place didn't quite get to a much more appreciable level of comfort until Baronfjord stoked the fireplace in the main taproom. A few minutes past this and the place became downright comfortable.

Lizbeth stared at Baronfjord and Victoria for a moment, seemingly unwilling to answer the question put forth from the both of them. Her face turned away from their peering eyes and onto the papers on the table, one original, one inscribed with phonetic Abyssal, and one translated into readable, nuanced Common. The girl's voice repeated the syllables from the second one, occasionally making a correction of pronunciation as she went along as her voice was a little shaky. But as she continued, her words became more confidently fluid. Those capable of understanding Abyssal will hear a young girl, not quite an adult, with pretty, flowing hair and a cuirass made of ankheg chitin wrap her linguistic abilities around a tongue extraordinarily difficult to speak by someone with humanoid anatomy. Where certain vocal impossibilities crept up, she effortlessly utilized the accepted mortal analog, demonstrating the proficiency of a natural speaker in a Human body.

Her language then slipped into the more accepted language of the Prime Material Plane, "Farid al Ramil Sabaj al Hazred." After she spoke aloud the name of the original note's author, she looked back up at the two of them, and answered in a quiet voice, "I don't know." Looking back down at the pages upon the table, in the same quiet voice, "Do you mind if I stay here for a while, please? I don't ... I'm not feeling very well right now." Lizbeth absently slumped down into the chair nearest her at the table.

Translated Letter

-
Respectful Greetings.

I express grief for the death of Master Arnaud L'Rose. I could feel the moment his soul left this realm. It is unfortunate that this death did not happen within the boundaries of his home. It would have been preferred. No arrangement of partners is perfect of execution, therefore concessions may happen to complete our transactions. Arnaud's children are dead. His remaining heir is not of age. So I call upon you to complete the terms of the arrangement.

As an initial demonstration of grace and good faith, I present you a gift. I pray that you accept the fine wools, linens, silks, and sundry goods layered upon my emissaries. It is a grand gift fit for nobility within my nation. This is a gift in true measure and does not come with expectation of compensation. It serves only to illustrate my benevolence before we move onto other matters. Please enjoy them without caveat attached, free and clear.

Terms for promised compensation for the initial agreement with Master Arnaud extend beyond death and have not been met. I hope you may represent his interests here, so that I will not have to turn to his family. I will allow adequate time for a decision to be reached, and even more for the terms listed in the original contract to be fulfilled. I am not ungracious. But there is a time limit. Enjoy your holidays.

Farid al Ramil Sabaj al Hazred

Splintered masses of rock-solid, corpse-based ice were all that remained of the five figured placed unceremoniously within the servants' quarters of the Coach House. Where the desiccated remains of the figures were exposed from beneath the voluminous layers of fine textiles, these tiny shards of dead people spilled out and clinked to the stone floor like glass scattering beneath a thick, recently broken window. Oddly, they still had physical cohesion of a sort, as if something were holding them more or less together beneath their noble wrappings. Also curiously, there wasn't a drop of liquid nor scent of death upon them. The completely frozen state of these "diplomats", coupled with the low temperatures of the air and unheated accommodations worked wonders for this, barring a less mundane explanation.

Aside from the occasional tinkling sound of frozen shards slipping to the ground, the room remained deathly quiet. Outside, the near constant wind continued. Luckily, the walls of the Coach House's courtyard helped to remove some of the edge to those winds, but one's breath still condensed like a draconic fog upon exhalation. It was cold, and looked to be for some time.