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: Southbound Road Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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That never happened. Never happened. Victoria had suffered a social setback when meeting people for the first time, not even in the lead of the conversation, when they had just walked out of a place which celebrated them as heroes. This idea genuinely gave the ordinarily silver tongued Bard a moment of pause and introspection. She then narrowed her eyes at Kosara. Was it possible that these people were throwing her off of her game? Of course, it might have been the last few days she intentionally spent away from people. But could she get rusty in just a few days? It made no sense.

No. This was a fluke. Nothing more. Victoria was a charismatic beast and no slouch of a spellcaster. But maybe, just maybe, she might wish to look into a few choice, subtle incantations which could assist in getting her point of view taken more seriously in those with whom she interacted. For professional reasons, of course.

Luckily, Cecily pulled them all from the fire with an assist from Lizbeth. Which was good, as Victoria had no desire to rain Shatter spell after Shatter spell (with the occasional Vicious Mockery for flavor) atop their close-packed formation and reanimate their beasts of burden to trample over the survivors like they were roughly kneading so much whimpering, bleeding, sapient dough into Elven flatbread. Such a thing would be unthinkable. Positively and plainly unthinkable. Lucky for Victoria, no one to her knowledge had the means to detect what train of thought gave her that curious smile as she climbed up to the driver's seat of their wagon and made room for Baronfjord. "Here, reins are all yours for now," she said to their Dragonborn companion in a sweet, cheerfully optimistic voice.

She said nothing to give indication one way or another as to whether she wished for them to investigate the sheep disappearances, confident that her new group of friends had already made that decision. She fully intended to go along with it and help as best as she might. But her attention stayed with her Morty, teaching wagon operation, and her new Familiar.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

So there's a little news with this update.

First off, I hope everyone had a warm and spiffy Mother's Day. Welcome back, and as we had a one-day hiatus, everyone gets an extra day in the rotation to post their minimum. Let the huzzahs rain about us like ...rain. Okay, I didn't think that last one through, but my point stands. Huzzah!

Secondly, as we're one PC shy of our usual number, I am ruling that, with every IC update, the one doesn't need to wait for two posts between your last one to post again. If you posted last or next to last before the update, feel free to go right ahead. Short form: IC Updates reset the two post rule.

Now back to the RP in general: The party has a choice in front of them. I've got stuff either way and your friendly neighborhood Bard isn't putting her word in unless there's a tie, so... Best of luck. Assume that the (now) caravan of three wagons are rolling along the road in the same direction you have been going so far. Mosswater has the lead, the L'Roses have the middle, and the Party's wagon brings up the rear. Baronfjord has his opportunity to drive the wagon now, with or without his teacher having to Save vs. Heart Attack at disadvantage.

Have fun!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: Overcast and chilly. Winds are windy, but no so much as to lose an unsecured hat. Yet.

Time: A touch after midday. The sun is still notable through the cloud cover.

Ambience: The low and small flowers around the roadside waypoint dance back and forth in the wind, smaller gusts turning it into a back-and-forth frenzy for a second or so at a time. The colors of the landscape unfurling all around remain as captivating as ever, were one in a position to appreciate it. Nearby, one may hear the subtler sounds of the river during the times when the wind quiets.

*****

The Halflings sitting atop and driving the farm wagon took their time listening to and digesting the words of the strangers with the surviving relatives of the elder Monsieur L'Rose of the Rose River Vineyard. Indeed, one might refer to it as a "stunned silence", owing to the fact that a few of them had confused expressions, complete with mouths agape, and none of them so much as cleared their throat for a few seconds afterward. Breeze filtering through brush dominated the landscape's auditory cues during this time, broken finally by a single, croaking caw from a very nearby black bird.

This seemed to break the spell surrounding the group, resulting in mutters amongst themselves, indecipherable on account of distance between themselves and the party. The Halfling who previously spoke decided to ignore the words of the strange Tiefling and Half-Elf who addressed him and returned his attention to Cecily. Shouting to make himself understood over the distance, he spoke, "Is everything canny, Madame L'Rose!? We can help; there's only four of them!"

Cecily's response was a weary but clearly spoken, "No, Monsieur Mosswater, everything is..." She paused to sigh and shake her head a little, "Everything is just as they said! Just not ...it's complicated! These fine people are my guests! Come along, now! I don't feel like shouting today!" Cecily looked tired in that moment as she waved them closer. She then gave appraising glances to the two, more socially oriented people of the group and wondered how they stumbled over such a first meeting. "Everyone has bad days, I suppose," she mumbled, partly in understanding, though admittedly partly with annoyance at the fact that a basic social encounter with people she knew was mishandled, and almost grievously, by adventurers she knew were plenty capable if they tried to be. If this had come to blows, Cecily was almost certain that the farmhands, people she knew and many she counted as friends, would have taken heavy losses. Even if they won the skirmish.

The Halfling-led group approached cautiously, keeping alert and eyeing the adventurers with a continued amount of suspicion. The ones with short hunting bows hung toward the back, apparently ready to provide cover if necessary. As they neared, one could better gauge tense looks upon their faces and what might have been a frazzled lack of meaningful rest. Still upon their cart, the Halfling, Mosswater, spoke up again. "What they're spitting out is true, then? Sheriff Arbalest sent them and the Constable went barmy?"

This time, Lizbeth spoke up in their defense before her aunt could get to it. "Of course, Mr. Mosswater! Not just that, they fought off an army of Goblins and got Grandpa's body back and made sure he got a good burial in the big cemetery. And, and... they saved Aunt Ceecee from Cavendish. They're big heroes, Mr. Mosswater, sir." Her finish was a touch meeker than her more excited start. Cecily could only nod in agreement.

After a short talk amongst themselves, Mosswater sent the rest of the group toward the Township to confirm, retaining only his until then silent companion upon the wagon with him, who smiled and introduced himself as "Tarace, and this my Barbal," motioning to the one who was doing the talking thusfar. The armed farmhands looked a bit hesitant to leave them alone with a gaggle of outsiders fresh from a kill, particularly the killing of someone they knew, on the word of two people who might or might not be influenced by said outsiders. In the end, they contented themselves with the idea that they were seeking out the region's authority for conformation and help.

Barbal Mosswater maneuvered his wagon around in the roadside waypoint and aimed it back in the direction from which they arrived, the same direction the party was headed, down the road. Calling back to Cecily, he said, "My people are going to find the Sheriff. If your new friends are really 'big heroes', maybe you can convince them to help out your old friends. Laurent's sheep have been picked off a few at a time and what or whoever's been doing it has been getting bolder. Bits of blood and mutton left strewn about, and if we can't get workers back in the fields before the snows come - and they're about to - some of us might starve this winter." His voice was gruff (for a Halfling) as he returned to the road and rolled off, not particularly waiting for an answer.

Cecily looked expectantly among the group and assured, "You don't have anything to prove to me, and all of you are welcome in my home regardless of what you decide. All of you have more than shown your courage and ability. And the others are going to get Gregory. If he can spare men right now I am sure this will get sorted. Let me know if you want to investigate this and I'll turn off the road near the Laurent farm. It might make us late getting back, just to say."

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: Southbound Road (Waypoint) Action: Help Action (Persuasion) Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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Victoria knew that the other wagon was getting close. Having a literal bird's eye view of it and its occupants let her know that this wasn't a standard group of agricultural folk out for a hayride in less than spectacular weather. It was her instinct to be guarded, mostly because of what she was. Of course, it was also her instinct to be as socially visible as possible. These two concepts sometimes fought with each other. This day, discretion was the more powerful of the two.

A quick mental inquiry confirmed that Morty was still in the wagon, motionless, awaiting order from its animator. A similar one confirmed that her Familiar was in an elevated location, likewise standing by. A tiny, sarcastic part of Victoria wondered if she had enough time to ritually summon her Phantasmal Steed, just to complete her present Necromantic Conjurations set. Then again, it was a spike of morale that recent revelations had allowed her to tap into enough power to now have a set of Necromantic themed summons. The final decision went against initiating the ritual as there wasn't particularly a reason past overhauling. And her steed in its previous form might arouse more suspicion in an already questionable situation.

Nevertheless, as the other wagon aproached on the road, Victoria put on her most personable expression and loosened her sword in its scabbard. Just in case.

Victoria heard the laments of the locals and did sympathize, but opted not to speak on behalf of the L'Roses as the newcomers were addressing Cecily specifically, nor did she wish to be the mouthpiece for her group unless called upon. Then Kosara spoke. Victoria felt whatever control she had over her fate for the next few minutes begin to slip away, like the reins of an uncontrolled warhorse. Her smile and demeanor of goodwill remained, albeit now with the mildest of eyebrow twitches and the occasional worried glance in the Tiefling's direction.

Finally, she spoke. Her words aimed to be supportive as well as informative, hopefully to smooth any potential rough spots in Kosara's delivery. "It is true; the Constable has been responsible for the disappearances, and I fear bartered his soul for madness and power. When he attacked the Township..." Victoria paused for emotional effect, shaking her head slowly, "The wounds he inflicted upon Avonshire and its people will not soon mend, but be assured he shall not do so again."

It was a resolute, if short speech, and Victoria waited with unseen curiosity as to whether it was of help in explanation, or if it moved them further toward an unwanted conflict. She would rather not harm uninvolved local folk if she could help it.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

And here we are ladies and gents, and that interesting rainbow between. Work took me away from my drafting for far too long, but here's the update, all updated and spell checked for your perusal. So, let's get to it!

If Baronfjord wishes to take the wagon over as they had discussed, this round is a good time to get involved. The teacher in this scenario will attempt to get BB involved in several aspects of using a lannd vehicle, which involves hitching up animals, hobbling/unhobbling, getting started, etc., as opposed to just forking over the reins when it's time to go. Intelligence check without Proficiency bonus. DC is 12, and you have advantage as V is helping to begin with. Actually driving it, DC is also 12, but Dexterity instead of Intelligence.

There is time to finish a meal and get ready to leave before the other wagon overtakes the party's position. So long as no one suddenly finds other stuff they'd rather be doing that's a longer task, it's all good. Unless you can lure someone else into taking care of your stuff for you. So long as, at the end of your next post, the characters acknowledge the presence of the other wagon and the people surrounding it, you're good to go.

Per usual: questions, concerns, calls for die rolls, or if you think I missed something, please let me know in Discord. Huzzah!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: Partly cloudy, cold. Winds are beginning to pick back up.

Time: A touch after midday. The brighter spot in the overcast sky above the clouds is more or less above the party.

Ambience: The landscape has its own charm, distinctly separate from a lush woodland or adventurous beachside. Low hills undulate out to the horizon with patches of different colors dappling the land in browns, greens, and unexpected florals which hug tightly to the ground. Copses of trees are a little more sparse here than the idyllic setting around the Avonshire Township, which only makes them easier to pick out in the distance. The river, as always, winds to and from the road in a more meandering path, occasionally making its presence known by a light, watery murmuring. If it were a little warmer, one would be utterly surrounded by excellent spots for a picnic.

*****

Knowledge of some several people in your general vicinity, mostly on smaller, connecting paths to the main, does not really blunt the stark difference present in the determined stride of the group coming up from the south. If the information passed along via raven is accurate, there may be a touch of negativity present in the Moors of Avonshire. But this is not to be a certainty for a bit of time yet.

The group in the distance dips out of sight behind the rise of a lower hill. It is credible that this is not an act of deception so much as it is the natural progression of one following the lay of the main road. In any case, conservative estimates give them a bit of time before the groups meet.

Cecily gave only a cursory glance in the direction of the others on the road, apparently not paying it a lot of mind. She did give a response to Baronfjord's assessment of her pie, once it crystalized in her head that he was speaking to her. In truth, she seemed distracted. "Sharp nose, Mr. Chedgusah. But no, it is not my recipe at all. I bought it back in the Township just this morning." It was a small pie, just large enough for one as a meal or two, if side items made an appearance on the plate. "Plenty of sheep and shepherds off the beaten path down in the Moors that have good recipes for a lamb and onion pie, if you want me to introduce you while you're with us."

The continued possibility of drama gave Lizbeth a restless look. Duties done, she risked a quick smile and word or two in Kathryn's direction for the help, and returned to her aunt for lunch. Before finding someplace quiet with her half of the pie, the little girl climbed the side of the wagon and risked a look. "Where? Oh, there. Still a while off. We have time to eat." she said flatly. But the fact that she was talking was an improvement, and testament to the resilience of children.

Both of the L'Roses listened to the monologue from Kathryn and froze in their positions, with food halfway to their mouthes and an odd expression. Far be it for any of them to pass judgement on those who saved their lives, limbs, and sanity in the face of overwhelming dark magic and wererat-ery, but it was not quite the casual lunch conversation to which they were accustomed. Their previous lives seemed like they were so very long ago, now that they had been introduced to some of the more dangerous things of their realm. A touch of strange conversation at mealtime was expected, apparently. Once lunch was done, however, they did hitch their oxen back to the wagon and hop on board, per suggestion of their impromptu bodyguards.

There was indeed time to see to one's meal, so long as it was taken cold, and get ready to leave by the time the other wagon was clear and visible. Within shouting distance, even. And shout they did - or one of the Halflings driving the wagon did, at any rate. "HO THERE!" came the bellow, louder than one might expect from one of the shorter folk. "IS THAT YOU, MADAME L'ROSE?" The wagon and the irregularly armed Humans drew closer. At about stone-throwing distance, they stopped. "Ho there! We head for the Township in hopes that Constable Cavendish can get some guards out our way! Farmer Laurent's sheep have been massacred, and the last of the gleanings cannot be done for fear of the workers' safety! We need help. Really soon."

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: Southbound Road (Waypoint) Action: "Familiar Stuff" Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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Victoria was just a little disappointed that no one immediately jumped at the opportunity to sample her cured, smoky travel rations. The usual thought process following this might have been something along the lines of "more for me, I suppose," but considering they would be settling into a semi-permanent place for the next couple of months, or until the snows came and went, her preserved foodstuffs (now without its less mundane preservation) would not last until spring. Perhaps she might be less disappointed if she had a bigger appetite this day. "Such a waste," she mused quietly, shaking her head.

Something which would not go to waste, as Kathryn was requesting it very cordially, was some of her wine. The internal debate of red versus white was a factor, of course, for about two seconds until she began to realize that pairing against travel rations and/or marketplace fare was a silly endeavor and just handed over a mid-quality blush. Victoria took a little satisfaction in the idea that Kathryn was coming around to wine. At least for now. Considering the place they were traveling to, the Bard had a fair amount of optimism.

After making sure the wagon wasn't going anywhere and unpacking just what was necessary for an expedient mealtime, Victoria took note of her new, burlap and linen wrapped companion. So much as she found such a beast useful, and even spoke to it sometimes as if it were capable of understanding, she knew that it was merely a tool given animation by wisps and tendrils of necrotic energy. Not that she wasn't grateful. But the other creature bound to her was different. The raven was sentient as well as useful, a spiritform made flesh to assist her in her duties, be they magical or non. No, Mort wasn't the best name for it. It would do for now. Just not forever.

Focusing her mind back her original beast of burden, Victoria secured a few small bits of chopped pork from her rations and popped them into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "So a piece of him will always be with me." Her lilting voice was joined by a smile in short order. The little joke concluded, she made a quick and simple lunch by wrapping a piece of bread around a small amount of meat, a few crumbles of cheese, and chopped pickles. Crunchy autumn greens rounded things out, which Victoria was grateful for as the application of such things seemed beyond the standard diet of anyone in or near the Township. Yet as much as a more balanced, vegetable heavy diet appealed to her, she consumed it as quickly as she dared and in smallish portions. They weren't off the road yet. She did not wish to get too comfortable.

As Victoria finished up, she involuntarily devoted a spot of awareness to her raven. Yes, this might be an excellent time to explore a benefit of having a Wizard's (or more specifically a Bard's) Familiar. She smiled. There was something that Victoria hadn't done yet involving her raven - why, she could not tell - that she greatly wished to do now. Standing, Victoria wiped the corner of her mouth and exhaled a breath of intent into the world around her.

The great, black bird on top of the covered wagon fluttered its wings and glided to its master, seemingly galvanized to action by the excited look coming from Victoria. They locked eyes for the briefest of moments before the ebon avian took to the sky, circling to find an appropriate current to assist in its ascent. Victoria's smile turned into an expression of delight; one hand removed her particularly bardy hat to let the cold, midday wind flow freely through her red-auburn hair. A faraway look came over her eyes, as if she was no longer viewing that which lay before her but something at a nigh unconquerable distance. The Bard held her arms straight out to her sides and gave an un-nuanced, genuine laugh. "This is flying!" she exclaimed as Mort circled and climbed ever higher above them all. "This is flying, and it is glorious!" She really had to find a new name for her Familiar.

Victoria was not completely without her sense of propriety despite the look of utter joy she currently possessed. She cleared her throat and set her feet firmly to the ground a little more apart from one another. Senses focused on what she could see from "Very well. I have excellent vantage from here, and the Raven's sight is so much keener than mine. This is amazing. Truly amazing." Deprived of her own senses of sight and hearing, Victoria's voice issued forth a little louder than intended. It was something to which she would have to get accustomed. "I can see so far, and so clearly... I think I can make out the Township! That is... not why I'm doing this. Alright, there are a few tiny groups coming from smaller roads joining the main. They look like farm folk. But the group ahead of us on the main road - mostly Human. Maybe ten. Two Halflings driving a laden wagon. All of them have farming implements and a couple have hunting bows. They look emotional. Maybe angry, scared, or both." The words might have felt more final, or urgent, except that Victoria was still enamored with the sensations of flight.

Reluctantly, Victoria broke contact with her Familiar but kept it soaring above in case another look was needed. "We still have some time before they get here. Perhaps we should ready ourselves for an event."

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: Southbound Road, Waypoint Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: Dexterity Save (taking the reins)

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It was unexpected to Victoria that their more recent Dragonborn companion wished to engage in conversation with her, as they really hadn't spoken in any depth nor detail until that day. Of course, they were engaged in a pitched battle not too long ago and she had basically locked herself away for most of the time after that, so she supposed that this lack of socialization was more her fault than anyone's. Add to this the fact that, earlier that very morning Victoria had gone out of her way to show off her performance chops and make a grand, magic-filled appearance to their sendoff from the Avonshire Township. It was interesting enough to warrant some form of talk. Between this and Victoria's usual tint of vanity, that lack of expectation turned into surprise that he had not attempted a conversation with her until just then.

The first item she addressed was on the nature of the seasoned, smoked pork she had in abundance for the trip to the L'Rose's vineyard. To this, there was a marginal amount of bush-beating with her response. "The seasoning and curing process is ...not local in nature. It was been put to motion following aging, and if you might forgive whatever bluntness you assume from the following - it has been subject to preservation as a side effect of magic performed upon it. This nuances the flavor, I've found." She gave a knowing but neutral smile and did not elaborate further.

She did not comment on the suggestion to play music for them while they set up for a quick meal, unsure as to whether she should feel insulted but willing to give the benefit of the doubt that Baronfjørd was well-meaning in his words. Music was her stock and trade, after a fashion, even if she wasn't exactly that sort of Bard. At least not all of the time.

She was noticeably more open when the question of utilizing her Phantasmal Steed came into the discussion. "To be quite transparent, that was only the second time I have summoned Mortimer." Victoria mulled over the name as she said it aloud, and gave a short pause afterward with an expression of continued consideration. Did that name work for this summons? Would it be specific to this one spell, or any such quasi-real/necromatic/summoned creature of approximate size and utility? If she used her Note of The Dead ability on a skeletal warhorse, would it, too, qualify as "Mortimer?" In any case, those questions were not related to the topic at hand. "I cannot summon that creature like a true Wizard might. Instantly, I mean to say. I must build magical energies over time; for me, about ten minutes or so. And it will stay for approximately an hour, unless I dedicate another ten minutes." She paused again to reflect on how she might phrase the following, "And while it is an amazingly swift and tireless steed for that hour, our nameless draft mule here is inherently stronger, more capable in a harness, and does not require hourly magical upkeep. To put it simply, Mortimer cannot pull the weight." Victoria shrugged, "As a more positive comparison, the Steed would absolutely outpace our mule unladen, and is marvelously easy to control. I don't really need reins." That last issue, ease of control, was important. Victoria was not exactly an amazing equestrian. Passable, perhaps. Unless she had a mental connection to a creature, undead or otherwise, she was far more comfortable sitting on a coach seat than atop a destrier saddle.

"Now, if you're positive you wish to try your hand at wagon driving on the second leg of our journey, I am agreeable. Have you had much experience?" Time would mark this initial attempt by her new companion as, to put it with a degree of levity, suboptimal. The Bard had a swift and startling time wresting control of the wagon back into line before it took an unfortunate path to setback. "Everything is fine, everything is... Hmm. Perhaps we should pick this up again after lunch, like you suggested initially?"

Finding a place to park the wagon once they reached their temporary stop was easy. The place looked like it was designed specifically as a waypoint, or something similar. She had been to many like it as a child, having been raised in a mercantile business family and occasionally joining the odd caravan on safer, fully established routes. It was an interesting feature of her early education. When Victoria did bring the wagon to a halt, she called for her most recent student of wheeled travel to help a bit, much as Kathryn was doing for Lizbeth. "Kosara, dear, could you please see to our mule while I place our wheel stops and check for wear? I won't be but a handful of moments, and then you all simply must try a pinch of my excellent chopped pork. It's to die for." A warm and inviting smile crossed her face as she looked up from her work, before she swiftly got back to it.

Victoria gave notice to the group approaching from down the road a fair piece of distance away. They had passed and been passed by others on this road and she saw no reason to think theae people were any different, but noting them seemed appropriate. Perhaps she might scout them out a little bit. Or just use their presence as an excuse to explore newly acquired abilities. But they were still a good way off. There was time, and tasks to do at the stopping point.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@rivaan@Shoe Thief@Sigil@Arty Fox

Update is posted. Updated, even. We have survived the week, and that is spiffy enough to warrant a drink or three. As I've already started the celebration process, I shall leave it to you to catch up. But first:

To business!

If you wish to start a cookfire in the provided area, I'll need a skill roll: Survival, DC 15. In and of itself it isn't a difficult thing to do, but fuel must be foraged in a timely manner and the fire must be stoked to a point that cooking is practical. By that time it is more likely that people will be ready to leave, as the object was to get to the Vineyard before sundown. If one wishes to utilize magical means to get a fire going, you still have to gather fuel. But the DC lowers to 12. This represents ingenuity, quick action, and sharp eyes out on the moors in a place that has been picked through many times for burnable goods. (Many people in this position will carry fuel with them.)

For Baronfjord to take over the wagon, if he is inclined to do so, I will need an Intelligence check without Proficiency bonus. As the wagon is following another one and the road is obvious, the highly experienced mule will do more than half of the work for you. DC is 10. Does Baronfjord wish to learn the Vehicles (Land) proficiency over the course of this adventure? By house rules, if you're devoting repeated attempts to learn/use a tool proficiency, teachable skill, etc. and have someone/something that serves as a mentor and/or extenuating circumstances, you may pick up the tool, language, skill, ability, or whatever at completion of the Act. NOTE: Only one such piece of learning may be earned this way at a time. I will need to know ASAP if he IS taking over this one time, as it will influence Victoria's actions in the upcoming posts.

Oh yeah, and the mule you're talking smack about? Doesn't seem to mind, really.

Those bits of business aside, if you have any questions, concerns, calls for die rolls, or if you think I missed something, please be in touch in our Discord. Many thanks!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: Partly cloudy, cold. Winds are slowing down for the meantime.

Time: Midday-ish. Close enough, one way or the other.

Ambience: The cold of the morning has let up a bit, but not so much as to make one comfortable outside of stouter attire. One's breath still conjures up images of steam from deep earth. It is tolerable for those acclimated to the climate of the region. At least the wind is calmer than it has been; a blessing not oft afforded by those upon the leveler land of the moors during a season change.

*****

A general consensus of opinion put the group stopping off to one side of the road for a quick lunch. Setting a fire wasn't conducive to a stop for a hasty meal and they weren't making camp, but maybe if one were skilled and reasonably quick something could be arranged. They traveled along for another decent bit of time before reaching a spot alongside the road that looked perfect for a short stop. Even ground with large, flattish boulders piled (by design or happenstance, none might say) as to afford dry, elevated places to rest. Late autumn and early winter blooming flowers, tiny but numerous, opened up along low-growing scrub and bushes surrounding a decently sized area of short, bent grass and pebbly ground. There was a passable ring of stones for a small fire, if desired, but no obvious fuel in sight.

The place seemed recently deserted, likely by one of the northbound wagons which had passed them earlier. Fresh vehicle tracks joined with the shallow-worn ruts which join with the hard, marked road and a damp spot of stone implied a spill of some manner. This had all of the appearances of a popular resting spot along a marginally to moderately used country road; a spot of brief respite before continuing along to the trade route in one direction, or further into the moors in the other.

Lizbeth remained listless from the last time she spoke, yet still took to what amounted to her usual tasks when stopping mid-travel, albeit with the silent and mechanical motions of one who learned through repetition. She did not spurn the offer of help from Kathryn though did not say much as she went along, showing what she was doing and holding things out to the tall knight that she would need later. The animals were let loose of their yokes and individually led to spots which still contained foragable grass and hobbled with rope; wedges were placed beneath wagon wheels, brakes set, and mental checklists were ticked. She forced a small smile of gratitude for the assistance.

Cecily oversaw Kathryn and her young niece's handiwork as she set up a quick meal. A packing box made for a more or less serviceable spot to lay out their repast, which consisted of, to all overt inspection, a lamb and onion pie with thick, perforated crust, and a small basket of hardcooked eggs. Diluted wine rounded things out for her and the girl. Satisfied with Lizbeth's efforts and her own, she called out to her niece, "Lunch is ready, sweetie!"

Off in the distance in the direction of the party's destination, foot and cart traffic could be seen making their way toward the group's resting spot. There is space to accommodate them all, should any of them wish to likewise take a breather. The rest area (so to speak) is on slightly elevated ground and provides a good amount of vantage at a distance, and so it is safe to calculate that they are a good way off. It will be a while before they arrive. Without additional means of sight or other detection, few if any details may be gleaned from them - yet.