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[center][hider=Healer's Cottage][img]https://i.ibb.co/Kjt2pXrP/Healers-Home.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]
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	[u]Weather[/u]: Diffuse light filtering through cloud cover prevents the warmer rays of the sun from effecting the snow on the ground. The wind gusts regularly, pushing cold air into exposed skin, not that skin should have much exposure in this season. There is no precipitation, which at this point classifies as favorable.  

   	[u]Time[/u]: It's mid-morning. Maybe early-to-mid morning, but let us be clear: It is not [i]early[/i] morning anymore. 

	[u]Ambience[/u]: Pushing through the snows to get to one's destinations on this frigid morning, at least on foot, makes any walk seem much longer. The ends of skirts and pant legs are bound to dampen considerably for anyone making a trek on or about the Rose River Vineyard. Moreover, while the snow seems to be more or less evenly sloping fro place to place, it does not always keep to the inclines and relative heights of the land beneath it, as one may discover via misadventure if they're not careful. The main roadway, at least, is a little less deceptive in this way. 

	Those exiting the Vineyard are, after a short distance, treated to a land far less ravaged by a blizzard. Snow remains, even drifts, but it is significantly more reasonable than over the estate directly. While it raises a few questions, it can be argued that the sledding is probably a lot better there, anyway. 

	The town of Southmoor is not exactly bustling, owing to the time of year and the large amounts of seasonal labors that have concluded. It feels a lot more subdued than the party's original visit on their way from the Township, though there are a decent few people going on about their days - mostly craftsmen plying trades which are nonseasonal in nature or occupations of service. The smells of controlled woodfires are here, which mingle with the pleasantries of cooking, more acrid tannins of leatherwork, the open freshness of cut wood, or less appealing aromatics common to Human town living. Cold accents or numbs everything a little, including the speed with which the few townsfolk, bundled against the temperature, go about their mornings. 

	The usually singing river has fallen quiet now, dormant under a sheet of ice of indeterminate thickness.  

[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center] 
[img][/img]	
	In the Study, Kathryn fits the key into the keyhole in the front of the locked box. Two things become readily apparent in this moment. First, this key most assuredly is intended for this lock. Second, the box is somehow secured to the floor. But no matter, this box is open. Within, there are a few obvious contents, most of which are smallish sacks secured with woven cord about the top. Each bears a thick, paper tag with writing in a strong, steady hand of blocky, legible letters and numbers. A random sampling of these tags bears a number, a denomination of currency, and a short notation like, "Tinker's Retainer", "Expansion Fund", "Quarterly Domestic Staff", etc. Next to this is a fuller style indentation in the wood, just about the size of a standard gold coin of the realm, which is generously full of the coin in question. The interior of the top of this box is crisscrossed with ribbon, underneath which is tucked a folded letter with Cecily's name written upon the showing face. It reads:

[hider=Letter]
-
	[color=darkgray][i]Cecily, 

	I have been hard on you. You are not blood relation and as such, I have felt that certain contributions you have made have been lesser, here on a family Vineyard. Were it not that you are the sole remaining caretaker of my granddaughter, I would have found an excuse to send you away. For this, you have my regret. I knew that you would have to find your way into this box eventually, because Lizbeth is not of age yet to take things over and I know my time is short. My children are dead. My wife also. Much was taken from us to ensure that this place prospered, and I have come to seriously doubt that it was needed at all. 

	 My efforts to sever our family from this have failed. I do not have a mind for magic as I have for numbers, but I learned enough to know that I am vastly outmatched by my benefactors. My time with the living is coming to an end, and I hope that my death ends the curse upon the land, even if logically there is no reason to think it might. You were not born a L'Rose. You are not from this land That might save you. Lizbeth was born here. Her first breath was taken from this air. First sip of water from the well here. First food grown here. Unlike everyone else, myself included, she is the first of our lineage native to this land, absorbing it from birth. I have seen her do things that a girl should not be capable of. Ever since the illness, she is changed. I fear that this is part of a plan that I have been tricked into. 

	I don't know if it is safer to keep her here, or get her as far away from here as possible. If Lizbeth has become what I think she has, I have a final gift that might help her. It is located in my second study; the place I go to be alone. [u]I do like to make sure our guests have plenty of bacon on hand[/u]. When you find the place, please remember me gently. I made mistakes and was desperate to fix them. Even if I shake free of The Prince, my soul is probably damned. The price of this will not include Lizbeth. 

	If everything comes to failure, take what you can of my estate and leave this place far behind you. This is my doing, and the fault of it rests solely on my shoulders. Start your life over. Let the L'Rose name die. The darkness shouldn't follow you.

	- Arnaud[/i][/color]
[/hider]

						*****

	The Temple in Southmoor was a single story structure with a somewhat vaulted ceiling. Grey, baked clay tiles made up the entirety of the floor, which was bare for the most part except for two thick, woven mat-like rugs near each of the main entrances. There were two of these, each double doors at opposite ends of the single room building. The temple itself looked to be designed to be as nondescript and symmetrical as possible while allowing the maximum amount of daylight inside throughout the day. Four decent-sized braziers radiated a goodly amount of heat, evenly spaced along the room, and a fair amount of light to supplement the overcast sunlight from the windows. Two even rows of smallish shrines featured equidistant from one another, flanking a raised, rectangular dais in the center of the temple. It resembled a long table from which one may procure and light candles, either for the general center or to place upon shrines for individual deities. 

	Deities represented were a mixed bag, though Chauntea, Lathander, Yondalla, Liira, Selune, Silvanus, lesser known Nuada, and naturally the Luck goddess Tymora.  The central dais with all of its candles made up a more neutral area whereupon one may, among other activities, put their prayers toward other powers who were not given a specific shrine. 

	Kosara's grand entrance into the temple and resounding [i]Hello[/i] was met by a total of three people. Two were gathered around one of the handful of shrines which dotted the room, while the third approached. He wore common but clean clothing, over which a decently knit woolen cloak hung. His hands clutched a broom with which he seemed to be particularly acquainted, and his eyes had a glassy, bloodshot charm to them. He appeared to be a human of middle to later years. A gravelly, slightly nasal voice issued from him, along with a hand held out beside him as if to show off the area just to his rear flank. [color=darkgray][i]"Ah! I see the Chosen One has arrived, and not a moment too late! Dark tidings fall across the lands of Avonshire, and I, your humble Priest Militant, shall guide you into the light of truth and... and...."[/i][/color]

	The older fellow immediately fell into sputtering laughter that he tried to stifle at first, but failed miserably. [color=darkgray][i]"Sorry! Sorry. I can tell you're not from here. It's my turn to sweep up, and um, answer any questions for folks who don't know what to do in here or need anything simple. What can I do for you, Miss..?"[/i][/color]


						*****
	
	The front door to the Estate House opened just a crack. It took a long while before it did, and just when there was a question as to whether anyone would answer the summons from Baronfjord. It was not Cecily, as he had called for, but one of the domestic laborers who was present for the Day-After-Brunch. She looked a little meek, even tired, as if the previous evening was not the most restful. She was rather quick to answer the question which was put forward to the absent Cecily, [color=darkgray]"No, eh, Monsieur Jon did not leave the Estate last night, because of the weather. Pleas wait here and I shall fetch him for you. He is almost ready to leave, anyway."[/color] The woman quickly pressed the door shut, trying to balance the need to keep warm with the desire not to slam the door in the face of a welcome guest. 

	It took a few minutes, but Jon did appear from behind the door. He was bundled in what looked like a borrowed coat, to look at the relative level of finery as compared to the very utility oriented clothing he usually wore. [color=darkgray]"Hey there, BB!"[/color] he said almost at once. [color=darkgray]"You're out and about early. I figured on having to come to you this morning. What's the occasion?"[/color] Truly, he was spared the worst of the previous evening, and it showed. [color=darkgray]"Come help me mix some oats into the horses' winter feed and we'll talk about it."[/color] He waved the much taller Dragonborn along to follow him as the Human fellow crunched out into the snows of the morning.