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[center][hider=Southmoor][img]https://i.ibb.co/QnKHXZ8/Southmoor-Poachers-Crest-Map.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]
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[center][hider=Healer's Cottage][img]https://i.ibb.co/Kjt2pXrP/Healers-Home.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]
[center][hider=Southmoor Polytheistic Temple][img]https://i.ibb.co/3mz9PGKN/Southmoor-Polytheistic-Temple.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]
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	[u]Weather[/u]: The sky would be best described as "mostly cloudy", as the general cover of its previous overcast nature has been worn through by sunlight; point of fact one inclining their head upward would see a hint of blue now and again. The wind picks up slightly, bringing with it the damp feel of less frigid air. Still cold, just slightly less so with the advancing day.  

   	[u]Time[/u]: The morning is progressing in the manner that mornings usually do. If one here a Halfling, they might be thinking about Second Breakfast about now.  

	[u]Ambience[/u]: The snow begins to settle ever so slightly as the temperature ticks up a degree or two. Not enough to make a great difference in the landscape, and in fact may threaten additional difficulties when the sun sets again, but noticeable if one tries to. People moving about, what few of them are, stick to main paths out of safety as hollows are filled with the frozen white stuff and drifts make some areas hazardous. Sledding makes for a viable diversion, if one trusts the stopping point.  

	The nearby town of Southmoor has taken on a more sleepy quality, as the basest amount of business that one may have in the morning was hustled through in hopes of returning to the warmth and comforts of home. This being the morning after the first blizzard of the season, there is a general preference toward hunkering down and reserving one's self. For the most part. People with essential community jobs or merely those wishing to keep up their occupations continue to do so, as indicated by the occasional sounds of tools a'tooling - but behind the comfort of enclosed spaces and shuttered windows. Hearth fires continue to vent smoke in orderly lines coming from residences, primarily.  

	Children around the river, having figured out which parts have the thickest ice, play with more abandon than they probably should upon the slippery surface. From somewhere downstream, one might hear the distant utterance of, [color=darkgray][i]"G'Morning! Nice day for fishin', ain't it? Huah huh!"[/i][/color]  

[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center] 
[img][/img]	
	The wagon creaked along the snowy pathway en route to Southmoor, clunkily soldiering down the main thoroughfare from the Rose River Vineyard laden with a single, primary piece of cargo. It was a crate, fairly large as crates go, originally holding tools or the like useful to the continuing business of winemaking and/or the care of its inhabitants, but now carrying the much more distasteful cargo of Human bones and skin. The corpse was defiled in such a way as to make it a horror for friends or family of the departed to witness it; to be frank the only way to have made a clear identification was by the extensive tattoos upon it. This was the latest Master of Harvest, Toombes, or what was left of him. Nevertheless, the body required a glimpse before it was taken away, just to be sure. 

	A few steps led up to this:

	At the point of time that the Coach House was bereft of adventurers, having gone off to their own devices, Urmdrus unfolded a letter signed [i]Cecily L'Rose[/i]. The instructions were simple - transport the remains of Monsieur Toombes to his family in Southmoor - plus a few tiny bits of nuance which he likely would not be adept at passing along, seeing as his grasp of the Common tongue was, as it turned out, without much in the way of nuance. her refolded the scrap of paper and tucked it away in a pocket, then roused his companion to carry out the appointed task. [color=darkgray][b]"They are gone, Daxos."[/b][/color] he spoke in native but accented Dwarfish. [color=darkgray][b]"Let's get this done. I require your help moving a crate."[/b][/color] Urmdrus was a grey-skinned Dwarf of slimmer build but knotted with cords of lean muscle. Bald yet bearded, with rough, calloused hands and an array of thick-lined, black tattoos across one side of his face. He dressed simply, in something akin to utilitarian coveralls and a work apron of canvas and brown leather. Tools of various types were found about his person, most notably two decently sized hammers on either hip and, thanks to the danger about, a rather large one across his back as if he was preparing for a battle. The two of them were in a workshop which was part forge, part carpenter's shop, and generally a place where many a craft could be practiced. There was an unsettling half-barrel in one corner that was covered with a crude square of oiled canvas, about which the Dwarf mentioned, [color=darkgray][b]"I am aging urine here. If you have to piss, make sure it finds its way into the barrel. You don't want be in here when I boil it down. Trust me."[/b][/color] Urmdrus has a number of wise pieces of information like this, be they the unapologetic and blunt statements of a fellow who didn't care if he impressed anyone. 

	Recovering the corpse was the straightforward job of entering the Coach House's courtyard storage area, prying off the lid, and hammering it back together, followed by lifting with one's knees to place it on the back of Urmdrus's personal conveyance; a tool wagon pulled by a single trotter horse. [color=darkgray][b]"Don't go in the main rooms right now. The Half-Elf has a ...dead pig... and I don't know where it is. Could make trouble we don't need. Let us just get Toombes and leave."[/b][/color]

	And so, as the wagon creaked along the afore mentioned snowy path, it pulled into the town of Southmoor with two Dwarves, a selection of tools and materials, and a box containing [i]most[/i] of a Human corpse. Maybe half, give or take. [color=darkgray][b]"When we get back to the Vineyard, Daxos, I need you to ingratiate yourself to the Adventurers there. I have spoken with Madame Cecily, the proprietor of the Vineyard, and while she consents to your presence as my learner there is concern for safety. I believe you are safer under a roof with them. Continue to assist me as needed, but stay with them if you can. Also, I have evening trainings with the Heiress, Lizbeth, if you see her poking around the workshop. Let her be if you can. She has recently lost family. Now, help me offload this box. I will try to be diplomatic with the family."[/b][/color]

	There was much in the way of wailing and pulling of hair, some very short minutes later. The sounds of realized horror and grief were such that it brought neighbors out of houses and into the streets, all with the same questions collectively coloring their expressions. Urmdrus washed his hands of the situation as soon as it was over, intoning, [color=darkgray][b]"I told them to keep it closed."[/b][/color]

	Thusly, we have Daxos Ironbow making his introductory appearance into Avonshire. 

	[u]At The Healer's House[/u] - Victoria spoke her question to the elder Human, to attempted to temper annoyance with understanding. [color=darkgray][b][i]"You[/i] are supposed to be the expert here. There's even reference books in your knapsack. You can at least rule out a few things with what you know already. Put what you're doing down for a minute and stop thinking like a Bard. Take the knowledge you have and see what fits."[/b][/color] Annick slipped into the other room for a moment and came back with more tea. This might have made the third cup for them both, but from the look of things they needed to be as sharp as they could for a moment. Maybe a couple moments. [color=darkgray][b]"A living Necromancer wouldn't be around this long in one place without dying of old age. Unless this was a Dwarf or Elf, and the Alhazred didn't deal with them much, let alone make one a Prince. This creature is intelligent. If it already has an army at its disposal and hasn't done something with it, this means either that it cannot, has chosen not to for some reason, or a mix of both. If it [i]cannot[/i], then it probably isn't a full Lich or similar. If it has [i]chosen not to[/i] then there is something it wants or needs. If it is [i]both[/i], then it is waiting for something it needs."[/b][/color] The Healer sipped her tea and insisted that Victoria do the same. [color=darkgray][b]"My experience with Undead back in the War? They've got patience, the kind that you and I do not. Drink your tea, look into your books, and we can bat ideas back and forth. You might already know more than you know."[/b][/color]

	[u]At The Study[/u] - Lizbeth looked at the sarcophagus sized box with wonder and apprehension until the lid was removed, and then with puzzlement. She looked like she was going to make comment or lend a hand several times, but ultimately held her tongue as Kathryn began to dig into the contents of the box. The loose dirt was easy to move, and held a good amount of shards of worked stone and some bits that she was almost certain were bone, but identifying them precisely was difficult with all of the movement going around. While the digging persisted, the young lady walked back to the glass doored cabinet where she had found the curved, shortish sword she now carried and poked around a bit now that she had more time. There were drawers underneath the glass which she carefully opened, to reveal what appeared to be items of cloth and some coins. Older, foreign coins, from the look of them, and decently preserved articles of clothing wrapped in other lengths of silver-charcoal fabric. The whole cabinet looked like it contained souvenirs, or preserved sociological pieces of interest. A damaged light helmet was here as well, which Lizbeth picked up and inspected, but set back eventually. her hands went to the wide circlet of refined Ankheg chitin made to resemble grape leaves, a gift from Urmdrus, and wondered how it might stack up as a protective device. The older Dwarf did nothing without purpose. 

	The Wine Heiress turned her head back in Kathryn's direction when the agricultural question was spoken. [color=darkgray]"Why yes, Lady Kathryn. I was raised with agriculture. Unless you pack it yourself, dirt stays loose under an open sky until the next time it rains, and then the sun dries it out. It stays loose a whole lot longer if it's under something... but I'm not sure how long inside of a sealed box, if I'm being honest, madame."[/color]

	The moment that the uncut, blackish green crystal flashed under the firelight of the room, Lizbeth's eyes were drawn to it. She stopped what she was doing to focus attention to the oddly beautiful item and the dim glow it produced, its light reflecting in her eyes for only a blink of time. Within that blink came a sweeping change over the girl, however, with whitened eyes and sunken features, a darkness passing over her even as her skin seemed to pale. A fleeting, ephemeral visage of death came and left in the time it took to snap one's fingers, silent and cold as winter dusk. Lizbeth herself seemed fully unaffected past this, however, leading one to possibly question if this was a mere trick of the light and an uneasy mind. The girl smiled at the idea that they had found a clue, remarking, [color=darkgray]"Great idea, Kat!"[/color] to the thought of bringing it back to show the others. In the same breath, she promised not to tell the staff about the mess. The cloth she kept for herself, determined to take a closer look at everything later. Who knew? Maybe there was something to this, as well. Or maybe she would just claim some of her inheritance early. The fabric looked expensive. 

	[u]At The Stables[/u] - Jon's face was grim as he took in the news. [color=darkgray]"I had heard something had happened. That's a shame about Mr. Toombes. He was a good lad. Worked hard. Make folks laugh. I'm still not sure where he got his tattoos done."[/color] While openly weeping wasn't his way, Jon did look distraught. He had already spoken of rumors about the Estate House, but judging from his reaction, the truth, or at least full truth, hadn't been offered up in any of them. But he still had a job to do, which in his case meant ripping open a sack of oats and supplementing the animal's feed with them. He kept quiet for a long while as he poured an estimated emount into feeding troughs and feed bags, then added in a pinch of salt and the bulk feed. Solid shakes and tussles of the containers later and he looked to be about done, minus some cleanup. [color=darkgray]"I hear you, I do. Not wishing to alarm me. I tell you, letting me know that Toombes is dead and that whatever's happening is still happening is kind of alarming. Maybe that should take a priority, y'know? Yeah, I'll let you know about stuff if anything else weird happens, but I've got me a question first - you asked for information on Monsieur L'Rose; Arnaud, I mean. The way you asked it makes me think it's related to that 'alarming' stuff. You got something you need to tell me?"[/color]

	[u]Back At Southmoor[/u] - [color=darkgray][i]"No, no, not TownHALL, that's TownSHIP,"[/i][/color] hastily corrected Thad, his broom swinging back and forth with his words like it was trying to emote for him, as if the growing confusion and anxiety on his face wasn't doing a good enough job for him in the first place. He seemed to grow slightly more animated as each moment passed; a side effect of being in the presence of the wily Tiefling lady, it seemed. [color=darkgray][i]"The Avonshire Township, that is to say. I mean, I suppose we do have a town hall, so to speak, but it's more of a meeting place for town events and, and... like, presenting births or marriages, and the like. Messengers leave stuff there; mail and the like. If we had a regular Constable, they'd be there. Get a shoe shine there for a copper too, if the boy's around, but..."[/i][/color] The middle-aged fellow looked highly out of his depth here, grasping at straws of being helpful while trying hard not to spontaneously combust. [color=darkgray][i]"I mean, we might have something like records, but it's like, well, like births and such."[/i][/color] 

	This didn't stop the flustered broomguy from assisting Kosara with her candles, setting things up for her or putting flame to wick, though it seemed a little like overkill for a simple session of prayer. Still, ten silver Argents would go a long way toward upkeep of the shrines and maybe put a little away for nonperishable food stores, so long as folks weren't too picky in leaner times. Such was the nature of the average neutral to good-aligned place of worship in one form or another. 

	The prayers went with the speed and ease of the person praying, as deity supplications are wont to do. After which there wasn't any grand sign of divine action, though one way or may not read the flickering of candles as something taking notice, or conversely a ruffle of air from someone giving a quiet sigh or merely passing in a direction nearby. As it was, with the other two petitioners leaving, it had come down to just Kosara and the caretaker assigned to the Temple. Thad still had his concerns, but appeared to be fully willing to assist as he was able. In his own way, quite possibly shocked and concerned not to.