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[center][hider=Southmoor][img]https://i.ibb.co/QnKHXZ8/Southmoor-Poachers-Crest-Map.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]
[center][hider=Coach House][img]https://i.ibb.co/5jfBrYW/Coach-House-Opener.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]
[center][hider=Town Hall][img]https://i.ibb.co/qYHqmJFq/Town-Hall-Meeting.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]
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	[u]Weather[/u]: The sky has cleared a bit more, allowing for more blue than white to be visible skyward. The sun is a more frequent friend, prompting the ambient temperature to rise a bit. While it is still cold, it might be hovering just a speck above freezing. The occasional gust of wind pushes about damp air, leading to a still biting breeze upon the uncovered or unwary.  

   	[u]Time[/u]: About an hour has passed since our last check-in, putting us firmly around midday.    

	[u]Ambience[/u]: The interior of the Coach House is a tad warmer now, a little more comfortable, now that time has passed and the fire has been tended by those present. Lamps are available for lighting, were one to have the proclivities to do so. The well used but also well cared for wooden furniture here accommodates one comfortably enough, and the scent of grapeseed oil mixes with seasoned wood and the more sour-sweet notes of fine potables. This place is, in all respects, a small Inn with the exception that it stands on private land, for private use. In addition to the wide selections of extremely local wines and a few select favorites of the present and former owners, there stands the remains of a cask of ale, courtesy of our very large and strong Knight, and a still mostly full cask of [i]totally not cursed brandy[/i], courtesy of the groups earlier escapades. 

	The cellar, now a point of interest aside from the cool, dry spot to store semi-perishables, is dark. The only light present is what one brings with them, though there are plenty of oil lamps back in the main area to assist with this dilemma. many things can be found here - flour, nuts, dried and jarred fruits, cheeses, and the like all contribute to the overall ambience of the area, all neatly stacked and separated appropriate to their needs for the longest possible storage time before spoilage. All sorts of containers may be found here; sacks and baskets (hanging or otherwise), crates, hooks, and especially shelving, broad and solid, all set off of the wall with the exception of one bit of shelving which carried tools appropriate to opening crates and dealing with some of the more industrial needs of a functioning kitchen. Barrels of many types also rest down here, bearing the mark of the L'Rose family and the Rose River Vineyard.   

	In the greater lands about, one begins to note a decided amount of snowmelt. The day has progressed enough that the sun has broken free of its cloudy imprisonment (for the most part) and its warm, life-giving rays are right in the outset of reducing the inches of snow into something more manageable for the time being. The problem being, when it rests for the day, what will become of the melt? The high sun is enough to get the children of Southmoor off of the river ice, and even the fellow who mentioned that is was indeed [i]a good day for fishing[/i] has disappeared to places unknown. Late risers and later workers have poked heads out of doors now, exposing the primarily Human population of the town to the open sky and still chilled atmosphere. Most of them busy themselves with shoveling snow from in front of their residences and what passed for streets in their immediate vicinity, with the Halfling minority population keeping mainly to themselves, still. The sounds of tools working behind closed shutters remains, but now it is joined across town by the occasional pleasant conversation. Most of these are about health and weather, commonplace things to discuss, though a few are in more hushed, almost conspiratorial tones. Foot traffic has increased moderately, and with it, Kosara and Daxos have been getting the occasional curious look, in the way that common folk of a region might react to outsiders.    
  
[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center] 
[img][/img]	

	In town, the lady behind the desk at the Town Hall looked upon Kosara with confusion at first, maybe coupled with a bit of genuine fear. It was rare indeed that a Tiefling show up in the extraordinarily rural area of Southmoor. Point of fact, her presence likely marked the only Tiefling that many of the townspeople had ever seen. So when she began to discuss in a marginal amount of detail the expressed displeasure of her "grandpa" in rapid words and friendly, if seemingly excited gestures, there was a mote of worry. All of this built into an expression that might have insisted upon calling the nearby soldier, until Kosara mentioned the rats. Then her demeanor shifted considerably. [color=darkgray]"Oh! You're with the group of Independent Contractors that Sheriff Gregory hired to handle the Goblin issues, right? And handled Constable Cavendish? I never did like that guy, even if he was Gregory's cousin. Rude fellow. But, you're The Ones Who Answered, right? I don't remember hearing about a Dwarf in your number, but you know how rumormill works. Nothing's ever everything."[/color] 

	She appeared a little more open to discussion at this time, even going so far as to volunteer a bit of information. But first, [color=darkgray]"Wait, you're telling me there's actually something happening at the Vineyard? That's tragic! Does it have anything to do with..."[/color] her tone dropped to a whisper, [color=darkgray]"...the dead guy from last night?"[/color] She let it hang there for a moment, but did eventually continue. [color=darkgray]"I've already told you, no one owned the land out that way, or even this town's land, back more than eighty or a hundred years. I mean, maybe [i]someone[/i] did a really, really long time ago, but this place only got built up by settlers from the kingdom a few generations ago. The pioneers didn't keep the best records at first, either. Literally nothing was on that land before the L'Roses settled it. They tilled the first soil, grew the first grapes, made the first wine. Southmoor and the villages around really only exist because laborers needed someplace to live, at first. But if you want to know more from someone who's been here a while, talk to the grey Dwarf that lives with the L'Roses. I remember him being here from when I was a little girl, far back as I can remember."[/color]

	The halberd-wielding soldier took the opportunity to stride over to the desk, adding his own commentary. [color=darkgray][b]"You're the ones who took out Cavendish and all of his Wererat guards? Don't look like much, but I saw the inside of the Hall back in the Avonshire Township, before I got stationed out here. It was an abomination you lot put down, mademoiselle, monsieur. All the same, I'd rather be posted back at the Capitol with my family than out this way. No offense."[/b][/color] The last part was to the clerk lady, who waved it away.

	Back at the Vineyard - Within the confines of the cellar, Lizbeth nodded quietly to Victoria's request, and with Baronfjord's expert chaperoning they braved the bettering elements to ascend the exterior stairs. Lizbeth had left the book with her things in the same upstairs bedroom. On their way, she did exhibit better spirits with commentary like, [color=darkgray]"Master Baronfjord, have you ever read any of Madame Belmont's books? They're really interesting! This one, The White Book, is all about the Jasidan church and the stuff they do. Did you know that the same goddess can rule over beauty AND death? And they catalogue so many different ways to take care of dead people. ...or let dead people take care of you..."[/color] She looked thoughtful for a moment, [color=darkgray]"But she doesn't always seem like she's, you know, [i]nice[/i]. But reading about her is interesting!"[/color] The book was easily located under her pillow, still in good condition, and brought back downstairs. 

[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]

	When she returned, Lizbeth used the opportunity to sit in the main room and read the letter. She looked withdrawn at first, but was soon overcome with emotion. Her head plunked down on the table in front of her chair and she wept until pulling in breath became difficult, at which time she forced herself to slow down. It looked truly painful, like someone attempting to breathe through layers of canvas. She was not the pretty image of springtime youth in this moment, but a bitter, sorrowful young woman with rage seeping up from the cracks of her psyche. 

	Until suddenly, she didn't. A shuddering exhalation left her, and she didn't pull any air back in following. Her skin became pallid, bloodless against the contrast of darkened eyes and unmoving features unless she willed it specifically. Then her chest did rise, just enough to fuel the words she spoke next. [color=darkgray]"Whatever did you do, Grandfather? Why did you do it? Is this why I'm ... whatever I am now? What in the hells did you [i]sell me into?[/i]"[/color] 

	The pale, angry girl rose from her chair and stalked back down the stairs to the cellar. She took one more look around, no longer needing the benefit of light to make her way in the darkness, and settled her otherwise unmoving eyes on the shelf against the north wall. [color=darkgray]"I was very small, but I think I remember that we used to hang pork bellies near that wall. It's the only wall that lines up with the exterior, so it was a little bit colder."[/color] Her voice was barely inflected, like she was embracing this new aspect of herself more publicly. [color=darkgray]"I'd rather you not break anything if you can help it."[/color] This was now an openly armed, armored girl with all of the appearance of a recently deceased individual. It was vaguely reminiscent of Victoria's appearance when she channeled necrotic energies, but more subdued in nature. Lizbeth looked like a pissed-off dead girl walking.