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[h2][color=64520A][i][b]Daxos Ironbow[/b][/i][/color][/h2][i][b][color=64520A]Dwarf, Rogue, Thief, Level [/color]05[/b][/i]
[color=64520A][i][b]HP:[/b][/i][/color] 43 / 43	[color=64520A][i][b]Armor Class:[/b][/i][/color] 14	[color=64520A][i][b]Conditions:[/b][/i][/color] N/A
[color=64520A][i][b]Location:[/b][/i][/color] The Coach House
[color=64520A][i][b]Action:[/b][/i][/color] Meeting the group
[color=64520A][i][b]Bonus Action:[/b][/i][/color] N/A
[color=64520A][i][b]Reaction:[/b][/i][/color] N/A 
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[right][img]https://i.ibb.co/p67XnxBB/IMG-0542.jpg[/img][/right]
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The door swung inward on a breath of cold air, carrying Daxos Ironbow’s arrival in a swirl of frost and travel dust. His gaze swept across the unfamiliar faces within—the woman in purple speaking cheerily to another, and the faint creak of footsteps from the stairwell marking the approach of someone else. He caught the sound of his own name from the woman’s lips—Lizbeth L’Rose, she called herself—and her words carried that easy, practiced politeness of someone raised among civility.

He inclined his head slightly, offering a faint but courteous smile beneath the shadow of his hood.

[indent][color=64520a]“Aye, ye’ve the right o’ it, miss. I’ve yet tae speak wi’ yer aunt, but I’ve been workin’ under Master Urmdrus fer the time bein’. Meetin’ her’s on me list, though—can’t much stay in a place an’ nae pay respects tae the one who runs it.”[/color][/indent]

He gave a small nod toward her before his eyes shifted, catching movement in the corner of the room. Another woman—pale, sharp-eyed—addressed him with polite composure, though there was something… peculiar in her tone. A restrained warmth, perhaps, or the faint amusement of someone used to keeping their cards close. Sisters of the Weave, the phrase lingered faintly in her words—or perhaps just in his thoughts, the way her manner and presence carried an air of mystery he couldn’t quite place.

The words echoed in his head as he turned them over. Sisters of the Weave. It wasn’t a name he’d heard in his travels, and he wondered whether it was local superstition, a title of station, or something else entirely.

Then came another voice—this one from the stairwell, refined but faintly nervous. The well-dressed gentleman bowed slightly and introduced himself as Baronfjørd Chedgusah, though the nickname BlackBerry followed swiftly after.

The dwarf’s expression softened into a polite half-smile, though internally he marked how the man’s cheer seemed… misplaced. Almost forced. A man trying too hard to make everything feel ordinary when it clearly wasn’t.

[indent][color=64520a]“Pleasure’s mine, lad. An’ aye, Kosara’s a lively one, I’ll give her that. Keeps the road from growin’ dull, at least.”[/color][/indent]

He chuckled lowly, rubbing a bit of frost from his beard before casting another assessing look around the room.

[indent][color=64520a]“Tea sounds grand, though I’ll nae turn me nose up at somethin’ stronger, if ye’ve any tae spare. It’s a fair walk from the township in this weather.”[/color][/indent]

Even as he spoke, part of his mind kept circling back—Lizbeth and Victoria, both strange sorts, he thought. Polished, practiced, and just a touch uncanny. And then there was BlackBerry—friendly, yes, but uneasy in a way that set off quiet alarms in the back of his mind.

Whatever this vineyard held beneath its pleasant veneer, Daxos intended to keep his wits about him.