“Maybe we can get a bear cub? I hear they are small, adorable and extremely huggable?” Kosara suggested to Kathryn in turn at the woman’s apparent denial of her idea. Maybe they can put it in a burlap sack while it’s small enough and carry it around? Yeah that might work, mind you Kosara had no actual idea what a a bear cub’s size was. But it was probably small enough… right? It couldn’t be too big, she has seen small horses and camels… Alright, she just found the idea of a pet bear very amusing and probably complete fun to ride on later. It awas also very soft to hug.

“Ohh, I don’t mind!” The white haired tiefling chimed up to Lizbeth’s apparent concern about leaving her alone.” I would be a nice chance to catch up on my journal and I’m sure I can find a way to occupy myself the rest of the time.” She added with an absolutely happy tune. What Kosara might figure out to occupy herself with? Well that would be a story for another day, especially if she is indeed left to her own devices. Nothing too uptoward could happy anyways… right?

Kosara yelped as she jolted and jumped at Berry’s loud proclamations to get going and rest.” Right away, yes! I’m going!” She replied and bolted out and towards the second floor, sending her unbraided snowy hair cascading in her way to the outer door, then up the stairs and to the room where she slept. She only halted when she entered the second floor and closed the outer door. She blinked, titled her head and realized she had experienced a deja vu of sorts.” Hmm… he sounded a hells of a lot like big sister right there.” The tiefling mused as she walked over to the room and to her bed, noting V’s presence who had already settled in into the warm bed. Kosara decided that doing like V was probably the best course of action. Thus the tiefling set her bag next to the bed and began undressing and once she was left in her underclothes. Even with the fire going on, being in only her underclothes out of the bed was a bit chilly. Still she was actually kind of used to it. Deserts got surprisingly cold during the night. In any case, she went through some before bed routines, clothing clothes and herself, where using magic like prestidigitation or just a wet cloth. All in all, once she was done, she snuggled down into the blankets. She hadn’t heated them prior, but it didn’t take too long for her own body heat to warm the blankets and soon she was very warm and comfy.

The tiefling woman looked up from her warm blanket cocoon at the flickering shadows and lights cast by the fire. It was nice and relaxing and she soon found herself once more drifting off to the lands of dreams, the earlier nap not nearly enough for her to rest fully. Tomorrow she’d wake for her watch duty, then everybody would go out to do stuff and she was going to figure out what she could do also… after she writes the newest developments in her journal of course. Maybe she’d go out for a walk around the area again… Maybe…

Kosara let out a final sleepy yawn as the sleepiness got too heavy and finally she was fully out cold as she made herself more comfortable into her blankets wrap. Her horns meaning she could only every sleep on her back.

"Then let's stay here tomorrow. We can go check out the location that storage shelter should be at, and see if we can uncover anything there. And if there are any critical updates, BB can inform us with the sending stone." Kathryn said confidently as if everything was under control. She would also have to make sure she had the sending stone this time. Though if something went wrong it would take the better part of a day to get to town. "Kosara, you are welcome to join Lizbeth and I while we go searching? We could always use an extra set of eyes. Just... If you come please be watchful of what you destroy incase we could use the evidence." Kathryn said meekly with a smile. The tiefling woman had a way of putting down problems so they wouldn't be a problem. But they also needed to learn some of what was going on.

As plans for the night came about Kathryn reassured Victoria of her requests. "I'll bring a chair up when I go up tonight. Lizbeth and I may end up going last so we can follow the two person rule, make sure everyone is accounted for and all that. And make it harder for some neerdowell to catch someone off guard." She would be lying if she said she didn't want some poor sod to try it. The sneaking, the stalking, the ambushes? Added with the cruel and evil intentions, Kathryn wanted to show them true punishments for their evil decisions.

BB was thankfully a bit of an easier manner. "Sounds good, Cinnamon rolls for a bedroll by the fire. I will have it set up for you before I go to bed. That way it'll be ready for you by the time your watch ends." Kathryn said cheerfully. And thankful that BB agreed to stay upstairs. If the stairwell was internal Kathryn would be more optimistic. But it wasn't, and the upstairs door would be locked from the inside. Someone would have to let BB in. Plus, he had already been ambushed out in the dark once before. Last thing Kathryn wanted was for him to get attacked again. At least if he was upstairs Kathryn could react if something tried to cause harm.

Waiting until all were upstairs but herself and Lizbeth, Kathryn piped up to her would be squire. "Alright, we're the last, so let's take our final steps down here and we can head off to bed." Kathryn said doing one last walk around before wrapping up. Giving Lizbeth time to do anything she needed to do as well. Kathryn did notice the pot. A part of her wanted to try and get it washed, but she and dishes had a sour relationship. And, she was tired. "Let's... deal with that in the morning." Kathryn mumbled before making her way upstairs with Lizbeth, a pair of chairs in hand. Why two? Why not?

Once upstairs, Kathryn took a moment to set up the cross bar on the door before setting the chairs by BB. "Here you go. If you can also make sure to check in on each room at some point during your watch just in case. I want everyone to get a good night's rest, so no need to wake anyone unless it's needed. But I don't want to find out the hard way how crafty our foe may be." Kathryn said rather relaxed. Not concerned, but more as just an extra precaution. Kathryn then waved goodnight to the dragonborn before making her way to her room, grabbing her bedroll with all the extra padding to make it partially protected from potential bladed weapons during one's sleep, and set it up a few feet from the fire. Before laying down in bed herself. "Sleep well Lizbeth. Tomorrow, we're going to have a good and productive day yeah?" Kathryn said optimistically.

Weather: The coldest part of the evening is upon the Rose River Vineyard, but luckily it arrives with a lack of wind and a full cessation of snowfall.

Time: This is the dead, or possibly undead, of night.

Ambience: Chill moonlight cascades along the still winter night, reflecting back upon the cold, white layer which blanketed the world around as far as the eye could detect. The night is a crisp reminder of what was supposed to be a quiet winter in wine country. But we know better, don't we?

The Coach House starts to quiet down, as things tend to when night falls and folk move to settle in for a nice, long rest. The occasional creak of wood or rattle of a not-quite-flush shutter, when measured against the possibilities of what could be upon the land, tend to register with more urgency than they might otherwise. Upstairs, watches are set and manned appropriately while the soft, shallow breathing of those who have succumbed to slumber form the mild cadence of the evening, and things seem genuinely peaceful. Tense, but peaceful. Downstairs, fires burn low. Lights are extinguished. The greater warmth of the place remains, but with a wiry edge that only active habitation removes. The tables remain stacked with the contents of the bookshelf in the cellar, the bar still has its bounty of alcoholic potables, and the kitchen carries evidence of a recent cleaning and recent use, but for now, the vitality of the rooms has been muted by cyclic darkness and a lack of presence.



Many chose slavery over death. But it hardly mattered. The piles of corpses left many suitable vessels to be reclaimed in mindless service. Some could carry a spear, while others could carry a shovel, or part the earth with hands which split asunder while scratching the dirt and stones to the side, burrowing ever deeper, ever further, into the hills. The Knight was good at finding volunteers from among the living for this. Tasked with turning crying, breathing slaves into obedient, bloodless ones was simple, and required only a thrust of a good, pointed tool into a vital area to accomplish. A repetitive line of corpses that didn't know it yet, becoming the last useful thing they would ever be in this world. Silently, the Knight screamed inside of his own skull. He knew what he was doing but was powerless to stop himself. The order had been given, and his timeless soul was bound to a static corpse which used to be his own, but now belonged to the Prince. Thus was the price for his failure. Kathryn awoke with a start, the last part of her dream filled with the faces of those she had run through in rapid succession, under orders of her master. But it was just a dream, wasn't it?


The magic wasn't complicated. The logistics were. Maintaining the enchantment over this many animated corpses at once was an interesting mental exercise, kept to with rigid determination and ruthless efficiency. The corpses of the paler, local folk held up nicely during the transition, and with so few of them left alive in this remote place, it was necessary to keep a practical amount of living "ambassadors" from the Alhazred in place to handle the day-to-day affairs of local farms and farriers. It was truly amazing what people were willing to believe when given no reason to object. But deep underground, those few remaining living settlers were choking away for want of air and light and freedom, surrounded by the animated dead in stout armor, carrying fine weapons, and unable to be spoken to, let alone reasoned with. All eventually fell, either by spearpoint, thirst, or by taking matters into their own hands as it was their only option of control left. But even this was partially felt by the Necromancer. He, too, was bound to this land, by order of something greater than himself. He, too, played his role. And now, his last option of control was being exercised in the form of a truly caustic concoction, which he raggedly swallowed in uneven gulps. Wracking pain, shuddering, irregular convulsions, and soon, he would some to consciousness again in a form more powerful than ever, capable of breaking the binding to this land. One Lich cannot compel another in this way, and the time spent in waiting would be worth it.

What greeted him upon the return of his awareness was the scent of rot, and the realization that it was coming from himself. He had been away for too long, the potion had not taken like it should, and the wave of power that should have been suffusing every part of him was dulled, somehow. Hatred of what he was become burned through himself. This was not how he spent his eternity. He wasn't done yet. A light crown of iron and black stone fitted to his head, and a many-stringed setar lute found its way into his gloved, decomposing hands. No, things could still be done. He was still limited to this place, but there were options, if he was willing to wait. The last glimpse of humanity Victoria saw before bolting back into the world of the conscious was a look at what she had become in a cracked mirror - a horror of green rot and the overripe melon split of her face, revealing yellowed bone beneath. It was not her own, but the distinction was not present for the first few seconds after waking.

Nearer to dawn, an unrestrained yell came from the room set aside for the Mosswaters. While it was apparent to anyone listening that both Tarace and Barbal were talking, the meeker words of Tarace were almost completely overwhelmed by the booming (for a Halfling) syllables of Barbal, expanding upon his originally wordless cry with, "GODS DAMNED BUGS! BIG BUGS CRAWLING UP MY ASS, TARACE! I GOT TO FEEL THEM HATCH INSIDE OF MY ASS IN REAL FUCKING TIME, AND EAT THEIR WAY OUT OF MY BELLY! WHAT THE ACTUAL GOBLINSHITE WAS IN THAT BRANDY?! WHY DID THE BUGS LOOK DEAD?! AARRGHENARGHARGH!" Barbal was obviously shaken. "It was... it was... it felt like weeks, that dream. It felt like, like a month."



The sun crested lovingly over the hills to the east, giving all of the good colors of twilight, then dawn, in the manner that a winter sunrise might. Great, fresh sheets of white covered everything and reflected the early morning sun in an amazing display of purples and reds, until the more vibrant yellows of a fully established day gave the world its charming luster. From the looks of things, it was going to be a beautiful day.

Victoria did not have a pleasant night. Sleep, necessary for both a spellcaster to keep a clear head and a lady to keep fresh, was interrupted. First by a turn at watch which was (admittedly, blessedly) uneventful, and then next by a series of dreams involving some of the most powerful and ruthless aspects of necromancy available. Part of her was jealous. The Wizardly aspect of her preferred school of magic was powerful and open to a myriad of interesting applications, while hers was more nuanced; more personal. And Victoria did want power, for her own reasons. But again, she was a far better Bard that she ever would have been a Wizard. The outfits were much nicer, too.

None of these revelations stopped her from having a rough night, and she didn't like it. The nature of her magic and how it manifested on her face might explain away any dark circles from fatigue, in their own twisted way, but Victoria was in a position where she simultaneously couldn't get back to sleep, and desperately wanted to rest. By the time Barbal Mosswater was screaming about dead bugs eating him, or whatever that was, she had made up her mind. Victoria's day started early.

She has mentioned first light, and that was likely coming soon, but she got the drop on it anyway. The last one on watch - Kosara - undoubtedly witnessed Victoria's departure from the upper floor. "Getting an early start of it," she explained quietly, slipping past and out into the cold not-quite-morning. She has packed a few traveling necessities in her backpack which was slung nonchalantly over her shoulder, making the use of the handrail particularly good idea as she made her way down, and into the Tap Room proper.

A quick casting of Prestidigitation lit an oil lamp, now the only source of reliable illumination in the room. She made her way to the books and papers from the previous night, still resting where they were left, and sighed. "Only two of them," she remarked. Two people had bothered to write anything down on the paper, and one of those was her traveling companion. Victoria was a little disappointed. But that was a minor complaint at this time. The Bard made her way into the kitchen to grab a few small, transportable things to make a meal of, wrapped them in cloth, and returned to the table.

A quick motion ripped the paper in half. Victoria retained the half with the questions written on them, and composed a message on the other:

Baronfjord,

Taking care of some quick business in Southmoor. Please meet me on the main road leaving the town for Avonshire. Thank you for coming with me.

V.

By the time first light lay its golden rays across a snowswept landscape, Victoria was sluggishly riding her regal (if eerie) Phantom Steed over where she was mostly certain the road was. Accumulated snow made things harder but wasn't quite so bad over the beaten path as it was in the low areas. This did give the somewhat comical sight of Morty, rigged to its mistress's errand cart, struggling to push and climb over and through the snowfall, the contents of the tiny cart strapped down as snugly as was able. Nox circled overhead, occasionally calling out to announce its presence and returning to light upon Victoria, only to take to the sky once more.

The conversation ahead of Victoria was probably not going to be the most pleasant. Annick was not a fan of necromancy in general, and she was bringing a bona fide animated boar along with her. But this was necessary, and Annick was still her mentor. And what Victoria was about to do in Avonshire was to a friend of Annick's. No, she did not expect an easy conversation.

BlackBerry jolted awake and in a bleary confusion in a room he didn't immediately recognise.

He was sitting in a chair across from an open fire, now dwindled down to a hissing heap, wrapped in a blanket and with the small book he had taken upstairs with him rest open in his lap. The wandering words of Monsieur L'Rose were still as un-fathomable as ever, even more so in his sleep addled state.

He recalled he had finished his watch (including a quick peak into the other rooms barring the Mosswaters as Lady Kathryn had requested) thankfully without anything of note and had come into Lady Kathryns room to wake her for her watch. He then had settled himself in the arm chair before the murmuring fire, with sleeping bag as a blanket, and the written ravings of Monsiuer L'Rose, it had taken very little time at all for him to fall asleep.

BlackBerry began to stretch and his neck immediately began complaining. Served him right really; falling asleep in a chair, still dressed in yesterdays clothes, at least he had had the good sense to use the sleeping bag he'd been given as a blanket. He spent a bit of time readying himself by folding up the blanket, wishing Lizbeth and Lady Kathryn a "Good Morning, Did you sleep well?" each, surprised more himself that he wasn't the last one awake for once. He of course finished his morning routine in his own room given that Master Urmdurus had chosen not to stay with them that night, and after freshening himself up for the day he went downstairs.

BlackBerry was less than pleased to read the letter Victoria had left for him, and he doubted Lady Kathryn would be any more happy to hear of it. The sun was still quite low on the horizon so she must have left pretty early for him to have missed her. Morty had of course gone with Victoria, but BlackBerry was still surprised to find the creatures absence a little strange.

Absently, as he began rousing the fires back to life and set about preparing some breakfast, he wondered what Victorias business could be.

Sleep was… sleep. Come morrow Kosara didn’t really remember anything from what she might have dreamed about. If she had even dreamed all things considering. She had woken very early to get her last watch shift and moved to observe the happenings outside with focused intent and occasional slips into mental tangents that both posed questions most probably wouldn’t have asked about and answered things to questions nobody really needed to ask about. Whatever was going on in her somewhat sleepy mind was up to her own deal as she made sure to patrol around and be a quiet vigil over the coach house. If she could, she’d be up on the roof’s edge, crouching and imitating a brooding antihero just for the authenticity of it.

After a little while, she got bored of just thinking about random topics and looking out the windows or on occasion walking around outside in the cold, so she pulled her journal and began catching up on writing she had fallen back on to a degree. Ohh every night she did write a bit, but nowhere near as much and there were whole pages which she had left black so she could go back and write in the rest and now was the perfect time to do so in between looking out and patrolling. So writing down she began and on occasion doing little sketches about things. Like a cartoony adorable looking bird and pig and what V was up to on specific day or a waxing tangents about what a REALLY good friend Kathryn was, but that she still owed her a oil massage or two. It was a nice peaceful time.

It wasn’t until the day finally approached, first notable by the slight discoloration at the edge of the horizon, not even first daylight even when the noises from the room where their guests were happened. Kosara couldn’t exactly hide or hold the very victorious smug little grin.’ HA! Told you the brandy was evil, but you still did it anyways! Hmph!’ Smug Kosara was smug.

“Have fun!” Was the tiefling’s reply when V also appeared early early like an early bird to begin the day.

With everybody else waking up finally, Kosara was freed from her solemn duty of vigil over the inhabitants of the Coachhouse for the evening. Going down, she found Berry who was probably preparing breakfast.” Hey, Berry, Liz, Kathryn!!! I’m going out to mister Urmdrus’s workshop for a bit. Be back in a little while!” She informed him and bolted out, casting some prestidigitaitons on her inner clothes. In difference from yesterday, today Kosara’s hair was also very carefully braided in a long thick braid like she usually wore her hair day to day. She did have a lot of time during her watch after all.

Thus the happy little tiefling was stomping out the door and into the snow heading to the dwarf’s workshop in hopes of catching him up and about. Which he probably was, he seemed like a dedicated early riser to craft early. She had a professional question to ask him.

Kathryn was growing to hate these deep brandy dreams. So many... she had cut down. It felt so indiscriminate. Violence for the sake of being violent. The dreams always made her feel something like a warlord. No care of the harm they cause as long as they can take whatever they want. But even this, it felt terrible. In her semi panicked state, Kathryn hadn't even realized that she had drawn her heirloom sword. The rather large sword, scratched and chipped, it was still a rather deadly weapon. A part of her wondered if she had swung it as she woke or if she had only just pulled it out instinctively as she woke to fight off the fear effect from her dreams. Seemed Kathryn wasn't the only one with bad dreams. She could hear the screaming from her room. Though this was odd... she normally did not sleep in this late. The sun was already beginning to show outside! She would need to work on her own self discipline. Getting clothes on as hurriedly as she could, Kathryn rushed out to check on the two halflings. "Are you both alright? Do either of you need assistance?" She called out through the door. She got a reply back that seemed to more or less state assistance would not be required. "Drink it? uh...." She responded back when Barbal mentioned preferring to drink his breakfast. Kathryn wasn't really sure what that meant... but she wanted to be a decent host. "Sure? I don't see why not?"

Getting a late start to the day, Kathryn made her way downstairs now dressed in her full kit. Blades, blunts, plates, pockets. Everything a lass needs to take on her day. "Good morning BB. Sleep was... Iffy. But I guess that was to be expected." She said with a shrug. "Hey did you come down here first by yourself?" Kathryn asked the dragonborn in her best non accusatory tone. But she was already losing a grip she didn't have. She worried so much about someone getting ambushed again. But other than insistence, Kathryn had no tools at her disposal to make people follow the guidelines.

Though she guessed Kosara being down here was a good start. Maybe, just maybe the guide was being followed! No more people would get ambushed! It was going to be fantastic! No one else would get attacked and be helpless! She hoped... "Be careful Kosara! If we're not back when you get back, Lizbeth and I may have moved to check out the storage building that was talked about." Kathryn offered up the information to Kosara hoping the tiefling woman wouldn't get into too much trouble on her own. Turning back to BB Kathryn reached into one of her pockets and produced a sealed envelope, shut with a wax seal. "Hey BB, while you are passing into town, could you get this sent out? It has the destination marked on it but if the courier is worried about it making it to it's destination, it will be in the Clouton region of Arcanaple. Local deliveries should be able to take it up from that point. Just let me know how much postage is and I can pay you back." She paused for a moment, before thinking rather visibly. Then pulled out a few silvers. "Actually... I have 16 silvers here. I don't know how much this will cost to send but if it costs more then let me know. But I would really appreciate this."

But alas! Kathryn had work to do. Taking her stand in squire the half giant made her way out the entryway for the courtyard, and began walking the perimeter of the structure. Nothing out of the ordinary. Probably best, but she wouldn't have minded a hint or clue to follow up on. "I guess no news is good news Lizbeth." Kathryn said before taking her squire to the courtyard. Training would be short today. Some endurance training, blade and maneuver training. And perfect stabbing places to kill people training! Everything a growing teenager needs to become a menace to society. Once it was all wrapped up, it was time to head to the field where that storage structure was at.

Weather: The day is bright and mostly cloudless - optimistic, even - as if the events of the last couple of days had been nothing but a bad memory. At least, after the dawn arrives fully. It is still quite cold, below freezing, judging by the untouched crispness of last night's fallen snow.

Time: It is the crack of dawn. Or fully realized dawn. Regardless of cracks or realizations, it is early morning. Congratulations, you survived the night.

Ambience: The early morning shines over the Rose River Vineyard, giving light and hope to the masses. Naturally, being as there is technically only a handful of people present, "masses" might be pushing it. But one takes hope from most any source available. The Estate House stands, a multi-story monolith against the rolling white hills, seemingly opposite of the Coach House near the property's edge. A sort of cold calmness has settled upon the land, like a great, sleeping beast, snoring gently in the winter months.

Within the Coach House, things are a little chilly. Still highly preferable to the outside, but the Taproom's hearth and kitchen's cookfires are down to the merest of embers which would require maintenance and additional fuel before they can contribute meaningfully to the ambient warmth. The books remain upon the tables, though only half of the leaf of paper remains, bearing a message for but one of the adventurer's number.



The workshop of Master Urmdrus was an interesting construction of wood and stone which greatly resembled (and actually might have been) a shed, converted into a dwelling which had evidence of a half dozen crafting professions in and around. As an addition to the usual chaos of mostly finished projects and painful implements which were probably tools of some sort, a thick wagon frame and two giant barrels rested underneath a recently constructed wooden pavilion semi-attached to the workshop. A short chimney put out a moderate amount of woodsmoke, implying that the place was in operation, but the door remained closed to anyone giving it a knock. An astute observer might notice a shuffling set of footprints headed toward the Estate House - it looks like Urmdrus was just missed.

A stout voice called from the main thoroughfare, expressing in a couple of syllables the deep voice of the resident handydwarf. "WHOA, THERE!" It was expressed to the two beasts of burden he was driving from atop one of the merchant wagons common to the Vineyard. The wagon itself was mostly empty at this time, as far as anyone might guess from a distance. This assessment might be more readily put to the test as Urmdrus began to steer the wagon in the workshop's direction. As he neared, his gruff voice turned to Kosara, intoning, "Have permission. Going to town. Get supplies. Reinforce Coach House. Takes time. What do you need?" His delivery was halting, but his face betrayed no hint of annoyance.

Back at the Coach House, Lizbeth took her training very seriously. She maintained her quite warm and vibrant color admirably, lest she be accused of taking the easy way out of her endurance and cold temperance training. Though admittedly, this curse, or whatever it was that was laid upon her, had some perks in that regard. Maybe her other, more arcane mentor was correct about her. Following the perimeter check and promise of a more intense session, the young lady nodded quietly nodded. The shorter training session was appreciated today, not because of any lapse of character on her part, but because one of their guests made a specific request about breakfast. Then he screamed bloody murder in the night. Then her mentioned something about "drinking" his first meal of the day. Lizbeth wasn't one hundred percent sure what he meant by that, but she was fully willing to have an assortment of potable goodies on standby, just in case. She even allowed for herself a dram or to of wine-and-water, just to keep herself bolstered against the cold, of course.

It was at this moment that Lizbeth became aware that the note from the previous evening was missing. This could only mean (or likely mean, if we're being truthful) that Victoria had already left for the Avonshire Township. Hopefully, they would get some answers. Hopefully, she would get her answer, specifically.



Down the road a piece, in Southmoor, things were mostly quiet. Yes, there was a decent amount of snowfall on the ground, but it seemed to be a little lighter in the town than in the more open fields of the Vineyard. None of this stopped the residents of Southmoor from getting to their jobs with the same sort of rural responsibility that normally is expected of folk who live as they did - through craft, care, and resolve. Wintertime did much to blunt the sorts of labor possible, but they kept themselves busy nonetheless. One thing which didn't cease was the constant need for someone in the town to make their way to the home of their resident Healer, Annick Floquet. The area had just gotten over an outbreak of some lung affliction or another, but that did not mean that it wasn't still present. It didn't mean that other forms of sickness or injury wouldn't be visited upon the people, and medicines needed to be mixed. Reagents had to be allocated and labeled, then organized. Stores had to be replenished, and there was other work besides which would not wait for a more convenient set of circumstances.

Two such persons found themselves exiting the general area of the Healer's Home, just outside of the main grouping of buildings of the tiny town of Southmoor, very early in the morning. They passed the curious figure of a purple clad Bard on majestic, spooky horseback, with a burlap-wrapped boar trailing behind, pulling a small errand cart. They paused their egress to watch this woman knock upon the door of Annick Floquet, curious as to what might happen next. When the door was finally answered, a stern look from the older lady got them both moving on with haste.

"You brought one of them with you this time," declared Annick, glancing at Morty with either impatience or disapproval. Or both. "You'd better have a damned good explanation." Her fists were clenched, and her eyes showed some other emotion than purely anger. Sorrow, perhaps? Disappointment?

The road heading south had become less of a proper road and more of a test of persistence.

A few inches of fresh snow had softened the old wagon ruts into wide, pale depressions that wandered uncertainly through the white landscape. Traffic between Avonshire Township and the surrounding countryside had compacted portions of the route, but winter had been steadily reclaiming it for days now. Progress remained possible. Comfort had ceased to be a relevant consideration several miles ago.

Aric adjusted his pack with a practiced tug on one shoulder, boots grinding through packed snow, hidden unevenness, and the occasional stretch of frozen ground lurking beneath thinner drifts. Cold punished small mistakes with quiet efficiency. Loose straps. Damp fabric. Ignored fatigue. People liked romantic notions about difficult travel right up until they found themselves carrying everything they owned through freezing weather, with daylight still needing to be budgeted carefully.

At least the sky was clear. That counted for something.

Avonshire had given him what it was willing to give. Rumors. Fragments. Half-spoken stories traded carefully enough that the gaps often carried more weight than the details themselves. A nameless company of adventurers locals had simply begun calling *The Ones Who Answered*. Increased goblin activity. Bounties. Disappearances. A constable revealed as a wererat. Guards compromised. People vanishing, returning altered, or not returning at all. Somewhere inside the mess, Cavendish had been reduced to dust, and the surviving adventurers had ended up as winter guests of the wealthy L'Rose family at Rose River Vineyard.

It established direction. It did not establish trust.

His boot sank through a softer patch of snow before finding firmer ground beneath. He adjusted automatically and kept moving without breaking stride. Most people spoke of instinct as if it arrived fully formed. In Aric's experience, most of it was repetition. Do something long enough, and eventually your body stopped asking permission before acting. Watch the footing. Watch the weather. Watch the shape of the road ahead, even when nothing moved beyond drifting snow and the occasional distant stand of winter-bare trees.

His cloak carried a crusting of windblown snow along one shoulder, where the weather had favored him poorly through most of the morning. Beneath it, gear remained where it belonged. Nothing loose. Nothing inaccessible. Winter travel punished disorganization almost as quickly as arrogance.

Rose River Vineyard lay somewhere further south, beyond more frozen countryside and incomplete information. Robert of Neil & Bob's Public House. Jacques Mallard, silversmith. Madame Marcie. Names repeated often enough to matter, and therefore worth remembering. If even part of the stories were true, whatever had happened in Avonshire had likely been larger and messier than public memory cared to preserve.

That, by itself, was not remarkable.

People preferred tidy endings. Corrupt official exposed. Monster slain. Heroes victorious. Case closed.

Reality tended toward poorer organization.

The road curved onward through dormant fields and frozen waterways locked beneath ice and snow. Winter travel offered little glory. Mostly preparation met stubbornness, with arguments over who deserved more credit. Avonshire had fallen behind him hours ago, but the road continued southward all the same, and somewhere ahead, beyond another stretch of snowbound countryside, sat Rose River Vineyard and a collection of unanswered questions stubborn enough to make the journey worthwhile.

Victoria knew that this woman, Annick, had a particular form of distaste for Necromancy, thanks to her conscripted years in the wars which were still very much in the public memory. The older healer had not minced words about her feelings om this topic, and in fact, Victoria had to do no small amount of persuasion to get her to take her on as a pupil over the winter; proving herself was an extremely uphill battle. While the Bard had no problems showing off her Raven familiar in the presence of Annick and her daughter, Annabelle, on the occasionas that they were working together. They even knew about her spectral horse, and openly paid it little mind, even if Victoria could tell that is was viewed with a mix of suspicion and awe. But bringing Morty to this place was blatant, even by her standards. This was a lesser Undead thrall, serving its mistress by pulling her belongings in a small errand cart.

The Healer had asked for a "damned good explanation." Victoria decided to be as straightforward as she could. "You know what I am, Madame Floquet. There are dangerous things about and I don't know if it's confined to the Vineyard, so I would be foolish not to use every tool at my disposal. I can trust that walking field ration because it is an expression of my magic. As I can trust my Raven. As I can trust my steed. As I cannot trust any other set of eyes looking at me in this town, and I think you might know, or suspect, why." She looked over the older woman with the barest hint of dismay. Victoria understood a little bit about her position but did not sympathize.

"I came here," continued Victoria, turning to the contents of her small cart, "To return these." She held up a small stack of books, neatly bound with ribbon. They were the ones she was tasked with reproducing, which she had been working at in her spare time for weeks now. "And here are the copies, minus the illustrations." Victoria held out another bundle of books, these with crisper edges and slightly brighter paper.

Annick's face softened - but just a little. "You got those done fast," she replied, remaining stern but making the effort to break eye contact and thumb through one of the texts provided. "Not bad," admitted the lady. "You have a gift for anatomy. Smart. Smarter than your looks let on." Annick sighed loudly. "You're dressed to travel, so you're obviously not working today. What are you up to?" Sharp eyes regarded the younger Half-Elf.

With a dark smile, Victoria responded, "Arnaud L'Rose was the only man who had a clue what happened in his vineyard. I'm intend to ask him a few questions."

The fact that Arnaud L'Rose was dead and buried provided all of the context that Annick required to gauge those two statements. "This is Necromancer foolishness, then." It might have equally been a question or a statement.

Victoria's smile turned to something more performative as she answered, "Heavens no, Annick. This is Bard foolishness. I just happen to use necromancy." She shifted her tone to something more confidential, almost faux conspiratorial, "This doesn't hurt anyone and it's the most direct way to get results. What's left of the L'Roses have gone through enough, don't you think?"

After a lengthy pause, Annick responded flatly, "Fine. Have a cup of tea before you go. Come on. But leave your monster on the porch. I've got something for you, anyway." Victoria had a few minutes, and it would be a bit longer before Baronfjord would meet her at the road, provided he got the message in a timely manner. Yes, Victoria had a little time, even if it was imperative that she get back on the road, if she wished to make it to Avonshire before it got too dark.

"Well, serves you right." BlackBerry called to Lady Kathryn from the kitchen where he was keeping an eye on the eggs sizzling happily in the pan. "Did you happen to gleam anything of note or use from your dreams at all?"

Popping his head out of the kitchen he put on another appropriately sheepish look, spatula still in hand. "Well...uh, well as you were just upstairs and the doors are no longer bolted as they were during the night, being that all are up and awake now. And I did offer to make breakfast this morning." Whatever the rest of the reason was quickly fled with him back into the kitchen.

BlackBerry knew that 'I'm not accusing you of anything except the thing you are currently doing which I expressly forbade you from doing and while I'm not mad, I am disappointed' tone and regardless of who it came from, he never liked what came after it. His only saving grace is it was coming from Lady Kathryn today and not someone like Brother Roveil or any of the Matrons back home. He decided not to tell her he had scurried into the basement to gather some more bacon just before she had arrived.

He watched over his spread of eggs, bacon, mushrooms and other breakfast components all sizzling in the pans and grill with dilligence, making sure none burned even as they occasionally spat at him. With seemingly everyone having already make their own plans for the morning (Victoria gone and Kosara dashing out the door) he had unfortunately a lot more on the go than was really needed. Oh well. At least he had something to make sandwiches with for the journey.

"Breakfast is ready!"

A small feast had been prepared and piled high upon a plate for people to pick at as they may; bacon, eggs, black pudding, mushrooms and some slices of toast, accompanied by various sauces and jams to enjoyment he had sadly neglected to make a pot of tea.

"Right then." He bagen spooning honey onto a slice of toast. "Here we are, if anyone should want anything fresh or otherwise then do say and I shall hop back to work. Otherwise I suggest we quickly make haste with our day; Victoria has already set off earlier this morning. She left a note Lady Kathryn, I was unfortunately not awake by then to see her off." He added hoping to distract Lady Kathryn from his own misbehaving. "She simply requested to meet on the main road to Avonshire."

He chewed his food thoughtfully on that point wondering what it was Victoria was up to, or even Losara for that matter running off to Master Urmdurus at such a time in the morning. A mystery to ask about when he next saw her.

"Oh!" He quickly swallowed the mouthful of honeyed toast and accepted the letter from Lady Kathryn. "Yes of course. I shall make sure it arrives safe and sound at its destination. I do seem to have a growing number of errands to run in the township. I do hope to set off within the hour. Just need to sort oyt Old Boy and his wagon woth the thought to accompany the Mosswaters as far as they may."

Kosara had stomped her way to the workshop in the early morning through the snow covered sand with all the energy and enthusiasm of a kid that ate one too many cookies before bed. It helped that it was very fun to stump on the snow and hear it crunch underneath her feet. It made her feel very amused. In any case, reaching the workshop, she realized that she hadn’t actually ever came here before. She had seen it from distance, but hadn’t ever gotten this close before. Twas a shack… probably the most marvelous of shacks to ever exit though. Also very homey and craftey if that was a word… well it was now.

Bang, bang, bang, bangbangbang, Kosara knocked on the door a few times in a loosely rhythmic melody from this one song she just seemed to kind of remember, but not really knowing from where or when. In any case, the fact that the knocking happened, did not in fact produce a dwarven fellow to open the door.’ Bugger.’ Kosara quipped in her head, half pouting, half pondering how to proceed as her eyes roamed about, spotting a trail of footprints in the snow.’ PERFECT!’

She had just about turned and made some steps to follow the trail when a voice pulled on her attention and as if summoned upon by the higher powers of coincidence and fate, Urmdrus appeared on a wagon! Great! Kosara grinned widely as she made some stomping motions along to meet him sooner.” Good Morning, Mr. Urmdrus! I know, had hoped to catch you before you head off, so I’m glad I did!” The white haired tiefling replied with a nod, still smiling widely.” I have something in mind that I want to gift Kathryn during the celebrations and was wondering what it would take to craft and how much coin and if it’s possible.” Kosara explained and hurriedly pulled her journal and opened to the last pages where she found a sketch/doodle that she had made.” A stiletto dagger disguised as a hairpin stick. Since it’s a hidden blade, it doesn’t need to be as big as a regular stiletto dagger. She had a few possible sketches done. It’d be great if it could be hidden in a wooden sheath to disguise it’s daggery nature, but even if it’s just metal it should still do. Would it be possible to craft something like this and if so, what costs would be needed?” She asked, hope in her eyes.

Sadly she knew there was a very good chance that it would be out of her price range what with her only having just over 10gold pieces left from her savings. A whole winter without income did that even if food and board were provided. Still if she had at least a price mark, she’d have a thing to plan and strive for one way or another.

Breakfast with BB had worked out rather well. BB had agreed to take in Kathryn's letter, which Kathryn may or may not get a reply too. Kathryn enjoyed a good hardy homemade breakfast. And, she got to have a less than fun chat about her dreams... "I wish i had some more positive information to share. But it was mostly... unsettling again. Lots of dead... and undead. A slave collection of some kind but... it was hard to make sense of it. What throws me off... is the knight, the one I am seeing things through... They seemed as unwilling in the events unfolding as I did. I don't know if that was me just projecting or if there is more going on with this character I need to process. From what I understand, the knight I dream as was put in this position because of failing a task previously. I don't know if the price was the one who gave the previous task, or if failing the task gave the prince control over the knight. But it does not come across as a willing relationship." Kathryn said grimly as she did her best to explain her dreams. Dreams were always hard to explain. So.. Vivid. Yet so unreal. A part of Kathryn couldn't tell if she was more scared of the idea that these events had already happened, or that these may be forewarning to events to be. All she could confirm was that the events were close... She was not pleased with the situation involving the rules being broken. But she had no means to enforce those rules. And... No one as hurt. But to hear that Victoria was the one who broke the rules first? Sometimes she swore that Victoria was a more entitled noble woman than herself sometimes! Then again, Kathryn fit the classic noble woman rather poorly. And, she couldn't stay mad at Victoria. The lass was rather charming herself. "Well, be safe on the road. Use the sending stone if you need help. I'll catch a ride into town if need be. And see if you can figure out through Victoria if you can get the specifics of the deal that Grandfather L'Rose made. Or any more sites of interest that we could investigate if you have spare questions." Kathryn offered up with a shrug.

Training was far less depressing thankfully. Lizbeth's skill with a blade and whip were rather impressive. Kathryn still had to watch her own pacing to make sure she didn't accidentally put Lizbeth into a coma... But unlike the early days of training where Kathryn could be seen practically toying with Lizbeth as she effortlessly blocked her blows, and would disarm her just for taking a misstep from time to time, Kathryn had to take deliberate efforts to not cause real harm to Lizbeth. Though Kathryn still won their training matches, Kathryn did have to take them seriously now. She hoped that Lizbeth wouldn't ask her how to shoot a bow. Kathryn knew how, but she wasn't particularly skilled with it. Maybe she could show Lizbeth how to throw knives or something? A part of her wanted to work on Lizbeth to integrate her martial abilities with her magical abilities. Not only because if push came to shove, and if someone wanted to hurt Lizbeth, they wouldn't hold back and she would need every tool at her disposal, but because Kathryn wanted to work on her own skills in that regard too. But, Lizbeth made it clear that she didn't want to focus on her skills in that matter. Kathryn may bring it up in the future though.

Today's investigations were not on the best start either. She took Lizbeth to explore the lower fields, and did not find much. After some time there, she decided to return to the old storage room that had been found before. Now that the magic buildup had worn down that should be far less a threat. And maybe, they could even find this capstone. Maybe there was more to this structure that could be unearthed. "Lizbeth, without breaking some serious ethics, a lot of our leads are not giving us result. But we got results here. We need to get inside." She said solemnly. She didn't want to go around destroying this poor girl's home. But the longer things went on, the worse they could get. Though her fill in squire had concerns, she did not go to stop her from this. It did not take much force to leverage off the lock, nor lift away the barricade that sealed the doorway. Donning her helm, Kathryn stepped inside, hammer drawn, glowing softly in the dim light. Shield in her other hand, she wanted to be prepared if any of the dead had decided to wake up since they had been present. But... it was eerily quiet.

With Lizbeth's help, the duo began to search the room. Though Kathryn was looking for that capstone specifically, so far she had no luck. The place not only seemed unchanged, nothing seemed out of place either. Kathryn had felt like she had unlearned things with how little she learned while entering. "Well, this is a shame. It may be best to move onto another location to check out." A part of her wondered if the best thing to have done would have been following the others into town. She was far from the best investigator. Though she is smarter than many, most of her strengths were tied to... well her strength. Physically. "Don't suppose you have some ideas on where that capstone could be?" Kosara found this place on accident. On Accident?! Surely Kathryn could use her skills for more than property damage?!

Weather: The wind has picked up a little. Enough to remind people that yes, it's still winter, just in case the abundance of white upon the hillsides wasn't cementing this fact. It is still quite cold, and the sky is bright, clear, and glassy, as if one could see upward forever.

Time: Early morning. The sun is fully up, and daylight is officially burning.

Ambience: The day becomes a little more bold against the passing dawn; brighter, more assertive that another passing of time is upon the landscape. The sun shines coldly in the pale sky above, a blue-tinted reflection of the white rises and falls of the ground below. One's breath becomes instantly visible upon exhalation, a common thing for the season, but with the mostly still air it seems somehow curiously accented.

Things are warming up in the Coach House as breakfast got itself prepared and the hearth in the taproom saw an additional bundle stacked onto it. Aside from this, the light within is equal to the light which one makes for themselves or brings with them; luckily there are candles, oil lamps, and the wood stores for the fireplace which are at least above halfway their full volume. Books remain in stacks, papers remain loose and/or held down by impromptu paperweights made of flatware, bottles, and whatever else was handy.




The open area in front of Urmdrus's workshop remains mostly untouched, with the exception of the footprints in the snow of those who approached and the departing marks of a merchant wagon - the very wagon, one may be led to believe, is returning in short order thanks to the notice of its driver, the very Dwarf who called this place his home/workshop. The building itself was a solidly built structure of stone and wood, once a simple workshed and skillfully developed into a residence and work space with a broad, stone chimney and pavilion structure outside. Beneath this pavilion (and around the multitude of unfinished projects) sat two barrels of gargantuan proportions and a thick wagon frame with two stout wheels. The voice of the grey-skinned Dwarf rolled out in short syllables, gruff and direct, to Kosara's questioning from stop his perch on the wagon. "Yes. Hide weapon, common, my people. Easy." He seemed to consider the idea of another building or crafting job stacked against the ones already requested of him on top of his daily maintenance work around the Vineyard, and voiced as much. "Leaving. Township. Gone a day, maybe two. Work to do after. Days of work. I make after. Have good piece of metal, good shape. Add handle, sharpen, cover. Not bad. Two gold coins. One week. Deal?" He was already reining the horses in the direction of the main road, but looked back at Kosara with a questioning expression. Apparently, the offer has a limited time to accept as he began to pull away.

The Hidden Distillery seemed to yield nothing new. On the one had, it looked very much the same in terms of structure, and the roots of the sycamore tree above still reinforced the concept which was the roof, but the once full barrels of decades-old brandy were gone, leaving the place more empty, and actually rather lonely, for it. The great stills were present, alongside many empty barrels featuring an older style of company markings. The place looked picked-over already, which likely threw off the perceptive skills of those searching it upon this morning. Either way, it seemed to be a bust. Two things were different, to the astute observer: Firstly, prying the moorings which held the lock in place away from the recently constructed and firmly set door leading down to this place was not a time consuming affair for the likes of Kathryn, be it by axe or crowbar, or point of sword, but it was absolutely a noisy procedure. Earshot was measured the same as line-of-sight, and perhaps around smaller obstacles. Secondly, the sudden poof of magic which affected everyone within the area the first time they entered the location was decidedly not present. The reasons why were not immediate in their revelation.

"No," answered Lizbeth, just as stumped as Kathryn was about the nature, and location of, the storage capstone. "The first I heard of it was when Master Urmdrus told you. I can't imagine where something like that might be." She did give more thought, in what she hoped might have been a practical, more investigative way, adding, "I don't think we keep single pieces of stone that big just laying around the Vineyard, you know? It had to have come from somewhere."



The Healer's Home in Southmoor was quiet. This one was the more eerie, partially uncomfortable sort of quiet that came with a thing hanging in the air, unsaid. True to her word, there was tea on. And in the tradition of places far from Southmoor, it was being prepared all at once in a simmering, open saucepan, rather than steeping in a smaller teapot ready for single cup distribution. She ladled a simmering, brown cup of tea out for Victoria and with a stern voice, informed her, "i know you're not one of them, but you're still one of them. You're not bad. Hells, you remind me a little of my daughter, if she had different ears. The both of you don't like to listen. Look, I appreciate the magic help around here, and you're doing a great job with the locals. But I'm worried the next time I see you, you're not going to be you and I'll have to put you down quick. You get me?" She made a gesture that implied stabbing, the changed the subject. "You did good with the books. I have more for you. Same thing - you transcribe. Leave room for illustration. Give them to me. You'll like them. They're about trauma surgery. Meat and bones, and cutting. Since common sense obviously left you, they're written to appeal to intellect." She retrieved a satchel much like the last one she had given Victoria, also full of written books and blank ones. "Take your time, do 'em good. You fuck it up and you pay for it. And when you get back, you give me clinic days. Understand? Now drink your tea."

Meanwhile, the road to the Rose River Vineyard from Avonshire Township was rather difficult. Not treacherous, not yet, but going was harder than merely putting one foot in front of the other one. Balance had to be considered. Some foot placement tested before weight was fully committed to the motion. It was not fully a slog as of yet, but there were better, more enjoyable things one may do with their time on a frosty winter's morning. There was next to no traffic on this road, which did make things easier but far more liminal in feel, and the only thing to break up the monotony of the travel was the occasional village which dotted the white, rolling expanse of the moors of Avonshire. There was this one, strange figure walking along the snow-covered path, dressed lightly, with sandals and a wide straw hat, which had to be uncomfortable for this time of year even if this detail appeared to be lost upon the individual. A long, flexible staff rested across one shoulder, which upon closer examination was outfitted to function as a fishing pole. The infectious smile on the Human's face turned to meet Aric's gaze as he cheerily belted out, "G'morning! Nice day for fishing, ain't it? Huah hah!" His smile continued unabated as he continued on his route.

The road had not improved with time.

If anything, the rising daylight only made the cold more honest about its intentions.

Aric shifted his footing on a narrower patch of packed snow, where previous travelers had temporarily made the path easier to navigate. A gentle wind now swept across the open moors, serving as a reminder that winter was still imposing its demands.

The figure ahead registered first as movement against the white landscape.

Then, details began assembling themselves.

Human. Traveling alone. Wide straw hat. Sandals. Fishing pole. In winter.

On a road that had seen next to no traffic for hours.

Aric's pace slowed almost imperceptibly.

Not alarm. Assessment.

People who matched their environment rarely demanded much attention. The ones who did not generally warranted a second look.

The greeting carried easily across the cold morning air.

"G'morning! Nice day for fishing, ain't it? Huah hah!"

Aric regarded the man quietly as they closed the distance, eyes dropping briefly toward the sandals before returning upward again.

"...Optimistic choice of footwear."

The words came flatly, more observation than criticism.

His gaze lingered a little longer this time.

Weather inappropriate clothing. Unbothered posture. No visible discomfort. Cheerful affect that either ignored the circumstance entirely or understood something he did not.

Potentially useful details.

"Fishing pole too."

A small cloud of breath escaped beneath the brim of his hat.

"Either you're heading somewhere I don't know about, or you've got a higher tolerance for winter than most of Avonshire."

He continued walking, though at an easier pace now, attention remaining quietly fixed on the stranger.

The clothing was wrong for the weather. The demeanor was wrong for the road. Yet neither felt forced. No bravado. No strain hidden beneath the smile. Just an easy familiarity with circumstance that should have been miserable.

And then recognition found its footing.

Not from the road.

From Avonshire.

From rumors, fragments, and the sort of details a watchman learned to hold onto because seemingly insignificant people had a habit of standing near important moments.

Hostage. One of the prisoners taken during the Harvestide catastrophe. The fisherman. The one who had helped get people out once the fighting turned chaos into opportunity. A fishing pole kicked within reach. Prisoners led clear while others stayed behind to finish the work.

Strange, but not random.

Aric's pace eased another fraction as old instincts quietly rearranged the man in front of him from roadside eccentric into witness.

"You were there. At Harvestide?"