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[h2][color=3F5A6B][i][b]Aric Voss[/b][/i][/color][/h2][i][b][color=3F5A6B]Half-Elf, Ranger (Gloom Stalker), Level 5[/color][/b][/i]
[color=3F5A6B][i][b]HP:[/b][/i][/color] 44 / 44	[color=3F5A6B][i][b]Armor Class:[/b][/i][/color] 15 (17 w/shield)	[color=3F5A6B][i][b]Conditions:[/b][/i][/color] N/A
[color=3F5A6B][i][b]Location:[/b][/i][/color] Open road to Vineyard
[color=3F5A6B][i][b]Action:[/b][/i][/color] N/A
[color=3F5A6B][i][b]Bonus Action:[/b][/i][/color] N/A
[color=3F5A6B][i][b]Reaction:[/b][/i][/color] N/A
[/cell][cell]
[right][img]https://imgur.com/eOFtcCC.jpeg[/img][/right]
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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.