"I do have to agree V. Maybe what we need is a chance to stand back and look at the situation under a much less..." Kathryn paused trying to think of the right word for the situation, then wondered if thinking this long to complete a sentence would undercut the right impression she was going for. "A much less intense situation." She said the thinking look still on her face. Alas, she would need to work on that. Thankfully Blackberry had come up with the idea for V to ask her new teacher about the plant! That should hopefully help a ton. An expert in plants and herbs looking into their situation. Combined with stepping back to look at what they saw again, surely they could come up with something right? "I do wonder if the town has some record of people who have gone missing? Maybe we can find something out from there? If I had to guess, they were probably workers on the L'Rose vineyard at one point or another. So maybe even there is some kind of workers history, or old paylog we can look at?" Kat asked hoping for some sort of confirmation that it wasn't a terrible idea. Her hope was to cross check these two theoretical lists, and see what overlapped. Though first she would have to see if records like that existed, or if something comparable could replace it.

While deep in pondering thoughts, attempting to use that plus sized brain she had in her skull, her carriage of thought had been cut short by a cold icy ball of FURY hitting her square in the face. After spitting out the bits that had been captured by her mouth and letting out a rather childish laughter for someone of her size she stood up with a big toothy grin on her face. "Maybe I will, Maybe I wont." The half giant said smugly as she bent down to grab her own clump of snow and compact it into it's own ball of frozen fury! She was a bit more subtle than her thoughts implied. She allowed her very close friend to finish her own investigating work, waiting for her to stand back up. Less than a second or two after Kosara had failed to locate the evil grape that grows undead people, Kathryn leaned into her throwing stance, sending a snowball of much large size and density into the tiefling woman's chest! "My turn!" Kathryn called out as the massive snowball hit Kosara square in the chest. All in good fun, but alas the big woman could get carried away.

Weather: The weather outside is frightful. But the fire is so delightful. And since we've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. Okay, maybe frightful isn't really the best term. It is fully into winter now, and light, puffy snowfall descends slowly to the earth. It is suitably cold. However, there is very little wind, leading to a rather gentle, picturesque winter evening.

Time: Early evening. The sun is setting and night is swiftly coming over the Rose River Vineyard.

Ambience: It's actually a grand, soft evening, punctuated gently by the whispery sound of fat, lacy snowflakes making connection with their brethren piled up on every surface in sight. The slightest vision of red-purple light which represented the setting sun through partial cloud cover pressed the last of its radiance across the landscape. A large, clear moon stood on the other side of the sky, promising an element of dim but reliable illumination as the sky clears later on.

Within the Coach House, things are quite cozy. So long as one sticks near to the fireplaces, one can hardly tell that it's distinctly freezing outside. Or for that matter, having time to adjust to the colder temperatures of the season, one might even cheerfully tolerate the evening out-of-doors for moderate amounts of time, owing to the lack of wind - provided that appropriate attire for the occasion is worn. Scents of cooked meats, fresh bread, and grapeseed oil lamps make for a comforting bit of ambience, and the firelight does leave a warming flicker about the well-lit taproom. In the kitchen, there seems to be an ever-present pot of simmering water, helping immensely with maintaining the temperature on the ground floor as well as providing hot water for tea, or other appropriate uses.

The place has recently been cleaned, restocked, and is as fresh as the day you first came upon the Vineyard.




Deep within the reaches of the southern moors of the Avonshire region, things might look quiet from afar. A bird's eye view cresting the hills of the area paints a portrait of solid, calm wonderment, stretching as far as the eye can see. It's ideal, really; a piece of rural bliss across a cold, quiet landscape which yields enough agricultural plenty to keep the neighboring regions, as well as the standing armies of the nation, fed and hale. Those on the ground know that appearances can be deceiving. It is a muddled truth to say that nothing bothers this idyllic place; perhaps more acceptably stated that nothing overtly bothers this place. Issues both incidental and concerning appear sporadically, dealt with or not by those with their feet on the ground, seeing greater shades of the truth of the region. It has been an interesting few weeks, to be sure.

Taking an element of control over the situation, Cecily L'Rose insists that the remains, or what remains of them, be transported from the hidden distillery to elsewhere. Be it to Fort Darenby for the Sheriff's people to deal with, or to Avonshire Township to he interred within hallowed ground, it doesn't matter so much to her. She does say that she will try to find records of any workers from decades past who went missing. It might even be as simple as asking some of the older folk around town, be that town Southmoor, the Township, or parts more distant.

The barrels of brandy, or at least two of them, found their way into the Estate House per Cecily's instruction. The final one - the one which was tapped in the distillery, remains behind at the Coach House as a reward for finding and dealing with the situation. "This would mix into a lovely Port, or perhaps a special reserve of our Fortified Zinnoberrot," she mused.

Luckily, waiting for the group back in the Coach House were six sizeable ceramic jugs full of fresh, lightly bubbly, apple cider, with instructions to "place jugs in simmering water to heat." Such luxuries did wonders to wash away difficult days. Or weeks. Also luckily, the spacious bathtub had been delivered to the Coach House a day or so following the Hidden Distillery incident. It was left in the front area of the taproom and would require a concerted effort to place it in a more convenient, and hopefully warmer, location. Cecily made good on her promise, be it a couple of days late.

Master Urmdrus, in his characteristic tradition of barging in whenever he feels like it, barged into the Coach House because he felt like it. He had his huge Sack O' Stuff, in a traditional burlap style of sack, filled enough to make closing the top of it within his meaty fist mildly annoying. He flapped the sack onto the nearest table and helped himself to a mug of cider. He downed the whole of it in one long go and plunked the empty drinking vessel back onto the bar. "Apples. Like apples. Do not have them back at home." A substantial belch followed. Urmdrus was truly a Dwarf of mystery and talent.

But speaking to his talent, the stocky fellow returned to his bag and upended it, dropping a series of green, chitinous items out. Some of them were obvious in nature, others less so. A person who made it a point to visit the crafty fellow might have noticed some of these pieces coming together - at least the larger ones. They were a rich, embossed green, strong, well articulated, quiet, with the critically necessary flexibility of live bone. Notably absent from the items were the shield and cuirass which the older Dwarf was first working on, but there were interesting tidbits to be found. Urmdrus first went to Kosara with the items she specified. Smaller items, for the most part. Decorative. Things to go in her hair, maybe a decorative clasp that might fit about a horn. Knickknacks, if you will, made with Dwarven craftsmanship, if not a notable amount of flowery embellishment. "Heard talk about something. Had extra. Early Frostval gift." He held out a coiled length of treated, braided leather, the business end bearing painful slivers of Ankheg chitin. The same material studded the lengthy handle and made up both the heel and collar of the device. The length of the braid was lightly tinted green, competing with the chestnut leather stain. "Lizbeth likes whip of Constable. Made you one from your kill. You don't like, ask her trade."

He then grunted and turned to Victoria. "You said make yours second. Made yours. This - some of my best." He lifted from the pile a thing which looked like a cross between a cuirass and a corset made of green Ankheg chitin mottled with black, secured to a backing of rich, silky material. "Good protection. Wear under clothes. Dance, ...somersault... in this." But he wasn't quite done. One last item was handed over. It looked like an enameled cloak brooch or large pin made of the same material, in the rather caricatured but easily identifiable shape of an Ankheg facing. Upon it was a rune in what appeared to be an older style of Dwarven rune, for anyone exposed to the written language.

Shortly after Urmdrus finished gift giving, Lizbeth bounded into the Coach House with a look of absolute glee on her face. Over her winter skirts and kirtleing she wore a masterfully put together cuirass of green chitin, near perfect of fit but allowing for a necessary amount of growth to occur comfortably. In her arms, she carried the finished shield that was under construction in Urmdrus's workshop, appearing as giant grape leaves of Ankheg shell, layered atop one another with silvery metal embossments. From the look on her face, Lizbeth was obviously there to show it off. "Isn't it perfect?" she asked joyously. "Isn't it just perfect?"

Evening settled over the Rose River Vineyard, bringing with it the hope of the season of rest, and eventual renewal. But for now, a blanket of snow settled quietly across the landscape rather peacefully. Everyone existed in the hopes that it would remain that way.

BlackBerry had always known to some degree that there was a lot that went into Animal Husbandry and his first week at the L'Rose estate had confirmed this. But what he hadn't fully appreciated was that there was A LOT to animal husbandry. In the first week BlackBerry's task had simply been kept to the care of Old Boy in his single stable at the coach house under Jons supervision. As previously mentioned he had mostly done the thankless tasks such as cleaning down Old Boys stable, replacing his feed and water each day. Now however Jon had decided BlackBerry was ready for the more rigorous tasks of horse-care.

When checking over Old Boys teeth, in the age old way of the universe's sense of comedy, Jon had barely uttered the words "Careful with that file not to stab the poor thing." before BlackBerry did just that. When it came to then trimming old boys hooves, "Should he not have shoes?" BlackBerry had asked, and Jon informed him that not all horses need or even should wear shoes, BlackBerry found it hard to get enough force or even the right angle with the file to wear down Old Boys hooves enough. Jon thankfully took over and with one of Old Boys hooves held between his thighs set to work with a hand at each end of the file to wear down the hoof to a healthy length.

Despite the setbacks and having to be reminded repeatedly on various aspect of care, Jon had invited BlackBerry to also lend a hand up at the workman stables, either out of respect for Blackberry's efforts or hate depending on how you looked at the situation. The horses at the work stable were a very different breed of beasts from either Old Boy, they were large creatures with muscle pulling their skin tight and almost steamed in the cold air when they were taken out of their stables. But for all their stoic grandeur they would give a little start when BlackBerry arrived either from his bright(er) colouration or from being such a novelty. Likely it was a bit of both.

Even with the few beasts the L'Rose had on the property, every day he finished with a feeling that the Stable Master had shown him all there was to do, he would turn up the next day to find there was yet another thing he had to learn, or even relearn a few times before the facts stuck in his head. The amount of work he now had to do was immense; cleaning the stables now took hours and more than a few times the wheelbarrow would tip over in his rush to get everything done which only made more mess for him to clean up. He struggled to keep track of all the different tools needed and often had to get one of the other stable hand to begrudgingly show him where things were. And all of this on top of trying to take care of Old Boy back at the Coach House.

Needless to say the novelty of it all had worn off ad likely died in a ditch. The bath tub at the coach house saw a lot of use as each day BlackBerry would return smelling of sweat and....shit. He unfortunately found that he would need to buy some new robes after a few new stains refused to budge despite vigorous cleaning.

One morning however was different from the others. And in the darkness of winter, lit only by the few brave lights in windows and torches found BlackBerry and Jon standing in the Coach hHuse courtyard facing the stable.

"I tell you Jon, I have nary a clue what has possessed the fellow. I came out this morning to feed him and he tried to bite me." BlackBerry gestured towards Old Boy, who was now licking the lower stable door.

"Are ye sure he weren't just going for the feed?" Asked Jon, a man who was nearly as wide as he was tall even without the thick coat he was wrapped in.

"Very much so. The fiend would have taken my nose if I had been any slower."

Jon made a non-committal noise and replaced the pipe in his mouth. The two men stood side by side several paces away from Old Boys stable, watching the horse licking the door for another minute before he was apparently satisfied with his work. Old Boy then gave a harsh snort, twin jets of steam bursting from his nostrils, and took a few laps around his small enclosure, and then resumed licking the stable door.

Jon removed the pipe from his mouth. "He's stressed, when did you last take him out?"

"The other day when I was cleaning out the stable. The fellow was reluctant to go back in afterwards until I led him around the courtyard a few times but otherwise seemed fine in himself."

Jon went to put back the pipe but then halted midway as a thought occurred to him. "And where else?"

"Where else?" BlackBerry echoed.

"Where else, where else have you taken him while you've been staying here?" Jon ad now turned to face BlackBerry. And in the following silence, gnawed angrily upon the end of his pipe. "No wonder the poor things in a state; you've gone and left him locked in there all this time with nought to do, and not even giving him the relief of somewhere to be. Horses are like any other animal, they need to be taken care of proper. That means proper sleeping, proper eating, proper care of their feet, teeth, and coats." Jon was stomping towards the small storehouse to the east of the Coach house grounds as he continued berating BlackBerry over his shoulder. The mans voice muffled for a moment when he went into the storeroom to return with a bridle in hand. "And exercise." Jon slapped the bridle into BlackBerry's obediently waiting hand. "If you're really wanting to keep the beast then you need to keep better care of him; you wont be having us there to remind yer when to fed him, brush him, or water him and all."

"I would remember a darn sight better." BlackBerry snapped, growled out the complaint between grounded teeth. "If I were not being worked to the bone every day doing all the tasks no one else either wishes to do or can not be bothered to."

Jon simply moved the pipe from one side of his mouth to the other and let a single puff of smoke rise from it. "Worked to the bone? Boy, you aint worked nothing." There was an almost malicious glint in Jons eye now. "'Worked to the bone', you're only here till the end of the season, rest of us is here all year round. You're going to be out there on the road and if something happens to him." Jon took out the pipe and jabbed its end towards Old Boy. "Out there you'll need to know how to take care of him cause no one else will be around to help you. So you'd best wise up and listen to us proper or you'll regret it. And now more of that cheek."

BlackBerry took a breath and while trying not to grind out his words or roll his eyes, said. "Yes, yes. I see your point, and I do apologise for my outburst." Part of BlackBerry felt like he should explain a bit more or add on to his apology. But his arm was still aching from yesterday, it was far earlier than he ever wanted to be awake, and he was generally in a foul mood with it all.

"It's not me you need to apologise to mate, it's him." Jon pointed his pipe at Old Boy, who had now fixed his attention on BlackBerry and snorted. Jon upended his pipe and knocking it against his boot asked. "You remember how to fit the bridle? Good, I'll leave you to it then. A stroll to the village and back should do the trick. Best of luck to ya."

"Wait, hold on. Are you not going to help?" BlackBerry snapped his head between Old Boy and Jon now walking away.

"Consider it another lesson lad; how to deal with your horse when he's stressed."

"Did you not listen? He tried to bite me."

"Better learn quick."

After the figure of Jon had disappeared into the darkness BlackBerry stepped towards Old Boy with the bridle in hand. "Alright Old Boy. Shall we go for a wander then? I shall just need to put on your bridle first before we do so...please, I kindly ask you do not try to bite me again." When Old Boy made no furhter movements other than flicking his ears, BlackBerry undid the letch on the stable door and entered. To his surprise old Boy remained politely still though did still let off several distinctly frustrated snorts, but let BlackBerry fit the bridle without any fuss. "Well then. Thank you good fellow. Shall we be off then?"

The walk itself had initially started with BlackBerry being almost dragged out of the Coach House drive by Old Boy as mule had heard loud and clear it would be taken on a proper walk as exercise, and was damn instant it was going to get it. The pair managed to find the main road, their journey lit in equal parts the moon setting in the distance and the sun clawing its way from the other side of the horizon.

Buildings smouldered in the dying light of the day, a hundred vertical lines of smoke marking the end of scores upon scores of hopes and dreams. Dead and dying lay scattered. Some were soldiers. Many were not. The skirmishers not declared the field safe as of yet, but that hardly mattered. They would all serve in death, one way or another, and she was the most dangerous thing out there, anyway. A job had yet to be done. This town was selected for a purpose.

Victoria rode astride a great, skeletal beast decorated with scrimshawing and armor plates, barely giving the area a close look. Her eyes were only for the prize of this location: a cemetery which served the population for many townships around. The quality of the dead here would make fine additions to bolster their ranks. There was knowledge and power present. Someone who already possessed both of these things was needed to dig it out.

She slid from her necrotic steed and walked through the ruined cemetery gate, eyes sharp and mouth twisted into a smile. She gathered her personal energies together from the ether and whispered them to life, a dirge in her heart and chant upon her lips and she directed them toward the ground around her. This place was no longer hallowed, which meant it was only a matter of minutes before her personal vanguard clawed their way from beneath the ground and shambled from behind mausoleum doors. Heroes, nobles, and peasants alike joined the dance and offered themselves to their new master. This was expected. When the townsfolk heard the call of Undeath and rose to meet her as well, it was not. Victoria's smile grew into truly amused laughter, as sweet to hear as the ringing of harmonious bells in the distance and as chilling as a glacial wind.

Groggily, Victoria pulled in her first lungful of conscious air and stretched beneath her extraordinarily warm and comfortable blanket. The fire in the hearth had burned down to embers and she really didn't want to get out of bed just yet. But she had things to do. The memory of the dream came back to her in tiny snippets at first, but after a minute or so concentrating the Bard had pieced it mostly back together. "...same nonsense I always see when I close my eyes..." she mumbled, even if it wasn't exactly true. Personal jokes aside, it did suddenly snap her fully awake. There was something suspicious about this. Her mind scanned across the events of the previous day and narrowed down possibilities. This dream was something that happened to her. Perhaps Victoria's senses hadn't caught it at first because of her close proximity to necrotic energy, but even so, she possessed no immunity to its effects. The brandy, the wine, and her pig all came with a note of familiar flavor in common. "How interesting," she finally said aloud. There would have to be a discussion with Kathryn about this.

The evening that the cider was delivered gave Victoria a sense of calm contentment. While she was a wine drinker primarily, there was nothing wrong with a good, crisp cider. She treated herself to a cup and sipped it slowly, savoring the regional flavor and warming elements to it. This was nice. Warm place to hang one's hat, the opportunity for study, and a fine collection of beverages that were politely framed as "social lubricants." If only she had a crowd to show off to, Victoria might be in bliss.

Of course, nice turned into near ecstatic when Urmdrus began distributing Ankheg chitin. Hers was amazing. Green was not exactly her favorite color, but the quality was obvious. It seemed almost weightless compared to other armors, even the lighter ones to which she was accustomed. And there was a curious black mottling to it, which confused her at first - until she remembered that the killing blow upon the creature was when she whispered notes of necrotic energy to penetrate the gargantuan insect, entering through the last attack she made upon it. Urmdrus had made her fatal strike into a macabre decoration. "Marvelous," she thought, beaming pleasantly as she appraised the armor.

Casting the appearance of modesty aside, at least in part, Victoria shed her coat and high collared shirt with barely controlled excitement. The closest of garments she wore remained, sheer black silk that flattered her agile dancer's physique. She unbuckled and loosened a belt but maintained her dignity, as above all she was a person of mannered proclivities (if admittedly not perfectly so). Then she slipped herself inside of the new armor. It fit like a standard leather cuirass and secured just as easily, but was immensely more comfortable. Even the corseted part seemed to flow with her movements. The segmented plates of chitin were more protective than hardened leather, lighter, and unobtrusive against her body. But when the word "somersault" was awkwardly mentioned by Urmdrus, the highly motivated Victoria did exactly that. A standing sideways vault took her into a full vertical rotation, hands acting like spokes of a wheel at the halfway point as she brought herself back up to a standing position. She felt nothing encumbering her movements. More testing was required. To this end, she stepped upon a chair, leapt into a handstand upon the table it was in front of, and pivoted to face back in the direction of her arrival. Victoria kicked from the handstand into a flip, as she landed deftly upon her feet back where she began.

A fist unaccustomed to being raised in anger (as Victoria preferred stabbing implements) rapped its knuckles upon various parts of the bespoke armor; midsection, breastplate, and shoulders. She smiled. "Oh my, thank you, Master Urmdrus!" she exclaimed. "This is practically a clothing accessory!" She began to replace her shirt when Lizbeth entered the Coach House, sporting her new armor and shield. Victoria had to agree with her assessment. It was, in fact, perfect. Her almost giddy reaction to Lizbeth's proclamation looked a lot to anyone observing like a stereotypically girlish bonding moment.

This seemed to be the last stress-free moment that Victoria had over the next couple of weeks.

Two major events took over the vast majority of Victoria's time, as well as many others in and around Southmoor. The first was the coming of a standard winter illness. In and of itself this was not unusual, but the number of visitors to Medician Floquet increased seemingly every day. And those were just the ones who traveled to meet with her. Mothers came on behalf of children with the older looking after the younger despite the fact that they all were afflicted equally. Others came in for themselves, regardless of their degree of illness. Their presence was to help cure the affliction, but paradoxically is served to help spread it to others along their way. Annick's reserves of herbal and alchemical remedies were spent nearly to completion rather quickly, and simply having the money from sales (when she chose to charge those who could afford it handily) did not make the medicine replenish itself. As Victoria was not skilled as an Herbalist nor as an Alchemist, her help in this regard was minimal. All she could do was follow instructions and help to alleviate symptoms. Things which she really did not want to clean up, she cleaned up. Much of the time Victoria used magic to aid with this, though Annick was not thoroughly happy about it.

It was a grind which lasted days and days. Much of Victoria's time was spent in Southmoor, helping out the Medician and her daughter tend to the sick. There were a few nights that she never made it back to the Vineyard, and offered explanation as best she could while insisting that the L'Roses and their people stay on the estate for the next while, until the illness died down. Slow and painful days ticked by until things were under control. Victoria, predictably, was exhausted.

The only upside was that, to prevent personally contracting the disease, the Bard got to attire herself in an oiled long coat and plague mask. It wasn't her style, but she had to admit it was iconic.

It was during a rare lull in business that Annick came to Victoria, a stern look upon her face. "I took a long look at those grapes, Miss Belmont. It's encouraging that you didn't know what you were looking at. I know you're one of those adventurers that the Sheriff hired. And I heard a rumor one of them was a Necromancer." She seemed to spit out the last word with some disgust. "I served in the last Necromantic Wars. Saw a lot of things - give me dreams I'd rather not have. Did things. I know you're the Necromancer they're talking about. Truth is, I've been waiting for an excuse to put a knife between your ribs." She said this coldly, without discernible emotion, like she was ordering a cut of meat from a butcher. "You've been nothing but dedicated these past few weeks. Good bedside manner. Patient. You're even good with kids. I don't know why you're walking the path you are, but I'm convinced you're not like the ones we fought twenty years ago." Annick sighed and brought the focus back to where she started. "Those grapes, and what you described sounds like desecrated land. You said the Vineyard is producing naturally. I can say that this isn't the right growing season for these grapes, and I've seen the taint of Necromancy more than most folk alive today. If you're investigating something up there, you might want to look into your own studies for answers. Now come on, I need you to flavor the medicine before the next batch of young'uns show."

The next such event was a lot more sudden of onset. Not a disease, but an accident. Ice, building up on a lumber storage barn caused a collapse, or at least that's what they could get out of the survivors. Some logs came loose from the stacks and went on a rampage. People got hurt. It was late in the year to cut trees or process lumber, but occasional avarice or desperation for building materials drove one such location to push beyond the boundaries of what was safe. There would be financial and personal reparations to be made eventually, but the immediate need was to see to the injured.

There were an easy two dozen in varying states of physical disarray and a few vitally so. Victoria tried to do what she might, setting bones or sewing skin back together in a manner that was inexpert, but she did so under the explanation of the Medician herself and took to it better than she did tending to the sick. Considering the number of badly hurt townsfolk, Victoria's ability to heal magically was depleted quickly and, without time to send for those who might be able to help in that way, she had to get her hands dirty. Cutting, sewing, holding people down as painful treatment was practiced upon them, proper application of bandages seemed indeterminate of duration. In one instance, the now magic-less Bard had to assist Annick insert a hooked wire into a laborer's chest to lift a smashed ribcage out of a punctured lung. The procedure was successful, technically, but the man did not make it. Others were just beyond help and passed before even magic might have assisted.

Annick noticed the efforts, and failures, of her new student. "Did the best you could. You saved a lot today. The fact is, you might make a better Surgeon than you do a general Healer. Got the hands for it." It was nice to hear, but did not bolster Victoria's confidence much. This was too much, too fast, and when her brain could make sense of it and actually take learning from the experience, she might find a mote of satisfaction. But not yet. Later that night, Victoria allowed herself to feel for their families. She would try to find time to be a part of the funerary service. That, at least, was her true calling.

When Victoria wasn't working for Annick, she was tasked with transcribing books on the subjects of general healing, humanoid anatomy, and diseases. She might be found at all hours of the night back at the Coach House sitting near the fire, pen in hand, carefully duplicating the texts in front of her or tracing diagrams. It might have looked like obsession were it not for the fact that she made it a point to treat herself to personal leisure time, and on the regular. Victoria was learning a lot all at once and had no desire to burn out.

Emotions were complicated things, she found. One evening after both of the emergencies had passed, Victoria stumbled her way into the Coach House and flopped bonelessly into a chair. "I delivered a baby today," she announced flatly. "A little boy. Good lungs. Medician Floquet says he's... he's..." Stress finally caught up to Victoria as she began sobbing. She covered her face and let real tears fall.

While it was good to get things out, Victoria felt more than a touch exposed. She rose, wiped her face and straightened her clothes, and grabbed her cloak. Dignity mustered as best she was able, the Bard took up her violin and made for the door, insisting that, "I need to clear my head. Please excuse me." She walked out into the night air, careful to close the door behind her quickly so that she did not let too much heat escape. It was quiet out. White blanketed everything peacefully. Wind seemed nonexistent and the snow wasn't falling right then. A huge moon shone in the sky above, and it was downright pretty out there, if frigid. Victoria was glad to have her cloak and a good pair of boots to ward off the worst of the cold.

A few minutes later, Victoria found herself at the base of the watchtower overlooking the river. She carefully climbed the structure until she reached the top, which thankfully was mostly clear. A deep breath was taken in and heaved out, visible in the frozen air and ample moonlight up that high. She set her bow to strings and began to play. It was a simple melody at first which built upon itself, layering complexities and turning into quite the excellent performance. It felt as if she was alone in a world of darkness and snow; alone with her thoughts and the ability to process the last series of tough, draining days. A quick casting of Minor Illusion gave her a simple percussion section to accent her music, and she soon began dancing atop the watchtower in the middle of the night, doing her best to get back an essential piece of herself.

She did an excellent job of it, too. Music was a skill she used to center herself, and in short order she genuinely felt better. She stopped playing and prepared to go back down. It was at this moment that she paused. In the distance, indeterminate of direction, the plucking of a stringed instrument could be heard. Clear but quiet notes from somewhere beyond Victoria's range of vision in the darkness traveled upon the cold, still air, reaching her pointed ears as her exerted breathing slowed. She was not the only one out this night. Perhaps it was time to return indoors.