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	[u]Weather[/u]: Wind whips past one's ears with a seeming sense of urgency against the coming day. Snow remains as it lays, except for the spaces between the rows where the repeated foot traffic of the night has tamped it down. The sky is mostly clear, allowing the new day to assert itself fully in the sun's ascent. It is still bitterly cold for this time of year.    

	[u]Time[/u]: First light. The sun has not fully crested the horizon yet, though it will soon. 

	[u]Ambience[/u]: The sun crests the hill to the east, providing the soft, colorful skies of a growing dawn. There is a moment where the growing sunlight operated on par with the dim light radiating from the braziers before overtaking them, making them useful only as sources of moderate warmth to prevent the vines from forced dormancy. Snow is packed to something closer to ice underfoot with the varying temperatures and repeated steps present from the night's labor, while the more open spaces witness the sounds of puffier drifts squeaking beneath careful footfalls. One can even find one's self completely missing the newer visitors appearing, silhouetted by the rising sun.    

[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center] 
[img][/img]
	Cecily had long since retreated back to the Estate House. Her ability to perform heavier labor in extreme conditions was no longer reliable and her skills were better placed in planning as opposed to execution anyway. Lizbeth, on the other hand, seemed to take to work in the cold and darkness better than anyone - that is to say, there were no complaints about the weather after about an hour, she refused to break, and when the morning light shone across her face, she showed no signs of fatigue. She was pale. Expressionless even, with dark, sunken eyes, but slack neutrality was not tiredness, oddly, from the Human girl. 

	Urmdrus had already left the scene, departing with his now nearly empty pot of what he referred to as [i]mushroom tea[/i], now a cold, transparent, brown-tan liquid which looked like it was starting to freeze anyway. Though it was anyone's guess, it was likely that he skedaddled while everyone else was putting gear away. To the older Dwarf's proclivities, he arrived late and departed early, sticking around for the bulk of the work and returning to his own devices on his own schedule.  

	The other laborers, both the hired ones and the volunteers from the villages, had also taken their leave. Volunteers went first, led by the younger Mademoiselle Floquet back down the northern road to their places of origin. Despite the odd circumstances of their meeting, she did spare a wave and smile back in Victoria's direction; to a lesser extent to the rest of the party despite a lack of formal introduction. The regular staff, thoroughly exhausted from the night's full shift on top of their regular duties, slowly put equipment away and shuffled off to their places of rest and recuperation. Not a one of them noticed the event unfolding atop the hill to the east; even if they did they were not likely to have appreciable answers. 

	The only one of that bunch that seemed to notice on her own was Lizbeth L'Rose. The color had returned to her face, and with it an expression - a decidedly blank one. Her eyes were rooted to the spot where the sun showed darkened silhouettes of five individuals. She said nothing. 

	The main stablehand, a fellow by the name of Jon who was also out with the laborers tending to the vines (and Baronfjord's training mentor, conveniently enough) was kind enough to take the old army mule off of the Dragonborn's hands. Perhaps he did this out of kindness or a desire to be useful to the adventurers who were investigating the strange occurrences of the hour. Or perhaps he followed Lizbeth's line of sight up the hill and did not feel comfortable with what he saw.  

	Those approaching the odd collection of figures atop the rise were in for a deceptively long walk. The hill in question was a barren one, and it was not in the immediate vicinity of the planting areas. Rolling moors were interesting in the illusion of distance, with most relying on physical markers to determine this with passing accuracy. Ultimately, the question would come down to how easily one knew they could climb elevating land, and judge that against how wobbly one felt as they traversed the distance. With everyone feeling the effects of hours of frigid labor, this felt quite ponderous. 

	Especially for Kathryn. [sub](Sorry, I had to.)[/sub]
 
	Drawing closer, the figures appeared like something out of a macabre nightmare. Five figures that, for all intent and purpose manifested seemingly from the night itself while others labored far and below, were frozen corpses in various states of decay. All pieces were present from casual inspection, though flesh was gaunt and skin pulled tight over old bones, all covered in otherwise immaculately preserved clothing in styles of the Southern Desert peoples, some akin to the long, flowing garments of the desert traveling folk and others more like the militaristic and formal garb of the Alhazred. Four frozen figures flanking a fifth; the four of them represented by two Human males and Human women dressed in absolute silken finery respective of their cultures. Money was spent on this, once upon a time. 

	The taller, looming figure in the center stared straight ahead with eyes desiccated and recessed into its sockets in a grotesque manner and its mouth pulled into a rictus grin stretching unnaturally across his dead, frozen face, equally a product of dry decomposition and intentional positioning. This one towered over the others by at least a foot's worth of slender height, but simple observation cued him as Human. He was dressed in the manner of a courtly or diplomatic figure of the lands past the mountains in the south, far into the deserts therein. 

	Not a one of them moving. Nary a single one of them so much as twitching against the bitter winds, except for their clothes which moved readily with the chill gusts of the morning. That, and a single piece of paper rolled into a tight tube and secured with long, broad, black ribbon. This was held securely by the outstretched hand of the tall, deceased diplomat, as if to offer the paper over.