Despite the delay, Kathryn was able to make up some of the lost time by loading the brassieres on the wagons in bulk, and unloading them in bulk. The work was difficult, but Kathryn was well rested. Other than some sword practice earlier in the day Kat hasn't done much to physically strain her. Other than this being a long night now she was feeling great! Ready to face off the world! Not working in her heavy armor helped too. No matter how exposed that made her feel. After many groups of the furnace like contraptions were loaded up Kathryn began her track back to the vineyard itself to help with the placements. Wondering if maybe she could continue to move them in bulk so that those setting them up wouldn't have to carry them so far, and could focus more on lighting and fueling. And once the bulk were set up she could go back and get more braziers. Simple plan but seemed good enough!

Kosara having lit herself up to act as a beacon of where efforts were being focused Kathryn prepared to unload the wagon when a sharp pain crossed over her shoulder, and down her torso, and soon down her leg. Kathryn let out a soft sound that could be comparable to a soft but pained squeak as she seemed to flinch for a moment. Then with a deep exhale she slowly began to return to her normal height. Her breathing was strained for a moment before her body seemed to relax. The rune on her belt seemed to flicker and flair like lantern fuel that had suddenly been lit, and burned itself out. She didn't know how long it was, but it appeared the rune could only run for so long before it quit on her. And when she let it burn out like that, it fucking hurt. Like her whole body was attempting to contort as it tried to tear itself apart. Then she bent over and puked out the boiled wine she had just nursed with Victoria. She knew some of the workers were watching her, so with a smile on her face, she stood upright again and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. "No more drinking on the job for me. Let's wrap this up." She said in a cheerful tone, rushing over to the wagons before someone could ask her if she was okay. She needed to be strong. She couldn't afford to be weak. People were depending on her. She refused to let them down.

With a deep breath, and bracing herself for the rune to try and quit out on her if trying to start it again caused a repeat of the pain that just happened. The rune on her belt began to glow, sparks began to fly as the rune seemed to glow even brighter than the last time she activated the rune. Soon she returned to her maximum height again, nearly 14 feet tall and seemed ready to take on the world! Loading up the braziers in her arms, she walked a ways passed the ones being currently set up, and began laying out the mobile furnace like contraptions as close as possible to their spots, leaving them ready to set up. When Kathryn used up the braziers in her arms, she returned to the wagons as fast as she could to continue doing the manual moving of the braziers. Hopefully making better time than everyone else who could move them, and giving them more time to light them up and keep them fueled up. She hoped so much that she was doing enough to help. She also wondered how much time had passed. Was her timer about to go again? She wondered if she let the rune run until it burnt out again if it would hurt like that again, or worse... Or if it had a shorter time span since she just expended a use? Questions for another night. She had people depending on her.

Kathryn then heard Blackberry singing. She found herself listening, and wanting to sing along as they worked. She didn't know the words to this tune, but she hummed along, and kept the pace up. Bringing the braziers to their locations as fast as she could, and for a moment found herself ready for whatever came next. She did wonder if they had enough fuel to keep the fires going.

Weather: The snow remains blanketing the ground, though no more falls from the sky. Unfortunately for everyone outside of doors, the wind has begun to pick up. Certain gusts almost feel like a whip crack against exposed skin. Even for winter in this area, it is unseasonably frigid. To be short, it is cold.

Time: Night. An hour has passed, maybe two, maybe more at the beginning of this update. It's difficult to tell when conditions keep you rooted in the present. Time continues forward as the post progresses to the first light of dawn.

Ambience: No longer still nor quiet, wind whistles past one's ears in a manner most uncomfortable. Wagons creak and rumble along the ground while footsteps crunch snow under the action of (hopefully) careful steps. When the lulls of wind and wagon sounds match up with pauses of the too-few workers speaking, one can yet make out the crackle of multiple small fires burning in their braziers. The scent of grapeseed oil and other, coarser flammable goods catches one's nose only occasionally. The ambient light from the braziers mix with the clear moon overhead to provide enough light to work by, but not remotely enough to discern anything beyond the already worked-upon rows.




What began with uncertainty of action continued into rote repetition until what needed to be done became an exercise akin to muscle memory. Agriculture is a thing which takes years, maybe decades to master, but this task was straightforward enough. Not easy, of course, but straightforward. Gather equipment, set it up, start a fire. Repeat. Gather. Set. Fire. Repeat.

The more colorful methods of handling this, which the adventurers were demonstrating admirably, served to speed the process along in areas, but in the end, the sheer amount of space required to be worked upon turned the night into a respectable shift for a seasoned laborer. For it was not just one field, but the series of fields closest to the Estate House which bore the signature, frost marked, whitish-green Honigblume grapes, which took up the majority of the vines visible from both the Estate House and the Coach House. This was a task.

Baronfjord's song made it out and over the countryside. It was an interesting ditty that, while only a few of the people present knew of it, the rest picked up the chorus readily enough to add their voices to the sounds of the evening. Uplifting in its own way, transformed into a thing more resembling a song to keep cadence in labor. As time passed, there were occasional, sporadic refrains of the chorus which was picked up by others, resulting in shorter recitations of Baronfjord's motivational musical performance.

Despite delays caused by various factors in getting the supplies necessary from the structures to the fields, the combination of Kathryn's strength and the organization made possible by the party's additional wagons and beasts/spells of burden compensated for these, almost completely. Lost ground was still lost ground. Luckily, so long as the new plan of action involving distributing from the larger wagons into the smaller carts for easier use among the rows was in place, lost ground could be recovered in time.

Furthermore, the use of simple spellwork from Kosara and Victoria had a huge impact on getting the braziers lit quickly and seamlessly. Faster than they could be brought out, set down, and filled with fuel, one or the other of them could get them alight. The rows that either of them claimed for themselves was alight before anyone else's, and there was ample time to see to the unlit sections of those around them. Even the ones bearing torches couldn't quite get them going as quickly. There was one exception from an unlikely source, if anyone thought to check with her.

Lizbeth. She moved with no great speed, but was utterly tireless. While others took a few minutes here or there to warm their hands over a fire, she persisted with endurance beyond that which Kathryn had noticed coming from her during their combat training. And her braziers seemed to birth a decent flame almost as quickly as those of the Warlock or the Bard. She would look up every so often, her face seeming to be overly pale in the dim, flickering light of everyone's handiwork, dark circles around her eyes as if from fatigue, though she showed absolutely no sign of slowing. Lizbeth was a machine.

Cecily, however, was not. Despite being a youthful woman of her early middle years, recent times had seen her as more of an administrator or manager of the Estate, as opposed to a person committed to direct labor. One could tell that she knew what she was doing, as she acted with a practiced hand and was no stranger to this sort of work. This did not change the fact that she began to falter in the cold after a while. She slowed down, had to take short breaks more frequently than others more recently suited to manual labor. Madame L'Rose was not having an easy time of it. Still, she insisted upon continuing until one of the laborers, with as much tact as he could muster, insisted that she take a more substantial rest, "...just long enough to close your eyes a little, Madame L'Rose. We can take care of it from here." Reluctantly, she acquiesced.

She was not the only one showing the effects of exhausting labor in the middle of the night amid temperatures cold enough to damage cold-tolerant flora. Others were beginning to slow at about the halfway point of their efforts. Still, everyone pushed on as best they could, knowing what a lost winter crop would mean for not just the L'Roses, but for the greater economy in the area of Southmoor and villages beyond.

It was maybe another hour later that two things happened, and be it the whim of Tymora, Norebo, or some deity more benevolent, both of them were positive. Roused from what might have been a fitful slumber came the squat, broad form of a Dwarf with black facial tattoos, covered in fur-lined leathers and carrying a pot full of steaming liquid. The pot was massive; apparently too massive for this shorter fellow to maneuver comfortably without burning himself (or others), yet he somehow managed. It was Urmdrus the handydwarf, naturally, and the violently steaming pot had the distinct smell of mushrooms wafting from it. He shuffled off a carrying satchel containing a ladle and several cups, all of simple design and excellent craftsmanship.
"Fungus tea. Here to help. Move over; give me a torch."

The other bit of good news was heralded by the flapping of wings. Not immediately, considering the meaning of the expression "as the crow flies." In this instance, it was a Raven. Some time passed between the return of the Familiar and the tromp of boots coming up the way from the main road, bright lanterns at the fore. The party did not recognize any of these new faces with one exception - a woman of maybe twenty years with her mother's steel expression, who once aimed a loaded crossbow in Victoria's direction. "Mother couldn't join us tonight. She apologizes, and sends some volunteers. Where do you need us?"

While the reinforcements do not make for a full complement of laborers and many of them were not agriculture workers, they were desperately needed hands and willing to listen. The sense of a broader community took hold within the people of Avonshire, whether they be from Southmoor, residents of the Vineyard, or collected from the villages dotting the ways and streams around. It was not a perfect, tireless night, but following the morale boost of hot drinks and extra help, those upon the fields managed to get the job done just as the sky lightened to an expectant purple. Exclamations of gratitude rang out from the locals in weary voices as many departed for homes away from these fields and others made for quartering within.

Everyone was tired. Perhaps moreso than they had been for a long time. Bone weariness sapped strength as the weather sapped warmth from bodies, upright or otherwise. Depleted, or nearly so, makes for an apt descriptor.

As people make their mass exodus/grueling trek back home, calling faint farewells and promises of events of camaraderie, first light breaks over the horizon. It is a lovely, colorful start to dawn, accenting the now familiar hillsides in ways which may inspire poetry.

However...

There sit looming shapes upon the nearby hill, backlit by the rising sun. Five of them, humanoid, and unmoving; even against the bitter chill of the near merciless wind. They have remained easily far enough away as to not be detected by the revealing light of the fires, yet obvious of presence for the coming daylight, out in the open. Stoically stand the figures, four of them in posture of supplication or subservience to the fifth, whose height towers above the others like a tyrant, sculpted for this purpose precisely.

It seemed endless. Logically, there had to be an end, like the so-called "bottomless pits" that Victoria had sang stories about. Magic notwithstanding, every hole stopped someplace. And if this task out in frigid fields of frozen grapes in the middle of the night kept up for too much longer, she was going to be convinced that magic was involved here. That, or her personal failings came back to haunt her and her soul was claimed by one or another devil, meaning that this was her Hell and it wasn't going to end, period. What cunning devils they must be, to lock her into a situation where she would willingly work herself past exhaustion for the sake of other people. Truly devious.

On the one hand, Victoria didn't think that Hell would provide her with warming, Dwarven style mushroom tea. On the other hand, their Dragonborn was singing. So she wasn't convinced one way or the other yet. All she could do was keep up the numbing, repetitive tasks before her. Gather the braziers, set them, light them ablaze. Victoria used Prestidigitation a lot for this, as it was faster and more reliable than a flint and striker; likewise required no coaxing to get a blaze going. Also, a lot less encumbering than a lit torch. With her Morty delivering the necessary equipment to her on the regular, she was confidently, if not comfortably, making excellent progress.

The others seemed to be doing well, more or less, in their own ways. This was good. It they weren't in some devil-wrought afterlife, that meant that they would get done sooner than expected with their less than full staff of workers. At least they were making a difference, which meant that their efforts were not meaningless. Victoria's decision not to return to the Coach House for late night tea and a night of sleep, like she would have preferred to do, was objectively the correct one. They were able to affect the situation in a tangible way. If it wasn't this way, she reasoned, then there wouldn't have really been a point to it all. But even this realization was made quite moot when reinforcements arrived.

Victoria's Raven flapped into view just inside of the limits of the braziers' dim light, coming to perch near to one of the fires. Apparently, spirits-made-flesh could get cold and had preferences of comfort. Not that Victoria blamed the gallant black bird as she would rather be elsewhere, herself. She was also cold. She was also tired. But she was smart enough to realize that her Familiar's presence meant that the message was delivered. Curiously, there was a message attached to its leg addressed to her, stating,

"I never said you were my favorite. The raven will return when we are on our way. I have work I cannot leave. Sending Annabelle to find others."

Sure enough, they did arrive.

It seemed another eternity later that the job was done, or done enough for the evening. There would obviously have to be upkeep, but it was probable that the existing staff would be able to handle that now that the brunt of the work was done. But that last part really mattered to the Bard - the work was done. Victoria was beyond tired, cold to the bone, and thoroughly done with everything involving these fields or even remaining awake. Morale, such as it was with her, was not exactly brimming. After politely bidding the extra workers a good morning (as it was just about to be morning) and offering her sincere thanks, she waited until they were well underway to share, "I am glad that we were able to accomplish this - proud of us all, even. We did good work for great people, and I thank the L'Roses for the opportunity to do just that. But if it pleases my hosts and associates? I would prefer to eat something hot and sleep for the next three or so days. Unless there is something more pressing that demands my attention - Messieurs, Mademoiselles, I will take my leave of you. Come along, Morty." The last part was not necessary, but served to provide a sense of finality. And in truth, she really did hope there wasn't anything remaining to handle. It had been a long day, a long night, and she was clearly, plainly tired. Victoria gave a glance in the direction of the barely rising sun, musing, "Hmm. It is already tomorrow."

BlackBerry's teeth chattered madly despite his best efforts and Master Urmdrus' tea. While thankfully his toes had stopped hurting, this was worryingly because couldn't feel them anymore. He stomped the ground several more times just to be certain and was rewarded with only the dull sting on each impact. BlackBerry closed his tired eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Standing beside Old Boy he took a deep breath in of the icy air, stinging his nostrils, and then let it all out again in a long cloud of fog. It had been a very long night. If Jon so much as breathed with a hint of a complaint at him, BlackBerry was going to start biting. The first rays of morning sunshine struggling to climb over the horizon brought him a sense.

He would need to find some warmth soon, and a gentle huff from Old Boy suggested he wasn't the only one. Taking the reins in hand, he urged the tired mule on towards the Estate House were the promise of a kind word and a hot drink awaited.

The pair walked with a slow trudge of the very tired and only half aware of the frosty ground crunching steadily beneath their footsteps. He could see in the fields on either side also making their way back to the Estate House, like a flock of birds converging upon their nests, now that the work was done. He let out a sigh mixed equal parts pride at a job well done, and desperation for a long sleep and a hot bath.

He occasionally caught sight of Lizbeth dashing across the fields in the same manner of Kosara and Victoria tirelessly lighting fires and placing braziers. It was surprising how much energy the young squire in training had. He made a mental note to make sure she got some rest as well. No doubt at some point the dear would hit her limit and it was going to hurt.

Nearing the Estate house, he caught sight of something in the corner of his eye. He stopped and turned to look towards the east where a hill stood holding the rising sun atop its crest, and the silhouettes of five individuals. Confused, he shielded his eyes and squinted up at the figures in a fruitless attempt to pick out any details from them. Ever looking to help someone in need, he let go of the reins for a moment to wave up at the figures.

"Hello there!" He called as loud as he could hoping they would hear him across the fields. "Are you lost?...Hello?" BlackBerry stopped waving. The figures weren't moving. Even if they hadn't heard him he would have expected some movement. "Strange." He mused to Old Boy. The mule simply flicked an ear.

He reclaimed the reigns and moved on once again towards the Estate House to find Victoria, Morty, and a few others standing around just before it. He drew Old Boy to a stop and gave a friendly wave to them all.

In the classic way of someone summoning the last of their energy from the dregs of their reserves, BlackBerry took a deep breath in and smiled tiredly to everyone gather. "Ah! Well good morning everyone! Well would you look at that, we all survived and not a grape lost I dare say. See there, just as I told Madame L'Rose; the fields are warm as anything as I said they would, and in good time too." The energy of the message was somewhat lost under the frantic chattering of his teeth. "Could I be a bother and ask someone to take care of Old Boy for a spell? Perhaps take the thing back to the Coach House even. I spotted some people up on the hill just over there, and planned to go investigate. To Make sure none of the villagers had lost their way or become turned around in the dark." He threw his thumb over his shoulder back towards the hill.

Under the fog of tiredness in both body and mind, a little red flag appeared. He head turned back towards the hill, towards the figures in their strange position, four bowing to the fifth standing proud amongst them. They still hadn't moved.

With a frown, BlackBerry asked. "Am I right in thinking that there were no scarecrows or such like in that direction yesterday?" He squinted again at the figures. "I am quite unable to tell from this distance."

The work was surprisingly grueling and even Kosara’s hyperactive tendencies and seemingly boundless energy at time was being affected by the circumstances of their current situation, for one the biting cold was seeping through clothing and chilling her down even as they moved around braziers and fires. It was not like playing out during the day in the snow. Admittedly there were cases where she had felt colder and more freezing over the passing weeks, but those were usually remedied by hanging by fireplaces inside and changing clothes. Here out in the darkness where the temperatures were dropping so low and the constant chill? Yeah it was certainly different and more severe.

Work only got harder once the Unseen Servants vanished. After her magical helpers vanished, work certainly did slow down with her some, but nothing could be done. Kosara couldn’t take a break just to recover the magical energies properly. So she just worked as hard as she could despite that. At least her glowing clothing remained along with her ability to set the braziers alight instantly. That was certainly a skill that was proving quite effective! Prestidigitation was a very useful general toll! In any case since she could maintain a number of effects at one, her glowing clothing didn’t dim for a moment.

Eventually as the night progressed, their dwarven craftsman friend joined them along with hot tea! Glorious! What was even more glorious was the addition of people who arrived to help. From there the work continued ever so hard and tiring throughout the night, all the way to the point the first rays of sunlight showed across the horizon and the skies started getting colored in the varying hues as the light was replacing the darkness of the night. They had more or less done it and Kosara couldn’t help, but let out a happy sigh as she stretched a bit, feeling the popping. She felt like taking a nap, if she was to be honest… that or getting into a barrel with hot water to get the cold out of her body. That might have been a better thing to do…. A barrel or a bathtub really. Either worked, ideally without a wild Lizbeth this time around. Let it be said that Kosara could indeed learn.

She was about to start making good on V’s suggestions of rest and sleep by heading back now that the work was done finally, when Berry raised a rather curious point as he had pointed out something in the hills in the distance. Well there was certainly something there… people… maybe? Or was it something else? Quite unmoving there and there was something weird going on with their arrangement.” I don’t think so?” Kosara replied with a frown as she stared in the distance. The paranoid side of her mind that had kept quite for a little while now reared it’s pretty white head to suggest something was up and this time Kosara did agree that this begged for investigation.” I will go check it out.” She said and began moving in the direction of the hill with the figures there, keeping careful attention on them in case there would be any developments while she was approaching.

“I really hope this isn’t another wererat situation… or tree goblins...” She mumbled as she stomped her way through the snowy fields in the direction of the hill. What was with the weird situations and their inability to pick better times to arise? Seriosuly, couldn’t this have waited until after they were well rested? Then again, adventure waited for no one, she surmised. Then by that logic this was a proper adventure happening. With that brief train of thought to make herself happy, she did a 180 mental gymnastic and concluded this was possibly a good thing and regained some energy in her gait. If this wasn’t anything bad, then great! It meant nothing bad was going on, if it was something bad? Then also great! Why would it be great? Simple, it meant they found out now and weren’t completely off guard!

The night was long and full of terrors. But with help from the party, coordination from the L'Rose family members, labor efforts provided by seasonal staff and those who had arrived from one of the nearby towns or villages. Kathryn couldn't be too sure where these people came from or how they got the plea for help, but they had arrived. Their combined efforts seemed to be enough to save the crop. It seemed to be enough to save the day! Even Master Urmdrus arrived with tea to help make the night just a little more bearable. When Kathryn had finally taken a moment to drink said tea she spoke up to the master smith with a warm tone and a smile to match. "Thank you, really needed something like this." She said trying her best to hide how tired she was getting. Doing her best to hide how sore her body was, or how out of breath she really was. She had a water skin back at the coach house, but she couldn't be sure if it was wine or water in it at this moment. Truth be told at this moment she didn't care. Anything liquid was a blessing. The weird hot tea also helped with the cool night air. Was that... Mushrooms? It was a weird taste, and if Kathryn had known what the tea was made from prior to drinking it she may have hesitated. But alas, it was good, and a welcome treat in this night of hard work.

As dawn came Kathryn felt ready to collapse. Maybe she over exerted herself in the night, or maybe she wasn't as familiar with manual labor as she thought she was. Her bones felt like they were floating in jello as her muscles wanted to do nothing more than to collapse under her weight. Thank fuck she hadn't been wearing her full heavy armor. She may have just collapsed the moment she felt she wasn't needed anymore. "Oh look, the sun." Kathryn attempted to say in a cheerful tone, but coming out a little sarcastic as she tried to catch her breath. Today would be a drinking day until she found herself face first into a comfortable pillow. "I think I am with you Victoria. Food, booze, and sleep." She'd set a really good fire tonight. She wasn't sure what strength she had to do so, but she wanted to fall asleep relaxed, stuffed with good food, dizzy with booze, and under a heavy blanket while the fire kept the room warm. What else could a girl want for a night like this? Well, except maybe having the night be the night and not the ass crack of dawn.

Kathryn looked about a moment, only to notice that the ground felt so soft under her boots. She was more than used too sleeping on the ground during her travels. But damn did that muddy frozen dirt seem rather pleasant in this moment. Sure, she could crawl her way back to the coach house, but it was all the way over there. So much soft ground between her and the bed. Seeing Lizbeth still beaming with energy, Kathryn for a moment selfishly wondered if she could tell Lizbeth that her next training exercise was to drag Kat to bed. After all, part of a squire's duty was taking care of their Knight's needs. No... that would be too selfish. Lizbeth was learning from Kat how to fight for herself. And she wasn't a squire, not in the traditional sense. Plus Kathryn was at least four times the small girl's size. That would be cruel. Though the idea was tempting. Oh so tempting.

Things took a turn that then began to ring every bell in Kathryn's head. She didn't notice the figures at first, but when Blackberry pointed out the beings on the hillside, just out of sight of the vineyards where they had been working, and Kosara confirming that it wasn't just Kathryn hallucinating, the uneasy feeling told her to be ready. Something about how quiet they were, unmoving, how the big one seemed to be an absolute commander to the others. It reminded her of thralls and their master. She didn't like it. But when seeing Kosara and Blackberry move towards them, she couldn't leave them to go at it alone. "Come on Victoria, let's make sure the others don't cause us too much trouble yeah?" She said in a joking tone, and for an excuse that wasn't personal paranoia driving her instincts. Kosara's mention of tree goblins and were rats made Kat uneasy. But this didn't seem to fit the bill? But she didn't have a good look from here. It wasn't until she saw how far Blackberry and Kosara were ahead of her that she understood how beat she was. Her feet dragged, leaving streaks in the dirt and grass across the mostly frozen ground. Making a controlled and concentrated effort she made sure each step lifted, doing her best to hide just how tired she was getting. But alas, she was still far far slower than the more energetic people in her party.

Weather: 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.

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

Ambience: 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.



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 mushroom tea, 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. _{(Sorry, I had to.)}

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.

Kosara stomed forward through the crunchy snow towards the hill with the unexplained, unwanted and uninvited suspicious looking figures looming from the distance and the closer she got the more her gut feeling told her that yes this was the prelude to the adventure and no it wasn’t going to be about sunshine and flowers. Sadly as she found herself at the base of the hill, trudging through the white snow, feeling a bit tired and sore from the evening of heavy activities, Kosara realized that her gut feeling was correct. How did she realize that? Easy, up above her, looming like some monuments of death were bodies standing in a vaguely ritualistic fashion, not magic ritualistic, but more the cultural adherence kind. Like how some people bowed, others shook hands and so on. One grand undead somewhat mummy-esque looking figure, taller and 4 submissive ones. Kosara’s nose scrunched up, not from any scents, but more so of thinking. She made a cute little thinking expression before her feet moved once more with certainty.

Step by step, one foot in front of the other she climbed the hill, steady in her movement as she took the figures ever closer, studying what she could see. Garments looked of fine quality silks… the type that costs good gold. Fashions and styles were also familiar. Empire of Alhazred… the empire led by the Lich Emperor and his council of evil guys who did evil guys thing and presumably kicked of the Necromantic Wars cause they wanted more something or other. As far as Kosara could figure out, everything looked period accurate… which coupled with the fact these were dead bodies that may or may not be undead… she was getting flashes back to the bodies in the old distillery. Connection maybe? She couldn’t exactly figure out if these were proper undead or something else. Had no idea if they were actually going to move normally. More flashbacks to the bodies they found last time… On that note she reminded herself that Sacred Flames torched them good, even if it would be shame to ruin silks in that pristine of condition.

Up close, she saw everything in even better detail, confirming her opinion on the origins of these fellas. Which by itself raised questions since they shouldn’t be here. Bodies that preserved with garments that preserved meant well… efforts put into it. How did these bodies appear here when their origin should be much further south? Unless of course there was a conspiracy and hidden hideout somewhere around here. Her eyes moved to the hand holding the rolled up… letter? Scroll? Whatever it was, it had a long black ribbon and Kosara’s curiosity was growing. The bodies weren’t taking any aggressive movements. She narrowed her eyes, thinking, but in the end nodded to herself and walked over to the one standing and holding the… she decided it was probably a letter. It had the hallmark of delivering a missive by somebody in power… Better not be an undead lich emperor making a bid for power and domination again, she hoped.

“Thank you.” She said simply as she reached to take the thing. No need to be rude after all. She made a light frown and tilted her head as she pulled the letter and couldn’t figure out if the hand loosened a bit to let it go easier. Very much flashbacks to the bodies from that hole in the ground. She undid the ribbon, opened the scroll/letter and looked at what was written inside with an utmost serious expression as she scrolled the words and letters.” I see.” She simply mumbled, before tilting her head.” I’ve got no idea what this reads… Will need to see if the others can understand it.” She mused to herself as she took a few steps back from what she suspected were undead of some variety and waited for the others to join her while she moved her eyes between the undead and the letter… and the ribbon of course. It was a pretty black ribbon. Even if black wasn’t her usual color, she liked it. Might keep it as a souvenir... if it wasn't all evil and magical of course.

BlackBerry gladly let Jon take Old Boy from him. The mule had become ever more intolerable as the night had wore on from being just as cold and tired as BlackBerry was. In his mind the pair could do with not seeing each other for a while or at least until they had had a chance to sleep away their sour moods. Kosara quickly stepped past him and strode confidently ahead, straight to the strange figures still standing resolutely still atop the hill above them.

"Good gracious. Already on the move and one to take the lead as always Kosara. Do wait a moment would you. Ah never mind." Worry nagged at his tired thoughts. There was something strange about those figures and he bit his lip at the idea of Kosara being there on her own. Quickly setting off after her, he slowed down and hopped sideways just long enough to quickly say towards Lizbeth. "Worry not Young Lizbeth, we shall return before you know it. Best you go and rest up after last night, you appear frightfully exhausted. Oh! And do check on your Aunt as well!"

Sparing not another thought he spun back around and trudged up the hill after Kosara. BlackBerry kept his eyes downturned and focussed on the ground in front of him, focussed on keeping his legs steady and tired feet landing in Kosara footsteps so he wouldnt have to push through any snow drifts himself. Shortly after Kosara, he arrived to the same awful, macabre sight of the undoubtedly dead bodies. They were human, that much was still obvious, and BlackBerry couldn't help but think of Kosaras own clothing when he saw the silk garments and threads waving lazily in the breeze.

"Well...I daresay this is less than reassuring. I dread to think we had an unknown audience during the night." His thoughts turned to the bodies they had found in the hidden distillery not long ago. He saw Kosara scrunch her nose in thought "Copper for your thoughts, Kosara?"

That grim feeling of unease took its usual spot in his stomach, which then did an impressive backflip when Kosara plucked the ribbon tied letter from the standing corpses hand. BlackBerry snapped into a defensive pose, snow crunching under his feet, and waited for an attack. Several seconds past without a sound or movement from the gathered corpses.

But nothing happened.

His glare was dawn away from the bodies once Kosara had finished reading the letter. For a moment he had thought she had read something on it. BlackBerry, tiredness testing his patience, didn't hold back the disgruntled sight which he immediately regretted.

"May I see? Please."

Tied eyes struggled to focus on the squiggles on paper that was handed to him and he turned so the sun lit it better. His eyes grew to the size of dinner plates and then were promptly crushed by eyebrows slamming down. He read the letter. He read it again, and then a third time. BlackBerry lifted himself out of the letter with a heavy sigh and a troubled look.

"Well this is....this is very surprising. I believe it might be written in Draconic, or some form of it at the very least. Do give me one moment." He sounded uncertain however, and squinted again at the paper. "Yes...yes, definitely Draconic. However, It seems to be a very old dialect. I must admit it makes little sense to me." BlackBerry's voice was quiet, subdued, trailing off as he handed the paper back to Kosara with his eyes turned downward. His fingers began to tap, tap, tap against his thumb.

Into the silence he cleared his throat and seemed to quickly rally himself. "Well. I suppose have yet another mystery on our hands. And to add one more to the pile I, for one, would like to know just how these..." He waved his hand at the direction of the bodies. "...corpses got here." Following that train of thought like a lifeline he crunched his way through the snow around the upright corpses, careful to keep out of their assumed reach, towards their rear. "Ah ha! Here, there's a trail of footprints leading away from them." Tired as his eyes were they still worked, and he pointed into the shallow dents in the snow of obscured footprints leading in a straight line away from them.

Captured by this clue and eager to make himself useful BlackBerry followed the trail, careful to walk alongside it rather than in it, down the other side of the hill. He continued to follow the trail until it stopped so suddenly that he overshot it by several steps and had to double back to find it again. Anyone watching the shiny blue dragon born would see him looking at the ground and then this way and that, and even a full spin.

"Bloody buggers came out of nowhere." BlackBerry called back up to the others. "Popped out of the ground like daisies or something like. Good spot I must say. No sign of the watch tower or the house from here." He continued shouting back at the other as he was already stomping his way back up the hill.

"No, no, no... Gods damn it." Victoria was tired. Her hands hurt from labor to which it was unaccustomed; with red marks and upon places where she did not bear callouses from her extensive musical pursuits. She was not a worker in the traditional sense, despite her willingness to get her hands dirty if necessary. And so long as her mind was on the concept of "dirty", Victoria felt like she was quite the mess. The application of a few castings of Prestidigitation would take care of this unseemly difficulty, but after having cast that exact spell dozens, maybe hundreds of times over the entirety of the night, and doing so now felt like something close to a chore. At the same time, drawing a proper bath was actually a literal chore, so she might just have to flip a coin to decide. But this new and sudden exclamation of denial and mild blasphemy came not from her present state of marginal dishevelment, but the fact that something mysterious and foreboding was spotted stop the nearby hill, and she was dead certain they were going to insist upon checking it out before any personal grooming, rest, or even a cup of decent tea was had. Victoria did like to pamper herself when the option to do so was present, and she was annoyed that the opportunity fit neatly into the category of "so close, and yet so far."

Of course she was going to join the rest of her party on the hill. But for the purposes of maintaining some separation purely for the principle of the thing, she agreed with Kathryn before walking over to check on Lizbeth. The girl was still staring in the direction of the figures atop the hill. She looked concerned, but oddly showed none of the fatigue that everyone else was afflicted by. Including Victoria. The Bard followed her gaze to the hill, where others of her group were going already. With a nod of her head, Victoria silently regretted the fact that she was not equipped for a serious fight, and even if she were, there was not a lot of enthusiasm. Well, she had her dagger and she had her music, which meant that she was not defenseless at any rate.

Victoria called her Morty over to her. It was a mental command given to a mindless but utterly loyal animated beast, one that would unfailingly walk point and block for her, which is exactly what she wanted in her exhausted condition. Likewise, for the purposes of extending her senses in necessary, Victoria recalled her raven Familiar to her and set it to circle overhead. There was a brief glimpse through its eyes as it soared through the even colder air above. Victoria wondered how the helpful spiritform took to the cold - it hadn't showed a sign of complaint in the slightest - but she couldn't be sure without a greater level of understanding. The quick look gave her a better view of the figures on the hill above, and this made her wish to hasten her walk to the rest of them. "Get someplace safe," she absently said to Lizbeth, and moved as best she could to join the others.

Upon finally reaching the scene atop the hill, Victoria was taken aback by the opulence of the clothing layered over the obviously dead and/or undead people present. Yes, and the presence of dead and/or undead people was noted, and might have been jarring to anyone else. Lucky for her, dead people were kind of her thing. She reserved her thoughts on the whole matter until more in the way of investigation could be made (and in truth was quite intrigued by Baronfjord's findings with his tracking), contributing only the following thoughts:

"That scroll? I can attempt to translate, but my books are back in the Coach House. I cannot here." More work before rest. It is to be expected. This was her role now, as it stood with the needs of this adventuring group, more than they needed a musician. As strange as it sounded to her, Victoria was their Arcanist. This revelation didn't quite suppress her more colorful flights of proclivity, as the next thought she voiced attested, "Those silks and wools are gorgeous, aren't they? In fact, that one's shawl," she motioned toward one of the attendees while still maintaining a respectable level of caution to the situation they found themselves in, "would look amazing on you, Kosara." She had her eye one or two things herself, though not to the point of distracting from what might become an ugly moment very quickly.

The figures on the hill left Kathryn unsettled. Falling behind she failed to get a good look at them as the rest of the party approached, but she had the aching feeling that something was about to go down. And she wouldn't be there to help. She would lag behind, and her people were going to get hurt. And there was nothing that she could do about it. She should have paced herself better the night before, but she had failed and now her party was walking into potential danger while she lagged behind. Stopping a moment to catch her breath, she noticed Lizbeth off to the side. And she looked... unwell. Maybe the exhaustion was getting to her too? Stepping over to the young woman she seemed to immediately get better. Almost as if the daylight itself had woken her up! "You doing alright dude?" Kathryn asked the small bean. After she confirmed that she was infact Fine Kathryn wasn't sure if she was trying to be strong or was simply trying to stay awake like the rest of them. Though she seemed to be far more awake and energized than everyone else. Oh what it would be like to be young again. At the ripe age of 22, Kathryn was already aging out of the best age to get married and have kids in. Let alone have the energy to stay up all night and still keep toting about.

Seeing the concern on Lizbeth's face Kathryn figured giving the girl something to do could help her out. "Hey Lizbeth, if anything weird happens while we are up there, mind running and letting some folks know? I'm sure we can handle it, but if they end up being rowdy drunks I think it may be a good idea to let some people know so we can help them out properly yeah?" Kathryn said short of breath, but in her best reassuring tone. Trying to downplay her concern, and trying to let the girl feel helpful and useful. Plus, if things turned south, letting the others on the property know what was going on to either help or evacuate would be best. After her request though, Kathryn struggled her best to catch up to the others. The moment to rest and talk to Lizbeth had given her a second to catch her breath, but she still felt like she would collapse into a coma if she were to fall over. And gods be damned did her legs want to give out. She wanted nothing more than a hot meal, an even hotter bath, something alcoholic to numb her pain, and a comfy spot to let her body collapse onto. But the work wasn't done. Not even close.

Getting up close, she could finally see what the others were looking at. Despite getting there last of the group, she could still see the confusion on their faces. But these people... they seemed like they were infact dead. The big one that Kosara took the note from seemed like he could throw people about. And if this turned into a brawl it would be four on five. Kathryn was pretty sure she could take them to an extent despite her conditions at the moment. But she lacked a magical weapon if that would be needed. She supposed if hacking and slashing wouldn't do the trick, she could always attempt to go big again and rip them in half. Far from the ideal way to fight people, but if she didn't have options she would have to make due. "Draconic? That seems weird as hell. If they wanted to give us a letter, why would they want to give us a letter we were not in a position to read?" She could think of a couple reasons. AN ego complex, their lack of understanding of common or elvish, to stall and waste the party's time while they went to find a way to translate it. She wouldn't say that out loud though. Not in the presence of the messengers. Though she did find it funny that they had one of the few people in the land who could read draconic. Even if the dialect in this case didn't work with him.

Kathryn listened to her party in horror as they talked about taking the silks from the dead people in front of them. The idea of wearing clothes from dead people was unsettling to Kathryn. Sure, maybe the material was decent quality, but these were corpses! Not just corpses, living corpses! That have been walking about in mud, sweating, rotting, rubbing their garbs up against every open sore and wound on their body! Sure, maybe it could be cleaned, but what the fuck... "Even if we could get those garbs, is it really worth taking? I don't think we should fight them if we don't have too. And if we do... They are corpses." Kathryn said in mild horror as she tried to hide how unsettled she was by the idea.

Weather: It is still cold in a way that is positively unseasonal, but at least it isn't still snowing. The wind is painful along exposed ears and fingers, which hasn't shown any signs of abating. In fact, the arrival of the sun seems to have made the gusts less frequent, but longer lasting.

Time: Dawn. There is finally a complete, gorgeous, round sun on the horizon. The details it reveals aren't necessarily as picturesque.

Ambience: The chill in the air is most certainly due to the weather, but the newest guests of the Vineyard do their best to bring that feeling to the bone. The sun is now fully above the horizon, but just barely, still barely painting the countryside with a hint of color but perhaps more importantly, better illuminating the features of the apparently deceased persons standing before the group in their opulent finery. Dead, glassy skin reflecting the sun as if solid, dull ice, visible only from hands and faces as they were the only parts exposed. Nevertheless, the better look in the broader light of the new day reveals husks of once-humans who, while amazingly preserved, appeared to be desiccated by time and intention while simultaneously frozen solid.

The snow remains present, giving the most constant color available upon the land, textured in the places where it was trodden upon, while the braziers in the fields nearest to the Estate House dot the landscape in a series of regular, even rows. Behind the group is the proof of the party's diligent work, and ahead is another fragment of an ongoing mystery.



If the night was a bustle of activity and teamwork, then this morning gave the immediate feeling of quiet and solitude, at least in comparison. Even Lizbeth was nowhere to be seen, when she was previously rooted to the spot when Victoria and Kathryn had come to check on her. The workers took their leave prior to the most recent events of the early morning, and Cecily herself took her leave while it was still dark out. The reinforcements from the villages departed mostly without comment, as well. So now, despite the fact that this was a successful, profitable vineyard spanning a more than respectful amount of acreage, a feel of emptiness settled over everything within sight.

The figures standing atop the hill with the party were no longer hidden by the night, nor by conflicting firelight. Any looking in their direction saw them plainly, even if distance muddied the details. Perhaps this was one of the reasons that it was so quiet, aside from the early hour and overnight push of labor.

A number of moments after the scroll left the hand of the singularly tall Corpse Diplomat and those present did what inspections and observations they might, certain subtleties began that, when taken apart could be brushed away as imagination or happenstance; the wind, perhaps, or the product of a mind left exhausted by a full day of work followed by a full night of it, all without rest. Tiny, incremental things which, when pressed together in a shortened span of snowballing time culminated in the tall, dead creature turning its head directly at the lady who first took the scroll.

And then it smiled.

It was a painful thing to watch. Its tissues (or what remained of them), lacking of the necessary flexibility of life, slipped back to bear its teeth fully into a cruel mockery of gratitude or mirth. The ends of its mouth widened impossibly with a sound like rope groaning under a herculean weight before, as overstressed ropes do, it snapped. But unlike the thready pop of hemp fibers popping, this was the loud and unmistakable glassy crack of ice - thick ice - fracturing along previously unseen fault lines, many within a fraction of a second from the last.

Simultaneously, all of the members of the diplomatic entourage shifted position to stand loosely, shoulders thrown back and arms at their sides as if waiting for a chambermaid to gently take their housecoats. Splits fissured their exposed skin where they had not existed before; cracks multisecting their ice-brittle flesh. What pale flicker of awareness might or might not have been present died away in this moment, leaving them standing upright in dead submission to the elements and their natural state of being.

Before the last hint of anything remotely sapient darkened within the recessed sockets of the lead diplomat, it remained locked staring into Kosara's eyes.

A single set of footprints led back to the Coach House. Within, a startled girl named Lizbeth sat in the taproom, chair pulled into the corner, staring at the door far across the room. She was breathing heavily, both from the sprint she executed to get there and a streak of utter terror that claimed her in that moment.

Welp at least one mystery was solved! DRACONIC! Well Kosara could proudly say that she didn’t expect the dragons to be involved in this situation. The dancer rather curious, but then again maybe it was the necromantic empire national language. She couldn’t quite remember off the top of her head if that was the case… or maybe it was an undead dragon leading them… undead dragon lich? Or just regular dragon and his magical schananigans, but that said, she had no idea on the way the undead operated in the area. Those guys in the burrow were way too weird and no way they were just regular corpses. These guys here were for certain not just regular bodies either.

“Well, maybe they teleported in?” Kosara surmised to Berry’s realization they had just appeared in the area.” Or… they were dropped in via flight. During the hectic last night something could have flown over and we probably would have missed it as long as it didn’t get too close.” She added.

“That they are, not often you see silks that quality out and about either.” Kosara agreed with V. She didn’t know it, but on this topic both her and the bard were in fact indeed eyeing potential loot from the bodies. Kosara wouldn’t mind grabbing that shawl yes.. among a few other things.” It would, yes.” She also agreed on that too, eyeing the undead. Of course she wasn’t just going to start grabbing things unless it went down to a fight. If it was loot after a fight, then it was theirs by right of adventure and conquest… probably. The rogue who taught her how loot etiquette worked as a child was never allowed to teach her stuff again afterwards for some reason.

“Maybe their creator or master or leader uses ancient draconic as their main language?” The tiefling chimmed in to Kathryn’s question before eyeing the woman. She did develop selective hearing on the comment about looting and fighting the probable undead though.” Nobody said anything about fighting them unless they give us a reason, Kathryn. That would be rude.” Kosara in the end reminded the bigger woman.

Suddenly she spotted movement as the lead guy smiled and then locked eyes with her… She tried to stare back at the obvious staring contest challenge… SHE REALLY DID! It wasn’t even the fact they were dead bodies or cracking from the frost on their dead flesh that did it… Goosebumps ran down her spine, before she let out a startled yelp and dashed behind the closest source of cover. Kosara lost the staring contest something hard, it wasn’t fear really. No it was the unsettling feeling that she couldn’t quite place from that dead gaze.” YOU WIN!” She stated and dashed behind her bardly friend. Now it had to be mentioned Kosara was still taller than V. Did that make Kosara reconsider using her as a barrier between her and the undead with the unsettlingly intent gaze? NO! What the white tiefling did was dash behind V, put the bard between herself and the undead, grab the corner of the bard’s overcoat and crouch behind her, hiding herself like she was a child.

BlackBerry traipsed his way through the snow, back up the hill to the others and the visitors, arriving just in time for Kosara's suggestion of their guests. He Pinched his chine and tilted his head at the idea, and the subsequent thoughts that followed it that made him grimace in distaste.

"As I said Kosara, it is an old Dialect. Myself I have only seen it written less than a handful of times, and very little of it at that. Whomever they are representing I am at a loss as to why they would communicate in such a way." Lost in his thoughts, he failed to notice Kosara's staring contest with their most-leader-like...visitor. BlackBerry continued. "Did I hear correctly, Victoria, that you could translate it? If you need some assistance I would be more than happy to help in any way I can."

His attention now on Victoria he noticed Kosara trying, or more accurately failing, to hide behind her. Alarm bells rang. In one swift movement, BlackBerry spun round to face the bodies in a fighting stance ready to retaliate.

As before, nothing happened. The stoic statues simply stood silently together smiling at them all.

"They moved." BlackBerry took a step back, drawing level with Victoria but kept his eyes locked on the visitors. "When did that happen?"

This observation did not bode well at all. They were all tired, unequipped and woefully unprepared for a fight should it come to that. His thoughts then turned dark wondering how the Estate might fair should they fall to these visitors. But then again, other than looming menacingly in the distance, their visitors had done nothing untoward as of yet. If they meant any harm then surely they could have done so during the night when everyone was busy working and often barely in sight of each other. But instead they had simply waited, the tracks proved they had just moved to the top of the hill sometime during the night, assuming they hadn't been appearing here-there-and-everywhere beforehand.

Undead dressed in desert clothing, now leagues away in Avonshire, with a letter written in 'Olde Draconiq'.

Giving the Guests another once over; all human, he then suggested. "I could try talking to them?" BlackBerry didn't sound convinced. "It is possible they may understand modern Draconic." Dropping his voice to a low murmur he leant towards Victoria, and Kosara. "We can not leave them here. Either let us take them out now or someplace we can keep an eye on them all."

Kathryn continued to feel uneasy. As she approached the hill that the others were interacting with the group on the hill, she took a moment to look back only to notice that Lizbeth was gone. Maybe she went to get help? Maybe she got spooked? She couldn't be sure. When this was over Kathryn would have to check on her. She hoped beyond hope that she was going to be okay though. Turning back to the others, Kosara and Blackberry were sorting out the note between them. Attempting to figure out what it could mean, and what the reasoning for this odd group of very likely dead individuals was doing here. Apart of her really worried this would turn into a fight. The uneasyness of the situation left Kathryn feeling like they were one bad move away from things turning ugly.

Then, it smiled. The smile was comparable to what Kathryn pictured someone getting their mouth forcibly stretched wide with hooks as a form of torture. But in some twisted way they enjoyed the torture. Apart of Kathryn wanted to scream, apart of her wanted to puke, apart of her wanted to nope right out of this and leave. Go to bed, enjoy a warm drink and meal, get shit faced drunk on the floor, or any combination of those options! Oh what she would do for that instead of this weird shite. As the others relaxed, Kathryn couldn't be sure if she was to relax too, or be worried that they were gearing up for something. God dammit how she wished she was better at determining these sort of things, but she wasn't even sure if the rules still applied to dead people the way it applied to the living. So those skills may not even come in handy in that regard either.

Kathryn let out a soft sigh when Kosara mentioned not wanting to get into a fight, but was still talking as if she could loot their clothes off their person. Just... What did Kosara thing looting clothes off dead people meant? These dead people seemed like they would put up at least a small fight for the clothes on their back. When the big one locked eyes with Kosara, Kathryn hadn't realized how tense she was. By instinct she had reached for her boot where the dagger sat sheathed ready to retaliate to any potential attack! The second her finger tapped the hilt she stopped seeing as how the person had not only stopped at locking eyes with Kosara, but Kosara seemed ever so determined to lock eyes with it as well. In this moment, Kathryn wondered if Kosara was ignorant, brace, or somewhere between. But gods be damned the woman was standing her ground. "Kosara?" Kathryn spoke up softly as the smaller woman continued to hold her gaze. The bad feelings lingered, so Kathryn continued to close the distance. Gods be damned she was still slow. If things turned into a brawl would she be able to hold her own in a fight? Maybe. Adrenaline could do wonders for a person. On top of that she was pretty kinda sure she had one more use of her magic. How long she could hold it she was unsure. But she was also still armed, and armored. Not good armor, and her family sword really needed some work, but if push came to shove, Kathryn was bigger still.

By instinct, when Kathryn heard the yelp from Kosara the half giant of a woman booked it, giving it whatever speed she could muster as Kosara jumped behind V to hide. Her tiefling friend was scared, Blackberry was ready to jump into action, and Victoria was now in the mist of it all. This could not be allowed to pass. Kathryn stopped herself just infront of Victoria, her boots leaving streaks in the snow and dirt as she put her body between Victoria and the big one. The big one however, was only big compared to the rest of the party. Kathryn had nearly half a head on him, and the dude looked rather lean compared to Kathryn. In terms of physical might, Kathryn was pretty sure she had all the advantages here. But the dude was dead, and there was no telling what sort of tricks he had up his sleeve. Though still spooky, he was far less intimidating when Kathryn got up close to him.

"Blackberry, you said they write in draconic? Do you think they speak it? Or another language?" He brought up the idea of talking to them, but Kathryn found herself already on that note. Though she didn't know draconic, she knew an assortment of other languages. "Hello, my name is Kathryn, do you speak common?" With no response, she cleared her throat to try again. "Helo, fy enw i yw Kathryn, wyt ti'n siarad Elvis?" Kathryn waited, but there was no response. She was getting even more uneasy. Elvish was an old language, and she had really hoped that would work. Time to start going down the list she guessed. "Hail, mine name is Kathryn, dost thou speak halfling?" Very close to common, but she figured why not try it? Maybe they could only respond to some languages anyways? But her list was running out.

Kathryn took a deep breath, her use of old tongue was rather rough. But it was understandable to most. She hoped... "Hallo, mein Name ist Kathryn. Sprichst du die alte Sprache?" At first, there was nothing. Kathryn stood there not relaxed, but her hands were far from her weapons at this point. The list of people who spoke old tongue was rather limited, but damn she was low on options. Then, she froze. She swore to the gods she saw a reaction?! Maybe she imagined it? With a blink the figure may not have moved at all, locking eyes with it now she couldn't be sure what she saw was real or just her fear playing with her. Telling her she was unsafe and she needed to act. The shock held on her eyes for several moments before she realized, the figure still hadn't moved. "Gods dammit..." She let fear get the best of her. She had to stop doing that or else she would begin to lose her mind. "That's all I got Blackberry, wanna try draconic?" She asked far less tense now, and with a hint of defeat in her tone.

Victoria's eyes narrowed. It was a fool that couldn't recognize this as Necromancy, but this felt different, somehow. She was almost jealous in her own way. This absolutely smacked with theatrics, like it was all some kind of show meant to elicit some sort of social leverage. What was worse, looking around at her adventuring associates, it was working. Maybe if the group was hale and well rested this wouldn't be as much of an issue, but the timing of this event was amazingly suboptimal. Still, being one more accustomed to what was considered The Dark Arts by the common folk of the land, this still surprised her. Yes, they were good.

The reaction from Kosara also surprised her, but Victoria mentally handled that one differently. It was a dull anger that settled in the dark recesses of her mind in that moment. She looked back to the Tiefling for a half moment only, then focused her eyes on the figures in front of her. "Performative creatures," she mused internally. If they were aware they were causing discomfort with their mere presence, they didn't seem to show it.

It vaguesly registered to Victoria that Baronfjord had asked her a question. When did they move, indeed. With a flat voice, she responded coolly with, "Just a moment ago." There was something about this expression of Necromancy that she couldn't quite wrap her head around, and she was assuredly trying to do just that. The details were difficult to pick out - so many cuts and colors of Undead could be described in the same manner as these could, and they definitely fit neatly into the category of Undead. But the type eluded her. Her grasp of Arcana, even though she had something of a concentration (or at least more than a passing interest in) this subject, felt imperfect here. Maybe with some sleep and some time to mull it over, things would be different.

Additionally, a small part of Victoria was sure that someone was going to blame this on her.

Oddly, it was Kathryn's words that gave her a clue. This clue led to a different train of thought, and those thoughts led to a working possibility. This might or might not have been confirmed by the tall Knight speaking to the figures in different languages, only to receive zero response. "You said Draconic?" It was to both Kathryn and Baronfjord. The Monk had mentioned that is was an 'old dialect'. Victoria was no linguist, but she wasn't familiar with any older dialects of Draconic. It was a language that predated many of the sentient races which existed presently, but spoken by creatures longer-lived than Elves, and as such should have changed very little. Her knowledge of Arcana finally clicked, at least a little. "Draconic script has been often used as a preferred medium for magic. Spell descriptions, record keeping, instructions. I never learned it myself because I come by magic differently. I do have a ritual that can translate it. But first..."

Victoria stepped around Kathryn, but not stupidly. She made sure to mentally command her Morty to put itself between her and the tall, nobly dressed dead guy first, poised to tackle with an action ready should the thing move in the slightest. This did not stop her from obstinately reaching out and jerking the thing's head covering forward, over its eye holes. It was not the most mature thing to do, but it seemed something that might make Kosara feel a little better. She then stepped past to one of its attendants and grabbed an article of very fine fabric off of its shoulders. It was an exquisite black pashmina, trimmed with opulent gold thread in broad and thick patterns that reminded her of something abstractly floral. In truth, she absolutely adored the pattern, even if this wasn't exactly in her preferred colors. A quick couple of seconds to cast another Prestidigitation was spent to clean the fabric from whatever objectionable material that might have been there (though nothing visible shook off). Victoria then unhesitantly draped it over her head and rubbed her pointed ears beneath it, trying to get some warmth and feeling back into them. It was too cold for this mess. "They're puppets," she said flatly. Whether they were given commands to carry out under specific circumstances or they were controlled from someplace remotely, whatever the corpses were in actuality, Victoria was certain of this assessment, be it metaphorical. So she repeated, "They are puppets."

As an interesting side note, beneath the first article of clothing, there was another. And the hint of another beneath that, as if the desiccated figures were packing multiple layers of very fine clothing.

Ears now a little more bearable, she held a hand out to Baronfjord, requesting the scroll "May I? I need to get this to the Coach House to translate." She left the scene without further comment, trailing her Vicious Guard Swine, Morty, behind her.



In the Coach House, Victoria wasted no time cracking open her Ritual books. The spell necessary was one of her first ones penned in her hand, and in very short order she was whispering the appropriate sigilla and tracing the proper designs in the air, building wizardly energies within herself in a way that was still a little foreign to her; magical power coming from understanding and intellect as opposed to improvisation and strength of personality. But she was able to do this in the span of a few minutes. What she discovered alarmed her.

"It's ...gibberish."

She spoke these words aloud, surprised at the result. The spell had worked. The spell was working. Her new understanding of the script showed what she had suspected earlier. It was Draconic. It was written in script that was uncommon and yes, old-fashioned, but this was the standard Draconic language as used commonly. But instead of words in Draconic script, it was a series of chaotic syllables, hard consonants, and throat sounds that were difficult to pronounce quickly. While the spell was still active, Victoria scrambled for a pen and paper, trying to pen the sounds in the Common language phonetically, so she could at least speak them back later. Maybe it was a puzzle?

Absently, as she wrote, Victoria quietly spoke the sounds to try to mentally reinforce her work. It was then that Lizbeth spoke in a hushed voice, "That's Abyssal. It isn't Draconic." Victoria stopped cold and looked over to the girl, still standing in the corner, still looking concerned. What was she saying? This was phonetic Abyssal, penned in Draconic script?

Victoria had several questions, the first one of which she asked in a harsh whisper, "How do you know this?"

When Victoria went to peel a layer of clothing from one of the Attendant Guests BlackBerry stuck out his tongue, and wrinkled his nose in clear disgust. Granted, it probably made no difference to the Guest themselves but he could hear years of filthy stickiness fighting to keep the fabric in its grasp. The only saving grace in this moment was that Victoria chose to magic the fabric clean with her trusty Prestidigitation. Sadly, that did not extend to help the faint smell wafting from the stripped Guest.

"Gods. They do remind one of an onion, do they not?"

He did trust Victoria's assessment though that for all the Guests smiling and standing, they were just puppets. Nothing more intelligent than lumps of very, very expired flash made to prance about to do their masters bidding. But then who was pulling the strings?

He could feel the headache he sensed earlier now finally arriving. Wiping his face BlackBerry came to fully understand how tired he was, but a look towards Lady Kathryn made him realise he could be feeling a whole lot worse; the knight looked nearly dead on her feet. He tucked his arm back under the poncho in an effort to reclaim any shred of heat he could. Alongside Lady Kathryn he waited with baited breath as she reeled off a few languages at their Guests without being granted even a hint of a reaction. At her suggestion he nodded and stepped up to the largest figure.

In Draconic he spoke. "Alright. Morning, Name's BlackBerry. Not trying to be rude but who am I actually speaking to?" The Guest didn't move or even so much as move a single rotten muscle. Despite feeling a bit foolish BlackBerry continued. "Hello? Is there something else you're wanting to do or can you just...leave?"

No reaction. Pinching his chin he then wondered if maybe Undercommon might do it. He had heard from the adventurer who taught him that Undercommon was used more by the subterranean people, and corpses were supposed to be underground.

"Hello. My name is BlackBerry." His Undercommon speech was markedly slower, and for a few moments he paused to try and figure out the words. It had been a while since he had last needed. "Why are you here? Can you leave?"

Again no reaction.

Clicking his tongue in frustration he addressed Lady Kathryn, in common once again. "This is ridiculous."

Looking back at the estate it was all calm and quite....for now. If more people turned up and the corpses were still here it could really cause some panic. A part of him sitting on his shoulder suggested following Victoria's lead and just leaving the Guests to their own devices. If they were really puppets and had done all they needed to then they weren't any harm. But they were clearly the result of necromancy, and even BlackBerry after the exciting events of last month and being around...Morty, still had the inbuilt sense of dread and disgust at the mere suggestion of the act.

"Oh." He stared at the sky hoping one of the gods would give him the strength he so sorely needed at this moment. "Oh, hang it all. A pox on this damn thing and all." BlackBerry instinctively flinched hunching his shoulders over his ears after uttering the curse. Somethings habits just never died. "Well...well, well well. We can not simply leave our Guests out here in the cold, or in sight of decent company now can we?."

Oh yes we could. Said that part of him again which longed to be inside with a warm drink and his feet up by the fire. We very much could.

It was unfortunate the Victoria had already excused herself from the situation, and even more unfortunate she had taken Morty and his wagon with her. He trusted Victoria's judgement on the matter of the Guests, she was the resident expert of the group after all on such matters, but he doubted Madame L'Rose would be willing to see it that way. Better safe than sorry after all.

"Come. Let us get Old Boy and bring our Guests inside. We have plenty of room and better to keep an eye on them until..." He waved his hand in the air, fishing for an idea of how to end the thought. "Until we figure out what is to be done with them."

With that he stomped his way back to the coach house but refrained from going in side so as to not disturb Victoria from her own work trying to translate the letter. With any luck by the time he once again returned, and put away the Guests somewhere secure and out of sight, Victoria would have finished translating the letter and greet them all with the answers to all their questions.
But a little flag was waving as his mind turned back to the letter written in that old script, a bell in his mind rang with warning dread. He ignored it as just another sign he was tired. The letter had been delivered by undead that had seemingly just appeared in the middle of the night, if he had any other feeling than dread he wouldn't have been in his right mind.

With that reassuring thought keeping him energised, BlackBerry got to work setting the wagon up and convincing Old Boy crawl away from his comfy stable for one last task. The Mule was not stupid however, and only stopped trying to bite after BlackBerry promised him all the sugar cubes and tasty fruit he wanted for the next three months.

"And there we are." BlackBerry proclaimed with the last of his enthusiasm when he returned to the hill with Old Boy and the wagon. "Let us get them all loaded and back to the Coach house."

Communication was going nowhere. Well, verbal wasn't. She was however hoping that Victoria's studies back at the couch house could get them some decent results. It was more magic Kathryn didn't understand, but if Victoria could get some answers all the better. She hated how little she felt she could assist. Most of her skills were physical, and right now the most physical thing she could do was to be in the way incase shit kicked off. Kathryn did however tense up as Victoria stepped around her, but with the new ball of bacon acting as a shield for Victoria, Kathryn held steady. Ready to react, but leaving room for the bard to work her skills and magic. "Victoria, what are you doing?" Kathryn asked a little unsettled as V began to strip the undead dude. A thought did cross her mind. These were not the first undead they have met on the property, and they were here and present, and standing. The corpses from the cellar were determined to be like them just... not awake. As Victoria cleaned off the bit of cloth with magic, Kathryn thought of bringing up the idea of snapping the neck of one of the undead so that way they could communicate with it again using her magic. Opening her mouth to speak, she stopped herself. Victoria could hear and see through her companions, what is to day that whoever gave orders to this lot couldn't do the same? Sure Kat wasn't sure on all the rules, but bringing up snapping a dude's neck in front of them right before doing so never seemed to work out. So she held her tongue, and took a swig from her waterskin to help calm herself down. The brandy was still as good as ever, though when drinking she realized that over the course of the night she had emptied the liquid container. "son of a cock fucker..." Kathryn mumbled as she put the water skin away. As Victoria left Kathryn felt realized she should have asked the bard if they were puppets like what she employed. Creatures she could listen through and control, or just give orders too. Victoria would know far better than she would in that matter. When the group all met up again Kathryn made it a point to make sure she asked.

Kathryn watched with hope, then disappointment as Blackberry's attempts at communication had failed. She should have expected as much, but hopefully when Victoria translated the note they would be able to learn something useful. Maybe even set up proper communications! "We tried, we gotta keep trying though." Kathryn spoke up to Blackberry. "You're right though. We can't leave them here. It looks... suspicious as all hells." Kathryn said concerned. She was terrified of causing a panic. She was also worried of a fight breaking out. Sure she could muster up the strength if she needed, but she wasn't so sure that if she laid down on the snow and mud that she would be able to get back up before taking a power nap. When Blackberry went off to get old boy and the wagon, Kathryn stayed behind to make sure that someone was watching over the dead dudes, and that it wasn't Kosara. She had gotten pretty spooked, and Kathryn didn't want to leave her alone with the beings that spooked her. "Are you doing okay?" Kathryn asked the small tiefling woman while keeping herself between the small woman and the dead people.

When Blackberry had returned with the wagon, Kathryn sighed with relief. They were soooo close to done. SO damn close. Once the wagon came up, Kathryn found herself unsure how to proceed. Did she toss them in like cargo? Or did she set them in carefully as if they were passengers? She opted for something in between. Laying each dead man down one at a time trying her best not to have them lay on each other too much. Lift, set, lift, set. Though they overlapped a little she figured it was better than tossing them like a sack of potatoes all on top of each other. It was when she set down the last one that something had clicked. They were familiar. They were familiar to a concerning degree. That sort when you see someone or something in passing, but didn't really know what it meant. These people were different from her dream, but their attire wasn't too far off. They were damn fucking close to her dream. Only these figures weren't military. They were civilian. Or some government officials. But for a group of people she had never met before... how did she dream of something so real? Something that was real before seeing it before?! Maybe she had when she was little, learning kingdoms and noble houses, but why would that come up now of all times?! And right before these fuckers came up.

Kathryn hadn't realized she had been standing still and staring until she noticed the wagon returning to the coach house. she picked up her pace again, but she was currently slower than a pack mule tugging a full wagon of cargo. What she also found odd about them, is that they were practically skin and bones. All the bulk they could see was likely just clothing padded on layer by layer. Was this done to hide stuff in their clothes? To hide how skinny they actually were? To make them look bigger than they actually were? She couldn't be so sure. Once returned to the coach house Kathryn spoke up to Blackberry "Be right back. I need something..." She spoke up before running into the tap room, grabbing some more of the brandy, and waving to Victoria and Lizbeth. "We're putting out guests in the workers room. Then we gotta talk." She said in a hurry as she ran back to the wagon and unloaded the dead dudes into the workers quarters outside the former inn. Taking more than a couple sips from the brandy, she looked at the final dead guy inside the wagon as they were unloaded. The biggest one. "Want some?" She said pouring her reused bottle a bit down his open mouth before taking another swig herself, and closing the bottle. Then tossing the big guy in with his room mates before closing off the doorway with any debris she could find to seal the doorway.

Weather: The buffeting wind grows more steady in the early morning and the sky is mostly clear, with some cloud cover riding along the prevailing winds. It is uncomfortable overall, but nothing as cutting as the atmospheric conditions from the recent night. In short, it is cold but bearable if necessity strikes.

Time: Early morning. It is just past dawn and the sky is alight with a cool, distant sun.

Ambience: The landscape is now pleasantly bright, even if there aren't a lot of people around to witness it. From the top of the hill one has a decent view of the Estate House and part of the river. Except for the wind now, it is rather quiet. An attentive person might realize that an otherwise ever-present sound from the background is missing now - the quiet burble of the river is silent. Its waters appear glassy and still with snow drifts along its banks. Closer by, dots of essential fire gently curve along the slopes of vine-bearing hills near to the Estate House, a testament to the endurance of the laborers and the adventuring party.





Loading the standing corpses into the back of the wagon was tricky in some places and easier in others. Lifting them from the ground, for example, was made significantly more difficult by the fact that their feet had settled into the ice from staying in one spot for a prolonged period of time, yet they were amazingly light once one figured out to pull straight up first. Hefting the relatively light figures wasn't a huge deal in terms of pure weight. However, the fact that they remained rigid in their pose made things truly awkward. Additionally, they were amazingly well padded. Now that hands were being put on the corpses to load them into the wagon, the practically obsessive amount of layers of clothing become more apparent.

What is surprising is a lack of expected sensory input from the figures. Where one might expect the scent of decay, there are only the faintest hints of fresh earth and something floral. Beneath the multiple layers of fine cloth where one might expect something squishier of texture, it is cold and solid, like a thing simultaneously dried and frozen. And perilously slender.

Nevertheless, when they are loaded into the wagon, those present might hear the muted sound of tiny cracks and pops; a noise not unlike glass maintaining its shape as hairlines spiderweb their way across its surface. Perhaps it was nothing. High beyond the heavens, only the tumbling of celestial dice may decide.

Meanwhile, inside of the Coach House, a very curious scene was unfolding. The Bard's magic was working, but there wasn't a full understanding of the translation as it went along. The process took easily three times as long as it might have for a full accounting of the contents of the letter. Said process started with Victoria translating the Draconic script into its phonetic Abyssal sounds, but writing the represented sounds as phonetic Common. From there, Victoria vocalized the sounds as spoken Abyssal that she, herself, could not understand. Perhaps when she got a little more practiced with the ritual casting of Comprehend Languages would have allowed her to understand her own words, but that was not happening on this day. Lizbeth would then turn the spoken Abyssal and translate it as best she could into written Common. When they were finished, it read:

Respectful Greetings.

I express grief for the death of Master Arnaud L'Rose. I could feel the moment his soul left this realm. It is unfortunate that this death did not happen within the boundaries of his home. It would have been preferred. No arrangement of partners is perfect of execution, therefore concessions may happen to complete our transactions. Arnaud's children are dead. His remaining heir is not of age. So I call upon you to complete the terms of the arrangement.

As an initial demonstration of grace and good faith, I present you a gift. I pray that you accept the fine wools, linens, silks, and sundry goods layered upon my emissaries. It is a grand gift fit for nobility within my nation. This is a gift in true measure and does not come with expectation of compensation. It serves only to illustrate my benevolence before we move onto other matters. Please enjoy them without caveat attached, free and clear.

Terms for promised compensation for the initial agreement with Master Arnaud extend beyond death and have not been met. I hope you may represent his interests here, so that I will not have to turn to his family. I will allow adequate time for a decision to be reached, and even more for the terms listed in the original contract to be fulfilled. I am not ungracious. But there is a time limit. Enjoy your holidays.

Farid al Ramil Sabaj al Hazred


Back outside, the informal and unconventional sharing of fine brandy was accepted by its deceased recipient without complaint. Without anything whatsoever, as a matter of fact. Its jaw was rigidly placed, but there was enough of a gap that one could pour liquid within. There was, to all observation, no response.

There was no response when the bodies were placed within the servant's quarters on the ground floor of the Coach House, no response when it was closed up, and no response when the door was barricaded. There was a brief pause of absolute quiet as even the wind died down, and a great shattering issued from behind the now shut and reinforced door. Like a hammer thrown through a pane of thick glass at force. Then continued the silence.

Luckily for Kosara her good friends and teammates for the most part had the whole situation handled even as the tiefling went to hide behind the bard to break visual contact and try to save herself from the rather uncomfortable feeling. Seems the bard had caught up on said fact or at least to a degree as she moved away and proceeded to more or less cover the undead’s eye holes with it’s own head… coverings… gear… cloth? Whatever it precisely was. This left Kosara a bit undefended though so she just stayed on guard, ready to bolt away like a cat. Then the purple clad bard proceeded to nick herself a piece of cloth and walk off like a most elegant and noble lady. Quite impressive and pretty and Kosara was indeed very impressed and feeling a bit better about the whole thing.

Sadly she wasn’t going to grab a piece of the clothes on the undead...things, because as far as her education went, she couldn’t just randomly graverob people… be they dead people. Her grandfather was very specific on the topic when she once asked him why adventurers were able to take loot off crypts to sell to town and why she wasn’t allowed to do the same from the cemetery when she was younger. She had been very precisely explained that what adventurers did was considered adventuring and those were spoils of war and if she just randomly took a grave to rob it was a crime… So this left her in this situation where the undead weren’t actually even acting out and she couldn’t kill them and claim right of conquest! But… but… V did it? She was very much in quite the mental struggle. At least until she realized V had mentioned these things were puppets. Then Kosara’s hands moved faster than one can probably say ‘gold’ as she snatched that shawl that the bard had pointed out earlier and quickly did a quick round of Prestidigitation on it similar to the bard.” Thank you.” She mumbled quickly and fled backwards.

“Actually that probably makes a lot of sense if you think about it…? These things in the distillery were probably just not moving cause they had no orders? Or if they were moving it was too slow to realize.” She muttered, eyeing the bodies.

“I… yes. I just felt really uncomfortable all of a sudden while trying to maintain eye contact with that one.” Kosara replied to Kathryn, now much more in control of herself.” It was this very unsettling sensation like there were a bunch of ice cold ants running down my spine and moving about and… yeah. Unsettling.” She stated flatly. She didn’t help much with loading the bodies onto the cart, they had Kathryn for that, but she did keep a watchful eye on them from a polite distance of about 10 steps behind the cart just to be sure.

Back at the couch house with the fellas loaded into the storage room, all was going well until there was a sound of glass shattering from the now barricaded room which caused Kosara to stare flatly at the boarded up door.” Well that’s not a good sign. Kathryn… you might need to start unbarricading the door now.” Kosara quipped, still holding her new fancy shawl, before making a thinking face.” Do these rooms have any kind of windows even small barred ones?” She mused aloud and went to do a circle around the building, looking for windows to see if they could look into the room that way.