[center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center][center][img]https://i.ibb.co/R9YbZV3/icewine-nighttime-vineyard.jpg[/img][/center]
[center][img]https://i.ibb.co/vXD6Q0t/Update-Text.png[/img][/center][center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center][center][hider=Rose River Vineyard][img]https://i.ibb.co/yRk60Zg/Vinyard-Estate-Gridded-Day-Lv4.jpg[/img][/hider][/center][center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center][center][hider=Coach House][img]https://i.ibb.co/5jfBrYW/Coach-House-Opener.jpg[/img][/hider][/center][center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center]	
[center][color=gold][b][i]* The time skip was for three weeks. This post is, in part, during that skip. *[/i][/b][/color][/center]

	[u]Weather[/u]: It is still below freezing, make no mistake, but the temperature is hovering just below it. The wind keeps itself to low gusts along the ground level, but the higher atmosphere demonstrates a more rapid movement of clouds, themselves scattered and patchy as they direct themselves with seeming purpose across an indifferent sky. More precipitation might be inbound, if probably not this night. 
     
	[u]Time[/u]: It is early evening. Not quite dusk yet, but seriously planning on it.  

	[u]Ambience[/u]: A cold evening settled upon the Rose River Vineyard. It was a rosy, purplish evening; quiet and full of folksy winter charm. Most people have been able to adapt to the weather, in part. That is to say, those who found cold weather fully intolerable can now, well, [i]tolerate[/i] it with seasonally appropriate attire. In the intervening weeks, a fresh blanket of powdery snow had fallen, leaving just the area in and around the Honigblume grapes to suffer the wrath of the repeated trampling of workers' shoes. The multiple lit braziers, once an odd sight against nighttime's landscape, had become a reassuring sort of sight, regular in its appearance as torches were set to them every dusk over the recent weeks. 
 
 
[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center] 
[img][/img]
[center][hider=Healer's Home][img]https://i.ibb.co/Kjt2pXrP/Healers-Home.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]
	The rather antisocial Medician Floquet was kind enough to give Kathryn an audience, if indeed kindness was the appropriate motivating factor here. She was a slender, fit lady in her mid-fifties with a voluminous head of thick, grey hair, attired decently for a lady living the rural life, but maintaining her modesty with long skirts, long sleeves on a fitting, keyhole neckline top, and a dark grey cloak draped about her shoulders. She listened to the introductions given by Kay and wordlessly waved her inside, where she might have gotten a glimpse of Victoria, vastly overdressed for the task of maintaining tools and organizing books. In the next room, a particularly wet cough broke the relative quiet, a noise which prompted a younger version of the matronly Medician to grab up a few things in a basket and leave the room. Annick and Kathryn were alone now in a smallish room with a long, wooden table dominating the center and literature along the walls. 

	She waited for Kathryn to run through her questions, opting for a pause to answer. [color=darkgray][b]"You should stop trying to flatter me. Doesn't help."[/b][/color] It didn't prevent her from accepting the offerings of yummy things, though. And she did continue, [color=darkgray][b]"Notables from the war still alive? [i]Alive[/i] is a hell of a statement. More than half were dead when we fought them. No, I know what you mean. The Big Lich Master was sent to the Abyss by a Half-Elf fellow - Priest of some sort - and his friends. 'Spearhead of the Southern Campaigns', like we didn't do our part, too. Can't fault him though, he did kill him permanent. That was a long time ago and I was a [i]conscripted[/i] forward area Medician. Field intelligence wasn't my thing. Sure, a lot of them might still be around. Folks like me, Sheriff Arbalest, Robert (the Innkeeper), and Constable Cavendish are still around."[/b][/color] She gave a single, wry laugh. [color=darkgray][b]"Well, not the Constable. You all saw to that."[/b][/color] Addressing the question about connection to this area, she gave a rather flat, [color=darkgray][b]"No. Heard a rumor there was supposed to be enemy troop movement through here. Never did happen, according to the locals."[/b][/color] She gave a thoughtful look, then dismissed it. 

	When Kathryn handed her the dagger recovered from the "diplomatic envoy," Annick's face hardened. [color=darkgray][b]"Yeah, I know what they look like. Saw enough of 'em, not as nice as this one. Real fancy. Makes me curious how you came by it."[/b][/color] She began to conversationally withdraw at this point. [color=darkgray][b]"So you want to know if I know any Necromancers around from the war? There are hundreds."[/b][/color] The older lady glanced in the direction of the room Victoria was working in, continuing, [color=darkgray][b]"Some prettier than others. Some new ones that learned from the ones that passed. So many that we didn't crush or stab that got away. Let me tell you something, [i]Lady[/i] Kathryn, it's called the [u]Necromantic Wars[/u], plural. What ended forty, fifty years back wasn't the first one. What ended twenty years ago wasn't the last one. There's a lot of good people in the Southern Deserts and the mountains beyond, but every so often, something rises to power and holds the living hostage with their dead, and then all of them decide to expand. More of you Adventurers than anyone likes to admit meet a wet, sticky end by coming across something they left behind, or a remnant of their power that hid really well north of here. I hope I answered your questions 'cause I'm not feeling too comfortable right now, so unless you need medical attention or want to buy something, I think our meeting's at a close."[/b][/color] 

	Baronfjord's talks with Cecily fared a little better, if one looked at it from the angle of optimism. The proposal of a walk was taken openly. She even had a look on her face like she was expecting something conversationally heavy to land on her at any moment. Madame L'Rose pulled a rich burgundy-colored cloak over her layered tan linens and black damask waistcoat, hard-soled boots tapping occasionally on the flagstone walkway. She listened quietly, not reacting except to form tears in her eyes which she dabbed away with a clean, white kerchief. [color=darkgray][i]"I know that Lizbeth knows. She... she knows more than I want to tell myself."[/i][/color] Her voice was quiet. Conspiratorial, even.  [color=darkgray][i]"I could only trust her to move Arnaud's corpse. One must never let a body stay on these lands too long at night. It's why we had to risk moving him to the Township ourselves. Then, as you know, the Goblins, they..."[/i][/color] 

	A wave came from one of the outbuildings, followed by a call to Cecily by name. It was something about rising acid and a sourish note coming from one of the vats. Cecily took sudden and especial interest in this, possibly relieved to break away from the conversation. As she began to beeline to her employee, she turned back to intone, [color=darkgray][i]"I don't know about any agreement, but it sounds like you handled it anyway! Maybe we're through with whatever this is, and we can just concentrate on the season, right? Sure. Please excuse me; perhaps we can pick this up the next time we have a moment. Oh, and please do continue training Lizbeth! She seems really motivated to learn. It certainly won't hurt anything. Thank you!"[/i][/color] She hastily made her way to one of the L'Rose's winemakers, intent on focusing her attention on a problem that she could actually solve.