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* We have experienced a time skip of one week. *
Weather: An even layer of snow has fallen upon the land; not so thick as to bury anything important in layered drifts, but enough to give all of the land around the even colors of a true winter. The snow came in fully four days prior, and in that time the temperature has not gotten warm enough to melt the frozen precipitation away, though it is not so cold as to halt the river with ice, either. The season has officially changed from autumn.
Time: Let us give a level estimate of mid to late morning. The a.m. chores around the Vineyard have been accomplished, breakfast has been had, and everyone not committed to a task is free to spend their day as they see fit.
Ambience: A glistening white landscape stretches out over the land as far as one can see, reflecting a pale sun back to the sky. Wind, cold and steady, prompts those unfamiliar with a solid winter to bundle as best they might, while the more constant temperatures allows those who are familiar to grow accustomed to it. Accustomed, but not immune. The hardiest Northerner will still tell you that it's a bit brisk out in comparison to just a week ago.
There has been a marked decline in field staff as of late, with the exception of the ones working the vines containing plump, white globules of fruity goodness. The grapevines maintain their bounty long after many of the others have gone dormant or with the cold, their pale, white-green bunches fading into a sagging yellowish - yet still clinging to something akin to vitality. Other workers have called it a season, as well, all but those needed to handle domestic work and handling the animals. They retain their positions by virtue of their livelihoods not being seasonal.
There does seem to be a push to clear deliveries by the river as quickly as possible. One does not wish to pilot an inland watercraft when ice begins to accumulate. The influx of nonperishable foodstuffs and small livestock for the winter is expected, and noted. Trade overland does not bear the same type of busyness. Upticked a little, as snow does make people nervous for travel, but nothing so hazardous as to invite an official road closing. So long as one keeps to the main routes, things are quite manageable for the meantime.
Hot drinks and aromatic spices form the regular during this time. Teas, and things which resemble teas but are in fact dried fruits boiled in honeyed water are common among the more and less financially comfortable with equal regard, particularly among those who are affiliated with the Rose River Vineyard. It appears that the L'Roses had a habit of giving little luxuries to their employees. Creams and the like were turned into custards, lest they freeze or spoil immediately, and local baked goods of all shapes and sizes make confident, frequent appearances.
People do what they can to keep warm. Even while at work in the fields, one may find break areas near to outbuildings with burn barrels, useful for discarding overgrowth, vine trimmings, and for keeping one's hands limber in the dropping temperatures. Despite this, the most work gets done during the middle part of the day when the sun is highest and on to the middle afternoon. As the day darkens, temperatures remind those out of doors that it is, in fact, the start of winter.
Kosara's journeys out and about within the fields and hills of the Vineyard is quite an interesting one for someone unaccustomed to such charming locales. The difference between the rows and open spaces from the yellows of autumn and the sudden blanketed white of winter is striking, as if wandering through a whole new place. One can only wonder what glorious views may yet come during the spring and summer months. Two oddities appear during her jaunts over the week - one strange, possibly barely an issue at all for what Kosara knew about grape growing, and the other a genuine mystery.
For the former, whilst skipping happily about one of the fields which (as she came to understand) sported fat, purple-red grapes during spring and summer but now stood barren, the curious Tiefling saw a couple bunches of grapes forming on what appeared to be dead vines. Places marked for clearing and replanting, populated with vines bearing dry, brown leaves and brittle tendrils lay before her, supposedly incapable of supporting flowering, fruiting flora. But curiously, here were two spindly bunches of near tiny, near-black grapes with tough, withered skins. They even seemed to pulsate a little if Kosara
really stared at them. Was it imagination? Maybe.
The latter (the mystery) came as the result of a minor accident on Kosara's part. Leaning against a smallish, shady hill which featured a prominent sycamore tree atop, away from the main planting areas, dirt gave way to expose what appeared to be intentionally stacked stones, as if to form a loose, uneven wall. The only part exposed of this wall was about shoulder high, but the fact that the stones were stacked in the manner they were hinted at the rest of the structure.
Victoria's time spent in Southmoor was almost a waste. Approaching the lady empty-handed was a bad idea, but what sort of gift does one get for someone who was semi-retired, a combat veteran, and generally wished to be left alone? Perhaps something personal. Or perhaps something practical. Somehow, the gift of one's presence (regardless of how flowery) just didn't like it would cut it with a woman with the reputation of Annick Floquet. The woman herself was shorter than Victoria expected, given her reputation, though in truth she was about the same height as the Half-Elf who sought her out. Annick was Human, appearing to be in her early fifties, with voluminous, steel-grey hair which hung past her shoulders. Eyes as wintry as the season regarded Victoria suspiciously, and this was after her front door slammed open to reveal her, carrying a worn but polished shortsword in hands like iron. Her exposed forearms hinted at strength and ability which outstripped her slender frame.
"Is this an emergency?" she asked stonily, noting the sword at Victoria's waist and taking in other details that she didn't seem to prefer.
"Or is it about to be an emergency?" She shifted to the side so that a younger woman of similar build behind her in the cottage, proper, to have a clear shot with a simple but effective crossbow.
"Well?" Victoria's return to the Vineyard later was marked by a very insistent, very bald Dwarf named Urmdrus running up to her with a thin rope. Without so much as a "by your leave", he began to place it to the Bard's body in various places and marking the rope with bits of charcoal. A guttural
"Harrumph," served as the only thing which passed for discussion from the odd fellow. He retreated back to his workshop, measurements in hand.
Kathryn's next few mornings were punctuated with Lizbeth appearing early, sometimes in the small, dark hours of the day, just showing up before the tall Knight was fully ready to go, herself. It might have been maddening but for the fact that she had a decent enough excuse for doing so, that being Kathryn's own invitation, and likely full access to the Coach House besides. She didn't seem to mind the more limited morning training interactions of workouts and runs, though it was obvious that she was not in the same kind of physical shape as her new mentor. Lizbeth made up for this with an abundance of determination, almost to the point of obsession. Whatever was on the table was good for her, even if it did find her overexerting herself to the point of detriment.
The same treatment that Victoria had gotten from Urmdrus with the rope was also visited upon Kathryn, though he was forced to carry a stool with him to make the necessary measurements.
"Hmm. Armor will be good. Need to piss more for me. Important. Piss in buckets." He toddled off as quickly as he appeared.
The instance of Kathryn's appearance at the workshop prompted a raised eyebrow and a reach for one of the Dwarf's *really big hammers* until he realized that it was her, and this was probably business. When the talk, or a close approximation to a talk with all things considered, turned to practice weapons, he jammed a stubby finger toward a corner of his work area where there sat a collection of woodworking tools and barrel staves of various sizes, as well as rough-hewn bits of tree which might pass for painfully overbalanced training items, including a great wooden mallet (that actually looked like it was intended to be a great wooden mallet for a practical purpose as opposed to a training implement).
"Work there. Can watch. Don't get in my way." he returned to his work, which looked an awful lot like he was pulling a green, not-quite-formed cuirass out of a less-than-pleasant tub of hopefully unidentified liquid and taking an iron rasp to it every now and again. To one side, there was a simmering cauldron of aromatic oil that he would occasionally pull a segment of chitin from, bend in a specific way, and toss back in.
When he noticed eyes upon him, he huffed and pulled a cloth off of his workbench. It revealed a complete shield made of chitin - glossy dark green with metal fittings, and cutouts which contained silvery metal. The overall look was one of giant, overlapping grape leaves in horizontal placement.
"Fine shield. Acid not touch. Maybe can enchant later. Armor, like shield." It was a few days later that Kathryn was able to witness that Lizbeth was also taking training with Urmdrus, but nearer to dusk, and for about an hour. He seemed to have some skill as an unarmed combatant as well as familiarity with a variety of weapons. Rather than building her up physically, he attempted to drill the girl with technique. Organized technique one might use when grouped with soldiers, hinting at his background. He made it a point not to monopolize the training time in this way, as he knew Kathryn was her primary mentor. One could even hear him intone to Lizbeth,
"I help. But Human must learn Human warfare. Duergar not best for you." Baronfjord's request to work the stables was taken with a little bit of disbelief. To offer to work for the L'Roses during their time here seemed counterintuitive to the idea of thanking them for their noble and (mostly) selfless acts which resulted in her and her niece's safety.
"I don't understand why you would wish to be an uncontracted stableboy, but if you wish, speak with Jon. He is quite large, and is the stablemaster, such as we have one - let us say the seniormost stable hand - and he is might be found at the stable in front of the Estate House. I will say, your beloved mule is presently in the stable attached to the Coach House. If it makes it easier, you might try to assist the stablehand who tends to your beast, there, until you are more comfortable. I shall make sure to send Jon to handle it himself and train, if this works better for you." Wrapping things up with the breakfast, Victoria did acquiesce to some company going into Southmoor. Practicality stated that she could not stop one from leaving the Vineyard if they wished to visit the nearest town, and there was no desire to employ deception nor violence to make it so. She did insist that she meet with her potential mentor alone, however.
Shops and the like had not moved from the last time the group had been to Southmoor, and so locating what could be had for purchase was a relatively quick affair unless one wanted to take their time and spend leisurely day in the smallish settlement. What passed for parcel service was a little less obvious. While is was not referred to as such, the town's municipal building was multifunctional, it's few rooms each serving multiple purposes such as court, constabulary (of almost three people!), hall of records, etc., and yes, lettercarriers' office.
The fair haired man behind the counter was quick to explain that parcels traveling any great distance would cost a bit more than most were willing to pay and they could not guarantee prompt safe delivery outside of the region. But it was most likely to get there as organizations like this, regardless of origin, had some dedicated personnel. Items sent within the town would be put with the daily outgoing mail, while items bound for elsewhere in the region were collected every couple of days. There was a fellow who came down from the Avonshire Township at the start of the week to drop off and collect things bound for far elsewhere, and the appropriation of a private courier might be within one's best interest, albeit at some expense, to ensure direct delivery of one's letters if they had a truly lengthy journey to take. The man seemed helpful, if but a little full of himself.
And so, it is mid-morning one week later. The sun is high in the sky and the air has all of the crisp qualities of the season. All open areas of the Vineyard have a blanket of quiet snow, and while the river remains in motion, people still try to pull fish from it. The party finds itself quite without the responsibilities of their chosen methods of occupying their time on this day and it has past both breakfast and constitutionals, giving those within the Coach House their first hour of being fully assembled as a group (outside of estalished mesltimes) in days. But with the pause comes the question for adventuring types - what to do; what to do?
wanderingwolf
Pirouette
Arty Fox
Festive
Lewascan2
Shoe Thief
Natsu
Morose
