Arty Fox
Natsu
Festive
wanderingwolf
Pirouette
Lewascan2
Shoe Thief
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* We have experienced a time skip of three weeks. *
Weather: 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.
Time: It is early evening. Not quite dusk yet, but seriously planning on it.
Ambience: 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, tolerate 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.
*****
The extremely early morning meal from three weeks prior was an excellent example of what can be done with available ingredients and skilled hands. While it was not consumed under the best of morale, it served plenty well to raise spirits and center thoughts. A fed belly led to a sharper mind, and everyone was fairly dulled by the time all was said and done. During this meal, Lizbeth kept her commentary to a minimum, giving her thanks to Kosara and nodding politely at Kathryn's story, even forcing a genial smile on to show her interest, but it was apparent that her heart wasn't in being sociable. To the point when Baronfjord asked point blank how she was feeling, tears spilled quietly as she answered, "Fine. Tired." Somewhere in the middle of consuming Ankheg stir-fry and delicious flatbread, she gingerly reached out a hand to take one of the curious daggers from the table. She removed it from its oddly intact sheath, sighed a bit, and slipped it back within. The exotic stabbing instrument remained on her person unless directly inquired into.
Following her being done with the meal, she quietly gathered her things, made her way up and out of the taproom. The silently trudged up the stairs and into the bedrooms, whereupon she claimed the bed that she used the last time she visited and fell immediately into a dead sleep.
As the days turned into weeks and time marched on, the young lady, Lizbeth, became a focused individual in her training. Everything that Kathryn could teach her was sponged almost greedily, as well as evening sessions with Urmdrus. One might often catch her seeking conversations with Kosara or Victoria, trying to steer them to the subject of their very differently manifested forms of magic. But no actual requests to learn spells or anything of the sort. It appeared at face value to be genuine curiosity, and not always the crux of her desire to talk. Sometimes it was just music or art or cooking, or merely how they were doing with their own studious efforts. But her martial training - this was taken seriously. She was often physically depleted from it.
Cecily made herself available sparingly, usually with the excuse that there was much to be done in preparation for the Late Harvest and the work which would then have to occur. But she did make herself available, for those who wished to speak with her. She was, as always, a kind and gracious host, willing to put out a little extra resources to make sure that her personal saviors were comfortable and happy in every respectable way, and taking honest interest in how they spent their time. There were no more offers of meals in the Estate House, at least not over the course of these three weeks, again citing business. After all, one woman was handling the whole of a famous Vineyard and the estate holdings during an important time of the year. Nevertheless, if one had a point they wished to speak about with her, she could be eventually gotten hold of.
Urmdrus, being the very image of camaraderie (sarcasm imtended), showed up mainly to take measurements with that damned rope of his, consume an impressive amount of ale, wine, or whatever was available, along with an ample helping of meat if it was a mealtime. A dwarf of many talents and few words, he would then toddle off to whatever project he found himself immersed within. One of those projects, obviously, was finishing the Ankheg armors.
Over time, the events of the early freeze night turned from a fresh, raw piece of horror and prolonged labor turned into a worrisome memory. Acts of quasi-supernatural shenanigans had faded away to little more than an odd prickling feeling for the most part, which seemed to give many of the remaining workers and the lady of the manor cause to breathe a little easier. People's schedules became more regular, including the various work programs and minor apprenticeships which our stalwart protagonists attached themselves to. Things even began to look up, on personal and professional levels. Minor successes were had and celebrated within this time. Maybe even enough to make some complacent. But these were a hardy lot of rural laborers and shrewd craftsfolk. Surely a little taste of good times would not lull them too heavily.
It was about two weeks from the incident that the braziers were no longer lit. The temperature continued to hover at or below freezing and the white drifted landscape endured, but the nighttime fires ceased. It was a head scratcher at first as to why they might decide to do this, but simple inquiry to any of the laborers or merely waiting for a couple of days let the explanation be known - they were waiting for the grapes to freeze, the vines to become dormant, and from this, the perfect time to harvest. The bulk of this wave of winter illness had passed, and with enough notice this time the Rose River Vineyard had enough assistance to make quick work of the picking. Past this came the processing of the grapes, a task which required a relatively shorter amount of work but by much fewer, more skilled persons, and the tanking up for fermentation. While this process would take a fair piece of time, it was a task of measurements and time only. This meant only one thing:
"And I should be truly honored, brave heroes," said Cecily, looking very near to cheerful, "if you would be as kind as to grace our family in the Tasting Room of the Estate House to sample the Honigblume. It is custom for us, once the harvest is in, to sample our reserves from five years prior. That is the reserve batch we are releasing for public sale this year." She went on to explain, "It is not an 'official' holiday, you understand, just something that we do among close friends and family. If you'd like, you may each bring someone as your personal guest! Oh, we'll have a lovely time, I'm almost positive. And it's almost Frostval, too! You can use this time to scout out gifts for one another. Do... do your people practice Frostval?" Perhaps a question better put before the suggestion, but she did seem to be a bit excited for the upcoming festivities.
