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[center][hider=The Infamous Pear, 1F][img]https://i.ibb.co/qsxwrkh/Infamous-Pear-1-F.jpg[/img][/hider][hider=The Infamous Pear, 2F][img]https://i.ibb.co/bKhzZ9s/Infamous-Pear-2-F.jpg[/img][/hider][/center] 

	The Infamous Pear began to fill with patrons following the musical stylings of the two entertainers. Performances had a way of doing this, particularly in outlying regions, and is one of the reasons that entertainers tended not to pay for their own drinks. The type of people who entered the establishment seemed to be locals judging by clothing; professional garb of tradesmen and the slightly more sophisticated attire of shopkeepers was the baseline, with hands calloused or smudged with ink as appropriate. They all seemed to know each other judging by initial acts of familiarity, and the big buzz of the room (at least at first) was that Owen and Guido had somehow acquired house entertainment. When the drinks began to flow more liberally, discussion turned elsewhere; business, crops, the continuing question of the situation with Goblins, or the coming of the Harvestide celebration. 

 	A few outsiders made their way in. Not many, but their attire spoke to proclivities foreign to the Avonshire region. Some donned armor and a few more than that carried weapons of some kind. Guardsfolk who were present, on and off duty, paid some notice of these people before making their own assessments of threat, and then dismissing the idea of looking into them further. So long as blade did not clear scabbard, they seemed content to live and let live. 

	The overall temperature of The Infamous Pear began to drop noticeably. The influx of customers opening the doors to the establishment was the obvious villain here, allowing the autumn night air to enter with impunity. It had gotten chillier over the past hour, and the fire could only do so much. After the brunt of the fresh blood entered the taproom proper and the door remained closed for a time, this began to abate. Nevertheless, it stood as a reminder that the last harvest of the year was upon them. More wood was placed upon the fire and the thick curtains of the dense, translucent windows were pulled closed, providing some insulation from the outside temperature. 

	Overall, the rush of business lasted for about two more hours as the mostly local crowd had their libations, spoke their conversations, and then left, presumably to their homes. Darenby was a place which existed primarily for commerce; a stop along a trade route linking the region to the sea and deeper into the kingdom. Especially with Harvestide, these people had storefronts and contracts which required their attention the following day. A smaller percentage of these people stayed, either to drink themselves into oblivion or because they did not wish to face the evening's chill just yet. 

	Outside of The Infamous Pear, things seemed still. There were very few who walked the streets that evening. Those who did kept their movements short, getting to where they needed to go with zero dallying. Exhalations of breath condensed into swirling cones of misty white, giving the appearance of pipeless pipe smokers or the pantomime of a baby white dragon at play. The night was clear, cloudless; though the air had bite the stars shone brightly and a gibbous moon hung in the sky. It was an ideal evening for stargazing to anyone with access to a roof, or open enough area to get a good, wide view of the celestial show before them. 

	Otherwise, the evening passed without incident. No random events which might have occurred due to the tumble of cosmic dice came to pass, and though Fort Darenby was a place of semi-rural intrigue, nothing so scandalous was in the stars, proverbial or otherwise.

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	When morning came, as mornings tend to do with enough passage of time, a frost had settled upon the ground. The interior of The Infamous Pear was quiet for the most part, except for a determined knocking sound in the kitchen. A lingering sour smell of ale from multiple small spills over the course of a busy evening could be detected faintly, but above this a grander aroma of baking bread and something spicy-sweet hung in the air, dancing amid olfactory promises of something smoked and meaty. Breaking the still of the morning came a dulcet siren's call from the kitchen, melodious and clear: 

	[color=darkgray][i]"Damnit, damnit, DAMNIT!"[/i][/color] 

	Okay, so it wasn't precisely dulcet, nor melodious, nor might any self-respecting Siren have made a call like this. But it [i]was[/i] clear, and was followed by the sound of repeated, metallic, blunt trauma being inflicted upon a hopefully inanimate object within the kitchen. Perhaps more accurately, if it was not inanimate before, it certainly was now. It was May, and she was doing her level best at her profession. 

	Still in a nightshirt and droopy sleeping cap, Guido sauntered out of the kitchen area to put the last of a decent, breakfasty feast upon the Adventurer's Table, that being the same one they were seated around the previous evening. The table bore the weight of thick, white, semi-spherical loaves of bread with a jar of honey and a thick jam made from spicy peppers, a serving bowl filled with scrambled eggs, a wax-rind wedge of a white, crumbly cheese, and a platter of seasoned, baked apples. Guido's last platter held a bevy of linked sausages of unknown origin and pile of bacon. All in all it was far more then was needed for a group of six.  

	Whichever of the party assembles at the table or makes an appearance downstairs, Guido will be sure to greet and wish a fortunate morning to. He will also produce a letter from Gregory Arbalest, carefully folded (though considering that he's still in a nightshirt, where he kept it remains a frightening mystery), and read from it aloud:

[hider=Letter, Mk2]
-
	Adventurers,

	I have regretfully been called away to handle business related to the logistics and safety of the Avonshire region, and will not be present to see you off. I apologize for my absence. One of my men will be available upon your departure to answer any questions that he may, and deliver any messages to me that you might have in return. I understand that this is not ideal. Let us strive to maintain the plan as it was discussed. Also, let us hope that the various hiccups so far in this noble endeavor bear a more positive result in the end. I do not know any of you well enough to give a fair accounting of your mettle, though I often find that strength of virtue can come from the most irregular or places and oddest of alliances. 

	May the Light speed and protect you on your journey. 
[/hider]

	At about this time, May slammed open the door and exited the kitchen, walking backward as not to disturb the tea service she was carrying. From the cutting, mildly acidic smell coming from the steaming pot, this was quite strong tea, indeed. [color=darkgray]"Fine, here ya go. Tell me if you want something else before I take my break, okay?"[/color] Snappy words, though she meant them professionally. Sort of.