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	The inhabitants of the other rooms eventually made their way down to the taproom of The Infamous Pear in no especial order or set time, a one looking sleepy here and another eager to get into the meat of the day there. Breakfast continued mostly uninterrupted, with the exception of once or twice when Guido saw fit to casually edge his way over, for some reason absolutely certain that there might not be enough scrambled eggs or loose tea for the group's morning repast. he didn't say a word, but did seem to be keeping his eye on things. Lucky for all parties concerned, he seemed to have put on pants. Pants were useful. 

	The morning meal was requested of the few overnight patrons, again with varied tastes and with varied ability to pay; the least of which still got something warm and nourishing even if it was just toasted bread, fruit, and tea, before they went about their day. And true to the nature of this fine(ish) Inn, a few locals popped in for something to get them going on their way to whatever livelihood kept a roof over their heads. Upon these occasions, when the door opened one might spy a rime of frost covering any untouched surface. The sun was not quite so high in the clear, azure sky as to touch these places of muted ice in any meaningful way, yet enough illumination was present to see that, while winter was not upon them yet, it might be arriving early. The first frost of the year was claimed the region of Avonshire, and before the ending of Harvestide. 

	The otherwise quiet din of ante meridian chatter and shuffling was suddenly shattered by the sound of a door flying open and slamming against the wall behind it. This door led to the simple lavatory, such as it was, located within the premises. From said lavatory sprung a very confused looking individual - a blue-skinned Tiefling of noble bearing, clutching his belt as he viewed the party assembled at the table yet again, a demeanor of charged consideration upon his features. A horrified and thoroughly convinced [i]NOPE[/i] might be gleaned from his expression, verified by his immediate bolt out of the front door. Mr. Owen Hardy, emerging from a back room just in time to see this for himself, declared aloud, [color=darkgray]"I was wondering where he'd got off to..."[/color] before shrugging and beginning to set up his bar for the day. 

	The roguish Tiefling was not the only person to make use of the flung-open portal to and/or from local booze, oh no; this moment was also capitalized upon by a lady of respectable proportion, sporting a shock of shorter, ginger hair and a grim countenance. She wore the rugged brown coloration of a local guard and a brooch sporting a sheaf of grain below a rising sun pinning her cloak together. Human, by appearance, and holding a piece of paper in a black-gloved hand. She immediately made her way to the Adventurers' table and looked carefully over all present, making quick notations of, [color=darkgray][i]"...Human, female, clergy..."[/i][/color] As she went through the qualifiers to get to whom the paper was intended, eyes took in details of those assembled, as if studying or memorizing. Finally, and after a bit of a pause, the paper went to Marita Bärbel. With broader intonation intended to address the whole of the party, she spoke, [color=darkgray]"Light bless your morning. I was sent by the Sheriff of Avonshire to bid you along on your task. Outside of this place there is a mule-drawn wagon. This is at your disposal for the interim; the Sheriff suggests that you leave it under the care of a stable owner named Fields in the Township unless you care to pay for its upkeep out-of-pocket. Otherwise, be my authority limited, I speak on the Sheriff's behalf. Is there anything else that needs to be addressed before you depart?"[/color]

	Any choosing to take a gander outside will be greeted by the sight of the aforementioned cart, just off of the street. The a thick draft mule stares mindlessly ahead, seemingly unaware of the uncomfortable temperature around itself. The occasional lift of a leg or twitch of an ear punctuates its still and quiet stance. It is hitched to a wagon which looks sturdy enough, possibly appropriated from the army to look at its unadorned but effective design. There is a mass of canvas and a few large sacks of what might be fodder neatly tucked away in back, the canvas apparently designed to be stretched over the top of the framework on the wagon to provide shelter for persons or goods therein.