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	The last light of the day turned the sky to a soft, dusky collection of orange, red, and purple hues. The temperature dropped noticeably once the sun found its way to the horizon, but at least the wind had the common decency to quiet down somewhat. It stands at about 47[sup]o[/sup]F (8[sup]o[/sup]C) and will likely drop further once night sets in more fully. To add a little more ambience to the evening, a low fog has formed, fortified by the presence of the lake and river nearby. Inside of the walls of Avonshire this makes for an interesting glow, set off by the various light sources that come with Human and Halfling civilization, even if it does reduce vision at a distance. Outside of the walls, such as the location of the cemetery, the fog makes life a little more interesting. A blanket of atmospheric white concentrates low, laying lazily about bushes and headstones, though there is plenty all around to make details fuzzy at more than a handful of meters. 

	One saving grace to this is a moon that stands nearly full; a waxing gibbous that will very soon become the last full moon in the Autumn harvest season. Past this, the coming of winter is a pressing matter of time. In any case, nighttime's lunar companion is big and bright enough that it assists the Township's light sources to hold the dark away well enough, and provides dim illumination to the lands outside of the walls in addition to the last of the fading twilight. This will become darkness in fairly short order. 

	The party finds itself in three different places around Avonshire Township: Neil & Bob's, the Farmers' Market, and the Cemetery. The first two are (more or less) safely within town, the latter is outside of town to the east, right next to the forest. Let's begin. 


[center][hider=Neil & Bob's Public House][img]https://i.ibb.co/5vK80t3/N-B-ip.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]
	As Marita approached [url=https://i.ibb.co/xH8vbT7/Barmaid-at-N-B.jpg]Lea[/url], the overworked barmaid plastered a bright and cheerful look on her face and prepared to give her best [i]"what can I get you, sweetie?"[/i] speech. The words died in her throat as Marita mentioned giving her assistance. Immediately, the facade dropped, a look of growing fatigue replacing it though with a touch of gratitude mixed in the details. [color=darkgray]"Oh, thank Grace for you, then. I haven't had any help for a while now."[/color] Her shoulders slumped and she allowed for a moment of weakness to show before mustering what remained of her resolve. 

	[color=darkgray]"Do you have any experience? Nevermind, it doesn't matter. We're only serving stew and bread tonight. They ask for ale, bring them the house stuff unless they want something specific, then tell [url=https://i.ibb.co/WVkr1vc/Bob.jpg]Robert[/url], he'll handle it. Same for wine. Clear tables, take the stuff to the back room. Daisy will wash and stack for you. Aside from that, just keep up. Take um... those tables there."[/color] She pointed to a cluster of four tables nearest the door, barely visible in its entirety through the people moving about the bar. [color=darkgray]"If you need help, ask. Oh! and if anyone gets too handsy, don't be afraid to 'accidentally' spill something. I'll back you up. Thank you [i]so much[/i] for this! We'll split tips later!"[/color] Lea scurried back to her duties, which in this case involved unloading empties from a recently abandoned table and wiping it down for the next knot of thirsty festival goers. 

	In the back, a lone Halfling woman of early adult years stood upon a stool, scrubbing out a series of bowls and stacking them to dry. Barrels of house ale and wine were clearly marked and actively tapped, and the barrel of Fortified Zinnoberrot rested on its side upon two sawhorses, their rigid crossbeams carved to nestle the curvature of the huge barrel. Daisy was a lady of few words, cleaning and organizing as she went along, looking almost as run down as Lea. 

	Considering how busy the Public House was, it was a stone solid miracle that Kathryn was able to find an unoccupied table toward the middle of the room. Happenstance put this as the very table that Lea had just finished clearing and wiping down, and the fact that Kathryn was able to snag such prime tavern real estate earned her some ire. Far be it for this to go completely unchallenged, after a few moments of sitting alone, the (sort of) Half-Giant saw a trio of locals staring in her direction and speaking amongst themselves. One had a smile, one a scowl, and the last a fairly ambitious look about his face. All were Human, male, and bore the look of laborers of some sort out for a night on the town. 

	When they noticed that they had been spotted, the ambitious one tapped the scowling one's shoulder with purpose and pointed them all toward Kathryn's table. [color=darkgray]"Big girl, ain't ya?"[/color] he said when they arrived. He did not look overly impressed by the implements of warfare adorning the Fighter's person. [color=darkgray]"Rough and tumble type. Look, there's only one of you, and three of us. It isn't exactly fair you get this whole table all by your lonesone, so... You should let us have it."[/color] The Smiling one shot a disapproving look, which was picked up by Ambitious. He relented. Just a little. [color=darkgray]"Okay, tell ya what: I'll challenge you straight up for the table. You bet my friend here,"[/color] he motioned at Scowly, [color=darkgray]"at [i]arm wrestling[/i],"[/color] The humor in his voice was near to tangible, [color=darkgray]"and not only do you keep the table, but I'll get your next round. You lose, you lose the table. And you're paying for our next round. Deal?"[/color] 

	Sure enough, Scowly was a thickly muscled fellow, his arms seemingly accustomed to extensive manual labor. This guy kept an unwavering gaze at Kathryn. 


[center][hider=Farmer's Market, Talent Show][img]https://i.ibb.co/rd69BHz/Harvest-Festival-Fr-Mkt.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]
	The presence of the pretty Tiefling was noticed among the salt of the earth that were the inhabitants of the Farmers' Market section of the Township almost immediately. People of Kosara's lineage very painfully rare in this place, and this earned her a multitude of different looks ranging from curious to fearful to outright awestruck. Some looked on with disdain, as if angry she had shown up but not quite enough as to say anything directly. Others were openly cheery and willing to embrace the newcomer. Especially if there was money to be spent by the attractive outsider. It was a mixed bag of reactions, all in all. 

	Most of the people who had tent and wagon businesses were packed up for the evening, yet the occasional call of vendors trying to sell ready to eat and easily portable foodstuffs could still be heard. This was a festival, after all, and where there was celebration there must be refreshment and restoratives. Plus, if one overindulged in alcohol, it was best to have something to expel rather than wretch out empty bile behind a tree by one's lonesome. 

	Here and there, one can spot tents that appear to be temporary lodging; simple cots and hammocks which can be utilized by anyone with a couple of coins to rub together, like a teamster trying to save money or a farmhand from a far section of Avonshire resting before the long trip back home. Many of these are situated around a central brazier which serves as light, heat, and a cooking area for these residents. The area has the look of a tent city or army encampment, be it mostly a place for local agricultural wares to be peddled and a place for trade to happen among the working class of the region. 

	A pleasant smell of smoldering, seasoned wood can be detected somewhere to the west, this combined with the telltale heaviness of pig fat made it rather easy to determine the sources. A small series of wagons, portable smokehouse setups, and meat cooking apparatuses both open, and contained, plus a couple set up for pit-style preparation were the obvious suspects. Men and women, Human and Halfling, young and old, all types milled around these things bringing together ingredients, cutting and sorting them for the easy to identify pitmasters and regents everlasting of the grill, who oversaw their small, mobile, barbecue fiefdoms like royalty in their own right. This was the [i]Hog Broilin' Event[/i] alluded to earlier, and things were just getting warmed up. 

	The largest crowd, however, came from the low stage set up amid a cluster of official looking individuals including the Very Important Looking Gentleman from earlier. The seem to be reaching into a hat to pull out names, the order of the names pulled being recorded with chalk on a wide slate board. The torches, once unlit, are now alive with bright-burning flame which gave the place a warm and fuzzy glow, in part due to the fog diffusing much of their ambient light. Once the list was completed, a few words boomed from the Very Important Looking Gentleman. [color=darkgray]"Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for being here another glorious Harvest Festival. Now, we all now the rules: Avonshire residents only, if you didn't register before the deadline your name didn't go in the hat. You have until the sand runs from this hourglass to show us your talent, and we judge based on applause! In case of a tie, the honor of the final say goes to ...Yours Truly... And remember, just about anything can be a talent! Now, who do we have first... hmm... Aha! Mr. Dumas, and his fine Hammer Balancing! Mr. Dumas? Ah!"[/color]

	An older fellow, Human, with a thick grey beard and long woolen coat walked up to the stage; he had a great sledgehammer in his hands which he set to the side. Opening his coat, one can see a grouping of several smaller hammers on his belt and in a harness at his sides. Thick suspenders hold his pants up, lest the weight of the blunt tools remove his modesty. The next moments are filled by him holding one hammer and stacking all of the other ones on top of them in interesting patterns. His big finale had him tilting his head back and setting the handle of his big sledge to his brow, its head pointed toward the heavens like a tall, blunt T. Mr. Dumas maintained this pose until his time ran out, bowed, collected his things and stepped down to respectable applause.  

	Other acts of moderate interest come and go; juggling hatchets and making shadow puppets, singing bawdy songs or playing a tune on a homemade flute. One man was able to cry on command, from one eye, the other, or both as he wished. When he stepped down, he picked up a sandwich board advertising his ability to do so for two copper pieces, should one want him to. Yet another lady blew notes across the top of several bottles, each with differing amounts of water in them to produce different pitches and create a cheerful song. This was a very provincial entertainment scene, not a spot for prime performers of their era. Truth be told, there were a few acts which were examples of genuine talent, but for the most part this was an excuse for the working classes to have their own sort of party. The promise of really good wine was an excellent excuse to draw a lot of people into it, though there was already plenty of lesser quality wine and spirits already flowing around the Market.   

[center][hider=Cemetery][img]https://i.ibb.co/NySPg5W/cemetery-silhouette-vector.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]
	The fog was thicker here, and while the nearly full moon shone down along with an impressive collection of stars in the heavens, it still could not quite illuminate as well as the torches brought along by the collection of quickly assembled and half-drunk mourners following in the wake of Cecily, Lizbeth, Victoria, and of course [color=black]Morty[/color]. By the time that they had gotten to the cemetery, the noise of merriment and string music had the resident gravedigger already out of his tiny cottage on premises and walking to meet them. He had a shovel in hand, but by the way he was holding it, it probably wasn't meant for moving earth. 

	Upon seeing Cecily, the fellow relaxed a bit. Just a bit, as the whole scene was highly unusual and hearing the occasional muttering of Olidammara did little to assuage his concerns. The briefest conversation and the exchange of coins for promised service followed, and somehow this older man took to his task of making a hole in hallowed ground with contained reverence. The fact that the hole didn't have to be remotely as big as his usual "burying the whole casket" width and depth helped matters along. A few quick silvers for parting soft earth was worthwhile, even at the outset of the evening proper. 

	Wine, as if turned out, was a commodity that the people of Avonshire was very capable of getting hold of when asked, and the wide circle of these people had no difficulty sharing it among themselves and, as requested, setting a number of bottles aside for Victoria to do ...whatever she intended to do with it. They were wines of widely differing varietals and values, some of which could be spotted by a layman to the craft and others requiring a sommelier to properly pair. This prompted the question from one of the more intoxicated members of the group, [color=darkgray]"Does one serve red or white with a burial?"[/color] prompting a slew of hissing laughter from some and admonishment from others. 

	Cecily remained quiet for this; Lizbeth as well but her face held more emotion than her aunt. 

	After some time had passed, there was a fresh hole dug in front of a large, preexisting stone marker which bore the name "L'Rose". behind this marker was a simple mausoleum of the same grey stone, its doors covered by a locked iron gate. The bones, still wrapped in canvas, were nestled into the shallow hole, and suddenly a lot of eyes were on the now appropriately festive Half-Elf Bard.