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	To summarize the weather: Cold but not freezing, light wind, lots of fog. Like, just off the Thames level of fog now. 

	The Harvest Festival was a thing which was observed for several days. The vast majority of the people present in the Township knew this, and sought to pace themselves somewhat. Like a carnival coming into town, one did not have to get all of their merrymaking done in a single evening. A pace must be set, and so the locals set it appropriately by clearing out of the streets, for the most part, as the evening progressed. Many of the visitors made their way out of the town's gates, retreating to their tents and wagons in the scattered but respectable temporary villages.  

	Others filed into their respective houses; those visitors lucky enough to have found commercial accommodation found their inns and boarding rooms. Most of them, anyway. There were a couple hotspots of activity within the foggy community yet, if one knew where to look. Luckily, one of those places is more obvious than the other. Unluckily, the more obvious one is more of a "warmspot", that being the Farmers' Market area. 

	Out of those few still out and about on the streets of the Township, many appear to be in varying states of intoxication, and/or move with the kind of purpose that only an afterparty can muster. Of those seeking additional entertainment this evening, the general direction of east, toward the river bridges, is a popular direction. Those of you inside of buildings will only notice this in passing, if one looks out of a window or goes for some air. Or hits the privy. They've got those, y'know. 
 

[center][hider=Neil & Bob's Public House][img]https://i.ibb.co/5vK80t3/N-B-ip.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]
	The breakneck pace of the business in Neil & Bob's leveled off to something more suited to middle-of-the-week business, albeit an unusually active one. A number of people even decided to call it an evening and excuse themselves for matters unattended, such as passing out in a warm bed or a cold gutter, depending upon level of drunkenness involved from person to person. The cacophony of loud, intoxicated conversations dulled to a moderate amount of background noise, and actual conversations could now be had without having to raise one's voice. Most people are satisfied with their food and drink at the moment, leaving the staff to tend to existing clientele rather than deal with the revolving door of foodservice madness. 

	Back in the kitchen, the meal between Lea, Daisy, and Marita continued. Daisy was a woman of few words, but after a moment or three of horking back as much stew and bread as her relatively small frame would allow, she piped up in a catty tone, [color=darkgray][i]"Yeah, I don't know what..."[/i][/color] pause for a belch one might consider impossible coming from a Halfling in terms of depth and duration, [color=darkgray][i]"...got into Robert. He used to be a real 'people guy'. Robert even took an interest in a local kid - Halfling - who had a talent for hedge magic. Sponsored his 'adventuring' career at first."[/i][/color] Her face darkened, a look of annoyance washing over her, [color=darkgray][i]"And his friend. Nasty little cuss, that one. And that was no sort of life for a raised proper Halfling boy to live, neither."[/i][/color] 

	Lea gave a short laugh and added, [color=darkgray]"Oh, come on! I liked those two. They were funny. Hmmm... But yes, Robert used to laugh more, too. Then a few weeks ago he just ...stopped. Closed the bar down for a couple days. When he came back, it was like he was tired of everyone. Well, almost everyone."[/color] The barmaid shook her head and returned to her meal. [color=darkgray]"We should be getting back soon."[/color]

	Meanwhile, back at the table in the center of the taproom, Lawrence took up the gauntlet of primary speech as Maurice took to slowly sipping his beer and Curly just sat, looking discontented. [color=darkgray]"Weird things and Goblin hunts, huh? Well okay, I'll keep my eye out, but there's not a lot of Gobbos in these parts, not usually."[/color] Something seemed to dawn on him, and he spoke again with elevated vigor. [color=darkgray]"Say, are you with the group that liberated the Rose River wagon? You're famous!"[/color] A yell across the room to Robert came next, as Lawrence ordered, [color=darkgray]"Hey there, Bobby-Boy! Bring out a flagon of [i]the good stuff[/i] for Lady Kathryn's table here! Yeaah! She's the reason we got [i]the good stuff[/i] in the first place!"[/color]	

	A round of boisterous [i]Huzzahs[/i] came up from around the Public House as many agreed aloud, the general idea being that it was enough of an excuse as any to drink. Some few even came up to shake Kathryn's hand and give congratulations. But after a while, the scowling face returned to Mr. Curly, who immediately rebuffed the idea of sipping on [i]wine[/i]. He finished his mostly full ale in a series of mighty quaffs (that's with an "A"; mind our of the gutter, people.) and slapped his tankard upon the table. [color=darkgray]"I ain't paying for my next beer, hero or no!"[/color] His elbow hit the table next as his sleeve wiped away the bit of ale that lingered on his lips. And face in general. [color=darkgray]"I'm ready for that rematch, [i]hero[/i]. Hah!"[/color]

	Also meanwhile, by the stage, the Cummerbund couple looked to be readying to head out for the evening, their fun for the night almost fully had. Courtesy was with them, as both stuck around to answer Rickard's last question. [color=darkgray]"Our business? No..."[/color] A pause from the man, continuing, [color=darkgray]"I mean, [i]everything[/i] affects business, one way or another. So we came along to see to things personally."[/color] The lady added, [color=darkgray]"Oh, but what about that one shop? My dear husband here wanted to buy me something nice while we were out this way, like a ring or a locket, so we stopped by a silversmith's place near the river, but... all boarded up. From the inside. Strange. Something must have been affecting [i]their[/i] trade, I think."[/color] Man and lady nod, give their polite goodbyes, and exit the building hand in hand. 


[center][hider=Farmer's Market, Talent Show Area][img]https://i.ibb.co/rd69BHz/Harvest-Festival-Fr-Mkt.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]   
	Beppo gives his personal opinion on the application of garlic, which amounts to easy detection for others and thusly should be avoided. [color=darkgray]"But you experiment around, young lady. Personal discovery is a good thing - [i]But[/i] - a good, tearful performance should only get help in appropriate circumstances, and never to cheat at a contest like this, you see. Mmm hmm. Are you enjoying your wine?"[/color]

	Furthermore, the old man doesn't seem to fully grasp the concept that Kosara puts off, as walls around important structures has always been part of his culture. However, his thinking being a little amiss, he answers anyway. [color=darkgray]"It is kind of funny. Like, funny [i]strange[/i], not funny [i]ha ha[/i], y'know? Yeah... Nobody's allowed in there anymore, like they're protecting our crop percentage or taxed silver. Or whatever land deeds and Crown papers need more protecting, and the like. Constable Cavendish and a few of his guards come out every now and again with Township business, but I never see a soul go in anymore, 'cept them."[/color] He shrugged. [color=darkgray]"Well, not my business. Not a bit. They can have their clubhouse. My little hobby farm is good enough for me."[/color] 

	With the exception of the carts and tents catering to the all-night hog broiling crews, the Farmers' Market area is becoming more like a sub-community that all agreed to loosen up a ways and settle down to a meal. Most of them put away thoughts of hawking wares, content to get their sleeping arrangements together before setting up meals for themselves, friends, family, coworkers, etc. The place began to have a more domestic feel, and outsiders mostly cleared out. Beppo was content to sit and sip his beverage in the chill and foggy night air for as long as Kosara wished to hang around. 

	From a circle of tents clustered around a communal fire, the scent of root vegetables and herbs came wafting by. A simple repast for simple folk after a long day of work and merrymaking. Things slowed down. From somewhere in the gloom, the sound of boisterous and inexpert singing could be heard belting out a jaunty barroom song about a rotund lady named "Fanny" and certain coming-of-age exploits that were best sung about whilst inebriated.