[center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center][center][img]https://i.ibb.co/vXD6Q0t/Update-Text.png[/img][/center][center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center][center][img]https://i.ibb.co/VpHzK5s/Avonshire-Township.jpg[/img][/center][center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center]


	[u]Weather[/u]: A few more clouds rolling in. The wind is gusting every so often, pushing the not intolerably damp, chill air into the clothing of those who have taken to the streets. This is certainly not swimming weather, to put it lightly. At least it is more comfortable than the previous evening.  

	[u]Time[/u]: Morning! Yes, still morning, which is fortunate. Were it not, we would have either traveled back in time or lost a number of hours for which we would need accounting. In any case, we are entering the the portion of the morning where people are becoming more active. At the present, it looks to be a collection of locals going about their business. The more celebratory of visitors to this town have not entered the town proper nor moved from underneath roofs in numbers notable enough to really make a difference.   

	[u]Ambience[/u]: Fog is almost a memory now. For the purpose of mechanics, vision is unobstructed. The sun is a bit shinier now, though incoming cloud cover blunts its warming rays every now and again. Noise can be heard more clearly from the Farmers' Market as those who have business there move about. To the northeast in town, poles and oars in water herald the arrival of goods, raw and worked, to the Traders' Market area of the Township. Avonshire as a whole is waking up and greeting a new day, for now minus the many, many excess festival goers. 
 	 

[center][hider=Neil & Bob's Public House][img]https://i.ibb.co/5vK80t3/N-B-ip.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]
	The response from Lea, addressing Marita's news that she would likely not be returning for a shift that evening, was met with understanding and a more-or-less upbeat demeanor. [color=darkgray]"Well that's okay. At least stop back by if you can. I'll treat you to a bowl of hot stew and a glass of something nice."[/color] 

	Robert finished his ale, likely a weaker portion of his reserves (or an Avonshire "Morning Ale", to the locals) in a long pull and moved his dishes to the kitchen. He returned immediately to set up in his usual spot behind the bar. It was remarkably good timing, too, as the man who had run outside just returned, and the greater amount of the overnight guests filed out of the common room; maybe a dozen in total. Most found their ways to the vacant tables, but a few found their way to the bar proper, hoping to chase their maladies with the familiar medicine of fermentation.   

	Before Lea stepped away to see to her morning duties with these people, she answered Marita. [color=darkgray]"Andre. Hmm, well..."[/color] An uneasy look crossed her face for a moment, and she continued, [color=darkgray]"Mr. Dufour isn't a very nice man sometimes. I wouldn't call him the 'town drunk'. He does drink a lot though. Um... hmm. I heard he was reported missing after being here, but I didn't do it and I don't think Robert did either. Then again, we're not the only place that sells wine and there are other places that are open even later than we are."[/color] She waved quickly to someone at the bar, hastening to attend the clientele. [color=darkgray]"Excuse me for a moment, please. Hey, can I get you anything while you're here?"[/color] She seems open and outgoing, if preparing herself for the drudgery of a hangover shift. (Theirs, not hers.)



[center][hider=Brindleton's Woodworking][img]https://i.ibb.co/BGhPhzv/Woodworker-Shop.png[/img][/hider][/center]
	The interior of the Woodworker's abode/place of business remained quiet. It is tucked away from the major thoroughfares and thusly much of the noise that might arise from the Township's general awakening, and the building was quite open except for the living area up the stairs. This did have the effect of amplifying smaller noises in within its stone walls, at least now that it was only Rickard and Victoria (and Morty) within. 

	Unfortunately, there was not a whole lot to be gleaned from the building. To the best of their ability to suss out details, everything looked as it was left the last time Rickard has entered the location, with the exception of Victoria's discovery that the place looked like it had been poorly cleaned. Between that and the unlocked door, it raised questions. Just none they could answer at that time. 

	Yet, even in seeming defeat, one might realize that questions, however off they might have been, could lead to other, more potentially lucrative questions. Or horrifying red herrings set as stumbling blocks. Victoria's perceptive abilities (not something she was especially known for) key in on an odd detail. The locking mechanism on the inside of the door was adorned with a scraggly tuft of grey-brown hair, hanging listlessly at the mercy of any passing air currents. Curious, the Bard pointed it out to Rickard with a quizzical expression. 


[center][hider=Jacques Mallard, Silversmith][h2][color=black][i][b]Interior Image Not Unlocked Yet[/b][/i][/color][/h2][/hider][/center]
	
	The repeated knocking on the main door of the Silversmith's had not gone unnoticed. In fact, the few (but growing) number of locals milling about on foot had stopped, very interested in figuring out what this growing commotion was along the main road, just across from the mercantile area of town, might possibly be. The unwanted attention and incessant noise along the front door culminates in a loud, seemingly desperate voice from the inside loudly proclaiming:

	[color=darkgray]"CAN'T YOU READ? WE ARE CLOSED FOR THE FESTIVAL! PISS [i]ALL THE WAY[/i] OFF!"[/color] 

	Oh, but that got the crowd's attention.