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	[u]Weather[/u]: There is nary a trace of the the sun to be seen, though visibility is still soundly supported by the ambient light of midday. A sharp roll of thunder ripples across the sky. While the atmosphere looks very much like it will succumb to downpour conditions, at present there are but the regular stabs of heavy raindrops striking earthward. The once slower drumming of water upon stone, water upon roof, and water upon canvas awning has increased in tempo. Rain is here, and it will only become more formidible. 

	[u]Time[/u]: Midday is sounded across town. This is more of a formality at this point, but the presently unseen sun is indeed at its zenith. 

	[u]Ambience[/u]: Rumor has an astounding way of gnawing into the subconscious of the population, even rumors of something horrible. It is another thing altogether when the reality of it is laid bare for some to witness, and is proven worse than rumor. What was once covered in a thin veneer of denial is cloaked now only in equally fragile, bitter silence. It is this silence which followed the spreading wave news of a lost child found, turning into a creature of unknown origin, and running off to places unknown. The child is still at large.  

	Overt celebrations are dead. The music out in the open, a commonplace thing during festivals, has grown quiet. This could very well have something to do with the rain, but there is a good possibility that there are other factors involved, too. People are now mostly indoors and/or in groups, as if instinctual in nature.   

	The Farmers' Market has also gotten quieter. It is quite possible that it is because of the weather more than anything else as shelter there is a touch more primitive than other places in town, although the number of pavilion tents and townsfolk who, in their own rustic fashion, simply refuse to be run off from their own interests. Some are armed, some are not, and those stubborn damned hog smokers will not abandon their herbs, spices, various woods, nor their formerly living slabs of yummy meatstuffs.   

	The Traders' Market found itself quieter recently. As most of the products were on and offloaded in the morning, people still there were handling finances and shutting down. There are few who would stay in a place where little financial incentive put them there. Most doors are closed and windows shuttered; most ware facilities are locked up. A couple of locations stand ready to receive late coming goods and even these people are being more cautious than usual. Still, those who do remain do so mainly out of stubbornness.  

	Outside of the walls, the wagons are circled both literally and metaphorically. Few merchants keep their stalls open and meals are mostly eaten cold this hour. Rain and news have dwindled their numbers to about half of their original festival turnout. 



[center][hider=Township Thoroughfare][img]https://i.ibb.co/MBMn2JN/Overcast-Township.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]

	The rain quickens, as rain often does. This street, one of the main streets of the usually bustling township, is emptying like a discarded cuspidor. This is Ground Zero of the bombshell that snapped Avonshire out of its semi-comfortable stupor of plausible deniability and almost no one is taking it well. At least they have ceased laying blame at the newcomers, which is a start. Not an amazing start, but the party has some social breathing room for now.  

	The stocky woman of middle years, pushing a smallish cart laden with vegetables who mentioned that she recognized the boy was also in her own retreat, though a hair slower than many of the less encumbered and more active persons about town. Getting up to her was a relatively easy feat as the streets were somewhat clearer now and one could easily see the people dodging around her slower pushcart. 

	Upon catching up with the woman, she stops readily though glances in the direction that he was traveling before piping up, [color=darkgray]"Please, I dare not linger and I still have things to deliver. What do you want from me?"[/color]  


[center][hider=Madame Marcie's Honey Barn][img]https://i.ibb.co/4YSVFKX/Madame-Marcie-s-Honey-Barn.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]

	Madame Marcie is ever the gracious and slightly histrionic hostess, though this occasion has her mixing varying amounts of concern in her voice. [color=darkgray]"Why, at a certainty I can work you into our ...entertainment lineup... yes, for the evening. Anyone new and exotic is well received by our regulars, and ... and,"[/color] She stopped, giving a mostly undecipherable expression, [color=darkgray]"You ought not poke fun at the Constable, Miss. Not to his face and not where some certain ears can hear you. He's become quite testy as of late."[/color] 

	Addressing Kathryn, the Madame remarks, [color=darkgray]"Usual business? Oh, you saw outside... Understand that money changes hands for a lot of different reasons. Now, one of those reasons, hypothetically, is to keep doing business past hours, undisturbed by people who could cause a stir."[/color] Marcie smiled and gave a little shrug, [color=darkgray]"I prefer that me and my girls are left to our own counsel inside of these walls. You understand, I'm sure. It's the cost of doing business, I'm afraid, just like back in Argentum; just like in Khimn."[/color] The names of those places would be familiar to most who knew about the geography of the area - the former was a walled city of such proportions as to be considered its own small province and the latter being a formidable city ran by a circle of knights, home to one of the few legal Arenas in the land. It served to indicate that the lady was traveled. 

	[color=darkgray]"I am disappointed that you have to leave so soon, dears. But if you want to slip out the back way and avoid the Constable, I can help."[/color] She turned and began leaving hollow footfalls on the cobblestone flooring, beckoning with her hand. She began to lead them into the main floor of the establishment. It was a fine, open space that looked like a party was thrown there the night before. Women, mostly youthful, set about tidying things. Furnishings were solid and decent of craftsmanship. There was a large, central stage in the middle of the area, strategically positioned in the middle of a set of low stairs which stretched across the whole of the main room. Balconies rose above, exposing an open air second floor whose secrets were concealed by the angle one had from the ground floor. [color=darkgray]"There's a back way out through the baths, this way. Oh, but what did you mean ...Kosara, right? What did you mean about an issue with the Constable and Goblins? Is there a connection there?"[/color] She seemed genuinely confused. 

	Before the three of them got to the low stairs in the middle of the main room, a woman burst in through the front doors, calling for Marcie. [color=darkgray][i]"Madame! Madame Marcie? You won't believe this! The kid who disappeared from the orphanage came back! But he was a [i]monster[/i]! Two of the outsiders were with him, and... Oh, sorry!"[/i][/color] She apparently just realized that the other two "outsiders" were with her boss, and immediately fell silent.