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	[u]Weather[/u]: Rain continued in the lighter manner it had been for the last couple of hours. The sun had yet to make a formal appearance, thanks to the dramatic and foreboding cloud cover. A rumble of light thunder could be heard, distant enough not to pose much worry yet present enough to make itself known. Whether it was incoming or outgoing remained to be seen. 

	[u]Time[/u]: It is afternoon. By this time, it would not be out of place to say mid-afternoon. 

	[u]Ambience[/u]: The weather had not improved, nor had the temperature. The former still made profound influence on the latter, and any not dressed accordingly or with other means of staving off the elements would be feeling the effects of autumnal rain. The streets more vaguely resembled an abandoned settlement, except for the light which spilled out from slat-shuttered windows or the subtle glow of illumination behind curtains. There was life, and plenty of it, in Avonshire. None of it wished to draw attention to itself, it seemed. Displays of fun and frolic stood where they did the previous day, dripping with precipitation. It gave a lonely, forgotten feel, one tinged with the promise of uncertain peril which was slowly revealing itself.

		
[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center]
[center][hider=Jacques Mallard, Silversmith][img]https://i.ibb.co/GWcg0WP/Silversmith-s.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]
	[color=darkgray]"What part of 'close the door behind you' was hard to understand?"[/color] growled [url=https://i.ibb.co/Y7DxDVr/Jaques-Mallard-Silversmith.jpg]Jacques[/url], lowering his still loaded crossbow to point at the floor as he brushed past Marita and Victoria. The words of the two adventurers who spoke through the open portal were seemingly ignored as he slammed the door shut. Realizing that he could not effectively heft the thick, wooden bar to the door one-handed, he set the crossbow down on the same storage box which held his silver "test" implements. Tired, red-rimmed eyes turned to scrutinize the two women now in his place of business. 

	[color=darkgray]"Alright.... okay.... alright. NOW,"[/color] he finally said, some sense of social decorum coming to him, tarnished though it was. His words hinted at mania; scattered thoughts coming from a mind that held many concerns at once. [color=darkgray]"Bob. Bob's a good man. Neil was okay, too. But he's not around. BOB - decent fellow. Damn shame what happened."[/color] Mr. Mallard removed the bolt from his weapon and eased the tension on its line, bringing both back to the counter which dominated the majority of the space in his building. [color=darkgray]"I think, yes, I believe we can risk a little light. Your friends out there are doing enough to let people know I'm in here anyway so..."[/color] A lamp was produced from a nearby stand, its wick lit from a taper which was ignited from the flameless, glowing plate underneath the small pot forge in the room. It provided more adequate light, which in turn gave a better look at the surroundings. 

	It was difficult to place this as a silversmith's shop at casual glance. There were a small number of simple weapons on the counter and the only place silver goods were kept was on display near the windows - themselves boarded up as if expecting trouble or an extended absence. A low cabinet and table near the back door held curious items; a map and a collection of old papers, what appeared to be a goat skull, an important looking book, and a collection of inks with other sundries, not to mention a couple empty bottles of what might have once held hard liquor, if the half-full one next to it was any indication. Behind the counter was a couch that looked like it had been slept upon, as indicated by the more domestic pillow toward one end and blanket laid haphazardly across the back of it. The pot forge was openly active. Its mysterious heat source kept a moderate amount of metal in a semi-solid, malleable state and made the interior of this place quite comfortable, even at a distance. A very specific set of tools lay nearby, along with a few spools of fine, white metal wire. 

	[color=darkgray]"...everywhere, scurrying around with their scratching feet and..."[/color] he muttered, stepping over to his small workstation. [color=darkgray]"Good Robert has friends. He's been through enough. Okay, so, [i]you know[/i], right? You know? Tell me what - "[/color] Jacques stopped himself before changing his line of speech. [color=darkgray]"Don't know who to trust anymore. You see someone acting squirrely and... your friend out there... They could be anyone. Can't draw too much attention until after the Harvestide. Anyway, Bob's order isn't quite done yet. Just a few more minutes. Please, have a seat if you want."[/color] A jerky motion indicated the couch behind the counter. 

	The silversmith sat at a high stool and produced two sets of manacles. They were connected by chains and looked perfectly serviceable to keep one restrained for a long period of time at the wrists and ankles. A bundle of wire from near the spools was likewise hauled over, from this he unwound a length of braided metal for his immediate use. [color=darkgray]"So,"[/color] Jacques started, [color=darkgray]"It doesn't take that many of you of fetch a package. Before I go telling you my story, why don't you tell me one first?"[/color] He picked up a device which resembled an inscribing tool and began forming lines on the interior surface of a manacle. A minuscule wisp of smoke carried up from the metal as drops of molten iron fell into an oiled catch bowl. The braided wire was carefully placed into the resulting groove as he went along. [color=darkgray]"Gift from my uncle,"[/color] offered Jacques. [color=darkgray]"He specialized in silver inlays."[/color]

[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center]
	It was difficult to tell how much time had passed after the door slammed shut, but minutes can feel like hours if you're waiting in the rain. Luckily it wasn't that awful anymore. But very few people, given a free and open choice, would voluntarily stand in the rain for no reason if better options were available. No screaming was evident immediately following, which might have been taken as a good sign. Another peal of thunder, still low and far, followed a brief brightening of the sky as electricity discharged in the clouds but did not seem to make it to the ground. 

	This stillness, this quiet (aside from the steady white noise of the falling rain) was interrupted by the sound of someone whistling just up the road. It was not a short, sharp noise to gather attention in the slightest. Quite differently, it was a flowing and merry tune that might have found a home at a tavern late at night. Jolly, even. The source of this music came into view with confident, leisurely steps. Rain-soaked clothing hung about the square shoulders of the Township Constable, [url=https://i.ibb.co/Y3WW5hS/Cavendish.jpg]Cavendish[/url], approached openly, with two of the Township's guard flanking him. The man carried his hammer openly as if expecting to utilize it in some endeavor which probably did not involve pounding in tent stakes. Cavendish's eyes darted about for a moment, taking in the whole scene before the whistling stopped. From his distance, he called out, [color=darkgray][b]"Fancy running into you two here. And you found a new friend. That's just adorable."[/b][/color] A smarmy grin split his face, [color=darkgray][b]"Don't stop playing in the rain on my account. Go ahead, you stomp in some puddles, little girl. I'm not here for you right now."[/b][/color] The three of them continue advancing on the scene with the Constable's eyes darting up every so often. [color=darkgray][b]"I'm here to arrest the silversmith. I hope he puts up a fight. Move aside."[/b][/color]