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	[u]Weather[/u]: The rain lightened but remains steady. The wind has picked up, pushing wet air into damp clothes, but otherwise the overall ambient temperature hasn't changed much. Cool but not overly cold, colored sharply with the breeze. The weather is incrementally more comfortable than an hour ago though you would be hard-pressed to believe it, conditions being what they are. 

	[u]Time[/u]: Mid-afternoon, as the only time that has passed was the amount needed to drive off Cavendish and his pals. 

	[u]Ambience[/u]: Rainfall, once faded into the background of perception in favor of the more urgent noises battle, came back to the ears with encompassing distinctness. Yet still, over this sound the tinier movements of shutters cracking open nearby could be detected. The clash of magic and steel now over, the braver of the commonfolk risked a glance outside to see the particulars of the commotion. One couldn't get into a pitched skirmish in the Township's main streets without attracting attention. A big question might be - were these worried citizens of the realm, or were these others part of the potential moonrise threat? A not-too-distant peal fo thunder rolled across the sky as an ominous trumpet to the darker of those possibilities. Off in the distance, a hissing sort of laughter could be heard to the south, seeming to move away from the scene. 


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	The moments following and accompanying cooling of blood allowed those present greater awareness of injuries suffered; spots and rivulets of spilled crimson were swiftly carried away from those venting it, finding its way down the street and into the storm drains nearby. It might even be pretty in its own right were it not the arterial paints of the fellowship of adventurers. [i]Mostly.[/i] There was yet one Guard remaining, crumpled in a heap with his arms at an odd angle. Body broken in a few places, he too added his redness to the passing rainwater, face partially submerged in the clear, cold stream that was once only a cobblestone street, in a way that was not healthy. His spear lay beside him - a reliable if not quite decorative piece - as a sign of involuntary submission. 

 	The door to the Silversmith's shop cracked open just a little, though the view from the inside was mostly of Marita's back. The door was allowed to swing open a little more freely, as if a staying hand was removed from it for easier access. [color=darkgray]"Come in, come in,"[/color] half-whispered Jacques, [color=darkgray]"Safer in here, for now."[/color] A little paranoia tinged his voice as it had at their first meeting, though his words carried a greater implication of trust for the party. 

[center][hider=Jacques Mallard, Silversmith][img]https://i.ibb.co/GWcg0WP/Silversmith-s.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]