[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]: Ambient temperatures hold firm somewhere between merely annoying and near-freezing. The fog continues its assault on one's distance vision, given strength from the river and recent weather conditions. 

	[u]Time[/u]: Night proper is set to fall at any minute. 


	[u]Ambience[/u]: Oh, the shallow breath being held in trepidation that was this township was palpable as a metaphysical certainty. The swift and jittery intake of air past the teeth of a condemned man as the axe descends toward the back of his neck would be an apt comparison. Tension is especially high amid the stagnant fog, which reveals only those festival decorations are nearest to the group while simultaneously giving them a ghostly outline. The sound of dripping water is constant, if a little hard to overhear amid the other, less settling noises of movement just outside of the party's light sources. For the more sensitive to things of this nature, the place feels [i]sick[/i]. 

	Yet somehow, elsewhere in town and in truest dedication, the barbecue continued unabated.  

[center][h2][color=darkgray]*******[/color][/h2][/center]

	The torchlight glided through the mostly still air in a decent enough arc, clattering to the cobblestones in a very near to even, three-point landing. It sputtered and flickered a little at hard connection was made but remained mostly steady, extending its illumination just a touch farther into the oppressive mists of the evening. Beyond the reach of the magic by its sheer virtue of piercing the fog, the mundane incendiary rod did what the cantrip could not - give those nearby a glimpse into the deeper concealment surrounding them. 

	This glimpse lasted but for a sparse second, revealing to those perceptive enough to catch it the sight of a series of reflective, red eyes. Dozens of them revealed in that one segment of orange light from the looks of it, burning with intensity and animalistic curiosity before instantly turning and scampering away. Tiny, slender feet and long, skinny, erratic tails visible as they scurried away from the sudden heat and light; yet still other outlines of large, round ears and long noses in front of twitching whiskers which bore closer witness to the torch before they, too, had enough and pulled back. The same noise of movement sounded again at this sudden introduction of a fire, obviously coming from these small creatures en masse and rippling out into places the light did not touch - and beyond - like a wave or chain reaction of movement. 

	Rats. Uncounted numbers of rats. 

	Luckily, they were not around the door of Monsieur Jacques Mallard, who finally opened his door with a thump and a start. He bore in his hands the tools of injury left to him and sought to distribute with as little fanfare as possible, urgency splayed across his face. [color=darkgray]"What? Oh, you almost didn't make it. Quick now, and be off with you!"[/color] His words were a little more terse than probably intended, perhaps forgivable by the occasion and peril waiting to be experienced. Nevertheless, he was true to his word, pulling off what would have otherwise been impossible by the standards of normal smiths, unassisted by a piece or two of magic. 

	The first items he distributed were to Kathryn. A hand axe and a dagger, both of which had floral patterns deeply engraved into the metal and lines of forge-fresh silver gleaming from the expertly etched grooves. Whatever their origin before, they now looked like a matched set of light, silvered weapons for the slayer-on-the-go. Were one to replace handles or wrappings they would look quite new. A quick polish, sharpening, and coat of oil were likewise apparent. A little detail work and they would be truly princely of quality. 

	To Marita, the silversmith handed what looked like a complete overhaul of her mace. Instead of an inlay, hers acquired an overlay of silver in the more painful portions of the weapon, every inch of it mottled with tiny, regular indentations, by the design of skilled hands. The same treatment was given to the pommel for a more appropriate balance and a portion of the shaft was bound by braided wire. The crown of the head of the mace was adorned with a vectored version of the traditional holy symbol of Pholtus, a silvery sun with a smaller lunar crescent, as he had noted on Marita's person earlier. The quality of this weapon rivaled that of his work with the Bard's sword, but in a highly differing style. Any Champion of Law would require absolution from their immediate and unwanted covetousness of such a tool of bludgeoning prowess. 

	[color=darkgray]"Thank you for helping my friend,"[/color] he said, [color=darkgray]"And thank you for trying to help us all."[/color] The topic took a swift change as he belted out, [color=darkgray]"Now please get away from my door while I slam it and set the bar back up. You know how to reach me if you need."[/color] Jacques held up a [url=https://i.ibb.co/NSgwdJv/Oof-Sending-Stones.jpg]stone[/url], partnered to the one given to the group from earlier that day. [color=darkgray]"And I know how to get in touch with you. Good luck tonight. Try not to die."[/color] A man of his word, the door shut heavily. Sounds of reinforcing it could be heard from the other side. 

	The last light of the setting sun faded slowly from view, turning twilight into dusk.