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	[u]Weather[/u]: The air is still an interesting shade of chill in the foggy autumn night, but the harsher edge seems to have been blunted from the wind. The barest sprinkles of rain fall here, but almost infrequently enough to make one wonder as to whether there was actual precipitation in the first place, though if one craned their neck upward, they would see the same fleeting reflection of firelight in the tiny droplets as a few moments ago. Maybe it's just the roaring fire, but the weather seems to have relaxed a little bit.
 
	[u]Time[/u]: The night time is the right time.

	[u]Ambience[/u]: The fire is still a-firing, and thanks to the damp weather recently it doesn't seem to want to spread any farther out, either. Still, the light and warmth are noticeable and not completely unwelcome. The initial shock of the battle is wearing off at this point, allowing minds to question possible injuries and bodies to report their state of readiness. The overall feeling for many is OUCH. Another piece of luck - no one has immediate, life threatening damage. Otherwise, the place seems quiet, overall. Even the rats, or most of them, have scurried away to parts unknown.

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

	The once living husk of the Wererat Abomination settled onto the cobblestone ground with a fleshy [i]slap[/i] after being freed from its fiery Bastille. It was horribly burnt, as one might be after sitting in a pitchy blaze for a while, and in fact was still partially on fire. With most of the hair seared away, there were three obvious qualities of the corpse that anyone present could detect: 1) The creature was constructed of several different parts, stitched together with coarse but tight, wax-string cording. 2) Contrary to the other myanthropes who were knocked unconscious or killed, these things did not return to a more human form. 3) A burly, hairless wererat is truly ugly as hell. 

	In contrast, the gnarly smell of burnt wererat hair is significantly worse than that of the porkfat and aromatic woods that continues to waft in from the west, even though it is severely blunted by the crisp, acrid vapors of burning pitch. 

	Those giving passive interest in the possible locations of the Guards have come up with nothing; neither hide nor hair, spore, obvious track, nor bit of errant flora to give up their proximity to the group. There have been no threats of attack forthcoming, either. It seemed that the Wererat Guards were still at large, doing what wererats tend to do best when not under the subjugation of a more powerful being: Surviving. 

	The town, aside from the cooking and the burning, held little in the way of other overt stimuli. On the one hand, random screams could no longer be heard from differing, random directions, but also no one dared to poke their heads out of their homes to see what fresh hell awaited them. Prudence, possibly. Or cowardice. Maybe a bit of both. Of course, the fact that the town center was difficult to see from most of the rest of the town might have something to do with a lack of immediate fire response. 

	Then again, another factor to consider is that the Municipal Building had the best view of the Township Square. Absolutely nothing had come from that direction, not even spiteful words from other guards, militia, nor thankful adulation from town officials. Certainly not a volunteer fire brigade, hauling buckets and other firefighting accoutrements.