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	[u]Weather[/u]: It is still a nice, soft evening, so long as one does not mind the cold. Breath condenses in the air readily before it cools and dissipates into the atmosphere, rising against the fall of slow, fat flakes of snow. Cloud cover is heavy but spotted enough that it deprives one of viewing the lovely winter moon every now and again.   
     
	[u]Time[/u]: Seeing as it's only been a few minutes since the last tome we addressed the situation, it is safe to say that it is still night, and still moderately early into that night. Maybe an hour, hour and a half past dark.  

	[u]Ambience[/u]: The afore mentioned fox paused in its nighttime merriment, abandoning its newly found stick which was deftly dug from the snow. It looked down upon an odd sight with growing interest, not quite decided as to whether it should run to be safe, or continue with its own plans for the night. It caught the scent of blood on the frosty air and gave it additional consideration.    

	The Winery's interior maintains its more or less stable temperature, more comfortable by leaps and bounds than the cold from the outside. The area is mostly well lit, though the occasional spot exists where a personal form of illumination would be useful. No appreciable changes have occurred in these rooms within recent moments, except for the barest incremental decrease in volume for a few selected wines therein. Except for the wailings of Rens and the heavy footfalls of Kathryn (and maybe the [i]almost[/i] protestations of Laurent), it is quite muted. The surroundings are not conducive to the rebound of noise, echo nor ambient. Huge casks surround all here, in ordered sections and a decent amount of space between them.  

[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center] 
[img][/img]	
	As the differing tour groups have converged in Storage outside of the Tasting Room, it is safe to assume that there is clear and even view of all parties between each other. This ease and clarity of view extends to the door leading into the Tasting Room, and vice versa. At that exact moment, however, attention is aptly being diverted to the spectacle of a very large and imposing woman, merrily leading a middle-aged landowner in an impromptu dance to the [i]a cappella[/i] rendering of a song unfamiliar to these parts, and might I add [i]very badly.[/i] Master Rens was one with extraordinary gifts for wine, not the entertainment arts. It showed. 

	Tarace Mosswater clutched a handkerchief to his mouth in a fit of manners, now that said orifice was agape in a manner most ungentlemanly. His lifemate Barbal, on the other hand (quite literally, as it turned out) had shoved the side of his outstretched right hand into his mouth, like he was giving the world's least accurate military salute. He bit down hard - hard enough for his eyes to water - as he tried not to lose himself in gales of whooping laughter. Tarace pulled absently at Barbal's sleeve, seemingly unaware that the gruff Halfling was fighting for his life to stay upright, whispering words that no one, not even Barbal, heard. [color=darkgray][i]"Is this..? Was this..? Humans do this? On purpose?"[/i][/color] 

	Ever the proper lady of business and extended means, Cecily had more of a shocked expression on her face, marveling over the novelty of it all. She regarded the pair of them, Kathryn and Monsieur Laurent, engaged in the most awkward dance that the Mistress of the Estate had ever personally witnessed. Cecily occasionally was able to tear her eyes away from them to slap immediately in Rens's direction, as the man [i]just kept singing[/i]. There had to be something in the wine. Or the air. Or some enchantment from one of the spellcasting types, wherever they were right then. If there was a saving grace to this carefully collapsing social situation, it was that no one was paying attention to the door, which was otherwise in plain sight. 

	MEANWHILE:

	Chauncey readily found the out of the way spot upon Kosara's person whereupon he might remain, though in a sort of unvocalized suggestion, the diminutive rodent pawed at the pendant around his Tiefling handler's neck. Otherwise, the little guy was fine with attaching wherever there was a good spot of cloth and hanging on with its wonderfully articulate grasping paws, resting in a pocket with a fizzy head poking out, or just keeping low. Very amenable creature, that Chauncey. 

	Lizbeth had busied herself looking into one of the displays along the wall, this one being a now open cabinet full of curio. She carefully lifted out what looked like a sheathed, lightly curved blade in dire need of work and polish, next to a series of oddly shaped coins. There was a slightly conical helmet present as well, with a veil of extremely rust-damaged mail attached. Her studious regard of these artifacts was brought to a close by Annick's appearance, startling her into dropping the helmet back onto the shelf. It made more noise than might have been preferred. A shot of fear was seen in Lizbeth's eyes, not just because of the sudden break of quiet, but also held in the glance made in the general direction of the huge, looking box atop the slightly raised area. She noted that no one seemed to want to look inside, and this gave her a note of relief to add into her swirling anxiety.  

	The young lady did take in the fact that they were leaving quickly, and heard Baronfjord's name mentioned. She held onto the tarnished weapon in one hand and said in a shaky voice, [color=darkgray]"I'm coming, too."[/color] It seemed like she felt a need to convince herself. 

	ALSO MEANWHILE:

	From the top of a rise, Baronfjord might make out the scrutiny of two front-facing eyes reflecting the lamplight as he makes his slow walk back in the direction of the Estate House. Blood drip, drip, drips from his wounds, marking a path back to the scattered snow of his fight like a crimson trail marker. The call into the air after the departing bird, made known only because of its earlier cry, goes unanswered. It's cold, but it's quiet. At least, it was for a good long number of seconds, until a voice could be audibly heard from the defiled remains of Toombes, [color=black][b]"Thank you for a lovely party. You have been an excellent dancing partner. I have learned enough from you tonight. Please tell your friends I also look forward to learning from them. Enjoy the rest of your evening."[/b][/color] Subdued chuckles fade quickly into the night.