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	[u]Weather[/u]: While the weather is not terrible, per se, it is moving from the seasonably tolerable, bordering on idyllic, to something a little bit rougher. It looks to be getting worse by the minute. Winds have picked up more than a tiny bit as a continuation of the previous, and quickening snowfall travels now in winding spirals, borne upon stiffening winds.      
     
	[u]Time[/u]: It is in the gloomy throes of night.   

	[u]Ambience[/u]: The area around the attack upon Baronfjord is a mass of kicked-up snow and spots of crimson, frozen among the white, frozen landscape. The corpse of the former Master of Harvest lay where it dropped a few minutes ago, apparently untouched by powers either mystical or mundane. There is a scattering of fresh snowfall across the scene, like the beginning of nature covering over the display of the unnatural. 

	Inside, things remained as quiet as previous moments. The Winery had a sort of quiet comfort for those accustomed to it, even if there was the rare, occasional sound of fermentation from the other room making its way with soft murmur. Cecily, Barbal, Tarace, Rens, and Kathryn remain here to discuss the aftermath of the gathering, even though it seems to be stopping a little early. No one who remains seems to show any regret, it being a full and eventful night.          

[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center] 
[img][/img]	
	Cecily responded to Kathryn's suggestion to find something good to toast the evening to, giving an even and matter-of-fact [color=darkgray][i]"The evening is about sampling the Honigblume harvests. It is only fitting that we end as we began. But we cannot end the evening without the other guests present. It just isn't proper."[/i][/color] She had mentioned this before, but it looked like no one from the group present moved to locate the others. Barbal and Tarace looked to one another, as if telepathically drawing straws for who had to do it. They did not exactly come to a full and mutual consensus of opinion in the intervening time. Rens, the extroverted Master of Wine, did his level best to attempt to find something interesting on the far wall; the idea of him stepping out into the cold to find the others was positively unappealing to him. 

	Lucky for everyone involved, this decision didn't have to be made amongst themselves. Less than a minute later, Lizbeth ran into the Winery Storage, a shocked expression on her face and her newly acquired weapon sheathed but in hand. Directly behind her, a serious looking Raven trailed, fluttering its wings to bring it to a stop so that it may perch on the girl's shoulder. It looked a little awkward at first, but the creature settled in. [color=darkgray]"BB was attacked,"[/color] she said abruptly. [color=darkgray]"He was hurt. Mademoiselles Kosara and Belmont took care of him, but now they're going back up the road. BB wanted me to get Lady Kathryn and you, Aunt Ceecee, to go to them. They're on the lit path to the meeting spot."[/color] The girl pointed back to the door from which she had entered, taking a half-step in that direction without realizing. 

	Jon remained in the Tasting Room, nibbling on a piece of bread. With a slow, guilty glance around, he poured himself another glass of wine.   

	Outside, near to the meeting spot along the road at the scene of the skirmish, Laurent was fast to snatch his reins back from Baronfjord. Both ill and ill-tempered, the obstinate Human still had a few things to say, which he felt were of great importance. [color=darkgray]"You shall unhand me, [i]and my horse[/i], you blue-scaled ruffian! I'm under no illusion of understanding what has happened here, but [i]nothing[/i] like this has happened along the river before the lot of you showed your faces here! I am convinced that you brought this evil with you, and I shan't rest until you and your [i]foreign accomplices[/i] are set ablaze or run out of town; either is satisfactory!"[/color] His face was one of both fear and repulsion as he reared his horse to the side and continued down the path, attempting to spur the beast to greater speed, despite the horse's unwillingness to move too quickly over snow. 

	The corpse, defiled and twisted into a creative but literally hollow mockery of the once living agricultural worker lay still, its semi-tailored skin clothing, ornamented with tattoos (including one very fresh one) lay freezing about the man's bones which were still slick with icy blood. One might locate its skull laying in the snow fairly nearby. 

[hider=Meeting Spot][center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/0b451289-078d-490e-a922-f2acbf4125be.png[/img][/center][/hider]