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	[u]Weather[/u]: Still mostly cloudy, with the distant sun showing one in a while to remind us that it yet lives, behind its white-grey bulwark. Wind carries hints of dampness, briefly cutting through the stiller, after-blizzard atmosphere. Every so often, bits of pale blue sky stand sharply against the color of dreary clouds. The continuing morning gives a slight increase to the overall temperature, and possibility of marginal snowmelt in the future. 

   	[u]Time[/u]: It is late morning, featuring a full sunrise for some time now.   

	[u]Ambience[/u]: A slight glistening forms across the tops of snow drifts and the broader areas of cover. It lends a sort of quiet beauty to the landscape, something which gives the hint of sparkle to contradict the previous matte white of the snow. People, for the most part, still keep indoors, yet a few more are stirring after the conditions of their internal agreements manifest; promises of taking a later start on account of the uncomfortable weather the night before. Many children (and a few adults) can be seen upon an untouched hill near the river, having abandoned their studies and labors for the day, prepare to rapidly descend upon makeshift sleds. More kids have tested the strength of the ice over the river and, with mild caution, commit to noisy play there.  

	Southmoor as a whole is still fairly quiet, but that is slowly altering to accommodate the fresher influx of what few people have decided to get about their day. The town is by no means busy, not even for a town of this smaller size. But it has picked up a tic. Windows are shuttered, doors only open for as long as it takes to enter or egress. Occasional sounds of professions being practiced filter out into the thoroughfares of Southmoor, taps of tools and shifting of goods, as thin lines of smoke reach skyward from individual chimneys across the town.   
  
[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center] 
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	Having brought both the corpse and the newest guest of the vineyard ferried down to Southmoor from his humble Estate abode, Urmdrus took channeled his next piece of motivation toward hauling himself and his wagon back home, from whence he frigging came. There was a bottle of something unsavory and flammable in a box back in his workshop. While it fell neatly under his "emergency booze" stash, it was either that or try to finagle his way into the Coach House and ask for more of that brandy. Maybe he overstepped that way. In any case, the older Dwarf noticed that his younger associate was off to his own devices before returning to the Rose River Vineyard, and he wasn't going to wait around for it. It was too cold for his liking, anyway. The trotter horse attached to his tool wagon turned clumsily around and moved in as straight a line as Urmdrus could guide it, carrying everyone and everything therein back up the road from Southmoor to the estate. 

	Thad looked like he really wanted to forget the last few minutes of his life and slink away, back to his usual duties of sweeping floors and polishing candle wax off of individual shrines. But he did offer help and, to her credit, the Tiefling lady wasn't causing any actual problems. Even bought out a decent amount of candles. So giving a little help didn't seem like too bad of an idea, so long as he might divest himself from the situation when his role as guide/assistant came to a close. Lucky for him, when asked to assist further, Thad just needed to point out the Town Hall. This was easy enough; it was the most prominent building in town and, even more lucky for him, it could be spotted from the front of the Temple. As such, Thad capped off Kosara's visit with an overly polite showing of her to the door, indicating the direction that she needed to go with as few words as possible (while still being unfailingly nice), and quietly closing himself back in the Temple.
 
[center][hider=Town Hall][img]https://i.ibb.co/qYHqmJFq/Town-Hall-Meeting.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]

	The Town Hall stood slightly aside from the rest of the buildings of Southmoor, proper, allowing one to fully walk it if necessary. It was easy to pick out from a distance if one has an unobstructed line, as it was (from the outside) probably the only formalish looking building in the area. Large, wooden double doors led to the inside from the front, and upon entering, one could see that the majority of the space was open, with a long desk toward the opposite side and a series of chairs in even rows in the center. This building seemed to handle the vast majority of administrative activities for the town and villages beyond; a representative of the constabulary from Darenby might be found here to act as impromptu constabulary (all one of them), mail or messenger services, basic record keeping, title deeds stored, judicial decisions, as well as the usual Town Hall activities of being a meeting place for locals on official business. One lady of indeterminate years sat behind the desk, penning her signature on something or another which looked official, and another fellow wearing the colors of the national military, even if it was not quite the full uniform of a soldier. He hefted a decently constructed mace and stood next to a standard issue halberd which rested against the wall. Beneath his tabard, the muffled clink of mail armor might be heard as he moves about. 

	The lady behind the desk notices the two outsiders enter, and with a touch of apprehension utters the mainstay phrase of, [color=darkgray]"Um, might I help you with something?"[/color]  

	Back at the Vineyard, Jon looked upon Baronfjord with a sense of unease. Yes, he had learned something truly unnerving and sad, which he was trying to deal with in a calm and controlled manner, but something didn't seem quite right about what he said. Nothing that the experienced stablehand could out his finger on, but there was a distinct feeling that something was off. Of course, there wasn't a whole lot of time to figure this out before the Dragonborn was snatched up by a seven foot tall lady in armor with a wine heiress on her shoulders. While not the most dignified method of travel in the snow, it was more or less effective despite its absolute absurdity. Within a relatively short amount of time, the familiar path back to the Coach House was tread. The fact that three people arrived upon two legs was a thought experiment for subsequent generations to ponder. 

	Within the Coach House, things looked very similar to the state of affairs prior to the group leaving for the morning, the main difference being that the light had grown quite dimmer - lamps were extinguished and the hearth fire had burned down to embers. The former might easily be lit and the latter re-stoked with minimal effort. To one side of the taproom stood a familiar sight; a rather large but strangely emaciated boar, wrapped in burlap, with its tusks exposed but its eyes covered. The scent of woodsmoke is heavy in this room, but there was no smoke present. We may congratulate the diligence of the local chimney sweeps for this feat.