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	[u]Weather[/u]: The temperature feels like it is hovering at, or just above freezing. The snow upon the ground is still maintaining itself quite nicely, but the less compact fluff upon higher surfaces has glazed over with a paper-thin layer of ice, as if the outermost parts thawed slightly and refroze. It is cold, still overcast, and the winds now carry with them an indication of dampness. This is cloak and soup weather.    

	[u]Time[/u]: It is early to mid afternoon at this point. Work is progressing at the site nicely, but these things can take time. 

	[u]Ambience[/u]: The sounds of hammering and sawing echo across the hills of the Rose River Vineyard; an impromptu carpentry session committed to with haste, but also with precision. Snowfall from the night previous has done well to color the landscape a relatively frigid but nevertheless inviting white, interspersed with the wood color of buildings designed to keep that frigidity out. 

	The wind gives a good reminder that the current and incoming weather is more than a polite suggestion to keep covered up now, and seek shelter in the evening. High above, the mostly hidden sun has begun the second, downward leg of its journey across a likewise mostly hidden sky. Winter has arrived, and she is baring her teeth at the unwary.     

[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center] 
[img][/img]
	The snowman looks great. Just thought I'd start the update with that. 

	Urmdrus, or [i]Master[/i] Urmdrus to those who still have custom requests of his time and talent, seemed to keep to his word. The structure he was slapping together was indeed a less-then-pretty barrier, but he didn't bother to begin with an actual door. Instead, the first good hour of his work involved constructing a frame to go around the existing hole. He ignored the rotted wood of the present door, instead pounding pegs into the earth itself and using these points to put proper anchorpoints down, eventually building enough structure to hold a sizeable door. To keep it simple, it was a single, outwardly swinging portal, attached with brassy colored hinges. The hinges didn't quite match one another, but there were four of them and they seemed like they were close enough to get the job done. 

	Much of the wood was rough. Some of it looked like additional pieces from past projects, and one could still see bark on a couple of them. Urmdrus was correct, it was put up quickly, but it had not the usual visual appeal that one might expect from Dwarven craftsmanship. After a couple of tests upon its stability, the older Urmdrus repeated, [color=darkgray][b]"It ...will hold."[/b][/color] Instead of a latch, or even a lock, Urmdrus lay a single, thick, wooden crossbeam to bar the door. One might note, he set up the bar on the outside. One might find their way in, provided they wished to and put forth some intention to do so, but one would not be able to aimlessly wander into it. 

	Any who were within sight of the distillery door past its construction might have seen a tired-looking, bald Dwarf rolling away a barrel larger than himself, to places unknown for reasons unknown. But one could reliably guess about either. 

        Over another hill or two, still within the boundaries of the southern fields and not too far away from the site of the distillery, the mysterious grapes reside. They grow from seemingly deceased (or just very, very unconscious) vines, the stakes for which are marked with ribbons to indicate their need to be cleared and replanted. It is a mere two bunches of the strange, smallish fruits, so dark as to be almost black as they hang upon spindly, desiccated twigs. 

	The investigative procedures embarked upon so far have revolved mostly around observations, comparisons, and [i]eating them[/i].