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	[u]Weather[/u]: The buffeting wind grows more steady in the early morning and the sky is mostly clear, with some cloud cover riding along the prevailing winds. It is uncomfortable overall, but nothing as cutting as the atmospheric conditions from the recent night. In short, it is cold but bearable if necessity strikes.     

	[u]Time[/u]: Early morning. It is just past dawn and the sky is alight with a cool, distant sun. 

	[u]Ambience[/u]: The landscape is now pleasantly bright, even if there aren't a lot of people around to witness it. From the top of the hill one has a decent view of the Estate House and part of the river. Except for the wind now, it is rather quiet. An attentive person might realize that an otherwise ever-present sound from the background is missing now - the quiet burble of the river is silent. Its waters appear glassy and still with snow drifts along its banks. Closer by, dots of essential fire gently curve along the slopes of vine-bearing hills near to the Estate House, a testament to the endurance of the laborers and the adventuring party. 

   

[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center] 
[img][/img]
	Loading the standing corpses into the back of the wagon was tricky in some places and easier in others. Lifting them from the ground, for example, was made significantly more difficult by the fact that their feet had settled into the ice from staying in one spot for a prolonged period of time, yet they were amazingly light once one figured out to pull straight up first. Hefting the relatively light figures wasn't a huge deal in terms of pure weight. However, the fact that they remained rigid in their pose made things truly awkward. Additionally, they were amazingly well padded. Now that hands were being put on the corpses to load them into the wagon, the practically obsessive amount of layers of clothing become more apparent. 

	What is surprising is a [i]lack[/i] of expected sensory input from the figures. Where one might expect the scent of decay, there are only the faintest hints of fresh earth and something floral. Beneath the multiple layers of fine cloth where one might expect something squishier of texture, it is cold and solid, like a thing simultaneously dried and frozen. And perilously slender. 

	Nevertheless, when they are loaded into the wagon, those present might hear the muted sound of tiny cracks and pops; a noise not unlike glass maintaining its shape as hairlines spiderweb their way across its surface. Perhaps it was nothing. High beyond the heavens, only the tumbling of celestial dice may decide. 

	Meanwhile, inside of the Coach House, a very curious scene was unfolding. The Bard's magic was working, but there wasn't a full understanding of the translation as it went along. The process took easily three times as long as it might have for a full accounting of the contents of the letter. Said process started with Victoria translating the Draconic script into its phonetic Abyssal sounds, but writing the represented sounds as phonetic Common. From there, Victoria vocalized the sounds as spoken Abyssal that she, herself, could not understand. Perhaps when she got a little more practiced with the ritual casting of [i]Comprehend Languages[/i] would have allowed her to understand her own words, but that was not happening on this day. Lizbeth would then turn the spoken Abyssal and translate it as best she could into written Common. When they were finished, it read:

	[color=dimgray][i]Respectful Greetings.

	I express grief for the death of Master Arnaud L'Rose. I could feel the moment his soul left this realm. It is unfortunate that this death did not happen within the boundaries of his home. It would have been preferred. No arrangement of partners is perfect of execution, therefore concessions may happen to complete our transactions. Arnaud's children are dead. His remaining heir is not of age. So I call upon you to complete the terms of the arrangement. 

	As an initial demonstration of grace and good faith, I present you a gift. I pray that you accept the fine wools, linens, silks, and sundry goods layered upon my emissaries. It is a grand gift fit for nobility within my nation. This is a gift in true measure and does not come with expectation of compensation. It serves only to illustrate my benevolence before we move onto other matters. Please enjoy them without caveat attached, free and clear.

	Terms for promised compensation for the initial agreement with Master Arnaud extend beyond death and have not been met. I hope you may represent his interests here, so that I will not have to turn to his family. I will allow adequate time for a decision to be reached, and even more for the terms listed in the original contract to be fulfilled. I am not ungracious. But there is a time limit. Enjoy your holidays.

	Farid al Ramil Sabaj al Hazred 
	[/i][/color]

	Back outside, the informal and unconventional sharing of fine brandy was accepted by its deceased recipient without complaint. Without anything whatsoever, as a matter of fact. Its jaw was rigidly placed, but there was enough of a gap that one could pour liquid within. There was, to all observation, no response. 

	There was no response when the bodies were placed within the servant's quarters on the ground floor of the Coach House, no response when it was closed up, and no response when the door was barricaded. There was a brief pause of absolute quiet as even the wind died down, and a great shattering issued from behind the now shut and reinforced door. Like a hammer thrown through a pane of thick glass at force. Then continued the silence.