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	[u]Weather[/u]: Temperatures rise a little in the presence of the now full sun. It is still below freezing, but more tolerably with appropriate clothing. The breeze has slowed considerably but is now near constant. It is still quite cold. The cloud cover seems to be increasing with the new day. 
     
	[u]Time[/u]: Morning, bright and quiet. 

	[u]Ambience[/u]: The sun streams down over a near idyllic series of rolling hills inscribed with the meandering lines of grave vine supports. There is a quiet cold that sweeps over everything, doubly so as the staff remained indoors - partly because of the hour, but greatly influenced by the hard night which had just passed. Cut paths of footfalls mar the smooth snowfall in the most trafficked places in and around the fields nearest the Estate House, which still bear the glowing braziers keeping the remaining Honigblume varietals from dying off in the midst of the sudden temperature plummet. The river's usual hum in the distance, ordinarily barely audible in the quietest times of the day, is as still as it was an hour ago, covered with a questionable layer of glassy ice. 
 
[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center] 
[img][/img]
	Inside of the Coach House, it has gotten a bit warmer. While it was nice to be out of the wind, the place didn't quite get to a much more appreciable level of comfort until Baronfjord stoked the fireplace in the main taproom. A few minutes past this and the place became downright comfortable. 

	Lizbeth stared at Baronfjord and Victoria for a moment, seemingly unwilling to answer the question put forth from the both of them. Her face turned away from their peering eyes and onto the papers on the table, one original, one inscribed with phonetic Abyssal, and one translated into readable, nuanced Common. The girl's voice repeated the syllables from the second one, occasionally making a correction of pronunciation as she went along as her voice was a little shaky. But as she continued, her words became more confidently fluid. Those capable of understanding Abyssal will hear a young girl, not quite an adult, with pretty, flowing hair and a cuirass made of ankheg chitin wrap her linguistic abilities around a tongue extraordinarily difficult to speak by someone with humanoid anatomy. Where certain vocal impossibilities crept up, she effortlessly utilized the accepted mortal analog, demonstrating the proficiency of a natural speaker in a Human body. 

	Her language then slipped into the more accepted language of the Prime Material Plane, [color=darkgray]"Farid al Ramil Sabaj al Hazred."[/color] After she spoke aloud the name of the original note's author, she looked back up at the two of them, and answered in a quiet voice, [color=darkgray]"I don't know."[/color] Looking back down at the pages upon the table, in the same quiet voice, [color=darkgray]"Do you mind if I stay here for a while, please? I don't ... I'm not feeling very well right now."[/color] Lizbeth absently slumped down into the chair nearest her at the table. 

[hider=Translated Letter]-
	[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]
[/hider]

	Splintered masses of rock-solid, corpse-based ice were all that remained of the five figured placed unceremoniously within the servants' quarters of the Coach House. Where the desiccated remains of the figures were exposed from beneath the voluminous layers of fine textiles, these tiny shards of dead people spilled out and clinked to the stone floor like glass scattering beneath a thick, recently broken window. Oddly, they still had physical cohesion of a sort, as if something were holding them more or less together beneath their noble wrappings. Also curiously, there wasn't a drop of liquid nor scent of death upon them. The completely frozen state of these "diplomats", coupled with the low temperatures of the air and unheated accommodations worked wonders for this, barring a less mundane explanation. 

	Aside from the occasional tinkling sound of frozen shards slipping to the ground, the room remained deathly quiet. Outside, the near constant wind continued. Luckily, the walls of the Coach House's courtyard helped to remove some of the edge to those winds, but one's breath still condensed like a draconic fog upon exhalation. It was cold, and looked to be for some time.