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	[u]Weather[/u]: With the deepening evening, a more solid cold sets into Vineyard. Outside, the first signs of flurries set in right as the sun makes it to the horizon and twilight deepens the evening in beautiful, yet ominous ways. The wind passes in short, almost regular gusts across the hills, prompting a sudden horizontal path to the flurries before they continue their delicate fall earthward. 
     
	[u]Time[/u]: Twilight. Dusk is upon you all, and the things which go bump in the night rise to greet the darkness.   

	[u]Ambience[/u]: Eight thick, square pillars serve to provide support in this low and somewhat conspiratorial-seeming room, set behind the rooms hosting the grand enterprise of fine wine production. The lack of any exterior view supports the assumption that this room of the Estate House is encased within the hill rather than above it. There are exits to the ahead which lead farther into the professional areas of the structure, back the way you came (from the Winery), and to the side of the room behind a door with a particularly chunky lock inset. The light is ample enough to see everything with clarity despite the hour and depth, courtesy of oil lamps in key locations and tapered candles upon the table. 

	The central table has chairs enough for all present to sit, even though they were pushed all the way in and everyone was standing. The table bore several candles and enough in the way of simple foodstuffs; bread, fruit, and cheese, to accent and cleanse the palates of those choosing to enjoy the product of generations of labors. Casks and stands of bottles of notable wines bearing the Rose River label line the walls of this room. Some were tapped - others were not. The general din of the room was quietish, a series of low volume conversations between the few people present.  
 
 
[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center] 
[img][/img]
	The feel of the evening took a sudden, awkward downturn as various pieces of conversation came to light. To the casual observer, it looked very much like Monsieur Laurent had gotten just a bit of snubbing from the newcomers to the area. This was not something that he was accustomed to, from the look of his reaction. It was a controlled, subdued reaction, but the first second or two caught him with some surprise. He recovered as best he could, though one could say that he looked flummoxed. The truth of it was that most of the people present were either unaware of his attempt at classist sarcasm or has grown so accustomed to his mannerisms that they didn't recognize his aim until it was pointed out by the presence of actual nobility. [color=darkgray]"Yes, certainly,"[/color] began the man, thrusting out a hand in a more official greeting. [color=darkgray]"Your and your, ah, [i]retainers[/i] have done my family a service, absolutely. Perhaps I might send a token of favor to your husband, or your father (if m'lady is unwed) to show my appreciation."[/color] He stopped, as if taken by a sudden, brilliant idea, [color=darkgray]"Perhaps, if you plan on making a more permanent settling in the moors of Avonshire, I might have some of my people assist your establishment in the area. I'm sure nobility from Arcanaple would find it prudent to diversify their holdings."[/color] 

	A guttural sound erupted from the other side of the table. Close inspection would prove it to be a hoarse laugh issuing from Barbal Mosswater, before his companion slapped a quick hand over the suddenly jolly Halfling's mouth. Tarace gave a nervous smile, and gestured with his free hand something to the effect of [i]carry on[/i], even as Barbal was trying to push the hand away, mumbling something about [color=darkgray]"meeting the genuine article,"[/color] and [color=darkgray]"hey pal, your fly's open, too."[/color] 

	Lizbeth shrugged and looked to her new, adventurous friends, reasoning that it was, [color=darkgray]"only unseemly if you allowed it to be."[/color] The past month seemed to have been really good for her. The party originally met her as a small, scared girl who had just lost her grandfather and survived a Goblin attack, but now she was demonstrating more confidence in both herself and her ability to participate in a situation, rather than just survive it. In fact, is was she who broke the tension in the room when Baronfjord mentioned the locked door off to the side. Credit where it was due, she spoke openly enough about it but did not go into much detail. [color=darkgray]"That is, well, that was Grandfather's Study. We weren't allowed in there. He made sure we knew."[/color] 

	Seemingly trying to smooth things over, Cecily added in almost forced nonchalance, [color=darkgray][i]"Yes, he spent a lot of time in there working on ...whatever he was working on. If he wasn't there, he went and sequestered himself in the old Coach House for[/i] days [i]at a time, doing what he did to keep the Rose River Vineyard producing. And what a job he did!"[/i][/color] People present murmured their approval. He did indeed run a fine Vineyard, by everyone's accounting. [color=darkgray][i]"But for right now, I think that we should pour a glass to Monsieur Arnaud L'Rose! Not the Honigblume, mind, we're still missing a couple of guests."[/i][/color] She contemplated the stuff from around the room, until she settled on a cluster of bottles that looked recently sealed. [color=darkgray][i]"I have taken the initiative and fortified one of our casks of reserved Zinnoberrot with the brandy recovered by Those Who Answered (are you really going with that name?) from an abandoned distillery on the grounds. I haven't a good name for it yet, but I am very pleased with the flavor. If you would please take up a glass?"[/i][/color] She motioned for Lizbeth to decant the bottles, which the younger L'Rose got to with practiced ability. 

	As the wine breathed a bit, the entrance doors swung open to admit a somewhat portly, middle-aged Human with salt-and-pepper hair and a serious-looking mobius moustache. He was dressed more like a clerk than a noble. A decently stitched coat and not un-dapper hat lay across one arm. He had rosy cheeks and a boisterous laugh, both of which were demonstrated as he openly blurted, [color=darkgray]"I MADE IT, MADAME L'ROSE!"[/color] He huffed a little and shook his head. 

	Cecily introduced the man, [color=darkgray][i]"This is our Master of Wines, Rens. He has been with us for the last ...fifteen years now? Yes. Master Rens, you know most of these people, but here are the adventurers we spoke about. And you have met Medician Floquet, yes? Of course you have."[/i][/color] She thought for a moment, [color=darkgray][i]"I thought you were coming with Toombes? He was picked for Master of Harvest this year, yes?"[/i][/color] 

	Rens bobbed his head to the affirmative. [color=darkgray]"Yes, that's him. I don't know where he is. He didn't meet at the spot we agreed on, and I didn't want to be late, so here I am! I'm sure he'll be along. Probably got his brother to tattoo another bunch of grapes on his hide."[/color] To those new or unfamiliar with the man, Rens explained, [color=darkgray]"The workers choose a Master of Harvest every season. He's responsible for managing his people to bring in the crop. Toombes gets chosen quite a bit. Real man of the land, that one. Gets tattooed every time he brings in a good crop. Anyway... What're we drinking, Madame L'Rose?"[/color]

	In response, Cecily handed the man a glass of the new blended Zinnoberrot, saying, [color=darkgray][i]"Not the Honigblume. Let us wait for another ten minutes for Toombes. This is the new Fortified I have been working on."[/i][/color] And then as a general call for attention, the Lady of the Manor tapped her glass and announced, [color=darkgray][i]"Everyone please, glasses up! Let us take a small toast to Monsieur Arnaud L'Rose! Founder and master of the Rose River Vineyard, beloved father and grandfather; never one like him shall exist hence."[/i][/color]

	The others in attendance echoed the sentiment, [color=darkgray]"MONSIEUR L'ROSE,"[/color] and sipped accordingly.