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Weather: The cold and fog are unrelenting, condensing breath into visible exhalations. It is not freezing as of yet, but long sleeves and thick fabrics are generally preferred by the majority.
Time: It is nighttime. The night is yet young, and so far eventful.
Ambience: The sound of water escaping into the Township's drainage system has finally come to a halt. Damp streets are the norm with some points of puddling, though these are blissfully few. The sound of things scurrying remains far enough away not to be an immediate threat. That said, it is still close enough to hear, if barely. The extent of mundane vision fades into dark, clouded obscurity in front and behind. The buildings are clear enough, and each of them are shuttered and barred up as possible.
Deathly quiet appears to be the phrase of the hour, and everyone seems to be practicing it with gusto.
Almost everyone. Evidence of an ongoing barbecue/marathon meat smoking session floats upon the air. Inferences concerning the mental stability of these people is up for debate
Caution thrown to the wind like an errant champagne cork at a royal wedding, the group strode purposefully, perhaps even a little foolishly, in the general direction of what might be their destiny - the beginning or the end remaining to be seen - with a tune in the air, steel in their hands, and even a respectable light show. The combined abilities of these base acquaintances, bought together by happenstance and some amount of chicanery involving suspicious written invitations, were but a handful of moments away from being put to their first test in real teamwork. An onlooker might, as their title suggests, look upon this mishmash of outsiders and come to the conclusion that their spirits and determination were both high indeed, and that they were the only saviors to be had on this dark and hope-starved Harvestide.
There were a few relatively brave souls who cracked open a shutter just enough to peer through a minuscule slit, catching a glimpse of the adventuring troupe as they passed by. No words of support nor cheers were to be heard, however. No one wished to draw attention upon themselves. Perhaps this was pragmatism more than cowardice; these people had been through quite a bit, of which they could not openly speak out of ignorance or fear of their own safety from a dark and mysterious threat which had just been unmasked. There were spouses to think of. Children. Friends and neighbors that might have suffered. Even a sliver of hope or promise that the evil would be done with them soon was too tempting not to simply accept.
Traveling west upon the thoroughfare was the fastest, most direct route to the fountain bearing town square, and from there it was a very short way to the Municipal Building. Point of fact, the only actual path to this location meant that one was compelled to pass through the town square first, as it was basically attached to the north by means of extending, laid cobblestone. Unless one wanted to test out their ability to scale vertical surfaces or experiment with mass displacing exothermic reactions, in any case.
Coming up to this place, one could clearly see glowing orange light making things easier to make out. The trees surrounding the square did much to filter back the source of this light, but forward progress revealed more, the more they continued toward their confrontation. A horizontal bar of fitted bricks replaced the cobblestones of the thoroughfare, marking on the edge of this locale before returning to more cobblestone, stretching clearly to the fountain in the center and beyond to the boundaries of the place. There were changes made to the square since the party's last visit: Benches, carts, stalls, and the like were removed. Little trace of the festival remained, no decorations left intact to be seen. A mostly clear view remained with a few notable exceptions.
For starters, the glow of orange light came from several containers that looked a lot like pitch barrels with their tops pried off and set aflame. Said barrels burned intensely and gave off very adequate illumination to see every part of what lay inside of the treeline, while simultaneously obscuring anything beyond. They were arranged to stand in front of the paved paths leading out of the square. While not enough to prevent one from simple darting to the side of them, it was something of a scalding obstacle. Two more stood on either side of the eastern path, conveniently allowing one (or more than one) to walk past and enter.
Perhaps most striking to appear in this place are two cages fashioned of wooden planks and simple fittings. They were large enough to hold several people and, as fate may decree it, they most certainly did. The whimpering sounds of their protest picked up as the group entered the light, including one clearer, familiar voice crying out,
"No! Run! Get my niece away from here!" Another voice seemed to agree with her, shouting,
"Mornin'! Nice day for fishin', ain't it?" with notable alarm. An arm, belonging to this last voice, could be seen desperately reaching between the bars of the enclosure for a long, stout fishing pole just out of reach outside.
They were not the only ones inside of these cages. There were a handful each of local folk within, some gripping the bars while others tested the strength of the fittings, hoping for some unnoticed means to gain their freedom. Mostly human, but like the population of Avonshire generally, a couple of Halflings were observed near to the bars, wide-eyed and uncertain of their future.
Behind the flaming pitch barrels a voice, strong and arrogant of tone, hushed the others around.
"Good of you to meet my terms. AND you're early. I do appreciate promptness. So, Option A: You set my hammer down on the rim of the fountain, and make me believe your apology. We... will talk about who's leaving after these things are done to my satisfaction." Obviously, this is
Cavendish. Though behind the fire, he seems elevated somehow as if standing on something for better vantage. This does not stop him from stooping down with a mutter of,
"There you are, Chauncey. You're late." He then brings himself back to full elevation, holding a recently familiar rat in one hand. His other hand produces a talisman, and the rat evaporates into the ether.
While it is difficult to see much beyond the flames, the reddish glow of two sets of eyes beyond where Cavendish stands become apparent. He is not alone at his position, though seemingly with less backup than your last meeting.
