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Weather: Additional snow is threatened by the approach of clouds, just a touch thicker than overcast - as if they were plotting their own precipitous shenanigans upon the hills and valleys of the Vineyard. This approach is heralded not only by the lessening translucence of the clouds, but also the steady winds which swept the area, unburdened by heavy tree coverage or any appreciable wind blocks. It's not snowing just yet, however.
Time: Elevensies and a half, let's say.
Ambience: Radiant flames have half-turned corpses to ash, which is interesting in an of itself, but lent a different, burnt-corpse sort of smell to the air which replaced the more mouldering scents of just a few minutes prior. The heavy sweetness of old spirits production remains, though now muddled with holy cadaver scorch. But that's down inside of the distillery. Outside, it's significantly better of air quality even if it is significantly colder.
Full barrels and two distillery tanks take up most of the room within the hidden distillery, in surprisingly good condition despite their apparent neglect for a very long time. The stable, underground temperatures probably had a lot to do with this. The open door might begin to compromise the contents therein over time, but you're probably good for just now.
The dead people are half bones and half ash. Whatever else might have been on their person of a more flammable nature is now part of that ash.
A notation: The effects of the Wild Magic remain, now about a half hour past their onset.
*****
For those focusing on the full barrels, they are extraordinarily heavy and will require either ropes and animal assistance, a group effort, or someone particularly large and strong to manage them out of the hidden distillery. That is to say, Kathryn can roll them up the slanting tunnel with a far better chance of success than any single one of the others present. Still, a slip here could cause substantial damage to one below or behind a loose barrel.
Moving the barrels now has the options of rolling individual ones along footpaths and hope nothing bad happens, rolling a couple into the cart that Victoria provided and hope nothing bad happens, and returning to the Coach House to get the army wagon and mule to haul a greater amount away at one time.
Elsewhere within the bounds of the southern fields, previously viewed anomalies remain for others to view. Barren (even for the winter season) vines entwine frames and stakes in orderly, slightly curved rows. It was a gradual change for those walking toward the affected area, but after a while those with any knowledge of agricultural processes would recognize the signs of a place marked for clearing and replanting. The few leaves remaining on these vines were brittle and dry; tendrils which were once vital and held the vines snugly to the planting frames were woody and snapped with ease. these plants appeared biologically incapable of supporting flower nor fruit. Nevertheless, two spindly bunches of smallish, near-to-black grapes hung from a vine, sporting tough, withered skins. They bobbed lightly as the cold, winter breeze pushed them about, an eerie sight of withered fruit growing on deceased vines.