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[center][hider=Southmoor][img]https://i.ibb.co/QnKHXZ8/Southmoor-Poachers-Crest-Map.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]
[center][hider=Coach House][img]https://i.ibb.co/5jfBrYW/Coach-House-Opener.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]
[center][hider=Town Hall][img]https://i.ibb.co/qYHqmJFq/Town-Hall-Meeting.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]
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	[u]Weather[/u]: Still partly cloudy, though the sun is making its presence more known now as the day continues. Temperatures hover around freezing, which is a touch warmer than a couple hours ago and certainly moreso than the blizzard conditions which covered a surprisingly local amount of land the previous night. One acclimated to the weather will be more or less fine, and even those without cold weather experience will note the preferable change. Wind is more active now, bringing with it stinging, slightly wet air which interacts negatively with exposed skin. 

   	[u]Time[/u]: We have moved fully into late morning. The Halfling population will have finished first AND second breakfasts, and thought moves now to luncheon. In any case, it is much closer to noon than to dawn.   

	[u]Ambience[/u]: The Coach House remains dimly lit, the hearth fire in the Taproom having been neglected for a while and the Kitchen's fire down to mere embers which might be roused with time, fuel, and effort. It is otherwise seemingly untouched from the group's mass egress earlier that morning. Upon the bar sits the barrel of extremely fine brandy, its spigot ready to dispense, and whatever remained within the barrel of ale secured from town, also in a state of readiness. 

	The cellar had only what light one brings with them, and is a somewhat cramped location. Dry goods and semi-perishables rest here in neat rows, spaced evenly as to allow for airflow and resist more unsavory growths upon them. Flour and nuts sit on spacers which keep them off of the ground a few inches, in clean sacks and baskets as needed. There is the scent of decent cheese in here, as the wax coatings never quite fully lock this within, mingling with a very slight, sour note of cured meat. Fruity scents linger as well, represented by airy hanging baskets of apples and pears. The walls are of fitted stone which seem to radiate a constant coolness from the ground around it, as cellars are wont to do. One wall has a series of wooden crates along it, while another bears shelving with tools appropriate to dealing with said crates, as well as portioning, processing, and carrying things to and from the kitchen and pantry areas. Many barrels also reside here, their contents easily guessed based upon the Rose River Vineyard branding seared along their exteriors. 

	Out and about, the snow glistens with evidence of slight melting and immediate refreezing - as the sun touched the land around and quickly is covered back by cloud cover, the already settled snow becomes slightly more perilous. It also becomes more fun, if the gathering of people near Southmoor sledding down these hills have anything to say about it. Between them and the kids braving the frozen surface of the river, all of this it absolutely fine. The continued cold does keep most people within buildings, even if they are going in to work. Those which are seen outside finish their business quickly and move on; the town is not busy by any means but cannot be called silent, as there is notable, if marginal, foot traffic. Southmoor remains quiet otherwise, at least as quiet as a town might be with a few labors performed within walls and doors.    
  
[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center] 
[img][/img]	
        Kathryn's question to Lizbeth was a decently predictable one to make; logical, and the obvious person to ask it of was naturally Lizbeth. If anyone were to know what the elder Monsieur L'Rose was up to and where he might be doing it, it might be his granddaughter. Unfortunately, all she was able to offer was a confused shrug. [color=darkgray]"I'm sorry, I just don't know. Grandfather would lock himself away in here and tell us not to bother him."[/color] She offered only a somewhat overwhelmed look and said, [color=darkgray]"I've cleaned the rooms here a bunch of times, but I never saw anything like a Study."[/color]

        To Baronfjord, Lizbeth had more solid of answers, but about the same amount of help was forthcoming. [color=darkgray]"We haven'thad any renovations done to the Coach House since... well, I think since the Vineyard property lines expanded."[/color] Then, thoughtfully, she followed up, [color=darkgray]"This wasn't originally part of the Vineyard. Grandfather bought it when I was very little and had some work done to it then."[/color] 

	In Southmoor, the clerk lady behind the desk managed to give her best impression of a rural civil servant who, upon being given only slightly conflicting stories about the nature of these newcomers' business with her, had little to no suspicions about their intentions. Were she honest with herself despite the novelty of a Tiefling and the slightly more common event of a Dwarf (who wasn't Urmdrus) coming to her for information, they really hadn't said or done anything [i]wrong[/i], so she continued as helpfully as she might. 

        There was a quick glance over to the martial looking fellow with the halberd, however. [color=darkgray]"Look, I'm willing to help you two in any that's legal, but you need to understand that we're not some far-traveling adventurous types here. Only records I have are from things that happen locally, and even then it doesn't cover everything. I mean, heck, this building is our mail office, town hall, guard post, jail, and seat of commerce. We ain't one of them big cities, like the Township."[/color] She gave an exaggerated look of exasperation, and with a faux benevolent look of a penny-store martyr, followed with, [color=darkgray]"...but I will selflessly try to help you im any way that I'm able, as befits a civil servant of the quiet frontier town of Southmoor."[/color]