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	[u]Weather[/u]: Not much has changed in the weather, save for the groupings of clouds pushed farther down the great expanse of the sky, only to be replaced by others of their ilk. It's still about a half-to-half ratio of puffy white to open sky, with the sun making appropriate appearance. To that end, it's about as warm as it's going to get on this day, barring a sudden, unforeseen shift in the wind, and it is right around freezing. Maybe a fraction of a degree above. Snow is still everywhere, if thinning in places. But speaking to the wind - it is not particularly kind. Cover your skin, unless you like the bite of damp air.   

   	[u]Time[/u]: Though only a bit of time [i]seemed[/i] to have passed amid the ongoing rush of conversation, time has a way of marching forward. Especially if there was (oh, say, [i]hypothetically[/i]) some series of pre-planned events around which others may or may not have to navigate. For example. Either way, our dallying has brought us officially into early afternoon.    

	[u]Ambience[/u]: The hearthy comfort of the Coach House has reached its crescendo. Any warmer and it might begin to feel a touch stifling, and no one wants that. The light is now adequate for standard sight, minus the flickering places of shadow which cannot be helped due to the proximity of furniture, the movement of bodies, and the ever-silent spectre of Morty, the burlap-wrapped, tusked boar at the far wall. The table nearest the wall is occupied by books and papers, around which three have taken seat.  

	The bar remains as it was, mostly untouched but occupied with the two casks - one of which is notably older than the other, containing brandy, and the other much more recent and (if the brand is to be believed) from Southmoor, and contained ale. Mostly. 

	The cellar is still cold, still lined with stone and actively serving as the best spot for both semi-perishable items and barrels of potables. In contrast to the the comfy upstairs, this room is cold. Cold enough for one's breath to become visible and cold enough that one might wish to close the door once they make it back upstairs. Racks and shelves dominate this space, as do barrels and crates. 

	The one shelf attached to the wall, now seemingly out of place with recent events, contained various pry-bars (forked and otherwise), opening tools, things for tapping, and more elaborate methods of food and product preparation. The stationary puzzle box with the currently unreadable runes and mushroom imagery remains open, with the two vertical, in-line slots giving a taunt to those who would attempt to figure out its mysteries. 	
  
[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center] 
[img][/img]	 

	Lizbeth took to BB's presence coming up from the stairs as one might when greeting a friend, but stopped short of verbal discourse when he began speaking to others. It made sense to her; even if she was vaguely aware that her aunt allowed another person access to the Vineyard, it was still technically their Coach House for the winter and he was a stranger to them. So she remained quiet until they could work out whatever detail they were going to work out, content to smile politely as she otherwise looked quite dead to the casual observer. The good news was, for anyone noticing, that Lizbeth's demeanor had shifted from outright fearful despair to something more stable. At least enough so that she could put on the facade of polite gentility, if not some to the more genuine.

	She still looked like a fresh corpse.

	The conversation which Victoria had with Kosara, short though it was, did give Lizbeth some amount of peace. Even a little wonder. The phrase "Sisters of the Weave" made it sound like an exclusive group of some kind, like a circle of knights or gathering of the clandestine. Then the Bard spoke to her as a mother might to a young lady going through "the change", but in a much less metaphorical, much more reality-altering way. Perhaps full trust shouldn't be placed in someone who regularly utilized a corpse for a personal servant. Even if the corpse was of a semi-domesticated walking foodstuff. Nevertheless, as strange as it seemed, the Bard was in the best position to help her understand. And out of people who understood necromancy, the least likely to do something awful to her. So she sat, listening, taking in what she could. Lizbeth even began to feel genuinely better about herself and her situation thanks to Victoria's silver tongue and disarming delivery. 

	Finally, she answered, [color=darkgray]"I think I need to know what I can do, you know, before I start making wishes. Is that okay?"[/color] It was a blend of confidence and uncertainty in measured amounts. Kathryn's appearance from the cellar drew Lizbeth's attention. Her query concerning Victoria tutoring Arcana was quickly answered by a vigorous nod of her head. She opened her mouth to answer, voluntarily needing to pull in a breath to fuel the words to come (a side effect of her semi-alive state), but switched her attention at the last second to address her would-be tutor: [color=darkgray]"I'm sorry, Mademoiseĺle Belmont, you didn't answer; if I learn from you, can I still train with Kathryn and Urmdrus? I don't want to just rely on this. Does that make sense?"[/color]

	Kosara's approach to the table was taken with open acceptance by Lizbeth, who did her best to move some of the papers and books to better accommodate the Tiefling lady's presence. She also seemed to be taking the situation very well and openly, which likewise gave her some reassurance about her condition. Lizbeth nodded along in agreement with the idea of comparing notes, even if she really didn't have many notes to go on. [color=darkgray]"I don't really know anything yet. I mean, the invisibility thing was on accident. I'm not sure I can... just [i]do it[/i] again on command, or anything."[/color] But another question was brought up in the array of new information she was receiving, to her understanding. [color=darkgray]"Mademoiselle Kosara, I don't think i get something. I know that you and Mademoiselle Belmont get your magic differently than, well, than I do, but what is a Cantrip, and is it different from a Spell?"[/color] 

	To Daxos, there wasn't much to address. [color=darkgray]"If she doesn't already know that you are on the Estate, I will try to arrange a meeting. Thank you for helping Master Urmdrus. He does so much for us here."[/color]