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	[u]Weather[/u]: Partly cloudy, highs right around freezing and lows ... well, they're pretty low. But that's a problem for later on in the day! The sun makes itself known regularly, playing a celestial game of Hide & Seek behind the clouds every now and again, retreating when it feels like it but maintaining an otherwise bright day. No snow is falling, but the presence of yesterday's heavy fall remains with slick areas of partial but only slight melt. It is cold, and the gusting wind reminds anyone who spends any time outside. 

   	[u]Time[/u]: Early afternoon. Naught but a handful of minutes have passed, though thorough searches or serious investigations will dilate or otherwise alter the flow of time from a narrative aspect.      

	[u]Ambience[/u]: The taproom remains a lovely example of rural comfort and resources. It is warm and comfortably lit, a vision of well constructed wooden furniture and fixtures with solid, insulated stone walls. Per usual, the food and fuel stores are nice and full, as is the copious amount of wine behind the bar. Speaking of the bar, two casks remain here, a much older one almost full of brandy, and a new one somewhat less full of ale. 
    
	The cellar seems to be the location of interest, ironically the one room that has changed the least in the last few minutes - with the exception of the tool shelf that suddenly turned into a swing-out portal and opened into a dark non-space terminating with a spooky door. This detail is worth note. In any case, the atmosphere present in the cellar remains the same. It is chilly down here, it is dark, and the only light available it whatever one brings with them. Every breath one exhales becomes visible in the gloom. 

	To detail the door in the back of the extraordinarily short hall once more - It fits fully within the confines of its frame, not even letting even the smallest shaft of light through, if any light is to be had. The door is made of unyielding, polished wood, with a dulled brass handle. There rests a covered keyhole beneath the handle, presently impossible to get the barest glimpse through to the area beyond. There is no source of light within this area; in fact, thanks to the indirect lines of sight into this place, even the light which filters into the cellar from above is absent. A general sense of foreboding seems to emanate from whatever lies behind this door. Answers, more questions, and findings previously untold.  
  
[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center] 
[img][/img]	
[center][img]https://i.ibb.co/mVDvG7tn/Coach-House-Cellar-Secret.jpg[/img][/center] 

	There was a moment of pause in Lizbeth's heart, or there might have been if it were actually beating at the time, as she briefly considered the new pot of tea being prepared upstairs by Baronfjord. She had barely touched the tea prepared by Victoria, and now that her new Dragonborn friend had gotten his own together, she had skipped out on that, as well. While not one who might describe themselves as a marked lover of tea, she liked it just fine and it could be construed that she was, in fact, being rude. Hopefully, this was overshadowed by the sudden urgency of the moment. 

	Once in the cellar, Lizbeth did her best to step out of the way of those who were already down there, keeping back as best she might as to keep herself out of harm's way while still keeping a determined eye on what was to follow. She noted the commanding yet quiet entrance of Victoria, followed closely by Morty. It was a little comforting having someone she might speak with about Necromancy, or at least one who wasn't hostile. And whose fantastic selection of foreign clothing she might attempt to borrow. Or at least try on. 

	This was in vast opposition to Kosara's entrance to the cellar, which wasn't graceful nor quiet, but was at least fun. Were circumstances different, she might have given a wide smile and soft giggle. But this was not a good time for frivolity. At least for her; Lizbeth thought that maybe this was how real Adventurers blew off steam or prepared for something serious. She wasn't one of those. 

	[color=darkgray][i]"Yet."[/i][/color]

	It was a passing thought, but maybe this experience was what made her like them. Whatever horror or tragedy was in the offing, it might have the silver lining of putting her in line with whatever separated people like her from people like them. That thought was frightening. Quite enough to pass through her present state of suspended unlife. Perhaps it was her destiny to be a wealthy wine heiress, and that was nothing to laugh at.

	Coming back to the present fully, Lizbeth realized that Kathryn was mentioning herself and her aunt. She began to listen a little more intently, but didn't seem to take any offense as it was mostly accurate to her way of thinking, anyway. So when it came down to Daxos putting his tools to the lock on the door, Lizbeth opened her mouth to raise a concern which was immediately choked back down. She wanted to see what was in that room, too. Her expectations sank with the lack of the door opening, but these adventurng types had other means at their disposal, right? They took down villains - at least one that Lizbeth saw for herself - a door would be child's play, right?

	Perhaps that was why she was a little put off that the Daxos asked her to get permission from Cecily. Maybe it was another reason, but her response was delivered with an even, almost deadpan voice, [color=darkgray]"I'm comfortable here."[/color] Whether or not she saw through any illicit intention was difficult to guess, but Lizbeth had decided to stay exactly where she was, her literal dead stare temporarily fixed on the Dwarf. [color=darkgray]"I'm supposed to be in that room. Grandpa said. I don't need my Aunt's permission. Please get me through that door."[/color]