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	[u]Weather[/u]: Only one person is out-of-doors right now, and the immediate weather isn't her biggest concern right now. But consistency manages expectations, so here we go. The temperature continues to hover right at or below freezing, but the sky is slowly clearing to a picturesque blue, more or less equally sharing space with clear, upper atmospheric white. Said whiteness almost perfectly echos that which is on the ground, even if the snow is beginning to recede somewhat and get crunchy in others. The wind is still annoyingly chilling to those still out in it.   

   	[u]Time[/u]: Still early afternoon; it's only been a few minutes since the last update. Teatime is still a ways off, but lunchtime has passed. 

	[u]Ambience[/u]: The cellar maintains its continuing, near unchanging nature inside. The temperature is stable and cool, which has not altered since the opening of the secret door. Much in the way of household goods are stored here, as well as tools, barrels, crates, etc., but the attraction of substance, so to speak, is what may or may not lie beyond the now open section of wall behind the shelving. 

	The newly revealed "study" maintained what might be described as a magic circle, shedding a dim, localized glow upon the immediate area. It was festooned with runes of uncertain meaning about its circumference and formed a shape, also of uncertain meaning, also shedding a dim glow. The only entrance or exit from the room is the now empty doorframe, the door from which was just cracked open and set to the side. Beyond the now gaping opening, visible in the dim light, were the same stone walls that lined the cellar, a smallish rack of shelves upon the far wall which contained sundries and a few books, and one might even detect an irregular stack of crates next to the door as one went in. More ominously, a large table with metal and leather restraints dominated one side of the room. 

	Entering the room revealed three holding cells, the nearest one being occupied by a husk of a human-sized creature, sitting in a perfectly still fetal position. The other side of the room bore something more akin to a work desk, replete with all of the things one might see on the deck of a dedicated clerk or administrator of come kind. One may assume that the subject matter was more scandalous than wine sale projections or labor standards.     
  
[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center] 
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	[i]THE UNCERTAIN AND SWIFTLY MADDENING LIZBETH STEPPED NERVOUSLY FROM ONE FOOT TO THE OTHER AS SHE MAINTAINED THE SILLY CHILDHOOD SONG IN THE FORE OF HER THOUGHTS IN RABID REPETITION. COMPETING THOUGHTS WARRED AGAINST THE CONTINUITY OF THE SONG AS A WHOLE; THOUGHTS WHICH INVOLVED DESPERATE LONGINGS FOR THE OPEN, LOUD NARRATION TO CEASE.[/i] [color=darkgray]"Make it stop, make it stop, please make it stop,"[/color] [i]ECHOED WITHIN THE DARK, PRIVATE PORTIONS OF HER PSYCHE, BEGINNING TO OVERPOWER THE GUMMY BEAR SONG AS THE DOMINANT INTERNAL VOICE. SHE TOOK TO THE KNOWLEDGE NOW BEING SPILLED TO EVERYONE AROUND HER WITH EMBARRASSMENT AS SHE BEGAN TO RUN AWAY FROM HER NEW, MORE EXPERIENCED FRIENDS BEFORE SHE BEGAN TO OPENLY CRY. [/i]

	[i]ALAS, SHE WAS TOO LATE.[/i]

	[i]TEARS BEGAN TO SPILL FROM HALF-DEAD EYES AS LIZBETH COVERED HER EARS AGAINST THE RELENTLESS VOICE.[/i] [color=darkgray]"Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!"[/color] [i]SHE SCREAMED, HEADING FOR THE STAIRS. LIZBETH WORRIED THAT THIS DISPLAY OF EMOTION AND PANIC WOULD MAKE HER LOOK UNFIT TO ASSOCIATE WITH REAL, LIVE ADVENTURERS, LIKE SHE WAS JUST SOME KID PLAYING PRETEND.[/i]

	Outside, a war raged on between gravity, the strength of a Half-Elf not known for her raw physical prowess, and the uncertain proclivities of Wild Magic. A black bird commonly associated with carrying away the souls of the departed flew in broad circles, giving its signature croaks and caws, though the intent of any message it may have been willing to pass along was hard to ascertain by the masses. 

	[i]LIZBETH REACHED THE TOP OF THE STAIRS, NEARLY IN A STATE OF HYSTERIA, THE START OF A SNOT BUBBLE IN ITS INFANCY THREATENING TO MANIFEST. SHE HARDENED HER EMOTIONS AS BEST SHE MIGHT BEFORE RUNNING OUT AND AWAY FROM EVERYONE INTO WHAT SHE THOUGHT MIGHT BE THE SAFETY OF THE TAPROOM. IT WAS AN UTTERLY MOOT POINT, FOR WHILE THE SITUATION WAS STILL COMPLETELY OUT OF HER CONTROL, JUST AS SUDDENLY AS THE OVERLY LOUD NARRATION HAD BEGAN...[/i]

	...it stopped. Quiet returned to the cellar of the Coach House, much to Lizbeth's profound relief. Not everything was over, however, as Morty's eyes, such as he had eyes, kept venting bright, scintillating, multicolored lamplight.