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	[u]Weather[/u]: The weather outside is brisk and windy, with gusts carrying the essence of the season across white, icy drifts and lows. It's noticeably better than it was early this morning, but it's still uncomfortable. The weather has ticked up juuuust a bit; enough for icicles to start drip, drip, dripping slowly but steadily and the snow cover to begin to recede. The ground is still covered, but the topmost layers have lost their fluffy luster and the stuff upon moderately trod areas has been packed into heavy translucence, potentially threatening to become slush if the temperature keeps trending upward. But this only applies to those of you who are on the outside, which none of our stalwart adventurers are at present. 

   	[u]Time[/u]: Afternoon. One might say early afternoon, though this progresses slowly along the great wheel of cosmology. 

	[u]Ambience[/u]: The intervening moments have done little to nothing to change the nature of the cellar and secret room. The cellar remains the very example of cool to cold stability for the purposes of storage. It does so very well, and the place is well stocked.  

	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. The other two cells contain simple straw bedding that looks like it has seen better days.     
  
[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center] 
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	The Secret Study, such as it was, remained virtually untouched by those assembled, one may only assume the burst of wild magic being the culprit. Yet somehow, the cursory glances remaining to those who may search yield nothing beyond the realm of the obvious. The drama of the moment seemed to have left the immediate area and traveled back into the main room of the Coach House, which makes sense because the highest levels of drama seem to follow the young Lizbeth L'Rose like they're fast friends. 

	Speaking of the Heiress in green armor, she had shed her paler, colder exterior in favor of flush cheeks and features which spoke of warm vitality. Whether this was an option or a thing forced upon her by circumstance was potentially up for debate, but she looked every bit like a living, breathing girl. She had composed herself well enough almost the very moment that the baritone narrator stopped trying to spill her every thought and action out for the world to observe. The return of color to Lizbeth's face brought with it the look of apparent embarrassment, which was extraordinarily short in nature as she was given calm, physical reassurance by her Knightly mentor. 

	Unfortunately, this merely served to act as catalyst for the unresolved consequences of the wild magic upon Kathryn. A surge of energy rushed from the tall and imposing Knight and into the form of the sometimes-deadish Lizbeth. She was able to recognize that something was happening, and even braced against it, but was unable to stave off the effects by the slimmest of margins. [color=darkgray]"What happened?"[/color] she breathed, still feeling the crackling of magic over her like tiny, eldritch ants. [color=darkgray]"What did this do?"[/color] Lizbeth was aware that Kathryn was rushing headlong into checking up on her, but waved it off. [color=darkgray]"Whatever it is, it's on me now, but, but... I don't feel any different. I don't think anything happened. Do I look different?"[/color] The young apprentice looked equal parts relieved and nervous. 

	Victoria's return helped with the "relieved" portion of her psyche, as she was, to Lizbeth's estimation at least, the closest person to an authority on magic, curses, and the like, even if her last estimation of anything arcane blew up in their faces. Almost literally, at that. But she wasn't going to wait around for the Bard's advice to take time and collect herself. No, she gave a rather obstinate [color=darkgray]"I'm fine. Really,"[/color] and scrubbed away what remained of tears with the heels of her hands. She fell in step behind Morty, going back down those stairs. If this whole ordeal was like the last one, as she heard from the Adventurers, then the danger had passed with the one jolt of energy and all should be okay. That made sense, right? Of course it did! 

	And if she was being honest with herself and anyone around her, Lizbeth had just burst into tears when the first negative things happened to her while she was hanging out with actual adventuring professionals this day. It was embarrassing, almost completely so. She was going back down. Besides, her grandfather supposedly left her with stuff down there, and she was going to see it firsthand. Whatever else it was, this was literally her birthright.