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[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center]

	[color=darkgray][i]"Oh, but are you sure?"[/i][/color] inquired Tarace, a hint of pleading in his voice.

	[color=darkgray][b]"Yes, I am dead certain,"[/b][/color] replied Barbal, angrily applying jam to toast with the back of a spoon. [color=darkgray][b]"They knew we were going to be here, and they're still doing, er, whatever it is they're about down there. Loudly, I might add."[/b][/color] His face took on a smug air as he motioned to the basket full of goodies, [color=darkgray][b]"Ungrateful, I say. Especially after we prepared those Ankheg sausages all nice - and with that herb blend you know I like, too."[/b][/color]

	Tarace didn't look like he fully believed Barbal's explanation of the probable events downstairs. In fact, he looked concerned, casting a glance in the direction of the open cellar door behind the bar. Then he noticed something quite appealing upon the polished wood of said bar. [color=darkgray][i]"Well, look at that, Barbal, dear: A cask of fine brandy!"[/i][/color] He motioned to the tapped barrel upon the bar that Victoria and Kathryn had been sipping from, since the Hidden Distillery incident. [color=darkgray][i]"I'll tell you what: How about we relax and have a dram of this ...the branding says this is Rose River, and from a [i]long[/i] time ago... yes, let us have a dram for our trouble, nice and slow. If they're not back up here for your lovely tea spread by then, I'll go down and see what all the fuss is. Deal?"[/i][/color]

	Barbal was willing to listen to the possibility of skimming a bit of alcohol, fine alcohol, for his efforts, especially if it was set out for service like that. [color=darkgray][b]"Hmm."[/b][/color] He considered for a half second. Almost. [color=darkgray][b]"Deal."[/b][/color]
[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center]

	Too fast. Too impossibly fast, the creature of bone and horror uncoiled and sped in an indirect path, winding about the stunned or otherwise occupied group of bipeds in the room with it. It shot off like an thing possessed, winding to the right of the glowing circle upon the ground, and crossing back in front of it, skirting past Morty and shooting past Lizbeth, thought its empty sockets seemed to give the girl fleeting notice as it passed by. The creature was moving out of the door, and into the cellar proper. From there, it was a scant handful of meters before it got up to the taproom, and to the guests therein. 

	Lizbeth was locked in a primal terror that she had not known in her lifetime. She had no idea why the others were standing there blankly - most of the others, anyway (even Morty, which was surprising) - but this meant next to triviality when the human-skulled snake sped right up to her, with the briefest of pauses. She could have sworn it was smiling at her. [i]Smiling[/i], as impossible as that might have been without skin to demonstrate any sort of derision, but the impression flashed into her psyche. The fear was interrupted for a fragment of a second, replaced in that startlingly temporary instant with embarrassment and outrage, tears immediately finding purchase on the girl's face even after the terror flashed back into dominance. Lizbeth was so unbelievably scared, but the curved chopping blade she had acquired from her grandfather's study found its way into her hand as something opened inside of her core. 

	She reacted with instinct. Anger, shame, fear, and a dose of something growing within her mixed with Kathryn's weapon and footwork drills. A tearful scream erupted from Lizbeth, now quite by herself in a crowded room, as her foreign blade lashed out at the creature when it passed by her. Swirling, thunderous energy passed from the sword as it struck the mobile collection of horror-bones, passing it along where it struck. The damage from the sword itself was textbook, so far as these things go, but after the creature traveled a few feet, the energy from the strike reasserted itself with a contained thunderclap, shaking its snake-like body into the nearby door frame and breaking small pieces of bone away. Lizbeth looked just as surprised as anyone, then [i]immediately[/i] scrambled to the other side of Morty. 

	The creature gave the briefest of pauses, whether to right itself or express its own disbelief, and continued on a path that would eventually take it upstairs. 

[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center]

	Back up above, there was another series of knocks from the front door. Heavy, solid thunks of a rough fist against solid wood. Not that anyone could hear it downstairs with all the commotion (that nobody invited the Mosswaters to - [i]rudely[/i]), but someone up top might have. It looked like there might be quite the get-together assembling in the Coach House's Taproom for Tea. 

	It would be a shame if anything happened to spoil it. 


	[@Arty Fox], Baronfjord's time to shine.

[center][h2][color=gold][i]Round Three[/i][/color][/h2][/center]