[center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center][center][img]https://i.ibb.co/mVDvG7tn/Coach-House-Cellar-Secret.jpg[/img][/center] [center][img]https://i.ibb.co/vXD6Q0t/Update-Text.png[/img][/center][center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center] [center][hider=Coach House][img]https://i.ibb.co/BVvx6LH2/Coach-House.jpg[/img][/hider][/center] [center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center] [u]Weather[/u]: The warmest portion of the day is upon you all, which might mean something if the sun wasn't playing hide-and-seek behind clouds in the middle of winter. The only good that comes of this is that the pathways through the Vineyard are a touch more passable. Balancing this, the icicles are sorely tempted to detach and plummet, making certain places a touch more hazardous. The snow is receding, but only slightly. From the feel of the wind and the clouds resummoning their energy in the distance, snow might make a proud comeback in a handful of hours. [u]Time[/u]: Late afternoon. Far past time for luncheon, and onward to a ripping, cordial Teatime. [u]Ambience[/u]: The cellar remains as it is, which frankly is the point to a cellar. Decent amounts of foodstuffs and household essentials are held here, all in proper order and in places as safe for the items as one can make them, circumstances being what they are. Of course, the disarticulated bones of a giant snake monster has a way of drawing the eye past preserved fruits and cheeses; likewise the bundles of stacked firewood and crates of non-perishables just don't quite pack the same oomph of interest when horrors lay at one's feet. So take the cellar for what it is, and try to cast off that which it is not. The secret door remains open, its prybar key still attached to the puzzle box. Beyond, the door to the hidden study remains off of its frame, deliberately so. The door upstairs to the Taproom is wide open and sounds of company are coming from beyond. The study likewise remains as it is, interestingly decorated as some sort of arcane torture chamber (at first glance) with splashes of business to be had dotting throughout. With more people leaving the room, and with the light they brought with them, the place darkens considerably. Eventually the only light in the room is the dim, red, constant presence of the magical design upon the floor. Three dead things are down here now, that and the spilled blood of companions. [center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center] [center][img][/img][/center] The door remained closed, despite Tarace's efforts to get at the moveable parts of said to to allow it to function. A bit of a curse for the smaller folk of Avonshire, if one is to be believed. In a any case, the door isn't quite being opened, and a new series of knocks sound from the other side. [color=darkgray][i]"Half a moment!"[/i][/color] came the response from Tarace, looking quite flustered at the nature of the heavy, wooden portal before himself. He glanced around at the others who were entering the room and noted the distinct lack of assistance coming his way, sighed, and stepped away from the door to find a chair or stool to stand upon. Barbal was too busy with his cup of brandy to notice immediately. he swirled it about in his cup, even going so far as to gently warm it over a candle for a moment before catching its scent, grunting approvingly, and taking a shallow, exploratory sip. His face showed a considerable amount of satisfaction as that tiny sip turned onto something more solid. [color=darkgray][b]"Oh, that's nice,"[/b][/color] he murmured. [color=darkgray][b]"Might just skip the tea..."[/b][/color] His utter obliviousness to Tarace's endeavors was almost impressive. Victoria was the first to emerge but not the first to engage them in conversation. That honor went to Lizbeth. Casual pleasantries were exchanged on behalf of neighbors and hosts, but Barbal couldn't help feeling a little weirded out by Morty's emergence. The animated bodyguard wasn't quite the gruff Halfling's cup of tea, but as he was sipping brandy anyway, Barbal figured he'd let that slide. [color=darkgray][b]"Yeah. Them're canapes. Important Half-Elf stuff to do, you can't join us for a proper tea? Hmm?"[/b][/color] Then he noticed odds and ends assembled at the table to the side by Lizbeth and Victoria. Curiosity piqued, he snorted, made up a small plate of choice items from their teatime spread, and clapped it unceremoniously onto a blank spot on Victoria's table. [color=darkgray][b]"You let me know what you figure out, huh? Least you can do."[/b][/color] Curiosity overrode his odd sense of propriety in that moment. [color=darkgray][b]"Couple of canapes on there."[/b][/color] The spread for Teatime hadn't changed in the meantime; bread and jam, tiny pickle sandwiches, chopped fish canapes, spiced cookies, seed cakes, and cold roast chicken confit were in appropriate amounts for the occasion, as well as a small assortment of boxes containing teas which might fit with the overall event. Notably, water was not quite boiling yet, or even acquired for that matter. The guests were hoping that hosts might fill that role, as suited their roles hosting. Luckily, there seemed to be some more interaction with Kathryn and Kosara, just entering the room from below. Barbal gave an almost dismissive wave at the assorted goodies for Tea and otherwise waved off the apologies for being late. [color=darkgray][b]"Made other plans, did you? And after last night, too. Might tell a fella next time. Come on, though. Tea needs water. Figured you'd have some going for when we showed up, but here we are. Anyway, Mr. Tarace worked really hard on those fish canapes, and..."[/b][/color] His attention finally went to his partner, who had dragged a chair over to the front door. Propping himself up in the wooden sitting device, the gentler Halfling finally managed to get the latch freed of its precarious and annoying position, and the door swung open just enough to tap the chair which Tarace had been using. The figure of a rather cold, if a bit wiry Dwarf stepped in, gray of skin and dressed in unimaginative but highly functional utility wear. He had a sack slung across his back which he held with numbing fingers, bulging with whatever he brought with him. Tools, some functional for close self defense, found themselves about his many pockets and tool loops, including a rather imposing looking hammer that might have been at home in a much larger forge. While he was not amazingly reactive from an emotional standpoint, it could be clearly seen that he was happy to be inside at that moment. [color=darkgray][b]"Cold. Need warming,"[/b][/color] he spoke in inexpert Common. A call from Lizbeth broke the seriousness of the moment. [color=darkgray]"Master Urmdrus!"[/color] she shouted, genuinely happy to see the older Dwarf. Lucky for them, the Mosswaters brought extra.