YArpg- "I want your caravan."
From Create Your Own Story
"I want your caravan," you say bluntly.
The archer looks hesitantly at the others. "...Fair enough," he finally agrees.
The bandits unload their equipment and gold, of which there is plenty. You're sure they'll have no trouble purchasing another caravan.
"We shall be on our way, then." You bid them farewell and they watch your caravan disappear around the bend.
Time to finish your journey.
---
It's afternoon by the time you see the gateway to the city. A few-metre-long sign arches over the thick iron gates. It reads "FELLFEAT" - ah, so that's what it was called again. The entrance attempts to look presentable, with climbing roses weaving around the arch, but the flowers are dying and the metal is rusted. You only come here on occasion, but you think that it pretty much sums up Fellfeat.
Two guards stand on either side of the gates in dark blue uniform. One appears to be sleep-standing. The other, apparently quite absent-minded, grunts a greeting in your direction and pulls the gates open. It is quite fortunate that your naked slave is concealed within the caravan. Your horses pull you through the entrance.
The buildings of Fallfeat were once grand and imposing, but they have not aged gracefully. The brick walls are dirty and some of the smaller houses are falling apart. There's even a three-storey building where the top floor is mostly rubble.
Nobody will live near the walls if they don't have to, so these outer areas are sparsely populated. Still, those that are on the street look upon your caravan with a mixture of respect and envy. Such an expensive luxury is a distinct sign of wealth and nobility. You're somewhat weary of the onlookers.
Fortunately, the Dwarf's Beard is nearby. You quickly reach the externally featureless inn and step inside, having left your caravan in a parking area around the back.
The lighting here is low. As it's still daytime, the bar is nowhere near its peak, but there are a few customers, all of which being just as shady as you. Two men sit around a table playing cards. Their clothing is so concealing that you can't even determine their race. A halfling cleans a blood-stained knife. There's even an orc in the corner with her own sex slave, just like you.
The bartender is a wiry, creepy half-elf named Tern. You've met once. You approach the bar, getting his attention. If he's in any way put off by Cyesh, he doesn't show it.
"How can I be of your assistance?" he says in an uninviting tone.
Do you say:
