The dusty Tavern

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Around tiny wooden tables, in the shade of a big, overhanging awning, there's a number of different people gathered. Desert nomads in ghutras, mercenaries in scalemail and women in their underwear. A fat, mostachioed old man walks around with a tray of drinks, and one can only assume he's the bartender.

On a hot day like this, it seems like all the tables are taken. You are, however, able to spot a few empty seats here and there.

Where do you sit?

  • Next to the curvy woman with incredibly dark skin, sitting closest to the sun. Judging by the number of empty cups and difficulty sitting upright; it appears she's just drunk enough to make a move on.
  • Next to the six orcs over by the table next to you, with the scars and weapons of proud warriors. They seem to be having a blast, armwrestling and laughing at crude jokes.
  • Next to the mysterious stranger in a dark tagelmust closest to the wall. Something seems a bit odd about him though. He's neither drinking or sitting with someone, but instead just looking around with a shady glare.


Status
Health Dangerously Horny, mated to Bethilda Equipment:

Pants

Experience Virgin
HP 100
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