The rain splashes against my cloak and the mud kicks up around my boots as I trudge toward the tavern door. Finally, a place to lay down my sword, to rest my head, a place where I can feel the weariness and wariness of the long journey drain from my very bones.

With a tired grunt, I haul the door open, feeling the chafe of chainmail against my shoulders once again. Inside, at least, it's warm, clattering with the sound of mismatched plates and mugs and the laughter from a dozen fellow travelers. Gold-bearded dwarves from the Southern Mountains carouse cheerfully in the center, mugs splashing with mead, and flittering faeries dart about the rafters, their wings blurred from entire thimblefulls of hard liquor. And, of course, the stony face of the proprietor looms over all, his troll features quite literally carved in stone.

"Hey, Lothor," I grin up at him, sliding onto the well-worn stool by the bar as a rumbling mumble answers me. "How's Kevin? How're the kids?"

Mummmmmmble.

"Great," I beam tiredly, gesturing toward the casks in the back. "Mind if I have some of that halfling brandy?"

Lothor turns to find a mug, and I let my gaze fall on the-

"FUCKING HELLS!"

I jump, bolting out of my chair, one hand on my sword. There stands an elf-girl, face not a hand's span from mine, when I turn, hands up, blushing, her ears wiggling in an air of positively ghoulish delight.

"Oh, no!" she wails theatrically, one ice-blue eye flicking to the crowded tavern. "A human traveler, here to ply an innocent maid of the elder races with mead and carry her off for ravaging upstairs!"

What.

Shaking my head, I back away, but every step from her is matched by an eager advance. "I-"

"You probably," she shudders with unwholesome relish, "want to tear these silks of irreparable delicacy from my innocent form, lust-choked eyes raking the lithe suppleness of my untouched body."

You're six hundred years old; ain't no way you're 'untou-'

"Gods of the forest!"

Her squeal would give the dockside whores a run for their coppers.

"You," she breathes, and a delicate elven hand reaches under my swordbelt to give the fork of my trousers a firm squeeze. "Probably just want to slide this thick, juicy log of virile, human-"

I dart back. "Uh-"

"-cock," she breathes undeterred, "right between my innocent lips. Both sets, and then take me in that most ancient and unwholesome way, straight up the unspoiled, silky channel of the Southern Path, just rutting with me, until-

Finally, I stop her, one hand firmly depositing hers back by her side and the other on the hilt of my sword.

"I," I announce, with as much dignity as I can muster, "am here for a nice, quiet night, so I can be a nice, quiet knight."

The elven maiden's eyes brim with tears, her palms clapped to her cheeks, a look of anguished virtue and scandalized offense positively radiating from her every orifice.

The effect, sadly, is broken when she leans in with a wink, but the spell her words cast on me blooms to life in an instant.

"I'll pay you."

Kinks: Bum stuff, innocent elven lasses who're different in private. Flirty banter, saucy wenches with a sentence, and hookers with a heart of gold, knight-type. That cute halfling lass over by the window.

Limits: Non-con, cheating, kids (she really is six hundred years old this time), stuff that belongs in the chamber pot.

^{The Dutch}

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