The Last Wish tavern was a squat and dingy building set in the fork of the two roads. With the main road full of merchants and travellers bustling around on their various journeys winding to the left and a small shaded path leading into the woods to the right.
Elara recalled what she knew about Murkwoods and The Last Wish. Along with monster ranging from level 5 to 30 the outskirts of Murkwoods are also suppose to be common places for bandits to hide out I'm pretty sure. She had never actually visited before but recalled that soldiers in training were often sent out here. I imagine thats to try and prevent all the bandits robbing travellers. It would be easy for bandits to hide in the outskirts of the Murkwoods and ambush travellers on the main road around the outside. She mused.
As she approached the tavern Elara spotted that many well dressed travellers were steering well clear. Even though it was late in the day, and if they didn't stay here a traveller may have to risk riding the outskirts of Murkwoods at night, many travellers still avoided it.
I see how it is then Grinned Elara. She stabled her little pony before entering the main tavern, it stunk of piss, sweat, ale and something coppery perhaps dried blood on the floorboards. As Elara pushed through the warped door heads turned to look at her. A dozen men and what may have been a half breed of an orc and man(Elara honestly couldn't tell, he was just that ugly) were hunched over tables drinking and playing cards. Most of them looked like mercenaries probably a few different bands, as they all surveyed her before turning back to their drinks and/or games she surveyed them back. Using her perception she skill checked everyone in the room. The four scarred men huddled around a table in the corner, all still carrying longswords strapped to their backs were first. She counted two level 20's a level 24 and lastly a level 32(Their boss she assumed). Across from them playing cards was a larger gang, although from a glance she could tell this lot were much weaker. All sub 20. The third Mercenary group that caught her attention was comprised of 3 members. A man with a crossbow sitting on the table next to his beer - he was level 22. A heavy set and bat faced woman with two hatchets on her belt - she was only level 14 however the hatchets appeared to be enchanted albeit not very well. The final member was the half orc looking guy - he was burly and probably strong, level 35.
Most of them returned to their activities although a few eyes wandered with her as she booked a room at the bar. The bar keep was a fat old man with a kindly face, when she paid he slapped an iron key onto the counter. "Top of the stairs, last door." He looked at her again and sighed "The bolt sticks a bit, so I'd make sure you jam it shut pretty hard."
Elara smiled gratefully and tucked the key into the little pocket sewn inside her sleeve. "Something hot to eat as well, please."
She sat down at a small unoccupied table at the side of the room. A few minutes later a serving girl appeared she was freckled, maybe seventeen, and wore an apron tied so tight it looked painful.
As she threaded her way through the tables a hand reached out and pinched her ass making her blush bright red. Snickers sounded from that table.
She carried a wooden bowl of stew thick enough to stand a spoon in and half a loaf of dark bread over to Elara.
As she leaned in to place the meal, the girl's voice dropped to a whisper that barely stirred the air between them.
"You must be new around here," she murmured, eyes flicking toward the other patrons and then away. "This place… it's frequented by, uh… rougher types. I'm sure you can tell but just be careful if your staying hear alone".
Elara nodded like a concerned young maiden and pressed an extra copper into the girls hand.
"Thanks for the warning I'll be careful...and also can I get a tankard of the strongest ale you have...or maybe two."
The girl's mouth opened, closed, opened again. "T-two tankards of the black stuff?" she squeaked. "That'll knock a horse flat, miss."
Elara let her lashes flutter, the picture of innocent recklessness. "I've had a very long day," she said softly, "and I don't want to feel it anymore."
A low chuckle rolled across the room. Someone muttered, "She won't be feeling much after one, let alone two."
The serving girl glanced nervously toward the bar, then scurried off. Thirty seconds later she returned with two pewter tankards so big she had to carry one in each hand, arms trembling. The ale inside was pitch black and smelled like burnt molasses laced with paint thinner. A greasy foam clung to the rim.
Elara raised one to her lips and took a gulp, the liquor burned as it hit her throat and she swallowed it down. So it doesn't just look like tar, it has the taste to match She thought. Elara savoured the burning disgusting flavour as she did her best to choke down the two tankards as fast as possible. This should be enough to get me at leasts slightly drunk She figured, her healing skill was already counteracting the affects of the liquor and she tried wanted to outpace it before it completely neutralised the affects of the alcohol.
Sure enough as she lowered the second tankard she felt the burning alcohol induced flush on her cheeks and heat filled her body. Ahh that's nice She wasn't allowed to drink on the job back in the citadel so always liked to enjoy it when she could.
Elara let out a little burb and than slumped onto the table, eyelashes fluttering and body unmoving. It didn't take long for someone to approach, the half Orc guy - She had overheard someone call him Eric. He stood towering over her petite slumped form and loudly grunted "Girls out cold, I should take her up to her room".
Mercenaries around the room rolled their eyes and the serving girl stared in horror as Elara was lifted up onto Erics big shoulder and carried like a sack of potato's. Eric wasted no time in taking her upstairs, and unsurprisingly headed not for her room but for his.
They were barely in the door when he slammed it and then subsequently slammed her against the wall hard enough that the breath whooshed out of her lungs. One thick forearm pinned her throat; the other wasted no time in tearing her dress to pieces. Calloused fingers shoved between her thighs without ceremony, finding her already slick. He barked a rough laugh.
"Fuckin' soaked. Knew it."