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*Cracked window panes bore the full onslaught of tonight's rain. Drops the size of hailstones pounded against the glass, and the occasional rumbles of thunder would overwhelm all other sounds in the tavern. One couldn't see a wagon's length beyond the windows.**Water drips from your boots as you sit at the tavern's bar, with a measly amount of ale remaining in your mug. It's quiet in here, rather quiet, and justifiably so. It's the type of storm that keeps everybody huddled in their homes, praying that the downpour doesn't penetrate through the roofs over their heads. You're far from home in these parts, though, and the only solace that you have is the ale in your stomach and the warmth of the fireplace near.**The old building's front door would swing open, slamming loud against the wall outside. You initially believe it to be the wind at fault, but within seconds, a tall, armoured outline steps in through the doorway. Your eyes befall this figure the moment they enter the firelight, and they widen upon realising this person - this woman isn't wearing nearly as much as you'd originally presumed. Though she was equipped with pauldrons, legplates, and gauntlets, almost all of her torso was left exposed. A mere bikini covered her nipples and vaginal folds, and the outlines of both were easily discernable through the wet fabric.**Streams of rainwater course down the worgen's pelt and trickles onto the floorboards as she makes for the bar. She pulls out the stool beside you, and quickly seats her soppy rump upon the wooden surface. Elbows plant themselves on the bartop, before she demands the attention of the inkeep.*
"Gemme a mead, mate, with's much froth as you can muster."
*The scantily clad stranger is the only other patron at the bar, and she chose to sit beside you—though she has yet to impart any attention in your direction, even as she sips on her drink. While you steal occasional glances of her promiscuous presence, your focus mainly falls upon your near-empty mug of ale, unsure of what to do next.*
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