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Sarah Smee was having a bad day.
She'd managed to arrive late to what was only her third shift at the notorious Second Wind Inn on Pioneers Way, earning her an unwelcome glare from Jack and Otto. Lileal had given her an understanding nod, but no doubt she'd be complaining to the cook about it later.
She struggled through the day, catering to the travelers, farmers, mercenaries, soldiers and adventurers that passed through the place. At around 6pm she'd lost count of the number of times she'd had her behind grabbed or pinched, but it had to be treble figures by now.
Late in the evening she listened to a bardic troupe as they played for a disinterested audience, to the tune of Hares on the Mountain she absentmindedly stroked her belly as she thought of her own lover and their joint concern at the lateness of her period this month.
It was some time after dark that Jack asked her to collect the plates and glasses from outside the Inn, Otto would watch over her to ensure that no one, customer or vampire, would interfere with her.
The night was crisp but clear as Sarah stood staring, not at the smoldering firepit or the debris left by the inns patrons was piled around the benches, not even the rats and other creatures that picked at the days left overs bothered her.
Sarah stared agog at the lying broken across the statue, a man, she guessed. One of this knees was clearly bending the wrong way, his clothes tattered and torn, his face barely recognizable beneath the purple-black welts and swellings that distorted the mans features, and the curling ornate symbol hacked into his flesh.
She'd managed to arrive late to what was only her third shift at the notorious Second Wind Inn on Pioneers Way, earning her an unwelcome glare from Jack and Otto. Lileal had given her an understanding nod, but no doubt she'd be complaining to the cook about it later.
She struggled through the day, catering to the travelers, farmers, mercenaries, soldiers and adventurers that passed through the place. At around 6pm she'd lost count of the number of times she'd had her behind grabbed or pinched, but it had to be treble figures by now.
Late in the evening she listened to a bardic troupe as they played for a disinterested audience, to the tune of Hares on the Mountain she absentmindedly stroked her belly as she thought of her own lover and their joint concern at the lateness of her period this month.
It was some time after dark that Jack asked her to collect the plates and glasses from outside the Inn, Otto would watch over her to ensure that no one, customer or vampire, would interfere with her.
The night was crisp but clear as Sarah stood staring, not at the smoldering firepit or the debris left by the inns patrons was piled around the benches, not even the rats and other creatures that picked at the days left overs bothered her.
Sarah stared agog at the lying broken across the statue, a man, she guessed. One of this knees was clearly bending the wrong way, his clothes tattered and torn, his face barely recognizable beneath the purple-black welts and swellings that distorted the mans features, and the curling ornate symbol hacked into his flesh.
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