Along the roads to the great city of Shawl are many small taverns and roadhouses. It is only to be expected. After all, cities draw travelers, travelers need places to stay, and not all of those places can be found within the cities' boundaries.
On one such road sits the Spiny Toad. A quaint, pleasant place with a warm fire and friendly enough people...both the customers as well as the ostler and wenches. Granted, the groom can be a bit surly, but one cannot have everything.
At least, not usually.
There are those with luck or the backing of the gods who seem to have all they want. Others are born into positions of money or power and it would seem they have it all, but appearances are funny things at times. The man who stood before the Toad one evening knows exactly how funny they can be. He is tall...well built...sturdy of frame, yet agile of limb...blessed with a robust constitution. One would think he had been a warrior or fighter of some sort. And, indeed, he toyed with such a life once upon a time in his youth. But it is not what he became in the end.
His appearance belies what he did become. He does not give off the impression of being a mage...an illusionist, in fact. But so he is.
Zalbor Goldweaver has been many sorts of adventurer in his travels. From dungeon crawler to mercenary to freedom fighter...varied have been his boots, the roles he has played. But on the night outside of Shawl, on the road that passes by the Spiny Toad, Zalbor sought only a warm place with good food and freshly poured wine.
His last group of travelling companions had sent him to the Toad. They had nothing but fine words for the people and food of the tiny little tavern. "Be sure and get the pheasant if they have it", he had been told by more than one person.
He walked through the doors of the Spiny Toad and heads turned to regard him. But, he is a stranger...a man never seen before at the Toad...and most turn away again, not thinking any more of him. Others let their eyes move along Zalbor's tall, but lithe form, taking in his arms and the hints of armor beneath his cloak...then moving their attention elsewhere. None recognized the brooch on his cloak as the medallion of a mage guild from the barbarian lands along the caravan routes to the Southwest.
There were few in Shawl that would.
Seeing a freshly wiped table, Zalbor sat down and looked about. He took in the Toad with all his senses, establishing just where had brought himself.
The Spiny Toad seemed to be a busy place, but not overly so. Most of the patrons seem to have come for the pheasant dinner Zalbor's friends told him of, and are eating and chatting among themselves over glasses of a deeply purple wine. Zalbor noted that one of the wenches appears to have less people she's waiting on and he smiled.
"You, miss, do you work here?", the mage asked and the woman gave him a look. Zalbor had seen such looks before, and he let his grin widen as she shook her head and sighed. Turning to square herself to him fully, the waitress cocked her hip, one arm bent, its hand holding a tray full of used glasses.
"Yes, Sir. What d'ye need?", Milyssa says while looking over Zalbor's clean but not very expensive looking clothing and gear. She tries to decide if she is likely to get a big tip and notices him eyeing her up and down...a deep blue-green gaze that catches the gold light of the lanterns and shimmer as it meets her own woodtoned one...flicking back to her cleavage more than once. {Yes} she thinks {a good tip, to be sure.}
"I need many things...but some of that wine for now...what's dinner tonight?", Zalbor replied. He was pretty sure what dinner was, and was looking for a meal of another kind entirely. Milyssa gives a short sigh at the illusionist's repartee, having seen too many of the type before. {But, still, he's not bad lookin'}
"Pheasant. And I'll get you the wine." Moving off, the wench made certain to put a bit more sway to her step. She sauntered away, making sure he got as good a look from behind as he did from the front. Pausing at the bar, Milyssa cuts her eyes over to his table, trying to avoid making it seem as though she was checking him out as well.
Zalbor had his eyes placed firmly upon her, his dark, pentrating stare meeting and holding her gaze, making her feel a bit uneasy. But, Milyssa pulled herself together. {A guest is a guest is a tip is rent and food to live on} she told herself. Taking a deep breath and straightening her posture a bit, smoothing out her dress and apron, Milyssa returned to Zalbor bearing a cup of wine. She placed it carefully before him, bending low and giving him his best look yet at her full breasts as they nestled within her laced blouse.
Zalbor took a deep breath, rubbing the down-like stubble on his chin, and asked,"What's your name? I hate to keep saying you or...wench..." He sipped at the wine and leaned back against the wall behind the table, jutting one leg out and letting Milyssa see his muscled calf and thigh.
She gaped a moment, unsure if the man before her was being brazen or wearing a codpiece. "Milyssa. Most folks just call me whatever comes to mind. Care for some of the pheasant...Sir..." She smiled, deciding she liked what she was seeing, no matter what it turned out to be. Zalbor smiled as well, and set his hand on hers on the table, the better to lean in for another look at the lovely bosom...close and personal.
"No Sir...have earned or been given many things, but no knight am I. I am Zalbor, just Zalbor. Pheasant sounds wonderful...perhaps some breast?" Those eyes shimmered again at her and Milyssa found she could not help but grin and laugh lightly.
"A breast man, hmm? Of course, Zalbor...just Zalbor...", she said as she slipped away for some food, giving him the swaying walk again and partially beginning to turn and watch him as she did before, but stopping herself as she felt his gaze upon her legs and bottom even at this distance. And heard his soft words as if he was right beside her.
"Actually, I prefer rump...not something pheasant's have much of..."
Milyssa acted as if she had not heard, continuing to sway as she walked into the kitchen for Zalbor's meal. "This should get me a BIG tip," she murmured to herself, getting him a larger portion of meat than usual, and from the best part of the current bird. As she left the kitchen, plate in hand...breadboard full of buttered loaf and hunk of cheese across her arm...she saw that Zalbor had relieved himself of his great traveling cloak, all resplendent blue leather and fur of a creature she couldn't begin to guess at, and was leaning his chair to put his back against the wall. The silvery mail he wore caught the tavern's light, both fire and candle, and shone with a warmth that drew Milyssa's eye.
It was rich and well-made, the sort of thing given by demihumans to those they named friends. She thought, at first, the armor was from a dwarven smithy...its quality so clear and obvious...but then she saw it was not the usual sort of chains or links the dwarven warriors and adventurers would come through the Toad in.
It was sinuous. The metalwork being intricately carved scales set just so...lined up to fit together like...Milyssa swallowed a sudden mouthful of nervous saliva as she realized exactly what the pieces of Zalbor's armor was sculpted to look like.
Hundreds of male and female...parts...linked together in the way men and women have been linking themselves since Time began.
Zalbor regarded Milyssa with a look af amusement, knowing exactly what she was reacting to and deciding to see if she will react to other enticements. Pushing backwards a slight bit, Zalbor set top of the chair's back against the wall while he shifted in his seat. He stretched out to let the fabric of his breeches tighten, showing the wellshaped legs of one who does much walking and riding...and another wellshaped something hidden at the place where his thighs met, barely covered by his tunic and surcoat.
Milyssa put both plate and breadboard down upon the table. Her eyes grew wide at the sight Zalbor had displayed before her, and seemed distracted from her serving tasks for a moment. Quietly, she stepped back saying,"Here, sir...", Zalbor's refusal of title forgotten for now. She sighed and a slight shake of her head caught the illusionist's gaze.
He responded by catching a soft hold on Milyssa's skirts and pulling her lightly in to him. She stood beside his chair, one of his hands resting in the small of her back...just at the top of her bottom's curve...fingers idly caressing a cheek.
"That sigh didn't sound good...come, join me...the others guests are taken care of...", he told her, motioning beyond them to show her that the room had emptied quite a bit. And, as he observed, those remaining were not clamoring for her attention. Milyssa looked around the room slowly, realizing that Zalbor is right...that no one needs her at the moment and she could probably take some time for herself. But should she?
{Why not?} she thought to herself, giving him a nod. "Yes, Sir. Thank you."
Zalbor smiled as he pushed the table further out from his chair and the wall, setting all the chair legs on the ground. He slid the next seat along the table closer to him and gave Milyssa a wink. "Lap or chair?", he asks, the mischievousness in his voice echoed throughout his face and body.
That playful attitude sounded within Milyssa, and she felt stirrings in her body, somehow it could tell this man was powerful and wanted her to partake of it, if only for an evening. While Milyssa was normally not quite so naughty, her flesh convinced her to be so tonight. "Lap!", she answered quicker than even Zalbor had expected.
"Done and done...", he said as he offered her a hand and helped her to come sit with him. Zalbor bunched and gathered the material of Milyssa's skirt and apron, seemingly to make it easier for her to sit upon him. She hesitated as she also felt her chemise being hiked up, forcing her to rest herself upon Zalbor with nothing between her flesh and his hard lap except the thin fabric of his breeches. But, at this close, his scent was intoxicating, his very touch commanding.
"Here, have a bite...", Zalbor said as he offered Milyssa some pheasant. He brushed his fingers against her lips, an arm encircling the wench and a free hand easing under the shelf of her garment to fondle a breast.
