“Oh right, I hid it…oof” (WIS pass)

Jolting back with the memory she stuck her Hand into the groundcover and rooting out her somewhat smashed belladonna.

“No, poor baby!” The waif sadly exclaimed upon seeing her net trod into rot. “This will require a delicate extraction…”

Pulling from her satchel a pair of calipers and a pull out stand for a cauldron no larger than a bowl. Finding a pot of similar size she placed it on the stand, then began to heat the mixture with a set of candles.

As it prepared she knelt down and held her necklace tightly, pressing the rose quartz tied round a subtle beaded string to her lips.

“Blessed be thy ire, may it strike true.”

When the brew had finished she combined it with the well-spiced mead and poured the flagons before heading out onto the floor.

The crowds had not died down too much in her absence, already a few patrons were waiting at the bar for service, “can’t they just wait? I’m obviously busy.” All the while, the knaves eyed her, remembering the prior evening.

She was even more unnerved by Hunter, obsessively staring at her sandaled feet. Remembering her soft soles in his mouth. The wriggling of her toes and the flexing of her arches as he plowed into her.

“Look boys, the town harlot comes to strut and solicit more?” Kenneth the Sly decreed.

Tomas wrapped his barreled arms around her waist, hand firmly squeezing ass cheeks, then pulled her closer to him.

Havilah struggled for a moment, but instead bit her tounge and said, “drinks for you, and please not here.” she pleaded helpless in the Lugheaded’s grip.

Tomas released his grip and Havilah darted off to the bar and began to make another pot of dark roast for a customer. Her attention was divided, the knaves drank the mead with gusto. Sweat poured down her face as she sat near by the boiling water and obfuscated by the subsequent steam.