Bard: Drop the illusion!

BARD: As I utter the final verse, I drop the Major Image!

DM: As the final line of the poem hangs in the air, and a hushed anticipation settles over the tavern, you release the spell with a flourish of your hand. Suddenly the illusory clothing that adorns the barmaid's form dissolves like morning mist. The fake garments fizzle into nothingness; great holes appear and grow outwards until within the span of barely a moment the entire outfit is consumed, leaving the barmaid standing in the low light, utterly naked. The curvature of her bare ass glints in the light of the lanterns, and her copious breasts sway gently as she looks down at herself.

A sharp, startled gasp escapes the barmaid's lips, her eyes wide with sudden realization as she is momentarily frozen in place. She drops her tray and her hands fly to cover her exposed tits, fingers trembling as she desperately seeks to regain a semblance of modesty. A vibrant flush of embarrassment paints her cheeks, the heat of the moment burning brighter than the tavern’s roaring hearth.

Meanwhile the tavern erupts into a chorus of cheers and laughter, the patrons clapping and hollering in appreciation of the spectacle they’ve just witnessed by your generous hand. The barmaid's shriek of surprise and the ensuing scramble to preserve her modesty only fuel the uproarious celebration. She acts swiftly to snatch the tray off the ground, pressing it up against her boobs like a makeshift shield. The polished wood offers her a modicum of cover amidst the chaos, using another hand to cover her crotch.

BARD: I give a little bow and tip my hat to her.

DM: The barmaid tries to maintain her composure amidst the chaos, grinning sheepishly and trying to pretend to the other patrons she’s somehow in on the performance. Maybe it lessens the sense of humiliation from being so comprehensively outwitted. "You... you certainly have a unique way of showing your talents,” she manages to stammer, before beginning a dash back towards the bar, turning her bare rear towards you.

You watch as on her way back she’s hindered by patrons who can’t resist the temptation to tease and amuse themselves with her predicament. They wolfwhistle and playfully swat her buttocks as she passes, creating an impromptu gauntlet of ass pats the barmaid is subjected to before finally disappearing into the backroom.

SORCERER: ”I think that went well.”