Flirt with Lirien and see how far we can take this

While Sylvara’s enigmatic gaze lingers in the back of your mind, the roaring fire of your curse drowns it out as Lirien’s brazen energy stokes your instincts. The heat in your blood surges, your restraint fraying with every sway of her hips and teasing quip. You slam a few more coins on the bar, your voice rough with a mix of ale and rising desire. “Another round—let’s keep this night alive,” you call out, your golden eyes locking onto Lirien with unmistakable intent.

She claps her hands together, delighted, and slides closer until her thigh presses against yours under the table. “That’s the spirit, Dracarion! I knew you weren’t the type to slink off early.” Her fingers trail lightly along the edge of her tankard, and she leans in, her breath warm against your scaled neck as she whispers, “You’ve got a wild streak, don’t you? I can tell.”

You match her energy, your flirtations shedding subtlety like a snake sheds skin. “Wild’s one way to put it,” you growl, letting your tail flick out to brush against her leg—a bold, deliberate tease. “I’m built for more than swinging an axe, songbird. Bet I could make you sing a tune nobody’s heard before.” Your hand rests on the table, close enough to graze her arm, and you let your gaze drop to her lips, then lower, making no effort to hide the hunger in your stare.

Lirien’s eyes widen with a mix of surprise and glee, and she bites her lip, clearly reveling in the escalation. “Oh, you’re trouble,” she murmurs, her voice husky now. “Big, scaly, sexy trouble. Keep talking like that, and I might just drag you upstairs to test that theory.” She shifts in her seat, pressing her body closer, her leather tunic creaking faintly as her chest brushes your arm.

Sylvara, still nursing her ale, watches the exchange with a raised brow, her expression unreadable but not disapproving. The tome at her side flips a page, and she leans back slightly, her tail coiling tighter around her chair. “You two are a storm waiting to happen,” she says, her tone dry but tinged with amusement. “Just don’t break the tavern—or each other—before we hit the road.” There’s a flicker in her amber eyes, though—something that suggests she’s not entirely detached from the heat building at the table.

The fresh round of drinks arrives, and you down half your mug in one go, the ale fueling your boldness. Lirien matches you, spilling a little as she laughs, then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Gods, you’re a beast,” she says, her fingers daring to skim across your muscled forearm. “Tell me, Dracarion—what’s a girl gotta do to see what’s under those shorts? I’ve been wondering all night.”