Gather your beers and leave the bar

Picking up one mug of ale in each hand, you step away from the bar and navigate through the crowded common room floor, moving carefully so as not to spill anything (or bump into anyone who looks too rough). As you move past a darkened corner, you notice what looks like a local couple - country bumpkins, probably just nineteen - passionately making out, with the young fellow's hand vanished up his partner's skirt. Near the stairs, as you ascend, you see that the barmaid from earlier has been persuaded to rest for a few moments on the lap of the biggest and toughest-looking mercenary, who's dipped a couple fingers under the neckline of her bodice and is gently tweaking her nipple, causing her to squirm and gasp on top of him.

"So what say you, little miss?" he's asking. "We've good, clean coin from fighting in the King's wars to the south, and an itch to spend it on amiable company. How much would it cost us to spend the night with you after your shift...?"

"Oh!" she gasps, blushing furiously. "No one...no one's ever asked me that before..."

She's not rejecting the proposal, you note with a grin as you climb the stairs to your room.

Pushing open the third door in the hall, you enter your tiny living quarters here in Torwin. You've never had many possessions, and the cheap inn room you can afford (for not very much longer) here makes your Spartan lifestyle plain to see. There's a stick-framed bed with a ratty mattress resting on ropes; a spindly chair that looks likely to fall apart any day now; a dirty old mirror above a basin; and a small footlocker that contains all that you own in the world. You sigh as you close the door behind you with your foot.

"Finally," a voice says teasingly from the area behind the door. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd gotten lost..."