Hamlet Hijinks.

Still not feeling sleepy, I decide that a quick pop over to the hamlet is in order, time to spy and pry at windows and see if I'll be able to start some mayhem. I get there fifteen minutes later or so, and grow suction cup tentacles to climb up the walls, looking for anyone who has a light on or something like that. No one turns out to be burning the midnight oil tonight, but I did find a pair of open windows, right next to each other. Inside one, a dwarf woman is sleeping in the same bed as what I think is her sister, doing the whole "top and tail" thing. In the other, a human woman sleeps alone, but her gear stowed in the room tells me that she's an adventurer, Shabard for her swords and a couple other things like that give it away.

This building is the hamlet's combination hotel and pub, kind of like a typical fantasy inn, but taking up over a two hundred total feet of road frontage on the ground floor, with the Tudor style overhanging second story providing modest cover from the rain for the people on this places integral sidewalks. All four of the buildings here are like that. Stone ground-floor, overhanging timber-framed second floor, attic above that with thatched roofing and a few windows in the middle of it for light. The whole place is so fucking obnoxiously deliberately "picturesque" that I'm almost convinced that at some point in the year it becomes the centerpiece of a fantasy world Renaissance Festival. I hated kitschy tourist destinations like that before I died and this dark core thing has done nothing to improve my opinion of the phenomenon.

Still, I have a choice here, I can try to **** one woman, two women, or just leave: it's up to me and I'm not sure if either idea is safe, so I am leaning a little bit twards "Run"...