It makes sense for you to try asking a group of dwarves for help...

"Perhaps at least these dwarves don't hold such cruel contempt and unfair prejudices against me..." - you think, fearfully glancing around the spacious, crowded first-floor hall of the inn.

Deftly maneuvering between tables and drunken visitors, you begin walking toward a table located in the far right corner of this vast hall.

Step...

Another step...

Someone carelessly splashed beer from a mug right in your face!

The hubbub of human voices...

The cries of drunks...

"Ouch!" - you cried out in a thin, feminine voice at the sudden, rough touch on the delicate skin of your butt.

Someone's fingers painfully squeezed your left buttock!

"Fucking, dirty, half-elven hoe... Aghh ... Eooeeoaee!" - one of the drunks apparently intended not only to fondle your butt, but to do something else to your body... However, he lost his balance in his chair and fell to the floor, vomiting due to severe **** intoxication.

Vile particles of his vomit stained the hem of your dark green women's cloth dress...

You continue to walk forward...

A few more painful slaps to your butt...

You recall your past...

Working at Tobbin's Tavern, of course, was far from easy – but now you sense a mixture of hostility and contempt from the local patrons in literally every tiny particle of the "atmosphere" here.

A couple more steps forward...

You tripped over someone's feet and nearly fell to the floor...

A vicious-looking human male demonstratively spat right in your face...

A stinking clot of his viscous saliva on your chin...

A small tear slowly trickles down your cheek...

You're almost ready to burst into tears like a weak girl...

Finally, you reach your destination – you've reached a table where five dwarves are sitting.

They're drinking beer from large mugs.

The remains of a roast pig are on the wooden platters.

Up close, you notice that these guys don't look like kind people at all...

A gloomy appearance...

Suspicious glances...

Strange tattoos on their muscular arms and even on some of their faces...

Your attentive gaze notices small sheaths with daggers on their belts.

"What do you want?" - asks one of the dwarves.

A keen gaze...

A burn mark on his right cheek...

A large black beard…

A bald head and muscular arms covered in strange black tattoos (it seems symbols from a dwarven script unknown to you).

You look into his cold, grayish-"steel" eyes and shudder slightly, feeling a growing threat.

Perhaps your attempt to seek help from these suspicious dwarves was a mistake...

But... what if this is the best option for you?

Suppressing the conflicting thoughts in your head, you say: "Hello... I simply have no one to turn to... I don't know anyone here... Could you help me? I just need a place to stay here for one night! Please!"

"Do you have money, girl?" - bald dwarf's deep voice sounds completely indifferent.

He called you "girl"...

So, your "camouflage" is, after all, somewhat effective...

However, for some reason, after this address, you felt a slight arousal...

Your tiny cocklet stirred slightly, feeling a rush of blood...

"No... But I have this!" - you say, and, following a sudden idea, you pull out of your bag the very same small vial of cloudy gray liquid that you "borrowed" from the non compos drunkard lying in a puddle of mud near the inn.

You carefully place the vial on the table.

The bald dwarf takes the vial, opens it, removes the wooden stopper, and sniffs the contents...

"Rvagr fottir arg il-aderhr!" - he utters a phrase in a dwarven language you don't understand, looking around at the other dwarves.

And then... all five dwarves burst into loud laughter!

They look at you with mocking glances...

"Sit down!" - says the bald dwarf.

You sit down on the wooden bench...

And almost immediately, you feel the unceremonious touch of one of the dwarves' fingers on your buttock.

Another dwarf (blond, he looks younger than the others) pushes an empty mug toward you and pours a cloudy gray liquid from a small vial.

"Drink, girl!" - you hear the commanding voice of the one from whom you asked for a favor.

You lift the mug to your nose...

The smell is simply disgusting!

"Drink! Or do you want to insult us by refusing?" - bald dwarf says threateningly. Under the table, someone is stroking your leg just above your woolen stockings...

The eyes of those sitting at this table are fixed on you, and you...

You gulp down the mug of this murky gray liquid!

If the smell of this drink was disgusting, like a mixture of diarrhea and donkey urine... - then the taste was twice as vile...

You almost threw up...

A painful sensation of burning liquid in the throat, which, like a sea wave during a storm, quickly rushed down your esophagus.

You coughed...

Heat quickly permeates your entire body as this vile liquid makes its way down your esophagus into your stomach...

Laughter...

You hear laughter...

The cacophony of laughter and the hubbub of the crowd changes in some strange way. Becoming like the noise of a port city in the middle of the day...

It seems your senses are undergoing unexpected metamorphoses...

You feel dizzy...

And your vision is also completely off-kilter right now...

Are you seeing all sorts of crap...

Tobbin?!

That old bastard died, didn't he?!

Why do you now feel like he's floating near the ceiling, making obscene gestures at you?!

Another bout of dizziness...

"Drink... Be a good girl..." - a dwarven voice rings in your ears.

Someone pushes another mug toward you, filled to the brim with liquid.

This time it's beer...

And the next mug was ale...

And the next mug was...

You don't remember what happened next because you've lost consciousness.

You didn't see a group of dwarves carry your body to a room on the second floor of the inn...