Selan and Francesca find an inn

“Any idea of where this is?” Selan asked Francesca as they walked closer still to the opened gates and the stone wall, which didn’t look all that tall or all that thick, but like it would be enough to keep wild animals and more lazy bandits out of the village. As far as Selan knew, this was the farthest that he’d ever been from his cottage in the woods, and that made him feel a little bit nervous.

“I think it’s called Lemen,” Francesca replied, her hand snaked in between Selan’s fingers.

“Right, I’ve heard of it, but never been here.” Selan’s words exited his mouth as he took a closer look at the houses that greeted him and Francesca when they passed through the unguarded gates. To Selan, Lemen, if this town was Lemen, didn’t look like all that much, but rather like it would be pretty similar to Greyrock. Silently, he wondered if the good people of Lemen would be as prejudiced and as malevolent as those in Greyrock, though he made no mention of it as he walked alongside Francesca while the two of them travelled deeper into the town. They did see a handful people walking around, and while all those did look a second time at Selan when they noticed his elfish features, he hadn’t been lynched or met with sudden outbursts of **** or even foul language by the time when they’d strolled about two-hundred yards or so into the town.

“So,” Selan began, suddenly realising that he’d been silent ever since they entered Lemen, and that Francesca hadn’t tried to get him to say anything, for which he was grateful, “do you actually know where we’re going?”

“No,” Francesca glanced at the smile that Selan managed to offer her, though it couldn’t conceal from her the fact that he was obviously quite nervous about being back inside a town, “I haven’t been here either. But it seems reasonable that the inn would be located near the centre of the town.”

“Right, and do you know where that is then?” Selan shot Francesca a cheeky grin, to which she responded by turning her lips into a frown, mocking anger with him for about two seconds before smiling back at him.

“Why couldn’t Zehani have picked someone more mature for me to fall head over heels in love with?” Francesca eventually managed to shoot back at Selan, who chuckled at her response.

“So you’re blaming the gods now, are you?”

“Well, it’s either their fault, or it’s yours,” Francesca explained, smiling at Selan in such a way that he nearly walked right into a water barrel, then releasing a short giggle before she fell silent at the look that Selan sent her, one that lasted right up till the moment when he leaned forwards and provided her with a tender kiss.

“And if this place doesn’t have an inn,” Francesca spoke after the end of their brief, gentle kiss, whilst feeling Selan’s cock slowly throbbing against her thigh, “then I can think of one way in which we can make it so that we get to spend the night in a nice, cosy jail cell.”

“Oh, and I’m the immature one then, am I?” Selan remarked while Francesca dazzled him with a suggestive smile and a wink.

Now significantly more at ease with being in a new town, Selan gave Francesca’s hand a soft squeeze, and the two of them proceeded to keep looking for an inn. Pretty soon, they found one, in the form of a large wooden building by the town square, complete with a grey sign with the words “Wayfarer Inn” written on it hanging over the door.

When he and Francesca entered the Wayfarer, Selan discovered that the common room of the inn, which they had stepped into as soon as they passed over the threshold, was defined by two colours: light wood, and dark wood. It wasn’t that the place looked substandard or anything, as all the furniture looked quite sturdy and well built, and there was even an intricate carving of a dragon’s head mounted on top of the bottom post of the railing that ran along the staircase leading up to the second floor, but simply the case that not a drop of paint had been used to decorate it.

As for customers, there was about a dozen of them, with most of them being scattered in groups of three or four amongst the ten or so round tables that stood placed out across the floor. But Selan’s gaze was immediately drawn to the scene currently being played out in front of the bar counter, behind which an aproned, somewhat portly middle-aged man was standing, looking at the same thing as Selan. A black-haired woman, clad in black leather armour, was standing in front of the counter, with her back towards Selan and Francesca and her longsword drawn, with blood dripping of the tip of her weapon as she aimed it down towards a man who was currently curled up on the floor, his back against the base of the counter while his right hand was pressing down on the gash that had been cut across his right thigh, a long tear having formed in the coarse, dark fabric of his trousers as blood streamed out of the wound. Meanwhile, as the woman was gazing down at the wounded man, another man, dressed in the same sort of rough, worn clothes as the wounded one, was coming up behind her, his face contorted into an angry snarl as he held a chair over his head, having already begun to swung it downwards as he aimed to smack it over the back of the woman’s head.

“Look out!” Immediately picking sides in the conflict, and though he would probably never admit it to anyone, not even himself, with his decision on which side to pick being at least partially informed by the awe-inspiring way in which the black-haired woman’s ass filled out her leather pants, making the black material look like it was painted onto her two full, muscular asscheeks as they formed up one of the most glorious bubble butts that he’d ever seen, Selan scooped up an half-empty mug of ale from the nearest table, and threw it towards the man with the chair.

Freezing up, with the chair balanced over his own head, the man who had been aiming to strike the woman from behind now turned to look in the direction of Selan’s cry, his jaw dropping as he saw a wooden mug come flying towards him, leaving a thin trail of ale behind it as it sailed across the common room.

The man with the chair managed to narrowly avoid being hit by the mug by pushing his back out in front of him, but before he’d had a chance to be happy about that, the armour-clad woman turned her attention towards him, and drove the pommel of her longsword up into his solar plexus.

There was the faintest hint of a groan of pain managing to trickle its way out over the man’s lips, before he collapsed backwards, letting go of the chair and landing on his ass before the chair came tumbling down on top of him.

Now aware of how almost everyone in the inn were suddenly looking right at him, including the barman, who no longer looked quite as terror-stricken as before, Selan felt Francesca press her body up against his side and place on hand on the small of his back as the woman in the leather armour turned round to look at him.

Selan then let out a gasp when he got a first look at the woman’s face.