Your wounds catch up to you.

You consider joining the men's fun, but as you watch them paw at the woman's exposed naked flesh, you notice a rather pervasive soreness to your body. You quickly realize that the effects of the potion are wearing off, and you are about to be in a great deal of pain.

You can't let the men see you like that. You needed to appear to them as an unstoppable ****, to give them hope to supplement their rage.

You speak, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear you.

"I will be back tomorrow. Until then, enjoy yourselves."

That done, you turn and stagger down the stairs. In the common room, you grab a blanket and some flint and steel, and open both remaining doors. One leads to a closet, but the other leads outside, and, your pain steadily worsening, you stumble outside, into the night.

The building, you discover, is an old way station, meant to provide lodging for knights on their long patrols. It is divided into two parts; a squat, single story segment, and a taller, thiner, two story segment.

You walk a short distance from the building, then set about the task of gathering firewood. The darkness and your ever-increasing pain level make the job difficult, but eventually you gather enough dry sticks to get a meagre fire burning. You sit down next to your little blaze, and grit your teeth against the pain of your wounds.

Someone knows about you, about your plans. Worse, they had you beaten, at their mercy, and the only reason you survived was because they chose to take you in alive. Even with all your victories, to you, tonight was a defeat.

Despite the warmth of the night, your fire, and your blanket, you find yourself shivering.

"Damn" You grunt to yourself. "Bad night."

You feel a blade press to your throat.

"It's about to get a whole lot worse, big man."