Ugh... Your head really hurts...

Slowly, you come to. The first thing you notice is the pounding agony in your skull. It feels as if someone is clashing cymbals over and over, with your head in between. The second thing you notice is that you're naked. The bastard didn't even bother bringing the duvet over your slumbering form. Gritting your teeth, you sit up, rubbing your head slowly. Slowly, the events of the previous night come back to you. The drinking game... That bastard Dervish... What he did to you...

Gritting your teeth in rage, you swing your legs off the bed. A moment of momentary panic washes over you when you don't see your armour, but after a couple of minutes of frantic searching, you see it all stowed under the bed. Probably a joke played by that bastard Dervish. As you cleanse yourself using the wash basin left in your room and strapping on your armour, fantasies of the rogue being punched in the face dance through your mind. By the end of your bath and making yourself decent, you have sworn **** upon him, and vowed to make him repent for the sins he had committed against Lucretia.

The sun's rays cascade through the window. Instead of hitting the wall opposite, the bright yellow rays are firmly planted on the ground. It's midday. You're late for the meeting with the mayor! Eyes widening, you suddenly grab your sword and dash out of your quarters. Tearing down the stairs and giving a quick wave to the surprised innkeep, you make a beeline towards that rather large, imposing structure in the middle of town. You're unsure if your lateness will be interpreted as rudeness or ineptitude, and in truth, you aren't sure which is worse.

Clattering past a group of rather strange cloaked figures, you spare one last look over your shoulder at them before you nearly slam right into a heavyset woodcutter. "Oi wench! Watch where you're going!" He yells at you as you dart to the side, narrowly avoiding a shoulder that belongs more on those orcs than on a man. You manage to yell a quick apology before skidding to a halt infront of the manor.

Taking a moment to compose yourself, dusting off your armour and straightening your long, luxurious curls, you raise a hand and grasp the large latch. And then you knock.