The Condemned Minister was a place of ill repute, with bandits and street thieves alike hawking to it day by day. Three burly men swapped stories about plundering villages. Women covered in makeup and little else prowled the sides, looking for potential "visitors." A large group of pirates were gathered around a woman dancing on the table, jeering and drinking large gulps of ale.
In the corner sat Elena Stanfield. Her hood was on and her staff was readied in case a fight broke out. She chuckled to herself. Boys will be boys, I guess...
Elena was out in full force tonight. Her standard attire - brass brassiere, veiled thong, red hood - was out, and it didn't exactly leave much to the imagination. Some of her blonde hair fell past her hood, and her blue eyes scanned the room for imminent danger. She'd already broken a patron's arm for getting too enthusiastic with her, and didn't want any more trouble tonight.
The Condemned Minister, so named for its previous owner being sentenced to death for multiple counts of sexual assault, had seen its fair share of strange patrons that night. Before Elena there had been another, younger mage and a tree-man. So it wasn't too much of a surprise when the bartender saw her casually light a flame in her hands; mages were par for the course in this area, usually because of clandestine dealings.
She yawned. Her metabolism allowed her to tank much more alcohol than would be normal for a girl like her, and it resulted in it being nigh-impossible to get even tipsy. Without drink, what was a girl like her to do to enjoy her off-time? Still hanging on, she picked up her glass again, taking a big gulp.
The door swung open. Everyone - Elena included - turned to see who it was. Oh? the mage thought. This might be interesting...
