Your heft battle axe bounced off your muscular meaty thigh as you walked through the village. Your destination clear ahead of you the wooden sign hanging from a steel rod. Swaying softly in the wind, it creaks as it moves.
Proudly announcing 'Madame Rosmerta's House of Pleasure.'. The oak door creaks as it opens, allowing a chill wind to swirl around you entering at the same time. Your entrance attracts a few eyes. Some glares for the chill reminder of the weather outside.
The women are provocatively dressed, and a counter against one wall serving as a bar. A stone fireplace faces it. The fire is roaring and welcoming, your eyes roam over all the flesh on display, as you struggle to focus on why you came in.
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