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Description
GRETTA: Just as you're about to fall asleep, you hear a light knocking at your door. The room you rented in The Griffon's Feather is on the third floor, protecting you from the noise of the tavern area at ground level. It's been quiet until now. There it is again- the knocking is more assertive this time. You definitely didn't imagine it. What do you do?

JOEL: I roll over in bed and say a muffled "go away" into the pillow. I have to be awake before dawn and continue traveling.

GRETTA: Whoever it is, they're not taking no for an answer. Through the thick-timbered door, you hear them exclaim: "Ah-ha! I just knew you'd be awake! C'mon- open up." It's a feminine voice. They jiggle the handle excitedly.

JOEL: OK, fine. I come to the door, but not without first grabbing my dagger on the nightstand. Is there a peephole on the door at all? Can I see who it is out there?

GRETTA: Nope. The door's sturdy with big wrought-iron hinges, and it's very opaque.

JOEL: "Who's there? Identify yourself."

GRETTA: "Uh, I was kinda hoping to see if you recognize me."

JOEL: Can I roll for Detect Ambush? No? Whatever. I open the door, but only a crack.

GRETTA: Standing in the dimly-lit hall is a stocky, womanly figure in a tight tunic and painted-on leggings tucked into mid-calf high boots. There's a shawl wrapped around her head and shoulders. She loosens it, exposing her bright eyes, eager face, and a short haircut. She has chestnut hair, about as long as mine. "It's me!"

JOEL: Perception roll? 2+2, so only a 4. "It's you," I say lamely. I open the door wider to get a better view.

GRETTA: She pouts a little, then fully unwraps the shawl that had previously obscured her generous bosom. Even fully-covered, you'd know those tits anywhere- they belong to your favorite barmaid at the Griffon's Feather! She squeezes them teasingly, seeing that she finally has your attention. Every time you've stopped in Darrowmede, you've made it a point to stay at the Griffin so you could ogle her as she swished around the room in her skirts, almost dancing while carrying clanking steins and laden trays of greasy meats. "It's me, Ellia, dummy. You aren't gonna use that dagger on me, are you?"

JOEL: I toss it so it lands on top of my pack. "Of course not. My apologies. Ellia- I'm sorry about not recognizing you. I've only seen you in a dress and long hair before."

GRETTA: "This is my new, low-maintenance adventuring look. Like it? I came here to ask you to take me with you! Please- I sewed this stuff like a month before, hoping you'd swing by earlier, and now it just barely fits. If you had taken any longer, I'd have to start all over again. Every day I'm trapped at The Griffon's Feather, I can't help getting bigger!"

JOEL: I try to feign disinterest. "Uh, ya don't say."

GRETTA: Roll to bluff. I know your weakness, so -5.

JOEL: 9-5. Damn- another 4.

GRETTA: Ellia sees a way to press her advantage and lifts the hem of her snug tunic to expose her belly. "A steady supply of smoked ham hocks and dark mead are murdering my waistline. Look- better yet: feel how fat I'm getting!" She pushes the door open all the way and poses in the frame, arching her back, her round stomach an offering.

JOEL: I brush her smooth skin lightly with my fingers as if touching the most delicate porcelain. "I hadn't noticed."

GRETTA: "Mmhmm. You didn't see me futilely trying to eat and drink my wanderlust away? Really? Men are so easily distracted by these silly things." With a heroic effort, Ellia hoists her tunic over her melon-sized boobs, which plap loud enough onto her tummy that you worry about other guests waking up.

JOEL: I use my arm like a shepherd's hook and haul her into the room and close the door.

GRETTA: Ellia squeals with delight at your initiative, her soft chest pressed into your abs, her belly pressed against your lap. Now she knows how hard her curves are making you. With a grin, she pushes herself away, breaking precious physical contact so her words will register. "You're taking me with you, OK? Let's have some fun now and then go right away. We can sleep under the stars once we're out of Darrowmede. It'll be impossible for me to sneak out in the morning.""

JOEL: I tussle her shorter hair. "Not even with your clever disguise?"

GRETTA: "I can't count on everyone being as oblivious as you. Now shut up and put my titties in your mouth."

Description
GRETTA: Just as you're about to fall asleep, you hear a light knocking at your door. The room you rented in The Griffon's Feather is on the third floor, protecting you from the noise of the tavern area at ground level. It's been quiet until now. There it is again- the knocking is more assertive this time. You definitely didn't imagine it. What do you do?

JOEL: I roll over in bed and say a muffled "go away" into the pillow. I have to be awake before dawn and continue traveling.

GRETTA: Whoever it is, they're not taking no for an answer. Through the thick-timbered door, you hear them exclaim: "Ah-ha! I just knew you'd be awake! C'mon- open up." It's a feminine voice. They jiggle the handle excitedly.

JOEL: OK, fine. I come to the door, but not without first grabbing my dagger on the nightstand. Is there a peephole on the door at all? Can I see who it is out there?

GRETTA: Nope. The door's sturdy with big wrought-iron hinges, and it's very opaque.

JOEL: "Who's there? Identify yourself."

GRETTA: "Uh, I was kinda hoping to see if you recognize me."

JOEL: Can I roll for Detect Ambush? No? Whatever. I open the door, but only a crack.

GRETTA: Standing in the dimly-lit hall is a stocky, womanly figure in a tight tunic and painted-on leggings tucked into mid-calf high boots. There's a shawl wrapped around her head and shoulders. She loosens it, exposing her bright eyes, eager face, and a short haircut. She has chestnut hair, about as long as mine. "It's me!"

JOEL: Perception roll? 2+2, so only a 4. "It's you," I say lamely. I open the door wider to get a better view.

GRETTA: She pouts a little, then fully unwraps the shawl that had previously obscured her generous bosom. Even fully-covered, you'd know those tits anywhere- they belong to your favorite barmaid at the Griffon's Feather! She squeezes them teasingly, seeing that she finally has your attention. Every time you've stopped in Darrowmede, you've made it a point to stay at the Griffin so you could ogle her as she swished around the room in her skirts, almost dancing while carrying clanking steins and laden trays of greasy meats. "It's me, Ellia, dummy. You aren't gonna use that dagger on me, are you?"

JOEL: I toss it so it lands on top of my pack. "Of course not. My apologies. Ellia- I'm sorry about not recognizing you. I've only seen you in a dress and long hair before."

GRETTA: "This is my new, low-maintenance adventuring look. Like it? I came here to ask you to take me with you! Please- I sewed this stuff like a month before, hoping you'd swing by earlier, and now it just barely fits. If you had taken any longer, I'd have to start all over again. Every day I'm trapped at The Griffon's Feather, I can't help getting bigger!"

JOEL: I try to feign disinterest. "Uh, ya don't say."

GRETTA: Roll to bluff. I know your weakness, so -5.

JOEL: 9-5. Damn- another 4.

GRETTA: Ellia sees a way to press her advantage and lifts the hem of her snug tunic to expose her belly. "A steady supply of smoked ham hocks and dark mead are murdering my waistline. Look- better yet: feel how fat I'm getting!" She pushes the door open all the way and poses in the frame, arching her back, her round stomach an offering.

JOEL: I brush her smooth skin lightly with my fingers as if touching the most delicate porcelain. "I hadn't noticed."

GRETTA: "Mmhmm. You didn't see me futilely trying to eat and drink my wanderlust away? Really? Men are so easily distracted by these silly things." With a heroic effort, Ellia hoists her tunic over her melon-sized boobs, which plap loud enough onto her tummy that you worry about other guests waking up.

JOEL: I use my arm like a shepherd's hook and haul her into the room and close the door.

GRETTA: Ellia squeals with delight at your initiative, her soft chest pressed into your abs, her belly pressed against your lap. Now she knows how hard her curves are making you. With a grin, she pushes herself away, breaking precious physical contact so her words will register. "You're taking me with you, OK? Let's have some fun now and then go right away. We can sleep under the stars once we're out of Darrowmede. It'll be impossible for me to sneak out in the morning.""

JOEL: I tussle her shorter hair. "Not even with your clever disguise?"

GRETTA: "I can't count on everyone being as oblivious as you. Now shut up and put my titties in your mouth."