The interior of the Goblin Gibbet is every bit as warm and welcoming as it appeared from outside. A well banked open fire burns brightly and the smells of heady beer and roasting meat welcomes the knight. About half the seats are filled, Cyrus Pike can be heard recounting tales of his adventures in a loud voice as he sits in a corner drinking and playing cards with a couple of passing adventurers. Behind the bar Arnor, a hulking half orc spits on a tankard and polishes it with a dirty rag. Two wenches bustle around the room, bringing platters of food and tankards of foaming ale to the tables. Occasionally Maeve, Cyrus's partner appears from the kitchen with fresh plates of food and casts a watchful eye over the tavern. She appraises Derrick as he enters and her scowl is quickly replaced by a welcoming smile as the ex rogue spots the full coin purse on his belt. She hurriedly pulls the cord binding her long red hair free and adjusts her cleavage, loosening a couple of top stays to reveal more of the deep valley between her ample assets.<br/><br/>"You girl." Maeve snaps to the nearest of the indentured wenches. "See to that fine gentleman, he'll no doubt be wanting a hot meal and ale."<br/><br/>The wench turns and looks toward Derrick for the first time. The wench is a beautiful creature, full breasts are barely contained by a skimpy top of light chainmail which would offer nothing in the way of protection in combat. Her legs are long and shapely with wide hips around which a loose skirt of linked metal rings clings. Her dark eyes regard Derrick with an avaricious aspect. Without replying to Maeve she makes her way across the room towards the knight, her bronzed and lithe body weaving seductively through the patrons blocking her path. She smiles enticingly as she reaches him.<br/><br/>"A welcome to you sir knight." The wench says, her voice sultry and seductive. "You require food and lodging?"<br/><br/>Her full lips curl into warm smile as she comes to a halt with one hand on her smooth hip. She brushes aside a lock of her golden hair and the sigil marking her as an indentured serveant glows in silver on the back of her right hand. In the civilised lands outright slavery is forbidden, though in truth indentured serveants are little more than slaves. Bound to a master by contract, they are accounted as his property until their term of service is fulfilled and receive no coin for their labour. A sigil is imprinted on an indentured serveants body by a magician, making a runaway serveant easy to spot for bounty hunters who make a trade returning runaways to their masters.<br/><br/>"Take this table sir." The wench offers, waving a slender hand towards a table near the fireside. "I will serve you with whatever you request."<br/><br/>The tone in which the wench says these last words makes it quite clear that she means more than food and drink is being offerred.