It was not the first time a man of too little virtue lost his senses in the face of her sensual performance.  More than once in her journey, Cyra had suffered the Frostburn thrill of a caress more intimate than was polite flirtation.  This man, towering over her, armored in a tavern, had that frightening effect without even touching her.<br/><br/>Cyra shivered, one arm going over her bosom defensively.  She reached behind her back and gathered the energy to manifest her soul knife.  A quick swallow later, she said, “Why thank you, sir.  I'm afraid I have no time for an encore now, but I should be in town for at least a week if you'd like to watch again...”