Even among the universally attractive people of this land, Conrad stands out.  He walks out the front door of his inn about noon, having spent the night (and part of the morning) educating several local girls in the finer point of dragon-hybrid anatomy, his wings stretching and flexing behind him, and his glassteel armor leaving very little of his body to the imagination.  On the lookout for either a decent restaurant or another adventurous lass, he walks past several of the notices before actually stopping to read one.<br/><br/>He grins at first, then does a double-take at the third sentence.  The news is almost beyond belief; if not for the Queen's famous lack of sense of humor regarding the gods, he would discount it as a joke in incredibly bad taste.  As it is, he rereads it twice, then crumples it beyond recognition and stalks off, no longer very hungry.  He intends to make very sure he knows where the Drunk Maiden is, and be there at sunset on the appointed day.