<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/MN7LXHg.png?1)</div><br/><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Tavern Wench Talia<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Barn<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Open<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Ask any outsider and Talia would have been described as a salacious vixen; easy on the eyes, gentle on the ego, and just flirtatious enough to keep thoughts of worldly woes at bay. Ask any Greenmist native, and Talia would have been described as a genius entrepreneur whose new business was fleecing tourists with low cut blouses and skirts with slits higher than the Restless Heights. Two years prior, the 20-something year old had been just another fisherwoman who spent long and repetitive days out on the swamp. She had still been considered easy on the eyes and gentle on the ego, but had donned much more modest and practical clothing. Those days were long gone and the switch to tavern wench for the Barn had been lucrative.<br/><br/>Today was very much like any other day. It was nearing the dinner hour; Heroes and the hopeful prospectors they were escorting would be coming back from their missions, outsiders would be finishing their long trek to Greenmist, and the fishers and farmers would be ending their daily labors. The delicious aroma of roasted meat covered up the lingering manure scent. Henrick* rolled out a new barrel of alcohol and set to work to unseal the lid. There wasn't a bar - the drinking selection was beer from the barrel or water from the trough, but people didn't seem to mind. The Swamp Spirit, as it had been nicknamed, always seemed to hit the spot.<br/><br/>The dining area did not have individual tables - instead, foot long tables had been set in neat rows with spaces between for easy maneuvering, forcing patrons to sit with strangers when the Barn was packed. Henrick went for profit over privacy and had made the most of the small space. Right now, the few customers who had arrived early had spread out to allow for elbow room. That room would be gone within the quarter hour.<br/><br/>"Alright ladies, listen up!" Talia said enthusiastically, beckoning her small squad in. "We have at least two caravans that are supposed to arrive tonight," she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "and you know what fresh blood means - more money!" There was an outbreak of giggles. "Remember,<em>bounce</em>with each step, get down to eye level, and most importantly, laugh at their jokes!" The eye rolls she received should have shaken the earth, but the ground did not move. Instead, whatever quick witted reply the ladies wanted to retort with was cut off by the door opening. Time to get to work!<br/><br/><br/><br/>*the owner of the Barn. If you want the job, let me know and this will adjust accordingly.