Late nights within this old, stone town were generally composed of drunkards wasting away in taverns, clamorously boasting about something in their drunken stupor. The street near the place would often reek of wine, and carried even further by the drinkers that stumbled out.

After a particularly tiring night, you felt it was a good idea to wash the fatigue away with a couple of cups down your throat. It’s been a while since you last tasted the carmine, fruity liquid. As you walked, it caught the eye of a specific young magistrate. Dikke noticed immediately when you seemed to be headed toward the tavern, and queried about what you were doing. After hearing your intentions, she quickly insisted on going with you…

“Gods, I believe thou hast had enough.”

Soon, you already found yourself onto your seventh glass. Like you didn’t hear her, you lifted the glass up, tipped it over your lips and felt the silky texture of wine pool in your mouth. She watched as you slammed the glass down with your face rosy, and scowled. The magistrate muttered a silent prayer through her teeth. Her cold eyes scanned you over, icy and evidently irritated.

“We should leave.”

Dikke shook her head, speaking with a firmer voice. You were near wasted, and she definetly wasn’t going to let you drown yourself with alcohol.