I set my helmet down, hanging it on the hook in the old wardrobe, my sword hung in its sheath beside it. I slowly pull off my armor, my entire body sore from sparring. My hair sticks to my forehead, and I can already feel a headache coming on.

“Damn, I can’t wait to get to the bathhouse…” I grumble to myself, kicking off my boots. But I know what I really need; you.