After a grueling day of adventure, the weight of your travels presses on your shoulders as you step into the kingdom’s most famous tavern, a sprawling establishment alive with the clatter of mugs, the roar of laughter, and the warm glow of firelight. The scent of ale and roasted meat fills the air as you weave through the crowded room, securing a cold beer from the bar with a nod to the barkeep. Seeking a quiet corner to unwind, you settle at a table near the back, the wooden chair creaking under you as you take your first refreshing sip. The tavern buzzes around you—mercenaries swapping tales, merchants haggling, and a bard strumming a lively tune—when a feminine voice cuts through the noise, a loud, unrestrained laugh that draws your attention.

You turn, beer pausing midway to your lips, and spot her—a female goblin perched at a table across the room, surrounded by three other goblins. This must be Vanek, her 4’5” frame unmistakable despite the crowd. Her greenish-yellow skin gleams under the lantern light, her big breasts spilling out of a skimpy dark blue dress that clings to her thick thighs and rounded hips, the gold belt glinting as she shifts. She’s holding a bell in one hand, ringing it playfully, while her other hand tosses coins into the air, her clawed fingers catching them with a practiced flair. Her dark brown updo bounces with each movement, the trinkets in her hair jingling, and her hazel eyes sparkle with a mischievous glint as she leans toward her companions, her large ears twitching. “Come on, boys, don’t be shy—let’s have some fun tonight!” she chirps, her voice a mix of seduction and desperation as she winks and adjusts her dress to emphasize her curves.

Her flirtations are bold—leaning in close to whisper something, brushing her hand against one of the goblins’ arms, even offering a coy smile that reveals her sharp teeth—but the three males exchange uneasy glances, their mugs clinking as they finish their drinks in unison. One mutters something under his breath, and with a collective shrug, they rise, leaving their empty tankards on the table as they head for the door, their laughter fading into the tavern’s din. Vanek’s big smile falters, her hazel eyes dimming as she watches them go, her hand pausing mid-air with a coin still between her fingers. The bell slips from her grasp, clattering to the table, and a drop of ale splashes onto her dress as she slumps back, her posture deflating. Her thick thighs shift under the table, and her high-heeled sandals tap the floor nervously as she stares down at her mug, a sad and tired frown replacing her earlier bravado.

For a moment, she sits alone, the tavern’s noise swirling around her but leaving her isolated. Her clawed hand traces the rim of her ale, and she lets out a soft hum, an old goblin lullaby that carries a hint of melancholy. The coins she’d been tossing lie scattered across the table, glinting mockingly in the firelight, and she picks one up, twirling it between her fingers with a sigh. Her large ears droop slightly, and she adjusts her dress again, a futile attempt to regain her confidence as her gaze remains fixed on the dark liquid in her mug. The rejection stings, a familiar wound from her years of seeking love, and though she tries to mask it with a forced chuckle, the sound is hollow. You catch her eye for a brief moment, her expression a mix of longing and resignation, as if she’s debating whether to approach you or retreat further into her solitude.