Vaarsuvius stormed down the avenue of tents, pigtail flying in the breeze. After promising Blackwing that he wouldn't freak out and get righteous on someone, the raven familiar had left him to play with his new bauble, and Vaarsuvius went to discharge his sorro. He began firing spells into the air, working off steam and providing a free fireworks display for the local street urchins. A half-orc wearing armour emblazoned with the legend Sandsedge City Guard and carrying a large halberd approached, but after seeing the look in the elf's glowing pink eyes, hastily backed off.
Half an hour later, his sorrow and most of his spell slots expended, Vaarsuvius left his position standing in a clearing of tents, and started to wander aimlessly through the town in a haze of misery. He had no idea where he was going, until he fetched up at a larger-than-usual mass of canvas with a hand-painted banner tacked to its front, unreadable even to elven low-light vision in the utter darkness of the desert."Light", Vaarsuvius muttered, illuminating his hand, and was rewarded by a sign, written in Common, Draconic, Dwarven, Elven, Undercommon and Halfling. It said simply "Mesa Street Knocking Tent". The elf shuddered and was about to move on, when something stopped him. The sign was written in Elven, which as Vaarsuvius knew from his study of all things outside the elven homelands meant the hookers within had experience with Stickworld's only androgynous race, and V had no need to worry about Kyrie finding out any more. He was sorely tempted. It had been so long…
The elf reached a decision and pulled the flap of the tent open. He was greeted by a female Lizardfolk who looked Venerable, at the least.
"Well well well, an elf! We don't get many of those around here, no indeed," she cackled.
"I am the party evoker of an adventuring party currently in the city. The party leader gave us a free night."
"A wizard as well? Ah, well, I'll have to give you Abla, Kyiska, Losamae… or all three at once. None of the others will have anything to do with magic."
"I do not care. The latter, I suppose."
"You got it, darlin'."
Belkar Bitterleaf, in a cubicle opposite from the one the elf, human and lizardfolk went into, stared in shock. His companion, a buxom dwarven lass, asked if anything was the matter.
"Oh, nothing. Only… I think there's a lot of blackmail-gp in my future."