Inn and Out
© 2025 by Walter Reimer

Thumbnail art by  turnbolt



The paladin, mage and rogue reentered the town of Rising Gorge, this time bying the town hall and the temple and going across the main square to the largest inn in the village.

“Cummon Inn,” Vesan remarked, looking up at the sign with distaste. It was written in a deliberately offensive font. There were two other signs affixed to the door; a professionally written one reading This Establishment Does Not Serve Miners and a crudely-paw-written one that read Liquor in Front, Poker in Rear.

“Aka, let’s find out what’s in here,” and the rogue led the other two adventurers inside.

The main room of the inn was stonework and well-varnished wood, similar in construction to most of the inns they’d encountered previously, but larger. Visible beyond the staircase at the far end of the room was a larger room with a bar, tables and chairs, and something that could be described as music came from the dining area. A huge wagon wheel was suspended from the ceiling as a chandelier.

The room they stood in included a small fireplace, a front registration desk and the bulletin board. A silver-bearded mink wearing archaic striped suit and a straw hat stood behind the desk. “Welcome to the Cummon Inn. Rooms let by the night or the hour, but if you rent by the hour we charge extra,” he said.

“Extra for what?” Meredith asked as Varan and Vesan studied the bulletin board.

“Towels, lube, et cetera,” and the mink waggled his eyebrows at her. He was about to say something else when Meredith’s ears perked at a sudden burst of feminine laughter coming from the dining room. The mink frowned and grumbled, “At it again. Even sound-deadening charms don’t help.”

“Who?” the golden palomino mare asked.

“The Latex Priestesses of Fomo,” the mink replied. “They’re up here for an ecumenical convention. The temple’s booked solid for the next week. Still, they’re not as bad as the Servants of the Dark Lord; those folk are vegetarian teetotalers who wouldn’t know fun if it slapped its tits across their faces.”

“Servants of the Dark Lord, eh?” Meredith asked.

“Yeah. Gray robes, gray fur, gray skin . . . “ the mink turned away, muttering to himself as the mage and the rogue walked up.

“What did you find?” Meredith asked, turning toward her two friends.

Vesan shrugged. “There are some side quests, from guarding a supply caravan headed further up the mountain to picking grapes at Lucharan Vineyard.”

“Or ‘helping out’ at the Fount of Life Reformatory,” Varan said, the mage looking a little perturbed. “It reminded me of the Temple of the Divine Source.”

Meredith frowned before pausing the game and going back to watch the mage and the paladin reduced to milk cows. “We’ll try not to break any local laws or otherwise get involved in the Fount of Life, then,” the paladin said after the game resumed, and she led the rogue and the mage into the next room.

As soon as they crossed the threshold and went past the sound-deadening spell, all three femmes’ ears went down at a blast of noise that sounded like a trio of women moaning in tune.

The room had a bar, with a bartender and not a barista, a larger fireplace, several tables and booths scattered around the floor and lining the walls. Beside the bar stood a bizarre contraption that wedded a keyboard with an inclined wooden bed. The bed had a loose tarpaulin draped over it.

Seated at the keyboard was a short rat wearing tros, a striped shirt with garters around each bicep, and a stained derby hat. Under the tarp with their heads visible were three femmes, a cow, a wolfess and a calico feline. Each key the player pressed caused something under the tarp to writhe and the women moaned or cried in response.

But always in tune.

A group of women wearing black latex that covered them chastely from their necks to just above their knees were singing along between drinks from the foaming mugs they held. One or two acknowledged the three adventurers with nods and pleasant smiles.

Meredith returned the nod politely while eyeing the group warily, even as the player ran his fingers across the keys in an elaborate arpeggio that had the three women screaming out their orgasms in perfect three-part harmony.

Varan shuddered, recalling hentai beasts encountered in earlier parts of the game as all three reached the bar.

The bartender, a tall hound dressed like the rat at the keyboard, smiled at them. “Hello! Can I get you anything?”

Meredith paused and looked at the slate. “Three mugs of Berk’s Bonce-Basher, please,” the mare said, choosing an inexpensive ale. “Why do you have Wine of Violence on your menu?” she asked as the bartender started to fill the mugs from a tapped keg.

“That’s usually sold for weekend poetry slams,” the canine said, giving her a foam-topped mug and accepting some coins as payment. “You three new in town? You’re here at a good time.”

“Why?” Vesan asked, licking foam from her lips.

“Bar fight tonight at seven,” he replied. “The Sweaty Nonce versus O’Drinky’s. Whole town turns out to watch and bet on the match.”

“The whole town?” Varan asked.

The bartender shrugged. “What can I say? People around here are hard up for entertainment.”

“Never seen anything like that,” Meredith said, jerking a thumb in the direction of the keyboard. The performance over, the three women were helping each other out of the device, looking quite bedraggled.

“Oh, the Pleasure Organ? I tell you, that thing’s been a gift from the gods. We have people lining up to get into it. The ghost in the machine – “

“’Ghost?’” Varan asked, the mage’s free hand rising to cast a scanning cantrip.

The canine nodded. “Yep, it’s the ghost of a hentai beast. Has a music degree from Ottokar City, and Jimmy there,” he nodded at the rat as he ed him a full mug of beer, “is his manager.”

“It’s a good gig,” the rat said cheerfully.

Meredith nodded. The beer was tasty, and actually conferred a slight increase to the Strength stat to whoever was drinking it. “We still have some time before nightfall,” she said to Varan and Vesan. “I think we should explore a little further.”

The two viri concurred, and after finishing their drinks they left the inn.

There was a market next door to the inn along with several shops including a farrier. The two bars the hound mentioned were located down a side street, faced each other across the road. A pundit with a tote board had attracted a crowd of early bettors.

The three stopped at a small eatery for a midday meal, and were partway through their lunch of hot spiced meat rolls and fruit juice when one of the Priestesses of Fomo entered, the whitetail doe’s latex costume squeaking softly. She was leading a shorter cervine femme dressed entirely in latex, from her ears to her hooves, on a leash.

“A fuckdrone?” Vesan asked.

The doe’s ears swiveled and she paused to smile at the rogue. “Pardon me, my dear?”

“Is that a fuckdrone?” the rogue asked.

The whitetail gave a short laugh. “Not at all, my dear. It’s clothing, not a layer of living ensorcelled material. Anya, unmask,” and the roe-doe unzipped and pulled off the mask that had rendered her blind and dependent. She had a happy smile on her muzzle. “Anya has heard the word of Fomo, and is currently a Goddess-Intoxicated Minor Priestess. Much like an acolyte in your Order of Purity, Paladin,” and she inclined her head toward Meredith.

The mare returned the nod. Seeing there were no further questions, Anya pulled her mask back on and secured it before following the priestess to the counter.

Meredith leaned toward Varan. “Corruption? My armor didn’t react.”

The mage cast a surreptitious cantrip. “None.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Vesan said.