The Bargaining Wench

Bustling Tavern, din of thieves, prattles sounds, like mini battles of Sorcery, at mosaic of vomit tapestry. Endowing all sorts in your bosom like sins-full abacus beads. You gather them by lamplight and promisery of Nightlife, bejeweled deeds. Your dangle of jewelry, imagery into the back of the mind. Cleaving to your cleavage, in gilded-underbelly. Whispered confessions, aspirations un-tamed, at the heart of game, plays. A maelstrom of activity brews, where thieves and dreamers carafe their craft, by firelight, booze, and cut-throat utensils, for stirring the plot and tasting it's ooze. A symphony of mirth and mischief, lies, woven into each swirl of word. A den of vices, a theater of souls, where desires become exhumed jewels, brightly interred. Sorcery of charming, bracing, where shadows dance in dusk, efficacing with the flickering daylight exuding allure, a beguiling musk, facery painting, fishing for trust. Binding patrons, captivated by the dire-light, broths to salivate for spitting in its flame. Bardic stories, each worth half a codler of truth, confess their lies amidst the clinking of wine. Tithes abetting their cover, to mask the grape-vine. As hearts chase fleeting pleasures true, where fantasies intertwine, the weight of the world measured, momentarily subdued in fermented promise of unsealed magic in held balance of bottomless opportunity. So, come, dear traveler, lose yourself, in the spell of atmosphere. In the spray of this sacred mace, lift of skirt, skirting of honest wage. Panning for adventurers, planning under-sway of sunder's way.