The garishly painted vardo wagon rocked as it passed into rutted area of hardened muck before the town gates.  It rocked and jostled, iron springs squeaking between the wooden slats as they attempted to compensate for the rough terrain.  The sole occupant of the wagon, a blonde elven woman winced even through the many cushions she had arrayed on the wooden bench.

"By Myrkul's shrivelled black balls..." she muttered as she gripped the reigns for the draft horse that pulled the wagon, "what is it with this entrance, my tits are falling off!"

Ahead, the gates of this gods forsaken town lay open but guarded, presumably against the orcish hordes that were perpetually upon the minds of the local smallfolk.  They were currently frisking a man, questioning him on his intentions, his profession and whatever other useless questions that guards were wont to ask.

The elven woman was a ravenous thing, with long lustrous golden curls and skin fair as new fallen snow.  This day she wore her gypsy outfit.  The colourful skirts arrayed about her bare legs.  Her crimson blouse wrapped around her generous bosom.  At her side, concealing her loaded crossbow was an oud, her instrument of choice.  Yes, today she was a simple gypsy.