Bronn Ironheim looks at her with greedy eyes, as if she was a tasty meal.
Mara Belmore says: Hm.  Tempting. *tilts her head to the left, meeting his greedy gaze*  Alright.
Lotta Medborgar eats a sausage.
Bronn Ironheim grasps her hips, swining his arms behind her and locking his hands together on her butt. He stands up and effortlessly lifts her off the ground.
Mara Belmore holds her back straight to give him an easier time of carrying her.  Her hands settle onto his shoulders for more support, ready to catch herself if he should slip.
Bronn Ironheim walks in haste, without much thinking of direction, driven entirely by urgency of his body and picking the first available closed door.
Bronn Ironheim knees it open.
Mara Belmore says: In a rush hm?
Mara Belmore chuckles against his ear
Cormac says: Oy, fill my mug with beer n' we can talk.
Bronn Ironheim carries Mara in, and tightens his grip of the right hand to compensate for freeing his left, which seems to be actually giving him a bit of strain, as she can feel him actually flexing the muscles, the left hand hastily and violently clears a table >
Bronn Ironheim >behind them, brushing various rubbish out on the floor, and then he sets Mara sitting on the said table against a flat back of a leaned surplus closet.
Lotta Medborgar pats her belly.
Bronn Ironheim says: Not a minute more!
Mara Belmore gives the closet a quick look around, her gaze setting on him after a moment.  Her lips curve into a wicked smile at his words, fingertips drawing down off his shoulders, skipping over his collar bone to flick lightly at his nipples.
Mara Belmore says: Oh no?  Not the patience type I take it.
Bronn Ironheim loses it completely from her little stunt, and brutally lifts her shirt up, and if it doesn't rip, he proceeds to remove it as quickly as possible, and almost immediately introduces his mouth to what comes out.
Cormac says: A peasant to the constable: Someone stole my cart! The constable: Did the cart have a lantern and a horn? The peasant. No, why? The constable: That's thirty copper fine then!
Mara Belmore assists in her shirts removal to ensure its survival.  As her skin is exposed to the chilled air of the storage room gooseflesh begins to spread, reaching everything but that which is immmediately covered by his mouth, though a tightening occurs.
Lotta Medborgar pats her belly.
Bronn Ironheim leans up and out a bit, to get a nice overview of the victorious conquest, and noticing said  skin reaction and hardening, he redoubles his effort of tongue, as if trying to break down a knot, like she did for his back with her fingers. In other words
Bronn Ironheim he will lick and press on that pertness and warm it with his breath until it softens again, and then will harden it once more, playing with it this way back and forth, letting one of them breathe cool air, while the other enjoys his mouth.
Mara Belmore lets her right hand play through his hair while he plays his game of warm and cool with his mouth.  Her left hand however finds a more provocative place to touch, playing along the hair below his navel like a bard would strum the strings of a lute.
Lotta Medborgar eats a sausage.
Cormac says: Oy, fill my mug with beer n' we can talk.
Mara Belmore 's musical pursuits continue until they reach the barrier of his leather pants, causing her to move the chords back up towards his navel again.
Bronn Ironheim says: I like two things hard. Backrubs and dis. *he grins and lets his hands in her skirt, lifting the layers, seeming to actually enjoy this part, because in spite of the haste, he makes a point to trace the entire curve of her inner legs*
Mara Belmore 's wicked smile widens at his words "We have something in common then, those are the two thinks I like hard as well" Her legs are pliant to his advances, moving where he places them, with little resistance.
Mara Belmore says: *things
Cormac says: Oy, fill my mug with beer n' we can talk.
Lotta Medborgar pats her belly.
Bronn Ironheim growls an outright bestial growl, and, trusting her hands with his trousers, occupies his hands with much more interesting endeavor. He lays her delicate feet onto his wide muscular shoulders, knocking the shelf down in the process, and angrily >
Bronn Ironheim kicking it away to the side, some pot falls on the floor with a bang and a rolling ding, some lid wobbles loudly for a while until it comes to a stop.
Mara Belmore says: Seems there's more tension than just a rub could cure in you hm?
Bronn Ironheim growls low and deep in his throat as a reply, and looks down at her gorgeous breast, and in a few moments of painful decision making, sends his face down on adventure through the lands of skirts.
Mara Belmore 's voice is both teasing and coquettish.  The trust he places in her hands turning out to be quite the misplaced decision as she does nothing to keep them in place rather attempts to remove them with every chance she is given.  Her efforts cut short 
Cormac says: Oy, fill my mug with beer n' we can talk.
Mara Belmore as he begins his adventure, fingers finding a new thing to occupy themselves with, mainly his powerful biceps, grasping and holding onto them as if they were an anchor keeping her in place.
Lotta Medborgar paddles her face.
Cormac says: I've been all over the place and more, but damn... there's no place like good ol' Galmair!
Bronn Ironheim's pants are slid down off enough to get all the important parts out and functional, and oh boy out they are indeed and quite in force. He gives her that view to ponder on before going down. Once his face reaches its goal in the maze of fabric, he >
Lotta Medborgar eats a sausage.
Bronn Ironheim >takes in a full breath of what beautiful air may be under there, and proceeds to indulge in lavish festivities, without much particular systematic plan or technique. He dines in every direction, chaotically, and needily, not skilled, but naturally>
Bronn Ironheim bestial and meticulous about it out of sheer personal lust.
Cormac cackles: 'How many Cadomyrians do you need to light a candle? One to light tha candle and a brigade to extinguish tha burning house!'
Mara Belmore is quiet, but appreciative in the voicing of her own enjoyment of his feasting.  Her calves flexing against his shoulders, giving an extension to his party invitation, or perhaps calling for a second course.
Lotta Medborgar looks around with wide opened eyes.
Bronn Ironheim makes sure to try all the courses, from both cuisines, the salad and the oyster.
Bronn Ironheim says: *muffled growl from below the skirts* "Mara, Sirani take me, ye arse is divine"
Cormac is a dwarf with a black bushy beard, dressed in ragged and coarse clothes.
Mara Belmore smiles at his comment and its delivery, breathing a reply "I would hope it to be given the marks she left upon it when I was blessed with birth" her words in reference to the slight depressions on her back side often named after the goddess.
Lotta Medborgar eats a sausage.
Bronn Ironheim holds her thighs, ensuring her legs stay on his shoulders and her feet touch his back. He appears to be handling it with ease, though his hands surely appreciate the fine and strong muscle under Mara's skin. He will dine until Mara's>
Bronn Ironheim kitchen is near ready to close, but he won't let the rivers flow just yet. Awakening her most extreme desire, he will dive out leaving it there in need, and to be finished by the main troops.
Cormac says: Burp!
Lotta Medborgar eats a sausage.
Mara Belmore trembles at the prospect of invasion, her defenses woefully unprepared to repell any assult after then extended dining experience he has subjected her to.  Indeed it seems there may even been a rebellion from within encouraging such an act of war.
Bronn Ironheim says: ((i'm sure you do Lotta, i'm sure you do))
Mara Belmore says: ((... best.. npc.. ever))
Cormac is a dwarf with a black bushy beard, dressed in ragged and coarse clothes.
Bronn Ironheim moves in with a forceful surprise initiative, sending the full attack force deep into enemy territory in a series of unyielding skirmish strikes all the way into the back of the explorable area. His face looms over hers now, and he looks at her in>
Bronn Ironheim dull animalistic stupor, only lust in his eyes... as he suddenly begins covering her upper body, what he can reach from this position anyway,  in soft kisses, losing himself in the process of touching her skin with his lips. He kisses all the way up>
Lotta Medborgar eats a sausage.
Bronn Ironheim her chest, up her neck, behind her earlobe, out over her cheek, and finally, her lips.
Mara Belmore 's neck arches back just before his lips reach towards hers, her chest raising as well, the assult seeming to draw her up towards him as if pulled by a string tied to her navel.  Jade eyes are hidden behind fluttering lashes.  It seems the castle
Mara Belmore walls are falling early, no doubt due to the brutally sucessful strike previously dealt to their kitchens reserve.
Cormac says: I've been all over the place and more, but damn... there's no place like good ol' Galmair!
Bronn Ironheim makes an attempt to catch and hold her writhing form and reach her lips, while only intensifying the offensive motion and rapidity of engagements.
Lotta Medborgar eats a sausage.
Mara Belmore 's face is a difficult target as her nible body continues to twist and conture with his redoubled battle tactics.  Keeping her in position for any assult at all is becoming a challenge as the remaing defenses begin to retreat or change allegiance
Mara Belmore betraying secrets to their invader with a sting of whispered suggestions
Mara Belmore whispers: twist to the left just slightly ahh ahh yes there just... there
Bronn Ironheim whispers: Oh, squeeze, Mara, squeeze tight... And for the love of all gods, Mara, kiss me.
Bronn Ironheim he complies with her plea.
Cormac says: An empty mug is not good!
Lotta Medborgar pats her belly.
Mara Belmore leans up with the last of her will, laying a trail of kisses over his face and neck, her lips like butterflies light and soft ever moving until it is difficult to remember where they were even just a moment before.
Bronn Ironheim's hands slide up her legs, thighs, hips, ribs, chest, up her neck, and fall to rest behind the back of her head, his fingers sinking gently into her hair as he looks into her eyes with a warm glance.
Bronn Ironheim floods the city with six violent eruptions, probably killing the entire population with their intensity.
Cormac says: Burp!
Bronn Ironheim whispers: Life is nothing without getting the little things we especially want.
Bronn Ironheim whispers this through  the climax and seeks her lips with his.
Lotta Medborgar paddles her face.
Mara Belmore 's head begins to jerk back again, but is caught in the cradle of his hands as the volcanic heat of eruption spreads past even the outer walls to flow over once fertile now war-torn valleys.  A whimper finds its way from her throat as his lips meet 
Mara Belmore hers, the chaotic movement of her body quieting, every muscle in tension for a moment.
Bronn Ironheim first makes this touch very gentle, his rough, hot, and salty, wind chipped lips taking in the feel of hers to the best of their ability to sense gentle things, as their sensitivity has been wrecked by cold and heat and time...
Lotta Medborgar pats her belly.
Bronn Ironheim gently strokes her left earlobe and attempts to transfer the kiss into french, sensing that it is difficult for Mara.
Bronn Ironheim whispers: Don't worry. I won't tell.
Cormac cackles: 'How many Cadomyrians do you need to light a candle? One to light tha candle and a brigade to extinguish tha burning house!'
Mara Belmore 's lips are very soft, smooth, tasting of mint, and trembling slightly as he whispers.  She seems stilled by his words, her condition reminding of a rabbit caught within sight of a wolf.
Bronn Ironheim whispers: *whispers through the small breaks in the continuous kiss, his voice barely audible, only to her, and subtle enough for his lips to not even have to break contact with hers to speak* "They want me to love Galmair... Mmm. I could love this... "
Bronn Ironheim whispers: "I'd kill for this... feels so good."
Lotta Medborgar examines her armour.
Mara Belmore quivers slightly, her jade eyes exposed for a moment as her lashes part, caution filling her eyes even as her tongue flits out to brush between his lips in a quick taste of his mouth.
Bronn Ironheim strokes her hair, and back down to her back of her neck again, at the same time attempting to gently insert his tongue into her mouth.
Cormac seems to be in jubilant mood, eventhough his beer mug is empty.
Mara Belmore 's expressive eyes guarded, lips parting to allow his gentle attempt, her hands hold tight to the table beneath her.
Mara Belmore says: *are guarded
Bronn Ironheim brushes his tongue against hers, dipping under and diving in again, inviting her tongue to be a dancing partner. A curious realization, Bronn's tongue is actually quite large, it would easily fill a narrow-mouthed girl's mouth near completely.
Lotta Medborgar pats her belly.
Cormac is a dwarf with a black bushy beard, dressed in ragged and coarse clothes.
Mara Belmore 's tongue seems a shy dancer, hestitant despite an apparent knowledge of the steps, finding it a little difficult to manuver but not impossible thanks to a slightly wider than average mouth.
Bronn Ironheim encourages her with gentles licks to her tongue, and a soothing brushing of his large fingers over he back of the neck and cheekbones, his thumbs playing a bit with both earlobes.
Mara Belmore seems torn between allowing more passion into the kiss and a deep hesitation that seems more personal in cause than having any bearing on his participation in their lips caress. 
Lotta Medborgar pats her belly.
Cormac says: Oy, fill my mug with beer n' we can talk.
Bronn Ironheim, for the lack of a better plan to awaken her passion, proceeds with the current plan: more kissing. And a bit of added backstabbing by adding a bit of the thrusts through the flooded ruins of a castle, since the occupying troops still did not withdraw
Bronn Ironheim >from the capital.
Mara Belmore is quite vunerable to backstabbing, relenting to his attempts to stoke her inner fire.  The heat of the kiss reaching a searing height, making it clear that what they say of those born in the month of Bras is true,dragons, filled with carnal fire.
Lotta Medborgar pats her belly.
Bronn Ironheim kisses with her for a long time, his hands exploring more of her, often changing angles and sometimes staying on the same spots for a long time. If she is socially perceptive, this is a behavior of a person who is trying hard to commit something to >
Bronn Ironheim >memory, or perhaps afraid to lose or forget the moment.
Cormac hums: 'Barrels o' booze, downstream they go! That tha bailiff don't know! The night protects my cargo n' coins, n' tha taxman can kiss my loins! Haha!'
Mara Belmore rests her forehead on his shoulder when their kissing has slowed, her bodyweight supported by him alone as she seems to have let every muscle go lax.
Mara Belmore whispers: We are such a dicodomy.  You don't remember enough and I too much.
Bronn Ironheim hugs her tightly and rolls over to be on the side of her rather than on top.
Bronn Ironheim whispers: I remember what I think matters... and try ta forget what I don't want ta keep... butt... i can't exactly trust me mind. it failed me once before.
Lotta Medborgar examines her armour.
Cormac says: Oy, fill my mug with beer n' we can talk.
Mara Belmore whispers: You have a mind you can trust, and I a heart, I would call that interesting hm?
Mara Belmore says: *can't
Bronn Ironheim whispers: Thank you. For this. You broke a principle for me. For an old merc. I will also break my earnest principle for you. I will never kill you. Your life, to me, is priceless. Only one other person can boast that.
Mara Belmore whispers: Julia?
Bronn Ironheim nods.
Mara Belmore 's lips smile against his shoulder.
Mara Belmore says: Well that's a relief of one sort at least.
Mara Belmore leans back away from him
Bronn Ironheim lays a hand on her stomach and falls asleep
Mara Belmore bites her lip looking at the open door then down to Bronn.  Very carefully lifts his arm off her stomach and slips from under his grasp.  Considers moving him but decides a closet is just as comfortable as a cart.  Does lay her cloak over him
Mara Belmore for comforts sake before slipping out the door.