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Donkeywan nurses his large pint of milk and eyes the undazed and somewhat malovelent chicken with a nervous smile. His head still hurts and his wounds recieved from the field of lethal corn are really itching.
He notes the serving wench and gives her a wry smile. She winks back. Pleased he turns to have a genteel conversation with her, when just then the pschotic monk whirls by and unprovoked, bunches him square in the nuts.
As Donkeywan the indifferent (and largely useless) archer, roles around in great agony he accidentally knocks against a table, spilling a white wine (with a slice of lemon).
Six minutes later and after the worse kind of bitch slapping imaginable from an irate vampire, Donkeywan is off to the local cleric for healing. As luck would have level restoration will be unnecessary (as Dobkeywan is still at level1)
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