Another day, another visit to Weller's Tavern. With two swords crossed over an overflowing tankard of ale as its sign, everyone in town knows it to be the favored hangout of sellswords, huntsman, and adventurers of all sorts. Only the cheapest swill flows from the taps behind the counter, where the worst brewer in Dwarven history runs the bar. He's got a friendly face behind his beard. More importantly to the men who call the tavern their haunt, he's never heard of a brew with an alcohol content under 20%.

Strong drink turns the mercenary sort into a rowdy crew, held in check only by their respect for Weller Redbeard, the brewmaster. But as long as they don't damage the furniture, the old dwarf lets them do their thing. They'll sing off key, they'll throw their fists at people who piss them off, and if a girl's not careful they'll prove themselves to be enemies of women.

Unfortunately for you, none of them want to be your "enemy". They know better. One look at your public attributes scares even the bravest of men off, and for good reason. There are none amongst men or monster who are your equal in battle. Even when you <span class="mu-i">try</span> to lose, you always win. No one even comes close:

<span class="mu-s">Name:</span> Marion Valls, the "Twin Fang Princess"
<span class="mu-s">Age:</span> 32
<span class="mu-s">Class:</span> Ever Victorious Princess Knight
<span class="mu-s">Power Ranking:</span> 999,999,999
<span class="mu-s">Defense Ranking:</span> 999,999,999
<span class="mu-s">Adventurer Rating:</span> Triple S+ (Flee On Sight)
<span class="mu-s">Successful Quests:</span> 27,928

Yet for your immense strength, your private attributes tell a very different story. If you are an absolute winner in the field of battle, you are an absolute loser in the field of romance.

<span class="mu-s">Hands Held:</span> 0 (Parents Don't Count)
<span class="mu-s">Love Confessions:</span> 0 (Imagination Doesn't Count)
<span class="mu-s">S M O O C H E S:</span> 0 (Pets Don't Count)
<span class="mu-s">Sexual Partners:</span> 0 (Toys Don't Count)

A menacing aura floats off you as you see a seedy looking swordsman pat some flat chested witch girl on her butt. Sure see gets flustered for a little bit, but then the two of them are laughing it off and getting disgustingly close. Happy couples like that make you sick. Normies should leave your sight and explode.

Seriously, what's she got that you don't, huh? You've got big boobs, a nice butt, and a cute face! Ruffians should be falling over themselves to cop a feel!

"I wanna be sexually assaulted..." you grumble into your cup, barely audible beneath the loud music and the yammering on about this job or that monster that the sellswords have gotten up to. This is your twelfth drink of the afternoon, and not a <span class="mu-i">single</span> person has tried taking advantage of you. "'Snot fair... I wanna..."

"Lookin' a bit dour there, Mari," Weller spots you, and slides you a plate of chicken wings. "Wha's wrong, lass?"

X [Explain your sorrows]
X [Pull your top down and demand to know what's wrong with your boobs]
X [Stand up, stumble over to the cutest guy you see, and plant a kiss on him]
X [Ask if there's any jobs involving orcs (that can...)]