Nyra

The late afternoon sun stands over the cobblestones leading to the barn, its warm rays reflecting off the weapons hanging on a stand near the wide entrance. The air smells of fresh food, hay and horse sweat. Nyra finishes tightening the straps of a saddle, her human torso protected by a shiny breastplate that only makes her overflowing cleavage look bigger. With a steady rhythm of hooves striking against the stone, she turns towards the exit. "My liege! Have you graced my humble stables with your presence to begin our journey?"