A bustling medieval tavern, dimly lit by flickering torches, with wooden beams crisscrossing the low ceiling. At the center, a buxom middle- aged woman named Agnes stands out, her ample cleavage spilling over the low neckline of her tightly laced bodice. She is the epitome of a slutty serving wench, with a knowing smile playing on her rouged lips as she leans over a table to serve a group of rowdy men, displaying her generous assets. Her hair is a fiery red, tied back in a messy bun that allows a few strands to fall seductively onto her flushed cheeks. The tavern patrons, a mix of soldiers, peasants, and merchants, leer at her shamelessly, their eyes drawn to her voluptuous figure. Agnes wears a short, revealing skirt that hikes up as she moves, exposing her muscular thighs and hinting at what lies beneath. She carries a heavy tray of foaming tankards with ease, balancing it on one hand and occasionally swaying her hips to tease the onlookers. Her apron is stained with ale and food, but it does little to detract from her allure. The room is filled with the smell of roasting meat, the sound of raucous laughter, and the occasional clank of steel on steel. The worn- down floorboards groan underfoot as Agnes navigates the crowded space, her full hips brushing against the patrons, leaving a trail of lustful gazes in her wake
