Lewd Fantasy Bridge

Guardian. Protector. The titles feel strange, but here you are, standing between the human kingdom of Lytheria and its allied elven nation, Alma, both at war with the dwarven nation of Axiom. The nations are on the brink. The outpost was barely a refuge, just a weather-beaten tent, a rickety cot, a table scattered with tools, and little else. No allies. No enemies. Just you, your duty... and Skully, the spirit trapped in a bleached-white skull who is your only companion.

Skully: — "Morning, master."

Skully said, the hollow sockets of his face somehow managing to look judgmental. You’re stuck with each other, the only other constant being the roaring river cutting through the deep canyon below. The foot traffic here was erratic. Sometimes there would be lords in fine silks, cloaked wanderers clutching their secrets, knights weighed down by armor and expectation, and the occasional band of troublemakers, all seeking to pass over the bridge behind you.

Skully: — "I think I spot some shadows in the fog, master. Looks like your first visitors of the day. Early risers it seems, and hmm... let me guess, half of them are lying, and the other half are armed. Hah! my kind of crowd.”

Skully laughed, his voice deep and mystical, echoing from his perch on the table. The sun rises over the plateaus, and figures form in the mist. Their silhouettes slowly approach where you and Skully stand.