After a brief moment of thought, you decide to join the queue. The pendants were free, after all! In fact, they were probably worth a dozen or so gold coins to a travelling salesmen. Specially, with the current demand for foot-related items in New Solesville... I made you shudder, just wondering how an entire city could become so obsessed with feet overnight. Still, you had to admit: those foot-shaped necklaces weren't that bad. Quite beautiful, actually! Captivating, even... (-1 MP)
As you waited in line for your turn, you manage to hit up a conversation with the lanky young man behind you. His brand new clothes and puffed-up chest denounce him as a proud member of the petty bourgeoisie. "So, you're here to buy some supplies, eh?" he asks, a slight hint of disdain in his voice.
You nod enthusiastically, and reply with as much conviction as your heart could muster: "Yes. I've come here to buy some armour and training, and then I'm heading west, through the Crevices, to find and slay the Monster King!"
"Hehe..." the young man chuckles, clearly not impressed by your bravado. "Sure you are. Lots of adventurers come through here singing that song, you know? Funny how we don't hear from them again... still, if you're that much of a hero, you're better off fighting serpent-boys in the wild, then here in Antiuck!"
"How so?" you ask with morbid curiosity, the pain from your damaged ego immediately obscured by the man's cryptic statement.
"Well, let's just say the Sisterhood doesn't like seeing men run around with armour over their shoulders and weapons around their waist. They say it's for our protection, of course, but they're really just projecting their daddy issues onto us, law-abiding citizens. I will be damned if those lesbian fanatics think we actually care for any of their sanctimonious bullshit! My suggestion: if they tell you to do something, just nod quietly and piss off.
Besides... I hear there's rumours of something brewing down in the sewers. Something big. A revolution, maybe. Don't have a clue who's behind it yet, but I, for one, would gladly welcome the change of airs."
You're about to press the bourgeois for more information, when you hear a lisped, high-pitch voice calling: "Next!" You turn around to see you've finally reached the start of the queue, and are now standing before a large velvet table, lined with a hundred foot-shaped pendants. And behind the table sits a sickly young woman, her pale blue eyes staring right into yours as you feel her cold dead hands reach out to measure your neck. When she opens her mouth to talk, you swear you can feel the smell of cheese emanating from her throat... (-1 MP)
"Here you go, sire." she says, fitting a silver pendant encrusted with a polished malachite foot tightly around your neck. And as the necklace clicks into place, and you look into the exquisite pendant shining in your chest, right above your heart, all your doubts about their legitimacy fade away instantly (-3 MP). You walk away from the jeweller with an unprecedented sense of satisfaction and excitement, to the point of feeling a bit light-headed in the sun...
You lean against the wall of a nearby tavern, so as to catch your breath, but what you see next only makes you gasp even harder: a procession of monks marches down the street, their feet clad in nothing but a pair of thin leather sandals! And without realising, your eyes are helplessly drawn to the monks' visibly dirty (and no doubt, sweaty) soles. (-5 MP) Suddenly, it didn't feel wrong or even weird to stare at other men's feet. Not when you understood how subtly rough and beautiful they looked... not when their toes felt so strangely appetising and seductive... not when their soles suddenly held such a mesmerising power over you... (-5 MP)
The monks finally disappear down the street and you're crash-landed back into reality. Looking around you, you can see you weren't the only one left hypnotised by the show of parading male soles: at least a few dozen other people, all wearing the same foot-shaped pendants as you, remained with their eyes stuck on the spot where a few seconds ago, a young monk had laid down his sweaty foot. And looking down, you could see that, much like your fellow necklace-wearers, you had unwittingly pitched a massive tent in your trousers...
Shaking your head clear and your cock limp, you decide to ignore this incident, and promptly resume your business here in the city.
Your MP: 85/100 (-5 MP ongoing while the necklace is equipped)
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