Wrong Side of Another Day

I think every adventurer has had this experience, with the exception of monks and clerics who follow some of those boring lawful religions: you have recently split the profits of an extremely successful dungeon crawl and are out looking for somewhere to spend part of your earnings. By Boccob, you did just face a group of trolls, a particularly smelly grey ooze, several ogres, and two surprisingly well-organized hobgoblin tribes, capped off by a upper-level magic-user who tried to fry the whole party with lighting bolts. I mean, you earned that loot.

Out you go, with a couple of the other more fun-loving party members, one thing leads to another, and the next thing you know, you are dancing around a open fire pit with a half-giantess and several other women of various reputations. Everyone is having a real good time drinking Willip Widowmakers and inhaling various herbs and spices. Things start to get a little blurry, various stages of alertness are visited, and then everyone needs to find a place to rest weary heads.

At some point, the blinding sun comes piercing through whatever hovel, tent, or room you have managed to stumble into. The half-giantess is gone, along with several of your gold pieces. You stumble around, looking for a pitcher of water or, if that isn't available, a trough to stick your head in. After a while, you start to feel a little better. Gathering up your clothes and whatever is left of your purse, you head back to wherever you stashed the rest of your loot and gear. By the time you get back, the sun is going down, your head hurts less, and the night calls again. The whole point of killing those trolls is to get their money, and there isn't much good in saving it. What, are you going to bring it with you when you head to Avernus? 

"Motorhead"--minus the umlaut--is the last song Lemmy wrote before Hawkwind booted him out for liking speed more than acid.