Kinky Adventurers Ch. 01 Pt. 01

As the day wore on, Sixto's pout deepened. He hated this job--it was too normal, too boring, and smacked of actual work. Sixto had a habit of avoiding "ordinary" work whenever possible. It just felt so peasant, for lack of a better term. The idea of being someone else's bitch--not in a sexy, erotic, or kinky way--but in the totally run-of-the-mill, lick-someone's-boot-for-a-fistful-of-coins way just galled him beyond what he could bear. Everywhere he went he saw people doing mundane, every-day kinds of things just to scrape by, then getting up to do it all over again. Just the thought of such repetitive monotony made Sixto feel trapped, as if he were being subjected to water drop torture.

Wiping his brow with the back of his hand, Sixto looked behind him. Endless miles of hot, dusty road stretched to the horizon. I just walked that, he thought to himself. Shit. It was hot and humid, sweat was running down his back and soaking the armpits of his tunic. And despite all the heat and humidity, the road was dry, caking his clothes and face in a grimy layer of dust kicked up by his compatriots' feet.

I feel like a peon, Sixto thought bitterly. Like someone's lackey, humbly doing their dirty work for them.

He looked over at Kit. She was a few steps ahead of him, trudging along stoically. Over her shoulder hung the bag that contained the blasted box that was the whole reason the four of them were here, walking down an empty road that ran through the middle of a marsh, footsore and eating dust.

I can't believe I signed up for this, Sixto thought for the three-hundredth time. He resisted saying it out loud. He had already done that often enough to wear his companions' nerves raw. He settled for a quiet grumble instead.

Not quietly enough to go unnoticed, apparently, because Ilya turned and gave him a pitying look. A common one, for her, but no less infuriating.

"Everything alright back there, Six?" Ilya asked in her earnest voice.

Sixto could barely get himself to look at her. Part of him didn't feel worthy of her genuine compassion, and another part was so disgusted at her eternal optimism and "always look on the bright side of life" attitude that he couldn't stomach the look of authentic concern in her eyes. How is she like that? Sixto wondered again. It's gotta be fake. On some level, deep down, I know there's a dark morass of pain and confusion and bitterness. She just hasn't found it yet. Thoughts such as these consoled him when he had to endure Ilya's cheery disposition.

So did griping.

"No, it's not," he bit back, never one to decline an invitation to complain. "We're wandering down a godsforsaken road in the middle of a swamp in the middle of nowhere. It's hot as the nine hells and we've been walking for longer than I care to think about. In fact," he continued after a brief pause, voice dripping with sarcastic, fake curiosity, "how long have we been walking? Anyone know?" He paused for a moment, letting his frustration hang in the air. It felt nice.

"Anything I missed?" He asked sweetly, finally looking Ilya in the eye while mocking her cheeriness.

"Yeah. You left out having to listen to you gripe and moan all day."

Ash. The only one in the group who kept Sixto a little on edge. Kit was stoic and obedient; Ilya was cheerful and naive; Ilya was... Sixto wasn't quite sure. She didn't bother turning around, but he heard her strong, commanding drawl perfectly well nonetheless. From behind, she looked almost cute--black, leather corset over a rather pretty white dress with tasteful, black trim and tall, black boots. Of course, you still had to ignore the ivory horns flowing and twisting in gentle waves from her temples. But provided you could do that, her short, black bob gave the impression of the kind of girl who attends church and says her prayers. You know, the kind of girl you'd be proud to take home to meet your family.

Ash was not the kind of girl you take home to meet your family.

For starters, there's the horns. But even if you can get past those, there's her eyes. They have no pupils, just milky white orbs set in charcoal skin. Between them, the ivory horns, and her perfect, white teeth, Ash could look perfectly sinister when flashing one of her characteristic "smiles"--the kind that makes you wonder what sort of suffering she's imagining you endure.

Sometimes (let's be honest: often) Sixto catches himself watching a beautiful female while imagining taking off her clothes and fucking her in any number of ways. Ash's smiles often gave him the impression she was doing the same thing, only it wasn't run-of-the-mill fucking she was dreaming of, he was pretty sure of that.

As usual, Ash weighing in killed the joy of spreading the misery around. Ash was like that. Sixto kept grumbling, alright, he just kept it to himself.

"In Six's defense, it is really hot," Ilya offered in consolation. The exposed skin between her hip-hugging skirt and leather, lace-up bralette was coated in a sheen of sweat that glistened in the afternoon sun. She looked down at her bare midriff to see a bead of sweat slide into her belly button. She sighed softly.

Her comment went unremarked. Perhaps it was too obvious to warrant a response. The group trudged on in a weary, sun-induced torpor.

Until, that is, the most magnificent creature any of them had seen in a long while bounded across the road ahead of them and out of sight into the marsh beyond. The stag's sleek silver body shimmered in the sunlight, its proud head holding a majestic rack of antlers aloft with ease and dignity as it sprang forward. Even its regal rack seemed to shine with a metallic, silver gleam.

The party came to an involuntary halt and stood there in stunned silence for several full seconds.

"What was that?" Ashara asked matter-of-factly.

"Whatever it was, it's the most beautiful creature I've ever seen!" As usual, Ilya's voice was full of wonder, but this time even Sixto was unlikely to accuse her of laying it on thick.

In any case, he didn't have time to comment. Readying the short bow he kept slung across his torso, Sixto dashed up the road toward the spot where the animal had disappeared into the marsh.

"Come on! We can't afford to lose it!" He called over his shoulder as he ran.

"Huh?" Kit looked quizzically at Ash, who stared back, equally nonplussed.

"He's going to sweat a lot more, running at a full sprint like that," Ilya observed, equal parts confused and concerned.

Having reached the stag's point of departure from the road, Sixto came to a halt and looked back at his fellow travelers who remained in place, unmoved and unmoving.

"What are you waiting for?" he exclaimed with extreme impatience. "This creature's hide is worth more than all the coin the four of us have ever touched and then some!"

Ash and Kit exchanged another quizzical glance.

"But what about the box?" Kit asked, strolling forward at her usual walking pace.

"Forget the box! To the hells with it!" Sixto retorted in exasperation. "The amount that pretentious, insufferable coot promised to pay us to deliver it to gods know who is an irrelevant pittance compared to what we could get for that stag's head on a rich lord's wall!" He was speaking so fast he nearly ran out of breath before reaching the end of the sentence.

"If it doesn't take us too long, or too far from the road, I don't see it hurting," Ash offered to Kit in a "how much can it hurt to humor him" kind of voice. At this point all three women were approaching Sixto at their regular speed. Sixto was literally tapping his foot in distracted anxiety.

"Oh, curse you all! If you don't follow, I'm keeping the payout for myself," he declared and ducked headlong into the tall marsh grasses.

Ash and Kit exchanged a third, silent look.

"Now I want to see where this goes," Ash pronounced, clearly entertained. Kit raised her eyebrows in a way that clearly announced she did not. But when Ash strode in after Sixto, she sighed and followed suit.

E: Are we really doing this? We barely started the campaign and we're already off-track.

Y: Hell yeah!

E: Here we go. If this goes wrong, it's all your fault, Silus.

Si: Come on, Em. When the DM dangles a shiny toy like that in front of us you can't expect me not to go after it.

E: That's precisely why our beloved DM dangles shiny toys in front of us, you know.

I: The woman's not lying.

Si: And yet my mind is unchanged.

Ilya came last, muttering softly under her breath. "I don't want to kill that creature. Not for all the gold in the world."

*******************

What Sixto hadn't counted on was the labyrinthine nature of the marsh. Going in a straight line for more than a few paces seemed impossible, as if it were a violation of the laws of nature. Or, more accurately, a violation of the laws of the swamp. Making decent progress (who knew how fast the stag was going?) and keeping yourself dry meant staying on firmer ground which, in turn, required circumnavigating ever more frequent pools, muddy hollows, and ponds.

The problem was, it wasn't always obvious what was firm ground and what wasn't--until you tried it out, of course, and ended up knee or thigh deep in muck. The drone of frogs, toads, and other miscellaneous amphibians didn't help with Sixto's mood, either. Their throaty cries produced a prodigious racket, making communication difficult and clear thinking impossible.

Sixto uttered a continuous stream of curses and complaints under his breath as he went, keeping low to the ground to try and make out the hoof prints of the silver stag. But he was no longer miserable or upset. He was doing what he loved most--pursuing his own destiny, seizing whatever opportunity Tymora presented. Sixto Revain didn't eat out of anyone's hand.

E: Wow. Nice one, Silus.

Si: Thank you!

In an ironic reversal of roles, however, his compatriots couldn't seem to stop murmuring and questioning his leadership. Fools, he thought wryly. This is what's wrong with the world. There are too many obedient rule followers, content to do as they're told and accept the meager handouts the powerful, in their infinite condescension, deign to dispense. Sixto actually rolled his eyes and did a sarcastic flourish with his hands as he thought this last part. If they were only half as willing to go off the beaten path as me, they'd all be better off and the world would be so much more interesting.

"Do we even know where the creature went?" Kit asked in an exasperated sigh. "We've been mucking around this swamp for hours. Do we even know the way back at this point?"

"It hasn't been hours," Sixto retorted, peeved at the notion that this was all a wild goose chase. "And yes, we do know where the stag went." Sixto straightened up from examining the ground and stretched his back. "Or rather, I know where it went. I've been successfully following its trail this whole time."

Ash stood silent, mildly amused by the whole affair. Ilya, meanwhile, bit her lip and secretly wished Sixto would lose the trail. Though she did wonder if he knew the way back anymore. After a pregnant pause, Sixto indulgently added, "You should know you are in the presence of a tracker of significant ability. One of my many talents."

Kit snorted.

"Everytime you doubt me I mentally reduce your share of the prize money, Kit'seneth." Kit looked so bothered by this threat.

"Do we really have to kill it?" Ilya asked. "It's rare, isn't it? Shouldn't we leave it alone?"

"Of course it's rare, you simpleton! That's the whole point. Some say the last of them were hunted years ago, so imagine their faces when we bring this trophy into town."

"Ilya is not a simpleton, Six. You take that back." Kit's voice was firm and unyielding.

Y: Oooo! Intra-party conflict already! I'm gonna sit back and watch the fireworks.

Si: Haha!

E: You know it!

Ilya's face burned red. She wasn't used to people standing up for her. It made her feel protected and watched over, like a big sister-little sister vibe. Or maybe even a dominant-submissive one. Frightened by it, Ilya swiftly dismissed that last thought as soon as it arose, but the complicated, swirling energy it stirred up in her body remained.

Sixto groaned audibly. He was at his wits' end with these fools and their simple-minded focus on the job they were assigned, but he couldn't afford to alienate allies at this point. He knew he would likely need their help cornering the animal and driving it toward him before the end.

"Alright, I'm sorry." He looked at Ilya and mustered what contrition he could. "I don't think you're simple, Ilya. That was out of line."

"It's ok," Ilya responded, shyly. Kit was still looking mildly angry. Ash remained unmoved, silently observing the drama unfold.

"Alright," Sixto began, regaining the initiative. "I'm pretty sure the stag is close. If you'll listen closely, I have a plan."

"Oh, Sixto has a plan?" Kit said, arms folded across her chest. "What could possibly go wrong?"

*******************

Kit sometimes had a hard time figuring out how she got herself into these things. There was the time a couple of fellow bounty hunters convinced her that the only way to bring down a local mafia boss was for her to masquerade as a sex worker and secure his services. She and the don hadn't actually gotten it on, but she had nonetheless found herself dancing on the little stage at the back of a 'gentlemen's' bar with a few other ladies in nothing but fancy, frilly underwear. And, of course, her colleagues were in the crowd.

Then there was the time her search for the lost daughter of a rich merchant led to an awkward run-in with the local priestess, a centaur, and a young farmer with some unexpected (and untamed) magical powers. At least it had ended with a heartwarming transgender wedding.

And now, this. Kit was crouched in mucky reeds, trying to stay still while keeping her boots from sliding deeper into the water behind her. Her traveling companions were doing something similar all around the marshy meadow in front of her, in which stood grazing one of the last, regal, silver stags in all the world.

And they were about to kill it. All to keep Six from dying of boredom.

It's a simple job, she thought. Why can't he just do a simple job? Deliver a stupid, locked box to to the head craftswoman of the local clothiers guild in Tristanfell and get paid 100 gold pieces each. Money doesn't come easier than this. Honestly, it doesn't. In fact, it seemed a little too easy.

Unless you're doing something sketchy. Which, let's be honest, Sixto almost always is. It's as if obtaining money honestly is an insufferable chore, Kit thought, realizing as she said it to herself that she was absolutely right.

Kit wondered idly if these were the sorts of experiences her parents had meant her to have when they sent her away from the ancestral home--and the mantle of leadership she knew they expected her to one day wear--without instructions or mission. Kit still couldn't decide if it was intended as punishment, or whether it was simply a last ditch effort to "reform" her. Perhaps they simply couldn't bear the daily reminder of their failure to raise a daughter worthy of their legacy.

Kit sighed. The deep, heavy sigh of impossible expectations; of burdens that follow you wherever you go, no matter how far you travel.

A fly buzzed in her face, evidently intent on landing on her eyeball. Dumb bug, she thought as she swatted it away. It was enough to bring her back to the present moment, however, and to remind her that their little trap was about to spring. She realized for the ninth time in as many minutes that she was perched on the edge of a watery muck hole, crouched behind reeds in a muddy patch of marsh, waiting to slaughter one of the last members of an endangered species. All for a fistful of coins.

If these are the kinds of experiences they intended me to have, I'm totally lost as to the meaning they're supposed to contain. I don't think I've learned anything, other than that life is pretty damn depressing, really random, and totally bizarre.

Abruptly, the stag raised its head from the water where it had been snacking on marsh grasses, instantly alert.

This can't be good. Six was supposed to whistle like a lark finch when he was ready to spring the trap. How are the three of us supposed to drive it toward him if it gets frightened off on its own?

Then Kit heard it as well. A quiet sloshing of water, as if a creature were making its way through the swamp toward the meadow from her left. Now Kit, too, was alert and wary, this new threat bumping all thought of hunting the stag down the priorities ladder. Training her eyes in the direction of the sound, Kit searched the area and listened intently, hand drifting to the long, hunting knife hanging from her belt.

E: Do I hear anything?

I: Make a perception check.

E: 13.

I: Nope.

Si: Hahaha!

E: Shut up, Silus. This is all your fault.

For a few moments, all was still.

Then all hell broke loose. The hart leapt away, surging through the water in mighty bounds and leaving a trail of turbulence and froth in its wake. To the background chorus of ribbits and throaty croaks was added the powerful bellows of what Kit could only assume must be several huge frogs.

But these noises came from all around her. Spinning on her heels to face the direction of the closest cry, Kit saw two massive, bipedal amphibians crashing toward her, each about the size of a large human. Effortlessly leaping a tall stand of swamp grass, they landed with a heavy splash in the mucky pool that lay between them and Kit, spraying her in slimy water. Kit instinctively averted her gaze and brought her hand up to her face. In the instant it took her to open her eyes again, the two creatures were nearly on top of her, readying weapons--a spear and a club--to strike.

Instinct, won from not a few scuffles, took over. Kit rolled to her left just as the first frog thrust its spear. The tip buried deep in the grasses and mud, earning a bellow of frustration from its wielder. Glancing frantically at the second frog, Kit saw its club already raised over its head. Now her training found its use--Kit knew to block heavy strokes nearest to the hilt, where the force of the blow is weakest. Rolling forward off her back, she used her legs to launch herself at the frog, bringing her knife up to meet the club near the creature's hand, bracing the blunt side with her spare hand.

It worked. Her momentum met that of the club and the blow, though bracing, didn't carry. For a split second, both combatants stood there, absorbing the energy and its implications. The quicker to recover, Kit leaned back on her left foot, placed her right boot on the giant frog's torso, and kicked off with all her might. With an abrupt exhaling sound, it toppled backward into the water with a splash.

The second spear thrust came nearly before she saw it. With no time to act, Kit could only turn her body sideways. The spear tip struck her midriff with significant force, but at an oblique angle. Sliding along her tempered leather armor, it left a long, ragged gauge, but failed to penetrate.

Y: Hehe. Penetrate.

E: What are you, a 15 year old boy?

Sb: Pretty much.

Y: You would know, Em.

Fortunately, the blow threw her attacker off balance enough to give her time to respond. Kit felt her odds of taking this pair were fairly good, but she didn't like to gamble with her body or her health. Besides, who knew how many more of them there were? She and her friends were in their territory, after all, whoever the hell they were.

Kit ran--as fast as the swamp would allow and toward where she remembered Ilya was stationed. She heard (but did not turn around to visually verify) at least one of her assailants in pursuit, taking leaping bounds as it went.