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!
