Author's Note: Welcome back, dear audience. My latest story needs perhaps a little more introduction than some others. Not only is it less, serious, in tone (I imagine the fantasy setting it takes place in as that of an old cartoon or a high school Dungeons and Dragons campaign.) but it is also something of an experiment with a more active style of narration than I usually employ. I'm curious to see how people respond to that, but won't be switching over full time regardless. Also, I should note (for anyone who has read this far in) that while there is a lot of talk in this prologue there is no actual sex. For that you will have to wait for chapter one to drop in a few days. Once it does, know that the series will be primarily non-consensual in nature as it mostly depicts the fate each character suffers after being defeated and captured by this or that opponent. Now, enough preamble and on with the show.
***
It must be said that the Sleepy Sheep Tavern seldom lived up to its name. As the only halfway decent place to get a suitably fermented drink for miles around, the Sheep had long been something of a local treasure. Day after day, the siren call of revelry served to draw in a steady influx of off-duty labourers from the area's bountiful farms and the many lumber camps which skirted the edge of Wolfhome Forest alike. That call alone was enough to ensure the tavern saw a healthy number of patrons still drowning their boredom well into most evenings. On payday at the lumber camps, though, when every other hale and hearty fellow for miles had coin to spend, well it was those nights that saw thirsty workers descend upon the tavern in droves to transform their favourite haunt into a truly raucous scene. It is upon just such a lively evening that our tale of woe begins.
As was their wont, the few local elders who had managed to survive long enough to be phased out of their work sat propping up the bar, a half dozen or so old coots with few hairs yet to fall out and even fewer things to do with themselves. Just as predictably for a payday evening the tavern floor and tables were packed full with scores of sweaty, burly, and malodourous men gleefully guzzling the feeble swill that locals considered beer and generally making merry. They sang, they danced, they told the same few bawdy jokes each one knew by heart, and they made sport with the weary tavern wenches not a one of whom was destined to escape the night with an unpinched bottom. Of that you can be assured.
Quite unlike other nights, however, there was one table tucked away into a secluded corner of the tavern around which several unusually well clad young women crowded, conversing amongst themselves in hushed tones. Now, lest this or that reader devise any fool notions to the contrary, it wasn't the sight of a woman in the Sleepy Sheep which was so unusual. Why, the place could hardly function without its small army of haggard serving wenches carting drinks back and forth, and it was a rare night when a handful of local floozies weren't scattered about looking to earn their share of the lonely labourers' pay. Rather, it was the peculiar nature of these particular maidens which was of note, so entirely aberrant they were next to the usual girls whose modest charms graced the Sheep every evening.
The pack's ringleader was a tall redhead, her dark coppery tresses bound up in a long ponytail which split into halves the intricate sigil emblazoned on the most ornate cloak any of the tavern's regulars had ever laid eyes upon. It was she who stood out the most, her muscular figure stretching nearly a head above even the tallest of her companions and wrapped up in a shiny coat of mail which hung over a bright crimson tunic. Few indeed of the tavern's visitors had ever laid eyes upon a knight before that particular young lady had stepped through the entrance, and fewer still had heard one's furious voice. "I'm telling you, we are not lost!" The young warrior's arms were crossed in front of her bountiful chest and a stern scowl was etched across her noble face as she glared down at one of her companions.
"Of course we are, dimwit," that second girl cut back. She was the shortest of the bunch, her own plentiful curves only partially concealed by a tight tunic of dark cloth. While not quite as large as those hidden beneath the warrior's chainmail, her own breasts were appreciated all the more by her many admirers throughout the building for how they bulged off her smaller frame. And the girl's admirers were indeed many. Out of all the alluring travelers she was perhaps the most popular. Her own hair was red like her comrade's, but a much fiercer shade that couldn't possibly have been natural. In addition to her scant attire and fiery locks the shorter redhead also wore a venomous scowl which matched the warrior's and then some, the pair glaring at each other from across their table. While a wordly reader might find dubious the notion that the colour of one's hair has the slightest relevance to their temperament, those who hold otherwise would find themselves an excellent example in the near-constant clashes between our pair of feisty redheads.
"Ladies, can we please not fight?" a third maiden pleaded. Standing between her companions in height she was lithe and willowy with long white-blonde hair that fell to the small of her back and contrasted starkly against the midnight-blue hue of her robes. So slender was the blonde that she barely seemed to be there at all, yet the longer any nearby revelers stared the less they found her wanting and the more she entranced even those men who preferred their wenches buxom. Her kind were rare enough that the local hayseeds could be forgiven for not knowing, but a wise reader would do well to know that it was the girl's fey ancestry which granted her such an ethereal allure. While her companions crowded around their table to survey the intricately detailed map resting there, the wispy girl stood a step or two back supporting herself with a long silver staff every bit as slender as she was the top of which flowed seamlessly into an intricate crest with a large sapphire at its heart.
"We are not fighting," the tall warrior growled, momentarily redirecting her glare towards the slender blonde who shrunk back as if she'd been struck. The shorter redhead just harrumphed at her counterpart's declaration, rolling her eyes in a manner that was far more practiced than the many onlookers could possibly have known. "There's no reason to fight because you know exactly where we are, right?" the warrior asked, turning at last to face the final girl at the table.
The young woman in question paled as all three of her comrades were suddenly staring at her, their gazes joining those of the modest handful of revelers who fancied her most of all. Had she appeared alone in the tavern, or, perhaps laying amidst your sheets or mine own, friends, then our fourth adventuress would surely have turned many a head. In light of the company she kept, however, her charms had gone largely overlooked by most of the excited locals. While slender and shapely in her own right simply standing beside the timid blonde was enough to make her figure appear downright brawny, and next to the pair of redheads, well, she might as well have been flat as a board. Her long, dark brown hair she wore pulled up into a high ponytail which revealed ears just sharp enough to signify a partial elven ancestry, and her lightly freckle-dusted face was vaguely familiar somehow in a way that lent her a pleasant, sisterly appearance. An unstrung bow lay strapped across her back, though the accompanying quiver had been removed to lean against a nearby table leg.
"Uhhh..." the brunette stammered, her eyes falling from the tall redhead down to the party's map and rising back up again. "I think so? I've... uh, never actually been this far from home before, though..." The shorter redhead barked out a single harsh laugh at her comrade's admission, the sort she had issued a hundred times or more in the short span of time the pack of adventuresses had been traveling together, then turned away to down the last contents of one of the dozen earthenware tankards scattered around.
"So, do you even know where you're taking us, oh glorious leader?" the spiteful girl finally asked once she finished her drink and returned her gaze to her favoured partner for verbal sparring. "Because I was promised easy wealth and fame, not hiking and crappy camp rations."
"Oh shut up already, you'll get your money," the taller redhead growled, looking to all the world like she was on the verge of slapping her comrade across the face. It was hardly the first time the two adventuresses had nearly come to blows and I assure you, it would certainly not be the last given the trials which lay ahead of them. For the moment, though, the knight managed to reign in her temper, such self control sorely disappointing the many patrons who had hoped to witness a catfight between the two alluring women. "Now. The kidnappers' letter said Princess Celeste has been taken to Wyrmflight Keep. It's right here," she jabbed her finger at a small marking on the map, "just on the opposite side of the forest. All we need to figure out is whether going around to the East or the West will get us there sooner."
