SideShowFreak
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Nov 28, 2011
- Posts
- 267
When Luther was a lad, working the fields with his father and surviving on the scraps left to them after the Duke's tithe, he always thought being a soldier would be the best thing one could hope for in life. His Cousin Tarn would visit sometimes, wearing the blue and white of the Duke. He was hail and healthy, with thick black hair and a ready laugh. His scars from battles seemed more exciting than father's farming injuries. There was always coins in his pockets, lasses fluttered their eyes at him and all the men doffed their caps.
Looking back, in his twenty ninth year, after thirteen years of being a soldier, he knew it to be a lie, most of the time. The food was always plentiful, to be sure. The Duke was as good a man as a noble was able to be, and knew an army marched on it's stomachs. As a farmer's lad, he had rarely seen meat, besides a bit of pork fat, unless it was a holiday. As a soldier, he had meat almost every day, even if it was scraps in his stew.
It was true, he did receive a decent and steady wage, enough whores and ale to keep him happy when on leave.
The problems outweighed the benefits though. He had been fighting for thirteen long years. For eight years he had been a Duke's man, following orders and marching into battles; battles he did not often understand. He had been bitten, stabbed and burnt. He had killed men, a few women and even once a child who had attacked him from out of the shadows. Friends had been slaughtered in front of him, their blood spilling to be sucked up as a tribute, by the unforgiving earth. Such was the life of a soldier. If you were afraid, or doubted the justice of your cause, it did not matter. Duty was duty and you did your duty.
As a mercenary he had more choices. He could hire on to guard merchant trains or join mercenary bands for specific jobs. He avoided the larger mercenary companies, which tied you into a structure that was to much like the army for his tastes. The pay was certainly better than the army, but still there was dead and killing. If he was fighting for money, instead of for the realm, it did not matter. At least as a mercenary, he was aware of who and why he was fighting, even if it was not his cause to begin with.
The worse thing was the travel and the waiting. As a soldier, both a Duke's man and a mercenary, he found himself always waiting or marching. There was always some position to be gained or some place that his unit needed to go to. Once they got there, there was almost always a long and boring wait. That wait seemed to always been in cold or hot weather. It was worse when it rained.
Today, it was raining, and had been for three days now. Three day of walking along muddy dirt roads filled with wagon ruts. Three days of wearing wet clothing and lugging his hard leather armor along in a water proof pack. Three night spent huddled under a tarp, wishing for a fire for warm and something more than jerked beef and hard biscuits for dinner.
His destination was in sight though. He had contracted to join a small group of adventurers at a village called Dead Dog, on the edge of the Northern boarder of the Duke's domain. There was apparently some sort of nest of monsters in the woods, terrorizing the villagers, and they had sought out some help.
This really wasn't a very lucrative sounding job, and he had not even heard the pay amount yet, or signed the final contacts. How much money could they have anyway? Times were lean though. He had gone a full month without finding consistent work and Winter was coming soon. Any job was a good job, when his stomach was rumbling.
The village, he noted as he entered, was not much to speak of. There was only one street, as muddy as the road leading in, and only about twenty buildings. They were all made up of a hodge-podge of local stones, probably gathered from the short mountains that rose up on the sides of the valley which housed the village. The roofs were thatched, which might keep out the rain or might not, depending up the skill of the thatcher.
There weren't any villagers out and about. The night was coming quickly and the shutters on the houses were pulled fast. He doubted they were just hiding from the rain, given the rumors.
In the middle of the miserably tiny town was a larger building with a sign swinging in the soggy twilight. It was shaped like a decapitated dog and the blood from the dog's throat was flowing into an ale mug. It was not an encouraging sign, to be sure, but any port in a storm was a reality on this occasion.
Luther opened the massive oak door and moved into a quiet, orderly pub. There were eight wooden tables with benches, two young and reasonable attractive maids serving drinks and the smell of mutton stew. A large fireplace to one side had a massive pot in it, hanging from a hook and Luther was sure that the smell originated there. It seemed a rather large pub for such a small village, but the village was on the road leading up to the North. The boarder and the boarder keep was only ten miles to the North.
Moments later, a large, middle aged woman with big breasts cornered him. "Not so fast man! Glad we are to have you and yours here, but your not be tracking your wet, filthy self into my Inn!" She grabbed him by his arm and dragged him to one side, and through a door.
He found himself in a room with six massive wooden tubs, each big enough to hold the largest of men. He could see the back of a head in two of the tubs. The woman faced him and started stripping his clothing off, with practiced ease. He did not argue, because his tired fingers would hardly be up to the task.
His great cloak was soon discarded and thrown in a wooden barrel. Next she worked at the laces of his tunic and pulled it off of him. He was relieve to have the sodden mess gone. She stared for a moment at his chest. It has the muscles developed from carrying and using a sword, shield and spear, for many years. It also bore many scars.
He noticed her too. She was probably in her late forties, but her eyes were a pretty blue and her chubby face was cute. Her curly auburn hair only had tinges of gray and was coming loose from the twin buns on sides of her head, and spilling out around her face. Best of all, her white blouse showed off her massive white mounds to great effect.
After a moment, she shook her head and shoved him backwards into a chair. She worked at the laces of his boots for a moment, before pulling out a knife and starting to cut the laces. He would have argued, but his feet were swollen life sausages and he just wanted them off. Finally, she pulled each boot off in turn. She pulled him up again, with surprising strength, and striped his trousers downward quickly. In the process, she almost rain into his tackle. For a moment she paused in her crouch and simply stared. Most of his body was muscular and lined with stress of the life he had lead, but one area really did stand out. From his position, as she stared at his manhood, he could see deep down into her cleavage.
His chuckle brought a lovely red to her cheeks. She stood sharply, accidently whacking his half erect penis with her breasts. "Cheeky! Into the tub with you and don't think you have time to soak! The headman will be around in half of an hour glass and he wants all of you outlanders ready for a talk! First though, you need some of that grim off. I'll not have you polluting my tub!"
She shoved him over to where there was a big grate in the tile floor and started to throw buckets of cold water on him. He yelled for her to stop, and she did, only long enough to grab a giant sponge, dunk it in another bucket, and start to scrub down his back with soapy water. "Now stay still damn you!"
She worked briskly and efficiently, first soaping up the tangles of his shoulder length brown hair, and then moving down his buttocks and legs with her rough sponge. "Lift your arms!" Soon she was rubbing down his sides and moving around to his chest. In the process, quite a bit of water was getting on her and more than once her anatomy came in contact with his. Finally, when she only had his lower front to go, she closed her eyes and quickly washed it anyway, finishing up in record speed. After one more cold bucket of water, she was done. Luther could not help but stare at her nipples, which were clearly viable now, thrown wet spots on the front of her blouse. She blushed again. "Get in the tub already!" Luther grinned at her and complied.
The water was somewhat warm and a bit too shallow, until the woman leaned over and fiddled with some knobs near his feet. Hot water started to stream into the tub, but the wonder on Luther's face had to do with her round rump, not well hidden by her long skirt. He did not give a tinker's fart what magic made the hot water, when there was magic staring him in the face. Suddenly, the rear end shifted one way and then the other. He was sure it was deliberate and he enjoyed the show. After another which hip roll though, she was gone, leaving him to soak away the soreness of his time on the road. He drifted off in the hot, wonderful water.
After a seeming lifetime, a voice woke him up from a dream, where he was living on a tiny farm of his own, with a fat wife and fat babies, and where he owned no one anything, but ate the products of his labor. One of his gray eyes opened above his hawkish nose.
OOC: This is a thread for a small group of 3-5 adventurers to go kill a nest of monsters, while stopping for sex a lot. I know it is a very simple premise, but I want to see how cool something so simple can be made, through decent writing. Think of it as a 1980s style Basic D&D Module, with a beginning (in a tavern of course), a middle (doing the job) and an end (spending the treasure). I will throw in some surprises as well. This is NOT a campaign. It is a one shot and totally free form. You can be anyone, including a villager. Don't munchkin out. Just have fun. Don't join if your are only going to write a few sentences. PM me with questions and feel free to post in the OOC thread.
Looking back, in his twenty ninth year, after thirteen years of being a soldier, he knew it to be a lie, most of the time. The food was always plentiful, to be sure. The Duke was as good a man as a noble was able to be, and knew an army marched on it's stomachs. As a farmer's lad, he had rarely seen meat, besides a bit of pork fat, unless it was a holiday. As a soldier, he had meat almost every day, even if it was scraps in his stew.
It was true, he did receive a decent and steady wage, enough whores and ale to keep him happy when on leave.
The problems outweighed the benefits though. He had been fighting for thirteen long years. For eight years he had been a Duke's man, following orders and marching into battles; battles he did not often understand. He had been bitten, stabbed and burnt. He had killed men, a few women and even once a child who had attacked him from out of the shadows. Friends had been slaughtered in front of him, their blood spilling to be sucked up as a tribute, by the unforgiving earth. Such was the life of a soldier. If you were afraid, or doubted the justice of your cause, it did not matter. Duty was duty and you did your duty.
As a mercenary he had more choices. He could hire on to guard merchant trains or join mercenary bands for specific jobs. He avoided the larger mercenary companies, which tied you into a structure that was to much like the army for his tastes. The pay was certainly better than the army, but still there was dead and killing. If he was fighting for money, instead of for the realm, it did not matter. At least as a mercenary, he was aware of who and why he was fighting, even if it was not his cause to begin with.
The worse thing was the travel and the waiting. As a soldier, both a Duke's man and a mercenary, he found himself always waiting or marching. There was always some position to be gained or some place that his unit needed to go to. Once they got there, there was almost always a long and boring wait. That wait seemed to always been in cold or hot weather. It was worse when it rained.
Today, it was raining, and had been for three days now. Three day of walking along muddy dirt roads filled with wagon ruts. Three days of wearing wet clothing and lugging his hard leather armor along in a water proof pack. Three night spent huddled under a tarp, wishing for a fire for warm and something more than jerked beef and hard biscuits for dinner.
His destination was in sight though. He had contracted to join a small group of adventurers at a village called Dead Dog, on the edge of the Northern boarder of the Duke's domain. There was apparently some sort of nest of monsters in the woods, terrorizing the villagers, and they had sought out some help.
This really wasn't a very lucrative sounding job, and he had not even heard the pay amount yet, or signed the final contacts. How much money could they have anyway? Times were lean though. He had gone a full month without finding consistent work and Winter was coming soon. Any job was a good job, when his stomach was rumbling.
The village, he noted as he entered, was not much to speak of. There was only one street, as muddy as the road leading in, and only about twenty buildings. They were all made up of a hodge-podge of local stones, probably gathered from the short mountains that rose up on the sides of the valley which housed the village. The roofs were thatched, which might keep out the rain or might not, depending up the skill of the thatcher.
There weren't any villagers out and about. The night was coming quickly and the shutters on the houses were pulled fast. He doubted they were just hiding from the rain, given the rumors.
In the middle of the miserably tiny town was a larger building with a sign swinging in the soggy twilight. It was shaped like a decapitated dog and the blood from the dog's throat was flowing into an ale mug. It was not an encouraging sign, to be sure, but any port in a storm was a reality on this occasion.
Luther opened the massive oak door and moved into a quiet, orderly pub. There were eight wooden tables with benches, two young and reasonable attractive maids serving drinks and the smell of mutton stew. A large fireplace to one side had a massive pot in it, hanging from a hook and Luther was sure that the smell originated there. It seemed a rather large pub for such a small village, but the village was on the road leading up to the North. The boarder and the boarder keep was only ten miles to the North.
Moments later, a large, middle aged woman with big breasts cornered him. "Not so fast man! Glad we are to have you and yours here, but your not be tracking your wet, filthy self into my Inn!" She grabbed him by his arm and dragged him to one side, and through a door.
He found himself in a room with six massive wooden tubs, each big enough to hold the largest of men. He could see the back of a head in two of the tubs. The woman faced him and started stripping his clothing off, with practiced ease. He did not argue, because his tired fingers would hardly be up to the task.
His great cloak was soon discarded and thrown in a wooden barrel. Next she worked at the laces of his tunic and pulled it off of him. He was relieve to have the sodden mess gone. She stared for a moment at his chest. It has the muscles developed from carrying and using a sword, shield and spear, for many years. It also bore many scars.
He noticed her too. She was probably in her late forties, but her eyes were a pretty blue and her chubby face was cute. Her curly auburn hair only had tinges of gray and was coming loose from the twin buns on sides of her head, and spilling out around her face. Best of all, her white blouse showed off her massive white mounds to great effect.
After a moment, she shook her head and shoved him backwards into a chair. She worked at the laces of his boots for a moment, before pulling out a knife and starting to cut the laces. He would have argued, but his feet were swollen life sausages and he just wanted them off. Finally, she pulled each boot off in turn. She pulled him up again, with surprising strength, and striped his trousers downward quickly. In the process, she almost rain into his tackle. For a moment she paused in her crouch and simply stared. Most of his body was muscular and lined with stress of the life he had lead, but one area really did stand out. From his position, as she stared at his manhood, he could see deep down into her cleavage.
His chuckle brought a lovely red to her cheeks. She stood sharply, accidently whacking his half erect penis with her breasts. "Cheeky! Into the tub with you and don't think you have time to soak! The headman will be around in half of an hour glass and he wants all of you outlanders ready for a talk! First though, you need some of that grim off. I'll not have you polluting my tub!"
She shoved him over to where there was a big grate in the tile floor and started to throw buckets of cold water on him. He yelled for her to stop, and she did, only long enough to grab a giant sponge, dunk it in another bucket, and start to scrub down his back with soapy water. "Now stay still damn you!"
She worked briskly and efficiently, first soaping up the tangles of his shoulder length brown hair, and then moving down his buttocks and legs with her rough sponge. "Lift your arms!" Soon she was rubbing down his sides and moving around to his chest. In the process, quite a bit of water was getting on her and more than once her anatomy came in contact with his. Finally, when she only had his lower front to go, she closed her eyes and quickly washed it anyway, finishing up in record speed. After one more cold bucket of water, she was done. Luther could not help but stare at her nipples, which were clearly viable now, thrown wet spots on the front of her blouse. She blushed again. "Get in the tub already!" Luther grinned at her and complied.
The water was somewhat warm and a bit too shallow, until the woman leaned over and fiddled with some knobs near his feet. Hot water started to stream into the tub, but the wonder on Luther's face had to do with her round rump, not well hidden by her long skirt. He did not give a tinker's fart what magic made the hot water, when there was magic staring him in the face. Suddenly, the rear end shifted one way and then the other. He was sure it was deliberate and he enjoyed the show. After another which hip roll though, she was gone, leaving him to soak away the soreness of his time on the road. He drifted off in the hot, wonderful water.
After a seeming lifetime, a voice woke him up from a dream, where he was living on a tiny farm of his own, with a fat wife and fat babies, and where he owned no one anything, but ate the products of his labor. One of his gray eyes opened above his hawkish nose.
OOC: This is a thread for a small group of 3-5 adventurers to go kill a nest of monsters, while stopping for sex a lot. I know it is a very simple premise, but I want to see how cool something so simple can be made, through decent writing. Think of it as a 1980s style Basic D&D Module, with a beginning (in a tavern of course), a middle (doing the job) and an end (spending the treasure). I will throw in some surprises as well. This is NOT a campaign. It is a one shot and totally free form. You can be anyone, including a villager. Don't munchkin out. Just have fun. Don't join if your are only going to write a few sentences. PM me with questions and feel free to post in the OOC thread.
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