Let’s go camping

Standing over the two natives as they lay on the ground, temporarily banned from the realm of the conscious, Set wiped his hands and let out a sigh of satisfaction.

Quickly however, Set recognized that he’d been lucky to come across them while they were distracted by some sort of discussion rather than focusing fully on pursuing him, and he doubted that he’d be that lucky a second time. Beyond that, him sneaking around in the dark, going after the people currently searching for him might eventually require him to kill one of them in cold blood, and that was something which didn’t appeal to Set in the least. It wasn’t that Set was a pacifist or anything like that, or else the two **** natives before him would serve as a testament to his hypocrisy, but he’d always considered rather unsound to want to put on a dark wool cap and smear mud all over your face before going off into the night to cheerfully partake in some wanton garrotting and pretty aimless throat-slitting.

At the same time as he tried to decide on what to do next, Set busied himself with searching the two **** men to see if he could find anything that could of any use of him, but came up with very little to show for it. He hadn’t expected to find much anyway, though he did manage to find a blowgun and a dozen or so darts.

Running a finger down the length of one of the darts, Set thought that it seemed as though something treacly had been smeared onto the pointy end of it and had been left there until it had dried. Which made sense, really, since hunting with a blowgun and non-poisonous darts was only a good idea if you were aiming to annoy your prey to **** through countless nasty little pricks.

The phrase “nasty little pricks” instantly had Set thinking of Nigel Witherbone, and the intrepid explorer started considering if he shouldn’t head back towards the camp. The thought of doing so was an alluring one, particularly as most of the thugs and certainly almost all of the natives would currently be out sneaking about in the jungle, looking for him. Not counting the fact that heading back to the camp and performing an heroic attack upon it, charging forwards into the jaws of **** before emerging triumphant and unscathed from the oesophagus of evil and all that was definitely very much to Set’s liking, he was also drawing a great deal of pleasure from trying to imagine Nigel’s expression when he came bursting out from within the darkness to head straight for him, and was starting to feel as though that was definitely one fantasy that he would want to transform into reality.

And the word “fantasy” in turn had Set thinking of Cassandra, though he hadn’t quite descended into about all the things that he wanted to do to her before suddenly finding himself quite distraught as he suddenly remembered what she’d told him about the **** cup of tea that she’d served her sadistic, vindictive twerp of a husband. In all likelihood, it would be a lot less effective to storm at someone, screaming “Blooooood!” at the top of your lungs if said person had already been rendered **** by a particularly malicious dose of Earl Grey.

Even so, it seemed like a better idea to start at the campsite, hopefully having his sojourn into the realm of night-time raiding being such a smashing hit that old Nigel would wake up the next morning to find himself surrounded by the smouldering remains of his expedition.

Without even considering switching clothes with one of the natives and then trying to pose as him, Set looked up at the stars, scanned the jungle around him, and confidently set off in the direction in which he’d decided that the camp was located.