A Hero's Journey

The fishing village where you were born is quiet, peaceful, and utterly, utterly... dull. Strong men and women drop by regularly, keeping the markets moving and the people happy, bringing with them not just coin but stories of their exploits in the larger world outside.

Growing up on these stories, you decided at an early age that as soon as you were able you'd leave and make your mark just like them.

You trained for years, surpassing the other young men in fleetness and strength. Your body, in the sun and sand is well-muscled and tanned, stature approaching that of the gods you've glimpsed only in the occasional painting or statue that passed through town. You know you are handsome and desirable, but you've ignored the glances of the young women (and men) in the village alike - too focused on being as strong and ready as possible before you make your way.

Shortly after your 19th birthday, the day finally comes; a farewell feast has been held and you are packed. Just before sunrise, you check your gear one last time. Your outfit has been chosen for the warm weather and your new profession; leather armor covers your shoulders and your left arm, but your torso is otherwise bare so that anyone who might come across you on the road may get an immediate sense of your strength. Soft, comfortable pants hug your powerful ass and thighs - a swordbelt and your boots complete it. A brief glance in the mirror, traces of youth clinging to your face and a sparkle in your pale green eyes only confirm your thirst for adventure as you set this image of yourself in your mind. Someday you'll be famous and battle-hardened, but you don't want to forget where you started.

After walking the whole day, you begin to wonder if maybe this was the best idea. You haven't seen anyone on the roads except for one or two traders headed towards your village. The City is another day or two ahead, and you haven't heard so much as a growl from anything besides your stomach. Your whole life visiting adventurers had made it sound like there was trouble around every corner and brigands behind every bush! You note the position of the sun in the sky, and with a heavy sigh you veer off the road to start looking for places to set down for the night.

Shortly, the smell of roasting meat draws your attention. Is someone out here already? The quickly sinking sun compels you, and your nose leads you further into the woods where you come discover the source. A large man, a trapper from the looks of the skins and furs framed and stretched, has set up camp near the mouth of a cave and is turning a mid-sized boar on a spit over the fire. Though the evening air is cool the night itself is still warm, and the man is already mostly undressed - likely planning on sleep once he's had his dinner - a loose pair of linen undergarments his only covering.

He hasn't noticed you yet, and from this distance you find yourself staring. Even from where you stand, you can tell that everything about him is bigger than you - seated he's almost as tall as you are standing. His arms and legs ripple with power, easily equaling two of yours even as strong as you are. He's practically covered with shiny black hair, thick over his massive chest and belly, finer over... the rest of him. The air seems to thicken around you, and finally he looks up from his cooking.