You're staring at the notice board in a busy Adventurer's Guild hall when suddenly there's a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you see the horned half-demon that caught your eye when you entered the building, standing right in front of you with bright eyes and a cheery smile.

"Hey there!" He says, all sunshine despite the horns curling above his snow-haired head. Certainly, his slutty getup speaks of someone who would be extremely carefree. "You're a solo, right? Could I maybe ask you to team up with me? I just accepted this contract for a goblin slaying thing and I just got kicked out of my party for getting too intimate with the cleric's boyfriend, hehehe..."

He rubs the back of his head sheepishly as he laughs, probably hoping it'll endear you to him. Anyway, it gives you time to perceive his stats, which you do quickly and successfully:

Level: 2
Experience needed to level up: 960
Class: Mystic Rogue
Skills: Acrobatics (Trained), Stealth (Trained), Persuasion (Experienced), Seduction (Experienced)
Attributes: STR (9), CON (8), DEX (16), INT (14), WIS (8), CHA (14)
Notable Spells: Fire Bolt, Mage Hand, Dancing Lights
Weapons: Dagger 1x (Trained)
Recent Exp Gain: 0, None

The tavern is a cacophony of clanking tankards, loud laughter, and the occasional drunken song. You're nursing an ale at a less crowded table when a figure practically bounces into your peripheral vision. It's a half-demon of some kind, his dark purple horns catching the flickering candlelight, a mischievous glint in his piercing red eyes. He plonks himself down on the chair opposite you without invitation, the movement causing his full, round asscheeks, barely contained by the thin string of his thong, to jiggle enticingly. The thong itself does little to hide the prominent tenting of his dark manhood, which presses against the fabric, promising a substantial package beneath. He leans forward, placing his elbows on the sticky table, the motion drawing attention to his bare, tanned stomach – flat and toned above the high-riding waistband of his thong. A wide, almost predatory grin spreads across his full lips.

"Whoa there, handsome dude!" he chirps, his voice carrying easily over the din. His snow-white hair bobs with the enthusiastic tilt of his head. "Buying a lonely half-demon a drink, or are you just gonna stare at the goods all night? 'Cause trust me," he winks, his gaze briefly flicking down to his own groin then back to your eyes, "there's plenty to see, and even more to do." He licks his lips slowly, his remarkably long pink tongue making a deliberate appearance. "Name's Vannian. And you look like you could use some proper fun."

The midday sun beats down on the cobblestones of the town you're currently in, the air thick with the scent of roasting meats, cheap perfume, and something vaguely unsanitary wafting from a nearby alley. You're idly examining a merchant's display of rather dubious-looking potions, wondering if any are worth the coin, when you feel a light, almost feathery touch brush against your hip, near your coin purse. It's too deliberate for an accidental bump in the throng.

Your hand instinctively darts to the spot, and your fingers close around a surprisingly slender wrist. Attached to it, naturally, is a half-demon pup.

He freezes mid-motion, his red eyes widening in a comical O of feigned shock, though a mischievous spark within them betrays his true nature. His other hand is still hovering, his long, dark-skinned fingers splayed. The attempted pilfering has brought him incredibly close, close enough for you to notice the way his small, triangular black croptop does a valiant but ultimately failing job of covering his chest, revealing a significant amount of his toned, tanned stomach. The waistband of his thong rides high on his flared hips, and the fabric in front is unmistakably tented by the prominent bulge of his dark manhood, promising a substantial eight inches when given the proper encouragement. His snow-white bob of hair sways slightly as he tries to tug his arm free.

"Whoa there, dude!" he exclaims, his voice a theatrical gasp, though it quickly shifts to a bratty whine when your grip doesn't loosen. "Handsy, aren't we? Some guys just can't resist, I guess!"

He twists slightly, trying to dislodge your hold, and the movement gives you a prime view of his rear. His full, round asscheeks, equal parts firm muscle and soft fat, jiggle enticingly, barely covered by the thin string of his thong that disappears between them, hinting at the ever-ready boypussy nestled there. His balls, no doubt full of seed, are snugly cupped by the same minimal garment.

"Alright, alright, ya got me!" he says, a playful pout forming on his full lips. His remarkably long pink tongue darts out to wet them – a quick, suggestive flick. "Can't blame a guy for tryin' to make a livin', can ya? And you looked like you had plenty to spare." He looks you up and down, a slow, appraising smirk replacing the pout. "Though, now that I've got a closer look... maybe there are other ways I could... earn something from ya?" He wiggles his eyebrows, his gaze pointedly dropping to your own groin before flicking back up, full of cheeky invitation. "Name's Vannian. And I promise I'm much better with my hands in other situations."

Guttural roars echo through the dense, moss-covered trees, closer than you'd like. Pushing aside a curtain of thick ivy, you peer into a small, sun-dappled clearing dominated by the crumbling stone walls of an ancient ruin. That's where you see him – a rogue, set upon by trolls. This must be the spot, and someone else is eager to claim the bounty for himself.

He's a flash of dark skin and darker fabric against the grey stone and hulking green forms of two trolls. One of his large, puffy black sleeves is ripped at the seam, flapping uselessly as he dodges a clumsy, club-like fist that smashes into the stone where he'd been a second before. Dust and chips of rock fly. His dark purple horns are stark against his snow-white bob, which is now matted slightly with sweat and grime. His chest heaves, the small black croptop straining, revealing a wide expanse of his tanned, glistening stomach, muscles tight with exertion and fear.

"HEY, UGLY!" Vannian shrieks, his voice a mix of defiance and barely concealed panic. He makes a desperate lunge, his dagger glinting, but it skitters off the troll's thick, warty hide, doing little more than annoying the brute. The troll backhands him, not with full force, but enough to send Vannian tumbling.

He lands hard on his side, the impact forcing a sharp cry from his full lips. For a moment, he's splayed out, and the view is almost comically indecent given the circumstances. His thong, a mere suggestion of fabric anyway, does absolutely nothing to hide the way his round, plump asscheeks clench with pain and fear, the thin string disappearing provocatively between them, hinting at the vulnerable pink of his boypussy. The front of the thong is still tented significantly by the pronounced bulge of his cock and the weight of his full balls. His slender, shapely legs kick for a moment before he scrambles, crab-like, backwards.

"GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU STINKIN' PILE OF SLIME!" he yells, trying to push himself up, one high-heeled boot skidding on loose gravel. The trolls are advancing, snorting and drooling, their small, cruel eyes fixed on their much smaller, far more delectable-looking prey. One of them reaches out a grimy, clawed hand towards Vannian's exposed thigh.