"You can do this, ${name}!" I encouraged my reflection enthusiastically, trying to put on a determined face—though the resulting expression seemed more hopeful than stoic. Undeterred, I continued dressing, straining to pull my tight-fitting leather skirt up over the generous curves of my ample hips. After a moment's struggle, I managed to squeeze myself into the cramped garment, before taking a moment to stop and admire the way it showed off my thighs in the mirror. It was a slim piece of gear, little more than a pair of leather rectangles laced together at the sides like a corset, leaving the smooth, ${skin} skin of my hips visible beneath the crisscrossed straps. The outfitter who'd sold it to me had told me it offered 'freedom of motion', which he'd claimed was far more valuable for a girl like me than armor.
All but spilling out of the skimpy leather gear I wore, I was the spitting image of my childhood heroes.
For as long as I could remember, I'd wanted desperately to become a warrior-woman. From a young age I'd found myself enthralled by storybook tales of amazons, lady knights, and barbarian queens—I'd idolized them, and wanted to grow up to be a wild, self-assured female fighter just like the ones in my bedtime stories. Of course, in real life, things don't always go the way they do in stories: a lesson I had yet to learn despite suffering defeat after humiliating defeat.
Despite my best efforts and good intentions, I simply wasn't cut out to be a fighter. I was no musclebound amazon, no knightess. I struggled to even lift my sword, let alone swing it, and as if that wasn't bad enough, I was clumsy , slow to react, and easily caught off-guard. Worse still, I had a bad habit of freezing up under pressure—often in battle I simply found myself standing there, as if in a trance, staring off into the distance and barely aware of what was going on around me. Still, though, I had a dream, and I wasn't about to let my complete lack of aptitude stop me from achieving it!
Of course, being a girl—and quite an attractive one, at that—defeat had it's consequences. My enemies were usually less interested in finishing me off, and more interested in using me to get off. More often than not, a fight ended with me on my hands and knees, forced to service my enemies until they grew bored and discarded me. It was humiliating, to say the least, but I endured being their plaything with as much dignity as I could muster, for the sake of my dream. Every mistake was an opportunity to learn, I told myself—though sometimes it seemed the only thing I was learning was how best to pleasure my captors.
"It's a new day!" I reminded myself, shaking off the thoughts of my past failures, and turning my focus to the here and now.
Taking up my sword—with a small grunt of exertion—I sheathed it at my belt, and set off for the local adventuring guild, a spring in my step and a sway in my hips.
The guild was a squat, two-story affair in the center of town, opening directly onto the main thoroughfare. As usual, it was a throng of activity: adventurers of every class and race could be found drinking at the bar, sharing stories or advice over a meal, or just milling about. Most were dressed sensibly, in protective armor or robes, so to say my gear was eye-catching would be an understatement: as I entered the hall, every eye in the room was directly on me. Oblivious to the attention, I sauntered over to the quest board, perusing the notes pinned there in search of a new quest to take on.
After a moment, one caught my eye: