I mean, sure. Saving the seven realms and forty planes and helping stabilize the balance of ancient forces and so on is fine, I guess. Maybe a bit abstract, but decent, the sort of thing you'd awkwardly mention to your mother when she asks what you do for a living. And of course, I'm always a big believer in saying all those nice, wholesome things in public, and bearing the bland taste of the words as they slip from my mouth.

When the Dread Dragon of Howler's Keep was defeated? Sure, I made a big song and dance about making the kingdom safe for everyone, and when the Hordes of Halwind met their sorry end in the Passes of Candemar, I put on my best smile and said it was all about preserving the wonderful, bucolic pastoral heritage of the Eastern Reaches.

Which is, I suppose, technically true. In a way.

Because, just between you and me, the real reason I polish my sword and strap on the ol' armor and venture out, time and time again? It's not fortune or glory or even for goodness and rightness.

It's solely, I'm afraid, thanks to Madam Ava's House of Fun.

It's not the best brothel in the realm, and it's certainly not the most reputable, far from the sort of place where they talk about courtesans and sensual meditations and dress things up in layers of dubious silk. No, it's just, well fun. There's Melly, all four feet and pointy ears of her always eager to share stories of wizards met and battles won, while doing some impressive disappearing tricks of her own up her bum. She always makes me smile, honestly. And then there's Elara, still studying away for witch school at the tender young age of two hundred and forty-three, off doing her own thing faraway from the elven kingdoms in the forest. More honest to bounce and blow her way to proper accreditation in the thaumic arts, she'd mentioned one evening, than to slide by on her illustrious House's sylvan coattails. Corly, Madam Ava herself... Even Shev has her way of lighting up a room, once you manage to repair the floor.

Not that I can ever tell anyone that, of course; I'm supposed to have all sorts of knightly, righteous things to say. Send me out against the kobolds or the Howling Phantoms in a fortnight's time, perhaps, and I'll smile and say it's all for the greater good, but for now?

Well, now, I've got a satchel full of gold, and a song in my head, and it's time, again, to pay the little house by the turn of the East Road a visit once again.

Pretty standard stuff, really - our fantasy hero is all about saving the realm and slaying dragons and such, but he's not about to tell anyone the real reason he does it. I mean, what would people think if he admitted it's all thanks to his soft spot for a cheery sort of brothel tucked away in the hills?

Kinks: Happiness, mischief, silly smut butt stuff, and not being afraid to get a bit heavy on the furniture.

Limits: Kobolds, night soil, and seriousness.