The mercenaries did not spare a glance for the long haired man hauling a fat companion along the road, nor the hunched old traveler with a comically large bag.
Ogre skin and rough cloth did their work. Joji and Walter passed as ugly strangers. Alaric passed as a weary porter with a bad arm.
What caught every eye was the donkey.
Rizz stepped into the lantern light like he owned it, broad as a draft horse and twice as loud in presence.
Cargo pants hugged his hindquarters, absurd and wrong for this country road.
One bald mercenary gaped.
"Why does that donkey have pants?"
Another laughed and made up a name on the spot.
"This a mythical creature. Donkey Wearing Pants."
Rizz loved it. He lifted his chin and let the attention wash over him, as if attention was a resource.
Then he hooked his meme shades from his cargo pants and slid them onto his face.
"Look," someone said. "He can even wear those glasses."
"Classy," another muttered with envy. "I wish I had a mount like that."
