"What's your name kid?" asked Bandit A.

"I don't know," answered the cambion. "Not sure I have one."

"Aren’t you that idiot's cat turned into a person?" asked Bandit B. "What was that pussy's name?"

"Wasn't it Mr. Blinky?" answered Bandit C.

"Yeah, that's it!" said Bandit B. "We was thinking maybe you was him. You got the ears and colors. The eyes too. Even the 'M' on your forehead looks kinda the same."

"Is that right?" the cambion asked, scrubbing his forehead. "Is it like the color of my skin or is it my hair?"

“Cats don’t turn into people,” said Bandit B. “That’s not a thing, is it?”

“Maybe it is,” the cambion said. “There’s such a thing as magic, isn’t there?”

"How come you don't knows your name?" interrupted Bandit A. "Everyone born has got a name, don't they?"

"Leave it, Poochie," said Bandit C. "What I wanna know is why he ain't got any clothes on. You some kind of pervert, kid?"

"Fuck you, dick for brains!" shot back the cambion. "You're the pedo pervert for presuming anyone would walk around like this by choice. You getting off just looking at my tiny dick aren't you?"

This drew a laugh from the half-dozen or so bandits present including the offending bandit, who, like everyone else, was in too good a mood to be more than amused at the unusual new addition to their company.

"Don't worry kitty," said Bandit C. "I'm sure you'll grow into that puny pecker of yours. If not, don't worry... someone else's pecker will grow into you sooner or later."

"Oooooooh, I get it... I need to keep my asshole clenched real tight whenever you're around," the cambion casually shot back. "Duly noted."

"But why ain't youse got a tail? asked Bandit D from somewhere behind the cambion. "Ain't you a beast -kin? I thought beast-kin's is supposed to have tails."

"I'm a special kind, I guess," shrugged the cambion. "Maybe it'll grow in later. But if I had to pick something to grow, that sure as hell wouldn't be my first choice."

This drew another round of laughter, several of the bandits shaking their head in disbelief at the cheeky kid. They weren't sure what to make of the lanky cat-eared beast-kin who stood tall, naked and proud with his arms folded over his chest, trading jibes with them like he was one of the boys.

This surreal conversation was taking place somewhere the not-a-beast-kin would rather not be, and spitting distance from the very spot he had assumed his new visage.

He waited patiently for his turn to wash using the bucket, as he had already made clear that he was unwilling to take a dip in the river.

The cambion was happy to find that even bandits had limits to how much grime they could endure, and now that the monster threat had passed, they had gathered at the riverbank with buckets and waterskins and were taking turns pouring water over their heads, washing the gore from their recent battle. The sandy shore had turned rather nasty shade of brown and was littered with tiny flecks of monster meat that had dislodged from where they collected in nooks and crannies of their clothes or leather armor during the fighting.

The cambion felt an unpleasant urge to pick up the fragments of meat and eat them, but presently the preternatural hunger inside him was sated enough he wasn't compelled to act irrationally.

The bandits who had already washed, albeit not as thoroughly as they perhaps should, were already making their way back to the campsite and readying for a swift departure. That included Ripper, Mentiroso, and thankfully Blom-Blom, who the cambion didn't want to see at the moment. At least not here of all places.

This was where the cambion had eaten his cat friend. The corpse of which had gone missing at some point.

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The cambion’s actions had caused the otherwise mild-mannered giant to become so enraged he tried to kill him... he also accidentally summoned a localized monster surge. Sure, Blomdorf had saved the cambion's life twice in quick succession shortly thereafter and had yet to show any more signs of aggression, but the cambion still wasn't sure how Blom-Blom was taking things.

None of the bandits had connected the dots, but the cambion had no doubt everyone's highly unpleasant morning had been his fault.

Ripper, Mentiroso and the rest of the bandits had talked among themselves and exchanged theories while questioning the still recovering Blom-Blom on their short walk to the river to get him cleaned up. Ripper had let it slip that he believed Blomdorf had naturally unlocked something called a barbarian job class, which the cambion didn't really understand, but the rest of the bandits thought was a big deal. Blom-Blom refused to say what it was that had got him so upset and caused him to shout earlier that morning, even if he didn't deny that he felt something change inside of him when he did.

"Did you get all pissed off about that elf girl, maybe?" Ripper joked, slapping the sickly looking Blomdorf on the back. "You missed your chance to get your dick wet and got mad about it? This morning was your last chance. You're brother here on the other hand. See, he knows how to have a good time. Don't you, little Mini-Roso!"

The bandits laughed at Mentiroso's feeble attempt to deny any wrongdoing and the stuttering half baked excuses he was throwing at his brother.

Blomdorf kept silent while the bandits laughed and told lewd jokes. He simply waded deep into the river, having no fear of the current taking him and let stream wash off the blood and filth. He stayed grim faced the rest of the morning, but that was understandable. He was already beginning to show signs of the blighted rats’ infection and would need to see a proper healer at their home base. Something that if there were no unexpected delays, should be happening before the end of the day.

Ripper and his men were in a good mood now that the fighting was done and it was time to head out. This was the last leg of the trip and had been the most interesting. Kidnapping kids for that scary nobleman was a job that paid well, but it wasn’t the most exciting.

This morning had the most action they had seen in a while. Even if some of the men had died, they wouldn’t be missed. This group was still fairly new and strong ties between the cutthroats hadn’t taken root. Besides, now the pay was getting split between the survivors. That was cause for celebration!

Ripper was in an especially jolly mood. His men showered him with praise and lifted flasks in his honor. They reveled in his physical prowess and mental superiority at having solved the mystery of why the monsters attacked. They congratulated him on leading them to another victory. It hadn't got to his head or anything. He was just super great and deserved to be treated like the man's man he was.

Meanwhile, the cambion was happy, despite being in the company of bandits. He had no illusions about what they were. They were cutthroats, rapists and thieves. He had learned as much courtesy of the mental images he stole from a certain cat he ate. Still, the worst they had treated him so far was to threaten tossing him into the river to 'see if the kitty could swim.' Rather than being particularly aggressive, they were more curious about his origins as well as being thoroughly put off balance by the supposed 12-year-old's lack of fear and casual manner. He certainly didn't carry himself like a child in any danger.

What the bandits failed to appreciate was how the less-than-a-day-old cambion had spent literally every single waking hour of his truly short life in imminent danger. Yes, he recognized he was still in danger. Despite his calm outward appearance, he was keenly aware of every movement around him, each sound, every smell.

His instincts were split in three distinct lines of thought. One part shouted at him run. One part of him kept spotting opportunities to strike at the jugular, to dig his claws into eyeballs, or tear out the throats of his new traveling companions. One part of him saw everything through a sense of familiar and unfamiliar unreality, and struggled to reconcile the two.

Even still, no one was threatening to kill him post haste, so he considered his situation thoroughly improved. Also, no one had denied him a chance to wash. A wash during which he realized there was no trace of his injuries. His body was completely healed. He wondered if the infection from the blighted rats that the bandits had said would be an issue for Blomdorf would affect him as well. As if in responses to his mental query, it was then he received a welcome message from his status.

You have resisted blighted rat infection.

Would you look at that! Thanks, Status...

He felt a mental assent from a presence in the back of his mind and he wondered how sentient his status really was. This wasn't the first time he felt like he was actually communicating with it. There had been a noticeable absence of alerts during the fight with the rats. Well, the cambion had been quite rough when ordered it to not bother him during combat scenarios. The fact that it listened was more evidence to support there was something there. He made a mental note to think about this later.

One of his hosts graciously provided a torn piece of brown cloth he could tie around his waist with a string. It was barely sufficient to cover his modesty, but given that it was the very first article of clothing he had ever owned in this world, he wore it with pride.

All things considered, the day was finally turning around.