#(also yes obviously i drank from the rotten meat well. what do you take me for? a coward?)

[crossdressingdeath]

Narrator: A fetid smell assaults your nostrils. Dead flesh lies below - a great deal of it. Kyvir: Drink from the well.

Never have I been so glad that paladins are immune to disease as I am in this swamp. Kyvir's also the only one who hasn't ended up with at least one rotting wound! I'm doing my best to keep on top of that, but there are so many traps and at this point Kyvir only has enough Lay on Hands charges for one disease cure. Poor Wyll (hovering just off-camera, slowly dying) is just going to have to grin and bear it for now.

[polvillodecanela]

OC- Tober  Day 2: Mercy

Uh oh I really enyojed this one. At first I thought of making it mercy-less, with lots and lots of gore and soul sucking but… my character just… not? like Idk what happened. It ended being really mercy-ful  and I think that is beautiful.

I got to know my character more and more.. I think we are friends now that we understand each other more or less good. So enjoy as much as I did.

This, as the last one is in spanish and in english. 

@oc-growth-and-development

The young man was hanging upside down. Oh well, Hong wasn’t quite sure if the hanged was young or not. Everything was deceptive with them. Everything worked against him. Until two minutes ago, Hong thought the hanged was human. He had been wrong and almost paid dearly for his indiscretion, if the boy had been more willing to fight. He wasn´t. That too could be misleading.

Hong was also deceptive himself. Walking through the crowded streets of the towns looking at jewelry and stealing emotions. Harvesting, rather, emotions. He particularly liked the taste of wonder. It was sweet but not overly sweet, like joy; It wasn’t sticky either, like adrenaline; it was warm without being hot, like shame; it wasn’t just lukewarm either, like desire - who would say ah? -. The hanging boy groaned and Hong lifted his head.

The young man was trying to loosen up, he saw the little rays coming from his hands. A new convert then. Hong hit the young boy’s head with a bat. Let him hung up lax again. Hong sat on the floor waiting for the boy’s “owner” to arrive. While he waited, he gave himself a second to ponder. How come such a simple mission had gone so wrong? It was supposed to be a relatively easy mission. Find the colony of yellows, extract the riches and eliminate them. But of course, the intelligence had been defective and they had ended up in that British camp heavily seized by soldiers.

They were idiots, those Westerners, with their firearms and their pretense of knowledge, with the arrogance that their stature probably gave them. Human beings are pathetic in many ways, he told himself. He had to lack any mercy and eliminate them all. Pride tasted like meat gone rotten, yet neither he nor his men were going to waste what they were given so freely. The soldiers now seemed like if they were asleep all in their beds. If someone came they would not know exactly what had happened. No, he corrected himself, if someone came and they had already left, otherwise it would be another unnecessary bloodbath.

Then there was the young man. He was dressed as a servant and appeared to be stunned. What was the two well-placed blows to the head doing. The young man was not yet very dexterous and he was a yellow - of that Hong was quite sure - because of the color of his eyes and the rays that came from his hands. If he was a recent convert perhaps his “lord” was looking for him. If he had escaped … well, he was going to give him 2 hours or so, if he didn’t show up he would get rid of him. Maybe the boy had answers.

Hong adjusted his long braid and addressed the young man’s face. He was a Chinese boy just like everyone else. Same as his own. He seemed little fed. It was more likely that he had escaped then. He slapped him twice on the face. The boy’s eyes widened.

“I’m going to speak only once. I don’t like being interrupted. I don’t like repeating what I say. Was I clear?”

The young man nodded.

“What is your name?”

“Zhan WuCheng.”

“Good, WuCheng. Who created you?”

The boy looked puzzled, or was his face hanging at a strange angle? Maybe, still, Hong wasn’t going to let him go.

“I don’t understand what you mean, sir.”

“Now, let’s see. Have you been in a lot of pain lately?”

The boy paled.

“N- No. No sir.”

“You are about to , so you better answer me. I already said, I don’t like to repeat myself. Who created you?”

“I don’t know him” then he added quickly  “sir.”

“Could you describe him?”

“More or less, sir.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds until the young man understood.

“He … calls himself >”

Qiannián! Finally, a lead.

“Keep going.”

The young man’s face was starting to turn an unhealthy reddish color. With a twist of his dagger the hanged fell to the ground. It sounded like a sack of rice.

“Good” the young man cleaned some dirt and sat on the floor “I… I-I escaped, sir. I overheard that they had done this to me” pointing to himself “because they wanted to feed a baby and I was scared. I ran and the soldiers found me.”

A baby. Twisted bastard. A baby. How? Qiannián’s special convert was a man. That was blacker magic than that was allowed. If you violate nature more than she allows it, she will take revenge. Hong and her men were nature’s revenge.  Hong Smiled.

“Okay” he said sitting down on the floor “tell me where they had you.”

He handed the boy a piece of parchment and a piece of granite. The boy did his best to make a fairly recognizable map of the mountains: ups, downs, a secret passageway to get behind the monster’s mansion. He also tried to explain to Hong about the unusual amount of things in that house, how the servants looked like puppets. Hong knew they were, a > without a soul is even worse than a human without one. Hong tried to smile as warmly as he could. He was feeling a cold feeling on his chest. He liked the boy.

“Well” Hong looked the boy in the eye “ I’ll have to tell you something. You will die”

“ Good Sir please, no, don’t kill me! Have mercy on me!”

“I am merciful, believe me. But the moment I finish with … that, with the one who did this to you” he touched the young’s shoulder solemnly “you are going to evaporate, it could be painful, we don’t know. I can’t do anything for you.”

“So… Is it better if I go on my terms?”

“It can be arranged, yes” he hesitated “How old are you?”

“Fourteen, sir.”

Misleading. Acid rose in his throat. The boy was thinking of leaving on his own and he wasn’t going to stop him. He took his dagger and blew some of his sadness into it. With emotions it hurts less, if Hong wanted to make it explode he would do it with his blood. He gave it to the boy.

“When you’re ready, WuCheng.”

“By the way, sir. They have peacocks. They are very pretty.”

Then, Hong turned his face away until he was sure the boy had done it. Only his clothes remained. He had – hopefully - peacefully vanished.

With the sour taste in his mouth Hong decided to take his men and, using the boy’s map, they climbed the mountains and found the house. It reeked of death.

Death, in case you want to know, tastes strangely… delicious, it varies from devourer to devourer, it varies even with the mood of the prey. To Hong, death tasted like an exquisite piece of pork tenderloin, slowly smoked and cooked underground in its juices with a glass of cool, cool liquor. The problem with drinking from someone until they died is that it is addictive and you end up - like Qiannián - renewing life to take it away again and again. It was monstrous.

Now, the taste of death was wonderful, but the smell was the same that humans could, if they tried, smell. They obviously didn’t, otherwise Qiannián wouldn’t have that much power. He couldn’t have created a baby. Hong had a strange and twisted curiosity to see the strange baby. Maybe he hadn’t been born, that was something he had to consider. He would not let it be born.

They entered right through the tunnel the boy had described. They eliminated three or four servants.

“Divide. You have to find the clan owners before they escape” then after a pause  “there are peacocks, very pretty, my mother will like them. Send the signal for those who are close by enough to come.”

He walked calmly through the corridors, stabbing some servants who exploded in colors and lights. Without making a single noise, by the way. They were more dead than alive.

Hong thought he was doing them a favor and he was probably right.

“Sir! The other knows we are here. He was going downstairs. He looked… round.”

Perfect. He grasped his sword, stained with his own blood, and ran like a madman through those alleys that wound further and further down. The yellow ones lightly illuminated the path with their multicolored explosions and the smell of burning meat grew stronger and stronger.

In front of him and his men: A huge, heavy door. However, the screams of a woman could be heard. She spoke english. She asked for mercy. Laughter was heard. Hong nodded his head once and his men entered like a flock of wild birds. With their swords they finished off the two monsters.

When Hong walked in he saw the milky little jars on the floor and up, up, suspended in two cages. There were two people.

“ Chandra” said one of them, the young man.

They were very badly dressed. The poor girl’s black curls were in an indefinite mass and her pretty green dress was in tatters. The young man was not so bad. They both had green eyes. With another nod of his head his men carefully dropped the cages.

The young woman could not remain standing. Hong held her very carefully. She was crying in silence. The poor thing smelled very bad.

“I have saved your life, human” he said, looking at the young man “ you owe me something.”

“If you’re going to milk me, I’m already broken,” He answered defiantly.

He wasn’t broken at all. Hong laughed. The young man was startled.

“No, no, no. A few years of your service would be enough for us.”

“Years you say” the other frowned.

The young lady was so tired that she had collapsed on the floor. One of hong’s men was offering her some water. She drank like she hadn’t in days. Perhaps that was the case.

“Yes, maybe fifteen”

To his surprise the other young man laughed out loud. No, he definitely wasn’t broken at all.

“ You are insane, buddy.”

When the girl reacted from her stupor, she got up and lunged at the other young man. It sucked the air out of his lungs.

“ God “V”, you’re going to kill me”

She was grinning. Her lips were chapped, her face looked like unpolished silver, and her dark circles were strongly marked. Nonetheless, she looked beautiful. Hong found himself staring at her more than he should. Hong extended his hand to the young man

“Hong” he said solemnly “my family’s name is Hong.”

“and yours?  Like… your name“ The young woman asked him. She was open with curiousity.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Bradley” the young man replied with a squeeze “my family name is Bradley, hers is Quincy. Thanks for saving us.”

“ It was nothing, actually, we were looking for the peacocks.”

_______________________________

El joven colgaba de cabeza. Oh bien, no era muy seguro si era joven o no. Todo era engañoso con ellos. Todo jugaba en contra. Hasta hacía dos minutos Hong pensaba que era humano. Se había equivocado y casi paga muy caro por su indiscreción, si el chico hubiera estado más dispuesto a pelear. No lo estaba. Eso también podía ser engañoso.  

Hong también era engañoso en sí mismo. Caminando por las atestadas calles de los pueblos mirando joyas y robando emociones. Cosechando, más bien, emociones. Le gustaba particularmente el sabor del asombro. Era dulce pero no hostigarte, como la alegría; tampoco era pegajoso, como la adrenalina; era cálido sin ser ardiente, como la vergüenza; tampoco era demasiado tibio, como el deseo - ¿Quién lo diría ah? -. El chico que colgaba soltó un gemido y Hong levantó la cabeza.

Estaba tratando de soltarse, veía los pequeños rayos de sus manos. Un recién convertido entonces. Le golpeó la cabeza con un bate.  Volvió a colgar laxo. Hong se sentó en el piso a esperar que llegara el “dueño” del chico. Mientras esperaba se dio un segundo para cavilar ¿Cómo es que una misión tan sencilla se había torcido tanto? Se suponía que era una misión relativamente fácil. Encontrar la colonia de amarillos, extraer las riquezas y eliminarlos. Pero claro, la inteligencia había sido defectuosa y habían terminado en ese campamento británico fuertemente apresados por soldados.

Eran imbéciles esos occidentales, con sus armas de fuego y sus ínfulas de conocimiento, con la arrogancia que su estatura probablemente les daba. Los seres humanos son patéticos de muchas formas, se dijo. Tuvo que carecer de piedad alguna y eliminarlos a todos. El orgullo sabía cómo una carne echada a perder, sin embargo, ni él ni sus hombres iban a desperdiciar aquello que se les daba con tanta libertad. Los soldados ahora parecían dormidos todos en sus camastros. Si alguien llegaba no sabría exactamente qué había ocurrido. No, se corrigió, si alguien llegaba y ellos ya se habían ido, de lo contrario sería otro baño de sangre innecesario.

Luego estaba el joven. Tenía vestimenta de sirviente y parecía estar aturdido. Lo que hacen dos golpes bien puestos en la cabeza. Aun no era muy diestro y era un amarillo – de eso estaba bien seguro – por el color de los ojos y de los rayos que salieron de sus manos. Si era un recién converso tal vez su “señor” lo estaba buscando. Si se había escapado… bueno, le iba a dar 2 horas más o menos, si no aparecía se desharía de él. Tal vez el chico tenía respuestas.

Hong se ajustó su larga trenza y se dirigió al rostro del joven. Era un chico chino igual que todos los demás. Igual que el propio. Parecía poco alimentado. Era más probable que se hubiera escapado entonces. Le dio dos palmadas en la cara. El chico abrió los ojos desubicado.

-          Voy a hablar una sola vez. No me gusta que me interrumpan. No me gusta repetir lo que digo ¿Entendido?

El joven asintió.

-          ¿Cómo te llamas?

-          Zhan WuCheng.

-          Bien, WuCheng. ¿Quién te creó?

El chico parecía perplejo, o era que la cara le colgaba en un ángulo extraño. Igual no iba a soltarlo.

-          No entiendo lo que me quiere decir, señor.

-          Ya, veamos. ¿Has sentido mucho dolor últimamente?

El chico palideció.

-          N- No. No señor.

-          Estas a punto de sentir mucho, así que más te vale que me respondas. Ya dije, no me gusta que me hagan repetir. ¿Quién te creó?

-          No le conozco – luego agregó rápidamente – señor.

-          ¿Podrías describirlo?

-          Más o menos, señor.

Se quedaron mirándose unos cuantos segundos hasta que el joven entendió.

-          Él… se hace llamar “el milenario”

¡Qiannián! Finalmente, una pista.

-          Continúa.

La cara del joven estaba empezando a ponerse de un color rojizo no muy saludable. Con un giro de su daga el convertido cayó al piso. Sonó como un saco de arroz.

-          Bien – el joven se limpió un poco de tierra y se quedó sentado en el piso – yo… y-yo escapé, señor. Oí, sin querer, que me habían hecho “esto”- señalándose a sí mismo – porque querían alimentar un bebé y me asusté. Hui y los soldados me encontraron.

Un bebé. Bastardo retorcido. Un bebé. ¿Cómo? El convertido especial de Qiannián era un hombre. Eso era magia más negra de la que se podía usar. Si violentas a la naturaleza más de lo que ella lo permite, se va a vengar. Hong y sus hombres eran la venganza de la naturaleza. Sonrió.

-          De acuerdo – le dijo sentándose en el piso – dime donde te tenían.

Le alcanzó al chico un pedazo de pergamino y un trozo de granito. El chico hizo lo posible para hacer un mapa medianamente reconocible de las montañas: subidas, bajadas, un pasadizo secreto para llegar por detrás de la mansión del monstruo. Trató también de explicarle sobre la cantidad inusitada de cosas en aquella casa, como los sirvientes parecían marionetas. Hong sabía que lo eran, un vacío sin alma es aún peor que un humano sin una. Hong se dedicó a sonreírle lo más cálido que podía. Tenía un frío en la espalda. El chico le agradaba.

-          Está Bien – Hong miró al chico a los ojos - Deberé decirte algo. Vas a morir.

-          ¡Señor por favor, no, no me mate! ¡Tenga piedad de mí!

-          La tengo. Pero en el momento en el que acabe con … eso, con el que te hizo esto – le tocó el hombro solemne – vas a evaporarte, podría ser doloroso, no lo sabemos. No puedo hacer nada por ti.

-          Entonces… ¿Es mejor que me vaya en mis términos?

-          Puede arreglarse, si – titubeó - ¿Qué edad tienes?

-          Catorce, señor.

Engañoso. Le subió acido por la garganta. El chico estaba pensando en irse por sus propios medios y no lo iba a detener. Tomó su daga y sopló un poco de su tristeza en ella. Con emociones duele menos, si quisiera hacerlo estallar lo haría con su sangre. Se la dio al chico.

-          Cuando estés listo, WuCheng.

-          Algo más, señor. Tienen pavos reales. Son muy bonitos.

Y volteó el rostro hasta que estuvo seguro que el chico lo había hecho. Quedaban solo sus ropas. Se había esfumado pacíficamente, o eso esperaba.

Con el sinsabor en la boca decidió tomar a sus hombres y, usando el mapa del chico, subieron las montañas y encontraron la casa. Olía a muerte.

La muerte, por si quieren saber, tiene un sabor extrañamente … delicioso, varía de devorador a devorador, varía incluso con el estado de animo de la presa. A Hong la muerte le sabía a un exquisito trozo de lomo de cerdo ahumado lentamente y cocinado bajo tierra en sus jugos con un vaso de licor frio y fresco. El problema con beber de alguien hasta que muere es que es adictivo y terminas – como Qiannián – renovando vida para quitarla una y otra vez.

Ahora, el sabor de la muerte era maravilloso pero el olor era el mismo que podían, si se esforzaban, percibir los humanos. Obviamente no lo hacían, de lo contrario Qiannián no tendría tanto poder. No hubiera podido crear un bebé. Hong tenía una extraña y retorcida curiosidad por ver al dichoso bebé. Tal vez no había nacido, eso era algo que debía considerar. No dejaría que naciera.

Entraron justo por el túnel que el chico había descrito. Eliminaron a tres o cuatro sirvientes.

-          Divídanse. Hay que encontrar a los dueños del clan antes que se escapen – luego, después de una pausa – hay pavos reales, muy bonitos, a mi madre le gustarán. Manden la señal para que los que estén cerca vengan.

Caminó tranquilo por los pasillos, acuchilló algunos sirvientes que explotaban en colores y luces. Sin hacer un solo ruido, por cierto. Estaban más muertos que vivos. Hong pensó que les estaba haciendo un favor y probablemente estaba en lo cierto.

-          ¡Señor! El otro sabe que estamos aquí, iba hacia la planta baja. Se veía… redondo.

Perfecto. Empuñó su espada, manchada con su propia sangre y corrió como un demente por aquellos callejones que serpenteaban más y más hacia abajo. Los amarillos iluminaban levemente el camino con sus explosiones multicolores y el olor a quemado se hacía cada vez mas fuerte.

Frente a él y sus hombres: Una puerta enorme, pesada. Se oían, sin embargo, los gritos de una mujer. Hablaba inglés. Pedía piedad. Se oían risas. Hong asintió una vez con su cabeza y sus hombres entraron como una bandada de pájaros salvajes. Con sus espadas terminaron con los dos monstruos.

Cuando Hong entró vio los frascos lechosos en el piso y arriba, muy arriba, suspendidos en dos jaulas. Había dos personas.

-          Chandra – le dijo el joven.

Estaban muy mal trajeados. La pobre joven tenía los rizos negros hechos una masa indefinida y el bonito vestido verde estaba hecho trizas. El joven no estaba tan mal. Ambos tenían ojos verdes. Con otro asentimiento de su cabeza sus hombres dejaron caer con cuidado las jaulas.

La joven no podía permanecer en pie. Hong la sostuvo con mucho cuidado. Lloraba en silencio. La pobre olía muy mal.

-          He salvado tu vida, humano –  les dijo, mirando al joven – me deben algo.

-           Si me vas a ordeñar pues ya estoy roto – le contestó, desafiante.

No estaba nada roto. Hong se rio. El otro joven se sobresaltó.

-           No, no, no. Con unos años de su servicio nos bastaría.

-           Años dices – el otro frunció el ceño.

La señorita estaba tan cansada que se había dejado caer en el piso. Uno de sus hombres estaba ofreciéndole algo de agua. Bebía como si no lo hubiera hecho en días. De pronto ese era el caso.

-           Si, unos quince tal vez.

Ante su sorpresa el otro joven rio fuertemente. No, no estaba nada roto.

-           Está demente.

Cuando la chica reaccionó de su estupor se levantó y embistió al otro joven. Le sacó el aire de los pulmones.

-           Por Dios “V”, vas a matarme.

Ella sonreía abiertamente. Tenía los labios partidos, la cara parecía de plata sin pulir y tenía unas ojeras fuertemente marcadas. No obstante, se veía hermosa. Hong se encontró mirándola más de lo que debía.  Le extendió la mano al joven

-           Hong – dijo solemne – el nombre de mi familia es Hong.

-           ¿y el tuyo? – La joven le preguntó. Desprendía curiosidad.

-           No es tu asunto.

-           Bradley – el otro joven respondió con un apretón – el nombre de mi familia es Bradley, el de ella es Quincy.  Gracias por salvarnos.

-           Bueno si, buscábamos los pavos reales.

[wolfpawn]

The Art of Survival

Chapter 11

Chapter Summary: Robert and Fianna are in a very precarious position, can they get out of it?

WARNING: More mentions of cannibalism

Robert's eyes widened as he heard a familiar voice. On seeing Fianna, her eyes wide and fearful, he tried to shout to her but his mouth was gagged with a rag of some manner.

*

Robert had been convinced it was Fianna behind him in the bushes, but he could not have been more wrong. The first he knew of his error was the cloth going over his mouth. He tried to struggle but his deep inhale of breath meant the potent liquid that doused the cloth entered his lungs immediately and hastened the effect of the drugs it contained and forced him to lose consciousness. When he woke, he felt pains under his arms and around his neck but had been tied and gagged so he could do nothing to try and ascertain what was happening.

A man and woman eyed him and spoke about him as though he was unable to understand them but their words terrified him. They had seen Fianna and let her pass but not him. The man gave the order to see what Fianna was doing while he dealt with Robert. Terrified, Robert had tried to convince them to let him speak, to offer something in return for his freedom, but his grunts and groans as he attempted to speak only irked the man, who kicked him in the stomach to wind him before leaving him tied in a locked room and awaiting his fate.

When he was finally dragged from the room, he was startled to see the people eating a meat of some sort. Hungry, he wished to have some also. It was only when he noticed the execution devices did he gather how they came to have meat and became incredibly fearful, as well as feeling any sensation of hunger leaving him immediately.

“Which will we give him?” One man asked. “Drowning?”

Robert felt his legs go weak at the mere thought of such a prolonged and suffering form of death.

“No, he did no harm, hang him.” The one in charge ordered. “Drop hang. We are not sadists.”

“You heard him.” The first man stated, clearly disappointed at the declaration.

That is when Robert was dragged to the makeshift gallows, fighting them as best he could. When he heard his name in that voice, he thought himself already dead. When he saw Fianna in front of him, he shouted into the gag for her to run.

She did run, to him. “Please, no.” She looked to the man that had asked her what had been her profession. “He is a doctor. Please.”

“You know this man?”

“Yes, his name is Robert, Dr Robert Laing.” She stated quickly.

The man eyed the pair, noting the way she held onto the man and the manner in which the man looked fearful for her. “Untie him but stay vigilant.” One man came forward and cut the ropes around Robert's wrists and stood back again with a raised weapon, as did others. Robert's reaction was to take off the gag then pulled Fianna to him, kissing her temple.

Those gathered watched silently, coming to a unanimous conclusion. “A pair.” The head woman stated.

“Perhaps.” The head male responded. “Let us see.” He stood forward and noted Robert pull Fianna to the side, his body in front of hers. “What is her name?”

“Fianna Butler, she was twenty eight when this started, born on the south coast, near Devon, father British military, mother an Irish nurse and worked as a veterinary assistant before this.”

The man gave a curious smirk. “That is a start but not proof of a pair in itself.”

“She has a beauty mark, on her right shoulder and a scar on her right arm from a wound she received falling through a floor.” He recited. “She had seventeen freckles on her nose and two closed piercings on each ear.”

“He either knows her or is the most thorough stalker in history.” The woman scoffed. “Come this way.”

Robert and Fianna looked at each other for a moment before walking forward, both sensing that to ignore the request would not be met with a positive result. They did so, Robert ensuring to have a good grip on Fianna's hand to prevent them separated. Other's, who too were armed, followed them.

“We can never be too careful.” The woman explained. “We have bad experiences with lone males, they are second only to grouped males for danger, women tend to be better, but still something to be wary of, but pairs, they seldom are a concern.” She explained. “I am Gillian, I was one of the first here.”

“Robert.” Fianna pointed to Robert. “And Fianna, obviously. We are from the occupied tower.”

“So how did you survive there? Anyone who gets there is usually on the pavement within an hour?”

“It was bedlam at first, men fought, drank, killed and raped but numbers decreased and people began to lock themselves into floors. Now there are only a few and if they catch you on their floor, you're dead.” Fianna explained.

“So why did you risk the journey out?”

“Food is gone. What limited supplies were there are gone and there's nothing left. I went hunting and clearly…” she glared at Robert. “Robert followed. I felt it safer that I go alone.” She turned to him again. “And I was right.”

“Yes, but I could not leave you go alone.” he defended.

Fianna shook her head. “I had not realised he followed. We mean you all no harm, nothing of the sort, we just needed to try and find food.”

“What did you find?”

“A dog, some seeds and a few rotten leaves I was hoping to use to make soil for them.”

The woman laughed. “Farming? Well, that's a new one. A dog isn't much eating and surely you like animals.”

“Yes, but needs must.”

“I saw your reaction to our food.” Gillian stated, studying Fianna's reaction. “You have doubts.”

“I read about those rugby players in the Andes a decade ago, of their reluctance but circumstance that forced their decision, I said then that it was a difficult decision. Today, many face the same one.” She replied.

“When we took this tower, there was no food, nothing, it was completely barren. We faced certain starvation, it was our only hope. Children would have died.”

“And they are all those who would harm you.”

“Exactly.”

“I never planned to hurt anyone.” Robert growled.

“Robert.” Fianna placed a hand on Robert's chest and looked up at him while giving her head a shake.

“It is as we said, only one of the twelve single men that came here has been non violent, Jeremy is the only one to not wish us harm and be an asset to our group, all others wanted to form a coup or simply take over. We have had to create a blanket policy these days, we have lost children to these monsters.” Laing swallowed. “You see sense, paired couples usually do. I think it is the sanity of having another to tend for that keeps a paired man from going feral. Women seem less inclined to do so, single ones tend to cause no harm, but we cannot accept everyone, food is too limited.”

“Of course.” Fianna agreed.

“You wish to return to your tower?”

“We do.” It was Robert that answered that time, his arm around Fianna.

“I understand but we have dire need of medical assistance here.” The woman explained. “It is imperative that we check a few people. If you are a doctor, you can do so.”

Robert cleared his throat, all too aware of the threat thinly veiled in her words. “I do not have any supplies.”

“There is a rare place that does nowadays.” Gillian retorted.

“I will, of course look over anyone that requires it, though I would ask that if none are life threatening, that Fianna and I be allowed rest first.” He pleaded.

Gillian looked to one of the heaviest armed men and nodded. “Trevor will show you to a room.” She stated.

“Thank you.” Robert smiled, keeping Fianna with him as they walked after the frightening looking man and through those gathered at the now cooked leg, eating.

Trevor showed them to a room. “I fear there isn't much here.” He stated.

Fianna and Robert looked at the makeshift bed on the floor and the blanket sewn together from scraps. “It is more than adequate, thank you.” Robert assured him before ushering Fianna over.

As soon as Trevor closed the door, Robert turned to Fianna who, to his shock, slapped him across the face, startling him. “What were you thinking, following me?” She shriek-whispered.

“Me? What were you thinking coming out to begin with and not saying anything to me?”

“I had no choice, the food is gone. I had to try and keep us alive, speaking of which, who is minding Toby?”

“I ordered him to The Lair. Him and Dog.”

“Well, Dog is dinner by now.” She sighed as she went to lay down on the makeshift bed. “I liked that dog.”

Robert inhaled deeply. “I'm sorry.” He sat beside her, looking at her for a moment before laying down also. “Thank you for saving me….again.”

“When I was scared I would be killed, do you know who I thought of?” He looked at her curiously. “You.”

Robert gave a small smile before leaning over and kissing her. Fianna gave a moment's thought to her possible reaction before kissing him back, Robert then leaning over her and pressing his body to hers, and her not reacting aggressively against it, instead allowing her hands to slide down and to his ass.

*

“Well?” Gillian looked to her partner who looked up from his meal to speak to her.

“They are resting and are very much a pair.” Gillian informed him, sitting down to her own food. “He will tend to the ill soon.”

“Good. A doctor and a veterinary assistant, that's a good night, I mean, she's not a nurse, but it's something.”

“They want to go back to their tower.”

“No, we need them here.” Her partner declared authoritatively. “They stay, at all costs.”