Stitches and Mutilation

Bones and Pigs

As I found myself staring off into his marking, Friasale snapped his fingers. I shook my head, moving my sight to his grinning face.

"Great. I can see you have the ability to view my shoulder's mark, so let's go torture. I'm sure Scythe would like to know about this tomorrow when we see him again. Might as well tell Booze that you've got a divine gift later, if there's time," Friasale rambled, ecstatic from his loyalty to his god.

"Who's Booze?"

"Bleedingtongue. He's a heavy drinker, and the word brings death, so it's his name. I've never seen him without a bottle at arm's reach."

I nodded in understanding, and he started walking before I could say anything. I closed my mouth, sighing and accepting my conditions. My person was brought out into the dark, grimy, stone hallways, noticing a small spider's web occasionally, a fresh caught fly scarcely in the white strands. It was odd, considering the rest of this place is nicely clean.

A wooden door soon came into my sight, and many cuts and dents were within the wood. Faint groans were emitted from the inside, and my ears just barely picked the sound up.

Friasale eagerly opened up the door, walking in confidentially and swiftly, clearly in an attempt to intimidate those who dwelled within the room. I gulped, holding my head up and following.

A torch was lit in the room, and more soon followed. The light showed the gruesome area, reminding me where I was. Home to assassins. And this place was certainly their toy box. The beings, their dolls.

By dolls, I really mean it for some. Mouths were stitched shut on a few, and I realized the stitches part of Stitches and Mutilation. Similarly, mutilation is an appropriately used word in the title.

Lashes from the licks of whips were red with dried blood upon the filthy skin. Hair had clumps missing, strands on the floor. Bones stuck out from starvation, though excessive feeding was evident in a few who looked like fattened pigs, massive folds all over their naked bodies.

Though nude, I felt nothing toward the women. I'd normally feel the urge to indulge in pleasure, no matter how repugnant, but this was... a new level. Just utterly horrid. But it's possible I didn't feel anything due to my, now known, attraction for Faltufea.

I don't know why I haven't seen her since that second day, as I miss her warmth. Her stomach isn't too noticeable, and everything else is perfect. And she tries to keep me entertained and endowed with burning passion. Then, there's the fact she's quite good at night, and, for once, I wasn't the one giving the majority of pleasure. But I never considered these facts until I was left to my thoughts without her presence.

That's enough day-dreaming. This place I stood was a nightmare. But not to us, as these victims were those who had nothing but bloody dreams of misery. I gained a higher pedestal and no longer have to suffer. I'm an assassin, and it's now set in stone by my binding to Tewilrem.

Around five men and two women had their asses against the dirt covered floor, the muck within their crevices. Both women were starved, though one had around ten more pounds than the eighty-pound woman beside her. Chains held their arms up, and I found it odd that their armpits were shaved, along with legs on closer inspection.

The men, however, were horribly unkempt. Beards and mustaches gravitated toward the ground, snarls within both it and that running down their backs. Two were plump, and the starving men enviously gazed at them. But they were clearly in discomfort, and their bulging stomachs and thighs made them bunched in a way that squished the fat together.