Characters: ALL
Where: The arena
When: Following the end of the storm, evening and into the night
Summary: Gathering those hurt into a safe place, where they can be cared for and checked on by those worried about them.
Notes: Feel free to do many multiple thread lines, focusing on individuals or small groups! The arena is a big area, so no one's
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"I can't even begin to count how many pleasure slaves I've seen die from being used so much their inner Self simply snaps like a twig. They don't always die just from that... Some are kept as regular slaves. But those that break get thrown away to die, definitly." Unless of course that pleasure slave was himself. "Myself, though. When I finally snapped after almost two thousand years of torture, instead of breaking and becoming useless, I went cold." A grin spread across his face. "And that scared them all shitless."
He stepped a bit away from Alema, but not too far away so they still had a connection. "I've been tortured, sure. Many times. Only difference between myself and other pleasure slaves who had been tortured was that those who torture me end up conveniently dead the next day."
Daemon reached his hand out and settled it against Alema's cheek. "You want someone who can set traps? I know an incredible amount of tangled webs and enough Black Widow Craft to be as subtle or as obvious as I want with a trap. You tell me what you need, and I'll work on it. You can count on that."
He wasn't even going to explain how much pain he could take. With all the torture he went through with whipping and the Ring of Obedience, he could take a damn huge amount of pain before it would even hurt.
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