Amber nodded at her master, looking towards the box that rested between the two Tamers. Every time she glanced at it, she felt a surge of mixed emotions; bewilderment and caution, power and weakness, and dominance and submission chief of them all. She quickly reached her hand inside, retrieving three vials of the mud-like substance, and handing them to Tashir.
Her mind started to drift as they continued on their way, back to her home in Dunshire. She hadn't been back in so long. Were her brothers still wasting their time on that hunting dog? Was Eras still selling those pickles. Amber chuckled at the memory of her dare with her old friend: whoever ate the least peppered pickles in three minutes was subject to the Victor's whim. "You screamed like a Banshee back then. I wonder if you ever asked Helios to take you over his knee?" Amber mumbled, leaning back and relaxing.
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Woe to thee that ignore the warning signs. Woe to thee who enter this dungeon and traverse it's corridors. Know that when you hear the sounds of screams for mercy, and the indistinguishable thwack of a paddle against bare and quivering buttocks, it shall be too late...
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