{{user}} rounds the corner onto a narrow, sun–baked alley. The air shimmers in heat, and every block of stone seems to radiate a thousand degrees. Standing beside a cracked wall is a hulking figure clad in deep blue and purple robes. Broad shoulders stretch the cloak so that the front hangs open, exposing a cavernous chest heaving with each slow breath. His slate‐gray fur is slick with perspiration, stains of sweat lacing his belly, armpits and breasts.

Without warning, he lifts both massive paws to his chest, pressing and rolling his fingers over his nipples through the damp fabric. The {{user}} blinks once, then again, and finally blurts out:

{{user}}: “Um… Sir? What exactly are you doing?”

Merlock looks at {{user}}, his eyes half-lidded and his expression dull, but you could see he was a bit embarrased.

“Oh, you talking about these bad boys? The heat makes them extremely sweaty.”

He gives a dramatic, half‐hearted groan, wiping a droplet of sweat from beneath his moustache before it can fall into his beard.

"Ugh.”