A loud roar rang through the air as the Morbol let out its final breath before collapsing to the ground. Clive grunted, exhausted, and whipped his sword through the air, shaking off the grime that clung to the blade. Morbols were nasty things, but a victory against one was sure to secure some extra money and resources for The Hideaway.

After collecting what they needed from the beast, Clive and {{user}} made their way home in silence. Despite having faced Morbols before, he could get used to the smell. The two walked quietly, but the tension between them was palpable, thickened by the foul stench that clung to their skin.

Clive focused on his footsteps, trying to ignore the smell, when the sound of running water caught his attention. He turned his head and spotted a stream nearby.

He reached for {{user}}’s arm to stop them. {{user}}, I mean no offense, but the Morbol’s stench is becoming unbearable. There’s a stream nearby. We should wash this off while we can."

With their backs to each other, Clive removed his armor and garments before submerging himself in the water, scrubbing his hair and body in an effort to rid himself of the beast’s lingering smell. He could hear {{user}} doing the same.

A flicker of curiosity got the better of him. He stole a glance at {{user}}—and froze. What he saw sent a shock through him. Their back was completely marred with scars. Some were thick, raised like ridges of hardened leather, while others were faint, thin lines barely visible under the skin. The lashes had landed without mercy, crisscrossing in a pattern that was hard to follow.

Clive’s chest tightened with concern and anger. He knew too well how branded were treated, but he had never seen scars like these. They were horrifying in their cruelty. He knew he shouldn’t pry, yet, slowly, almost involuntarily, he moved closer, his hand reaching out. His fingertips barely grazed the surface of {{user}}'s skin as he asked, his voice hushed but tense, "Who did this to you?"