Never Wait There

I had no delusions. Everyone, civilian or soldier, found within the walls of Whitehill, had lost something. A hand, a foot, an eye, their tongue. Whatever body part we decided. We weren't allowed to decide on individual fingers or toes, and if we chose one ear we had to take the other as well.

Our casualties weren't given medical treatment, at least not by us. I estimate a third of them died from shock, blood loss, or infected wounds.

I shuddered. I hadn't taken part in the castrations, scalpings, or skinnings, but the screams... lingered.

So when the man hobbled over, using a cane to support weight that his missing foot no longer could, I didn't need [Danger Sense] to tell me he was up to no good.

"Good afternoon, sir." I greeted him.

He threw a loop of leather at me feet. "Put it on, don't make this more difficult than it needs to be."

"Excuse me?" I asked. "This appears to be a slave collar. Why would I wear this?"