<br/><div class="floatleft">(https://img00.deviantart.net/c62f/i/2017/260/f/2/felannar_commission_by_tamikaproud-dbm5te2.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">Oxenbridge Hewitt</span></span><br/>Character Sheet (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1383223)<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Ox stirred in his seat a little bit.  He was uncomfortable.  Earlier, all Ox had wanted to do was stuff his cock down one of their throats, just for a little while before they got butchered.  They had been nothing to him except warm, moist holes that would soon be cold.  Restless apathy filled him as they were marched to die, but now...  they seemed altogether delicate and vulnerable.  He had fought to protect them, but...  he hadn't expected to live, either.<br/><br/>"Don't thank me," he muttered, aggravated with himself more than anything.  They were naked fuck toys, and they were grateful, and they were right there.  "I just really like to fight."  He bristled.  "And I don't want to fuck you, okay?  Just... stop talking to me like a prostitute.  You don't owe me shit."  It was obvious that he was projecting.  Everything the concubine did appeared to him to be some allure to bed her.<br/><br/>He folded his arms and looked outside into the darkness.  Fuck toys, he thought.<br/><br/>"My name is Oxenbridge, by the way," he added.  Oxenbridge wanted to vomit.  He was still so confused.  Nothing made sense.  Up was down.  He had wanted to die, and now, he wanted to get as far away from death as possible.  He beheld death, and now knew better.<br/>