It had been well over thirty years since Asrael had laid his eyes on a room as fine as the one into which he had been led. The magnificent, red, gilded, fluffy curtains hung on either side of the steamy window- outside which, Asrael could see naught but the white mist.

The numerous candles illuminating the room cast away the darkness- sending it to the furthest of the corner to provide a comfortable, lazy atmosphere. The wide, neatly done bed of velvet sheets and large pillows beckoned him invitingly towards its lukewarm, soft depths on the opposite side of the aged, but well-tended-to oaken desk. He stepped inside and took a deep whiff of the comfortable atmosphere- feeling... relaxed... for the first time in weeks. He slumped his shoulders as he strode across the room to revel in the heat of the brick wall, inside of which a pipe led the tavern’s heat out into the misty Hell.

A pair of excited boots thumped against the floor behind him- shortly followed by the closing of the door. Turning around, he stared at the blightlander in disbelief as she grabbed her dress and flung it over her head- sending it to the floor with a wet slap.

From behind, he saw her mouth-watering figure- that surprising tan to her shapely hips and thighs- broken apart only by a set of worn, thin, laced underwear. Her back was a sight to behold- thin, but slightly muscular. She was the picture of health- an enticing, arousing picture of near-perfection.

Her long right arm darted up behind her back to loosen the clasp on her underwear, before she slid her panties off to leap into the bed and disappear beneath the covers- her cheeks as red as the velvet bedcover and the curtains.

“W-what-…" She shone a mischievous, red-cheeked smile and stared her bright-red eyes towards him.

“You peeked, didn’t you?” She questioned. Asrael was still battling the mind-numbing, unwelcomed, surprising arousal. He quickly turned around to hide his shame and spoke over his shoulder: “I told you- this is my room! I need some rest from you people- I've things to brood over!” She seemed not the least disheartened. In fact, she seemed oddly confident as she tapped the bed next to her and winked.

“Right. Didn’t you say something about freezing? How are you gonna warm yourself if I’m not here?” Asrael’s green eyes thinned to little more than narrowed slits as he looked to the bed.

“That is mostly a problem if the temperature reaches sub-zero degrees. This level of cold, however uncomfortable, is not dangerous. My muscles are only slowed, rather than frozen.” Neda rolled around in the bed and sat up to look at the necromancer in his soaked, tattered coat. She shivered with equal amounts cold and excitement as Asrael began to move to unbutton his black shirt with clumsy, cold fingers. Upon seeing the scars on his chest, her tremors momentarily stilled. Neda had caught herself being quick with forgetting that Asrael had, at some point, been dead, only to be resurrected by his own, capable hands- a technique that he had gone some way to instruct her in, as well.

He sounded a displeased grunt as he looked up from his hands to meet her gaze. He quickly turned around and froze- signaling the hesitation Neda had learned to navigate better than anyone. She quickly jolted up from the bed and stepped up behind him to close her arms around his wet coat and hurriedly began to work his buttons in place of his own hands. Sounding a giggle, she whined: “C’mon, Assie, let’s go- you're cold!” Curiously, Asrael was stiff as a board as she lovingly unbuttoned his shirt and pants.

“Y-you-… Y-you are n-naked!” Had Asrael still been capable of it, he might’ve blushed. No, he most definitively would have blushed. The thought of her impeccable, naked body so close to his own was a thought to numb his mind. He again attempted to calm himself in the knowing that he had, at some point, been far closer to another, naked woman. In fact, all evidence pointed to the factum he had been inside said woman, but his cleansed mind offered nothing definitive to sway him either way. His efforts to calm himself were ineffective- the two situations simply could not be compared, no matter how he twisted and turned it over in his head.

This woman- Neda- seemingly had no ulterior motives when it pertained to her supposed, misguided attraction to the dead necromancer- as opposed to the Purged violator. The Blightlander had, in many ways, changed how Asrael viewed his fellow humans. Before meeting her, he had spent his life surrounded by none but Capitans and magi- none of which he had been particularly interested in making acquaintances of. But she... Neda- with her Blightlander stubbornness and her unmatched beauty, she had succeeded where not even his Master had. She had earned his forgiveness on more than one occasion and had even landed herself a role as his personal warming apparatus.

“’Course I am. I get cold too, y’know. Now c’mon, stop resisting me!” He yelped as she intensified her efforts on unbuttoning his pants.

________________________________________________________________________________

Asrael had faced Demons, he had killed numerous decorated warriors, but never once had he been as terrified as when he lay in the bed- facing away from the door to look into the far wall, while Neda struggled to respect his need for personal space. Back-to-back, he could feel her soft rump against his own- that warming strip of skin along her back that touched his own, blew up along their cover with every slightest jerk of the blanket- providing his nose with refreshing breaths of her hypnotizing scent.

Her body was a beautiful, fragrant machine of heat- warming him and their blanket with every clattering jerk of her muscles. Truthfully... her warmth was pleasant, more than anything- to the best of his knowledge, he did not need to be warmer than room-temperature for his muscles to move without issue. The comfortable sensation of being warm was, however, a luxury he would rather not go on without- not when Neda was so eager to provide him with the service, free of charge.

Again, he felt the back of Neda’s warm hand land on his hip and snake its way forward.

“No.” He reminded her and slapped her palm. She was hardly surprised, however disappointed. Her hand lingered for a demonstrative moment before she retracted it and mumbled something cursed about a certain ‘sandlurker’. Though he knew better, he could not leave some unheard, baseless accusation hanging in the air and turned over his shoulder to state: “I have told you before, she violated me! I had no say in the matter!”

She turned, in turn, to frown over her shoulder and mutter: “Yeah, that’s what you keep saying...” How dared she accuse him of willingly stepping into the harlot’s clutches? She- who knew him better than anyone, should have known how it bothered him to be abused by that woman. He jerked around in the covers and spoke: “Yes, that is exactly what I keep saying! I did not consent to her abuse!”

His cheeks would’ve flushed as she, in turn, jerked around- thankfully, clutching the covers as she did so as to not reveal the soft protrusions on her chest. They stared at one-another with fierce grimaces as Neda began: “How am I supposed to know!? You never talk to me anymore! We’ve been sitting in that box for a week- staring at Kester!” Asrael lowered his brow and dropped his jaw.

“Not talking!? All I ever do is talk to you! I will have you know, I believe we have spoken more in these months we have known one-another than I ever spoke with my Master!” What he found a preposterous claim was, to her, not much less outlandish. But she had learned to navigate Asrael’s moods and whims- this- was tactics. She closed her eyes and looked back up at the ceiling, shooting an exhalation out her nose to sound her offense. Irked by this technique of hers, Asrael was helpless but to respond in kind and grunt. Neda whispered a silent:

“It’s like I don’t know you anymore, Assie... you’re always staring out into the distance- thinking about something you won’t tell me about.” Naturally, she had learned many of these techniques from talking to Maribelle- Kester's now-estranged wife, but there was a smidgen of truth in her accusation. Asrael had been distant. He had to consider her claim before responding with: “The girl showed me a vision... I believe that it was of the future- my victory over Sargerrei and Capita. In this vision, I saw an army the likes of which I doubt this world has ever seen before... I suppose I have been comitting myself to considering how I can go from nothing to that.” Neda still refused to look at him, as he continued:

“There must be a way for me to mass-convert the dead. We’ve done wonders with inscribing them, but there must be something better- something more efficient. And those large beasts- I need to discover how they function. I-” Finally, Neda looked over to glare at him and say:

“You don’t have nothing, you asshole. You’ve got me and Ellie and Kester and Barrel. You’ve got us... that’s not ‘nothing’.” Naturally, the girl had ceased listening as soon as he had said those little-thought-out words. Having spent most his days on his lonesome, little caring for how others perceived him and how his words and actions affected others, he found the sensation in his stomach as she made her accusation... confusing. The sensation lessened, however, as she glanced over at him and said:

“You could show us you care every now and then, y’know and not spend all your time up in your head.”

“I did not agree to becoming the leader of this companionship- I am your Master in the arts of Magic, but I am not responsible for this companionship’s cohesion!” His frustration was what she had sought, that desperation in his voice revealed that he was about ready to give in- to seek her approval and in turn, lessen the discomfort Maribelle had instructed her in cultivating.

“Well, you are responsible. None of us would be out here if you didn’t bring us, y’know. You really should think of our-… m-mor-… mouray-…" Asrael closed his eyes and sighed. “Morale. The word you are looking for is morale and I never asked any of you to come with me!”

Neda could see that the time to strike was upon them. Asrael’s frustrations were reaching their crescendo- the unnecessary breathing signaled that he was growing anxious, an anxiousness Maribelle had taught her to take advantage of. She shimmied closer in the bed- nearly touching his chest with her sizeable breasts and lay her arms up against his to suggest:

“You could keep up my muorey if you showed me you cared every now and then. If you made me your pa’namph-” Finally, it dawned on him. Again, he had nearly fallen for his conniving trickery- fallen to the point his erect manhood was now feeding on the warmth exuding from her loins. His eyes shot open to see the fading maliciousness of her dreamy gaze, but just before she could reach up to touch her lips to his, he grabbed hold of the covers and quickly rose from the bed to hastily wrap the red silk around him- an improvised, still-cold, dry toga.

He glared down at the blue-balled, disappointed girl still warming herself under the covers. Her face shifted- from her hopeful pursed lips, to convey unfathomable dread, before anger crept across her features. Her fiery red eyes glared up at him as she screamed: “Why won’t you do it!? You want it- we both do! Ever since we came to Pilta, you’ve wanted to make me your pa’namph, but you keep pulling away!” He was left blinking, void of understanding for what had caused this madness to form in his companion’s slipping mind.

Had he still had a heartbeat, he imagined it might’ve pulsed rapidly as he stared into her disappointed, enraged frown. For once, he hadn’t a clue what to say. Certainly, he was feeling something for the girl, but it would suit neither to enter into some form of sexually gratifying relationship- he was still dead! But looking at that long, wet, honeyed hair on the bed- the naked, tan shoulders peeking up from the covers were beckoning him over, but-… He shook his head and shouted back:

“I will not be manipulated by your charms! I will not be distracted- not now!” He tightly secured the toga around his shoulder and abdomen and sprinted across the room and to his relief, Neda remained in the bed, shouting at him as he escaped through the door: “You’re a coward, Assie! A coward and a cheater- come back here!”