Sinric sits the jars down and starts to shed the heavy cloak. Beneath he wears simple linen pants and a sleeveless tunic clearly not his own and made for a man larger than Sinric.
He sheds the shirt with effort, his shoulders protesting greatly. His back is crossed with the angry red lines of a whip; his throat, back and breasts mottled with bruises, his nipples raw with abuse.
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Sinric sits the jars down and starts to shed the heavy cloak. Beneath he wears simple linen pants and a sleeveless tunic clearly not his own and made for a man larger than Sinric.
He sheds the shirt with effort, his shoulders protesting greatly. His back is crossed with the angry red lines of a whip; his throat, back and breasts mottled with bruises, his nipples raw with abuse.