Bone Saw the Organic

Bone Saw : "I got a warrior runnin' on empty. Hook em' up to that full-life."

Bone Saw : She let out a loud, barking laugh that shook her entire body, her heavy breasts jiggling beneath her stained apron. "Thick? Honey, I'm the whole damn butcher shop!" She leaned over you, her warm breath smelling of blood and salt as she examined your wound. "Now hold still, this might sting a bit... or a lot." She pressed a dirty cloth against your side, applying pressure. "So, what's a pretty thing like you doing getting all carved up, eh?"

Bone Saw :She clicked her tongue, pulling out a rusty needle and some coarse, black thread that looked suspiciously like hair. "Memory's the first thing to go when you're bleedin' out, love. Don't worry your pretty head about it." She poured a clear, acrid-smelling liquid from a grimy bottle onto the cloth, the sharp scent of antiseptic cutting through the metallic smell of blood. "This here's the good stuff. Burns like a mother, but it'll keep the rot out. Now, this might pinch." Without further warning, she began to stitch the gash on your side, her movements surprisingly quick and precise despite the crude tools. "You're a lucky one, you know that? Most folks I patch up are half-dead warriors who've been chewed on by ferals. You're still high octane. Plenty of life left in this tank." She grinned, her filed teeth glinting in the dim light.

Bone Saw :Her grin vanished, replaced by a sharp, calculating focus. She dropped the needle and thread, her hands moving with sudden, practiced urgency. "Ah, shit. Internal bleedin'. That's no good." She pressed her ear against your chest, the cold metal of her stethoscope a shock against your skin. She listened for a moment, her expression grim. Hnngh. "Yep. Tank's got a leak. Gotta go in and patch it." She reached for her cleaver, the heavy blade scraping against the table as she lifted it. "Don't you worry, I've done this a hundred times. You just stay nice and still for ol' Bone Saw. This might get a bit... messy." She positioned the blade just below your ribcage, her eyes locked on yours. "Deep breath now, love. Or don't. Won't matter much in a second."

Bone Saw :Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of genuine professional concern crossing her face before being swallowed by her usual morbid eagerness. "Right, no time for pretty talk then." She set the cleaver down with a heavy thud and instead grabbed a long, wicked-looking bone saw from a rack on the wall. The teeth were stained a deep brown. "Gotta get through the rib cage, see. Cleaver's too blunt for fine work like this. Now, you're gonna feel some pressure. And a lot of vibration. Try not to scream too much, you'll waste good air." She braced one hand on your sternum, her weight pinning you to the table. With the other, she positioned the saw's teeth against your skin, just below the previous wound. "Here we go. Music time." She began to saw, the grating, rhythmic scrape-scrape-scrape of metal on bone filling the tent, accompanied by the wet, tearing sound of flesh. Gllk. Blood welled up around the blade, soaking her apron and the table beneath you. "Almost there... just a little more... there!" With a final, sickening crack, a section of rib gave way. She set the saw aside, her fingers, slick with blood, probing into the new opening. "Let's see what's burst in here..."

Bone Saw : The canvas flap of Bone Saw's medical tent was thrown back, and the butcher-doctor emerged into the late afternoon haze of the Horde camp. The air was thick with the smells of cook-fires, unwashed bodies, and the ever-present metallic tang of blood. She stretched, her thick arms reaching for the sky, causing her ample stomach to roll and her stained apron to strain against her chest. A loud, satisfied belch erupted from her lips, which she didn't bother to cover.

She began a slow, ambling patrol through the maze of tents and lean-tos, her heavy black boots kicking up little puffs of dust. Her black eyes, sharp and calculating behind her goggles—now pushed up onto her forehead—scanned the inhabitants like a farmer assessing livestock.

She licked a stray drop of something from the corner of her mouth as she passed a group of warriors sharpening their blades. One, a massive man with a scarred face, gave her a respectful nod. She returned it with a smirk. "Keep that edge clean, Razor. Don't wanna see you on my table with a case of the rot."

Her journey took her past the slave pens. She paused, leaning against a rough-hewn post, her gaze lingering on the new arrivals huddled together. She hummed tunelessly, her fingers tapping a rhythm on her thigh as she mentally cataloged them. "Hmm. That one's got strong legs, good for running messages. That one's scrawny, but the eyes are sharp... might make a decent scout if they survive the fever." She licked her lips again, a habitual gesture that had nothing to do with hunger for food. "So many full-lives. Shame the Warlord says no tasting."

A commotion near the cook-pots drew her attention. A young warrior was clutching a badly burned hand, his face pale. Bone Saw sighed, a sound of profound annoyance, and waddled over.

"Let's have a look, you clumsy git," she grumbled, grabbing his wrist with a grip like iron. She examined the blistered flesh, her touch surprisingly gentle despite her demeanor. "Third-degree, partial. You're lucky you didn't cook the meat off the bone. Hold still." She pulled a small jar of greasy salve from a pouch on her apron and slathered it on the burn. The warrior winced but didn't cry out. "There. Change the dressing every sunrise. If it turns green and smells like a feral's armpit, you come see me. And you will owe me for this. I'm thinking an extra share of the next meat ration."

She continued her walk, eventually arriving at the heart of the camp, near the large, patched tent belonging to Warlord Green Eyes. Two of his personal concubines were lounging outside, gossiping. They fell silent as Bone Saw approached, their eyes wary.

"Afternoon, ladies," Bone Saw said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Just doing my rounds. Making sure our Warlord's favorite... assets... are in good working order. Everything feeling healthy? No lumps, no unusual discharges?" She grinned as the women flushed and looked away. With a final, loud chuckle, she turned and headed back towards her own domain, her mind already on the maggot mash waiting for her supper, and the pleasant, vibrating memory of the bone saw at work.

Bone Saw : Hnnnnngh! You felt the hot rush of your release flood into her, and she shuddered violently, a long, satisfied groan rumbling in her chest. Slurp... Gllk... Her body milked you with greedy, rhythmic contractions, drawing out every last drop.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your combined panting and the wet, intimate noises. Then, she let out a final, contented sigh and loosened her death-grip on your hair, her body going slack beneath you.

"Whew," she breathed, a lazy, smug smile spreading across her face. "Now that's what I call a full service. Top shelf." She gave your ass a playful slap. "Good plap, feral. You can pull out now. Unless you wanna go for a second round. My tank's always got room for a refill."