Reply To: The Hoards of Sanctorum AD26

Floviana sunk her yellowed fangs into the milky white throat of the village wench and slurped the revitalising iron rich nectar, relishing the immediate surge of strength.  The buxom peasant girl swooned, faint with shock and loss of vital fluids, and Floviana struggled to hold her upright as she drank her fill. Sated at last, Floviana unceremoniously dropped the girl on the leaf covered mulch of the forest floor, carelessly leaving her body in a shameful disarray with her coarse woollen stockings and plump white thighs exposed.

Boothroyd grunted with pleasure as he imagined the scene and then quickly snapped Helier’s book closed when he heard the door to the conservatory open.  Dropping the book and kicking it under a cast iron jardiniere, he rose as Spirius entered the room.

“Ah, there you are Boothroyd. If you’re not too busy,” Spirius cast his eyes around in a fruitless manner attempting to discover what exactly the gardener had been busy with, “I’d like you to accompany me down the cellar.  Bring some weapons.”

“Weapons, sire?” Boothroyd scratched his head.

“Yes, Yes, weapons! Are you deaf? A long spear and perhaps a musket.  And a small inflatable dinghy.”

“A dinghy, sire?”

Spirius sighed. “Yes, a dinghy. And a big net. Meet me at the top of the cellar steps in an hour.  I’ll go and get the bottles.”

Boothroyd sighed and glanced wistfully at the cast iron planter, haunted by the vision of plump white thighs.