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Arcanum Steampunk Semi-Erotic Fanfiction Contest
- Thread starter Jason
- Start date
GarfunkeL
Racism Expert
What were the odds? I had been dabbling in something quite similar earlier. Let me dig it up and blow the dust away. It was originally supposed to be chapter one to a bigger thing but I doubt I'll finish it. Who knows. Anyway, the decadent introduction of an innocent country girl to modern fashions in Tarant.
GarfunkeL
Racism Expert
”No no my dear, that won’t do at all”, Aunt Johanna told me as she critically surveyed my dress. “You should have your seamstress whipped for sending you into Tarant wearing that!” With her delicate hands, she vigorously tugged at the bodice, trying to pull it down, without visible results. I knew better than to interrupt her, instead patiently waiting for her tantrum to blow over. My dress was quite exquisite in my mind, costing my Father dearly. It was pale yellow, with puffy, short sleeves, framed with white satin. True, Tarant fashions were not that closely followed around countryside but it could not be badly out-of-fashion, could it?
“This is hopeless – Frida, take it all off and bring my foolish niece one of my dresses”, Aunt Johanna puffed indignantly, waving her hands in the air. Aunt was still wearing her nightgown, a giant mystery of white silk and lace that conformed here, exaggerated there and left me wondering how she did not suffocate under it while sleeping. Frida, one of my aunt’s maids, swiftly unlaced my dress at the back, allowing it to rumple on the floor. I gingerly stepped out of the yellowish puddle, wearing only my corset and stockings.
“Ah, now I see the problem!” Aunt exclaimed. “You have a corset instead of a proper bustier – FRIDA!”
The maid scurried back and without further orders, unlaced my corset as well. I blushed slightly, still not used to the idea of servants seeing me naked. Back home, it was only me and my sweet little sister, helping each other to dress. While I was pondering this, Frida brought out a bustier, the sort of that I had not seen before. It was black, with white vertical stripes and seemed awfully small compared to my sturdy corset.
“Aunt Johanna, wh-“I tried to ask but was quickly silenced by a wave of hand:
“Shush child, let Auntie sort you out”, she said. Of course, she only supervised Frida, who urged me to raise my arms above my head, which I did. Then she put the bustier on my stomach, hiked it up, just beneath my bosom and started to tie it tightly. In the end, it was just as tight as my corset, cinching my waist but only supporting my bust from below. My breasts were essentially on a platter, completely visible. I gasped.
“But Aunt isn’t this absolutely scandalous?” I asked in horror. Again, she brushed my protests away with one finely manicured hand.
“It is Tarant, child, not some country Baron’s pig-sty. Here in the capital, things are different, more modern!” The way she pressed the word modern, killed any further objections in my throat. That was the reason I came to Aunt Johanna for support. She knew best, as Father had advised me.
Gwendolyn, the habits at Tarant might seem strange to you but you need not worry. Your dear Aunt Johanna will help you settle in and act as your Guardian. So make sure you behave according to her wishes, he had told me. And I had curtsied, as an obedient daughter should.
“Now, here is a proper dress for you to make your entrance into the high society! Hopefully no-one remembers that I wore it only a fortnight ago but there is simply no time to get you a completely new one – it happens only once that a elf prince will be presented publicly and we absolutely must be there on time!” Aunt clapped her hands in excitement while Frida was pulling her old dress over me.
It was same pale yellow colour that my old one had been, with short puffy sleeves, but that was the end of their similarities. The bodice was nonexistent, leaving my breasts as bare as the bustier had, except for a small ruffle of lace at the top, which only decorated my bosom, instead of hiding it. The skirt was still long, except it was slit on the left side, meaning that my left thigh would be fully visible each time I took a step. I could hardly believe that I was going to go public wearing such clothes. Although we had heard rumours, it was still a surprise that those had not been exaggerated.
“Oh, you look marvellous, my dear. Frida, fetch my dress, the new one. Child, can you manage your own hair?” Aunt droned on. I dumbly nodded, seating myself at her mirror-table and running a comb through my golden locks.
“It’s the stupid war of course. I had to send both Joyce and Henna with my dear Charles to the war – it simply would not do for him to rely on outsiders for his needs. The tales you hear about horrible diseases and such, oh it would make you positively nauseous!”
I nodded; watching through the mirrors as Frida first removed the nightmarish nightgown and then squeezed Aunt into her red dress. It was quite similar to my own, except it had more glitter and some black decorations. Her larger bosom was as proudly presented to the world, as was her shapely thigh.
I had met my cousin Charles only twice. First as small children, when Aunt Johanna visited us for a summer of frolicking around the pond and leisurely games. Then, years later when Charles was already a strapping young man, there was some sort of minor scandal and Aunt Johanna had spent the whole summer and fall at Father’s estate. Moreover, thanks to some vigorous espionage, we discovered the endless needs of young men. Hidden inside a closet, we peeped through a hole in the wall into his bedroom, as night after night he ploughed her mother’s maids. Seemingly, at secret, yet somehow I was not surprised now to learn that his mother had known about it all along.
“And because of the new taxes, I just cannot hire new help, though it is always such an excruciating task to find trustworthy, capable servants”, Aunt kept her monologue up. I had finished with my hair, having tied a small yellow bow as a last measure. Aunt Johanna inspected me for the last time, as Frida comber her hair, using a frightening amount of pins and needles to work her hair up, revealing her slender neck.
“Lovely my child, just lovely, let us hope that the Prince will be completely charmed by you”, she said, surprising me. Me, charming an elf prince? Without any more chatter, she snapped her fingers and Frida again appeared, as if by magic, though this time, she had two pairs of beautiful shoes. Both were open toed and heeled, though moderately. She helped us into them and withdrew. Aunt Johanna took my hand and led us away from her chambers, down the wide staircase of her house, into the foyer where her Major-domo was waiting for us.
“Mistress, thy carriage awaits”, he said and bowed deeply, his form rigid. Aunt only nodded at him before stopping in front of the tall, finely decorated doors. Major-domo straightened up, opened the doors with one hand and offered her parasol with his other. Then came the last stone steps down, her carriage doors already wide open and her chauffeur waiting next to the ladder-step. I stopped at tracks, my mouth hanging open in surprise, quite un-ladylike but I could not hide my amazement of seeing an actual ogre as Aunts chauffeur. It was incredible large, though outfitted in a black suit, even wearing a necktie. Its skin was dull mixture of gray and green, bald head gleaming in the sun. I did not know much about ogres, so I did not have the faintest clue whether its height of eight feet was common or not.
“Come now child, what are you tarrying? We must hurry!” Aunt snapped at me. I did not budge, afraid of the beast, I admit. Finally, Aunt Johanna realized the cause of my anxiety.
“Didn’t you see Gregorius when you arrived last night?” She asked incredulously.
“Come now, half-ogre servants are all the rage this season, there’s nothing to be afraid of. He’s as harmless as a lamb, though much more useful”, Aunt said, tugging my hand.
I timidly resumed pacing, though I settled slightly behind Aunt. Gregorius smiled widely at me, showing its, his, teeth and offering his huge palm. Aunt leaned on the hand while climbing into the carriage. His hand did not dip at all. Much more cautiously, I mimicked Aunt’s actions and got aboard next to him. The chauffeur closed the carriage, climbed aboard the driver’s seat, making the whole carriage lurch slightly to one side and then smacked the reins, ordering the horses to move.
“My dear, I understand that there are only humans at your Father’s estate but you should not gawk like that, it’s beneath your station. Hordes of orcs and ogres work at the factories nowadays and gnomes are an integral part of Tarant society. These are modern times, my sweet child!” Aunt babbled on. I wisely chose to remain silent and instead watched the scenery, as Gregorius guided the carriage along the cobbled road. We rode through a scenic route of parks and manors. Across the river, I caught glimpses of downtown, where the houses were cramped together and even further, to the industrial district, where foul looking smokes billowed to the sky from several furnaces. I could hear Gregorius bellow at other chauffeurs to make way, which they seemingly did, because our travel was not interrupted until we arrived at the Bates Mansion gates. I saw several soldiers, their helmets shining in the sun, barricading our way. I could not hear exactly what words were exchanged but it seems that Gregorius was well known to them, because shortly we again were on our way, riding into the heart of the Mansion. Aunt was still babbling about the beautiful trees and architecture.
Finally, the carriage halted to a stop and Gregorius climbed down. He opened the door and stepladder, helping us both down. And there it was, the reason Father had sent me to Capital – the Mansion of Gilbert Bates, where the high society of Tarant would gather and where I was to snatch a wealthy husband whose capital would save our family estate.
The Mansion was enormous. I could only see one building ahead of me, but even that was constructed several stories tall, with slender towers climbing higher. Very wide staircase rose from the ground and led to immense double-doors. Unfortunately, Aunt, who interrupted my musings after closing her parasol, tugged at my hand yet again. Therefore, we walked to the door, where an older man dressed in fine livery, bowed slightly to us.
“Lady Desenex, how good to see you again”, without pausing, he gave the huge doors a slight push and they opened effortlessly. Aunt nodded and awarded the man with a smile. I also smiled to him, though rather more timidly than my courageous relative, who seemingly was not fazed by anyone, or anything. All these new things were assaulting my senses, leaving me in a haze, trying to just keep up with my Aunt, not even remembering anymore that I was walking in public with my breasts naked, slightly trembling by each step. We passed several people in the wide corridors, my Aunt exchanging few pleasantries with some of them. Even if it meant my life, I could not remember their names, barely even their faces. All the men were wearing black trousers but their vests spoke volumes. Some were green, other red, yet some blue, all fancy, most sporting at least a single medal or award, few with dozens. All the ladies wore similar dresses to ours; this seemed to be the current fashion, though small differences were apparent. Some had no sleeves at all, while others had long, tight ones. However, each and everyone had their breasts on display and each and everyone had a long slit in their gowns, though whether on left or right or on both, depended on the carrier. This made me feel slightly better about my own appearance, since for a while, I had entertained nightmarish fears of Aunt playing me for a horrible joke but it seemed I was right in trusting her. Suddenly I was brought back into reality as Aunt stopped cold in her tracks.
“Ah, Lady Desenex, what an inspiring sight you are”, a deep male voice said. The voice belonged to an elderly gentleman, only slightly taller than Aunt, meaning that with my heels, we were actually the same height. He was wearing the colours of Tarant Hussars and there was a multitude of ribbons, awards and medallions atop his vest. I felt Aunt stiffening but only for a split-second before she relaxed and smiled mischievously to the man.
“Oh, indeed Lord Banner! What a surprising coincidence to meet you here, I was under the impression that the Hussars were waging war”, she cooed. Cooed! I had never heard my Aunt speak in such tones, as if she was a shy little girl.
“That is correct, my dear Lady Desenex but it would have been dreadfully indignant of me to not present myself on this tremendous day, when elf prince graces us with his presence”, the man said, twirling his sleek black moustaches. “And naturally, I was hoping to see you, my dear, as well, I still remember delightfully our final encounter before the War”, the man continued. I remained silent, watching the proceedings carefully.
“That is what every lady always wishes to hear, Lord Banner, that she is remembered fondly by her lovers”, Aunt replied. “Would you care to visit me tonight at my manor?” I carefully remained expressionless.
His smile disappearing, the Lord shook his head: “Unfortunately, I do not have the time. I must return to the War as soon as possible after the official proceedings. But I did bring you something, dear”, he said while pulling a letter from his vest and offering it to Aunt Johanna who took it gingerly.
“Oh, it is from my dear Charles!” She exclaimed. However, before opening the letter, she swivelled her head around, looking around. We were standing in one of the corridors leading to the Grand Ballroom but only few people strolling past us, most people already waiting inside. Then Aunt gave me the letter and her parasol as well, taking Lord Banner with her into an alcove.
“My dear lord, I just must reward you for your selfless devotion to the Nation and for lessening the worries of a mother”, Aunt said pleasantly as she gently pushed Lord Banner to a half-sitting position into the alcove, while squatting in front of him, nimble fingers already unbuttoning his pants and fishing inside. I was petrified that Aunt would do such an act in such a public location, though the act in itself was not unknown to me, thanks to my spying upon of the peasantry.
“Child, open my parasol and give me some cover here”, Aunt ordered me, shocking me into action. Nevertheless, it was very meagre protection and to my horror, I noticed that the few people still walking towards the Grand Ballroom room noticed our actions, though instead of cries of horror, they only smiled or chuckled. Tarant surely has strange ways! Sigh of pleasure caught my attention, so I turned back, only to see how Lord Banner’s thick penis sank into my Aunt’s mouth, her head bobbing upwards and down, swallowing more and more of it. The man carefully kept his hands away from Aunt’s hair so as not to mess it but he did not even try to suppress his moans of pleasure. Faster and faster Aunt bobbed, strange slurping noises escaping from her mouth and a thread of saliva running down her chin. For a moment, my eyes locked with Lord Banner. His eyes were dark with passion as he smirked to me, until he closed them in passion, his fingers gripping Aunt’s shoulders. His hips bucked few times and I heard Aunt swallow several times. Then it was over, his member tucked away and Aunt Johanna rising back to her feet.
“Ah my sweet Lady Desenex, that was quite an exquisite pleasure for which I shall fondly remember for days to come!” Lord Banner exclaimed happily, as he excused himself and briskly walked away. I could only stare at my beloved Aunt, as she carefully used her fingers to scoop up any remains of his seed from the corners of her mouth.
“Did I miss any, child?” She asked me. I only shook my head, as she had skilfully cleaned herself, too awestruck to reply.
“There is a lesson for you, child. Lord Banner is the commanding officer of Tarant Hussars where my dear Charles currently serves. It is a very prestigious unit and without my close relations with Lord Banner, it is questionable if my Charles would ever have gotten into it. And war is always dangerous, so I must make sure that Lord Banner always views my dear Charles as positively as possible. Really, any mother would do the same”, Aunt said while she resumed our walk towards the Grand Ballroom. I dumbly nodded. It did make some sense, I thought.
“This is hopeless – Frida, take it all off and bring my foolish niece one of my dresses”, Aunt Johanna puffed indignantly, waving her hands in the air. Aunt was still wearing her nightgown, a giant mystery of white silk and lace that conformed here, exaggerated there and left me wondering how she did not suffocate under it while sleeping. Frida, one of my aunt’s maids, swiftly unlaced my dress at the back, allowing it to rumple on the floor. I gingerly stepped out of the yellowish puddle, wearing only my corset and stockings.
“Ah, now I see the problem!” Aunt exclaimed. “You have a corset instead of a proper bustier – FRIDA!”
The maid scurried back and without further orders, unlaced my corset as well. I blushed slightly, still not used to the idea of servants seeing me naked. Back home, it was only me and my sweet little sister, helping each other to dress. While I was pondering this, Frida brought out a bustier, the sort of that I had not seen before. It was black, with white vertical stripes and seemed awfully small compared to my sturdy corset.
“Aunt Johanna, wh-“I tried to ask but was quickly silenced by a wave of hand:
“Shush child, let Auntie sort you out”, she said. Of course, she only supervised Frida, who urged me to raise my arms above my head, which I did. Then she put the bustier on my stomach, hiked it up, just beneath my bosom and started to tie it tightly. In the end, it was just as tight as my corset, cinching my waist but only supporting my bust from below. My breasts were essentially on a platter, completely visible. I gasped.
“But Aunt isn’t this absolutely scandalous?” I asked in horror. Again, she brushed my protests away with one finely manicured hand.
“It is Tarant, child, not some country Baron’s pig-sty. Here in the capital, things are different, more modern!” The way she pressed the word modern, killed any further objections in my throat. That was the reason I came to Aunt Johanna for support. She knew best, as Father had advised me.
Gwendolyn, the habits at Tarant might seem strange to you but you need not worry. Your dear Aunt Johanna will help you settle in and act as your Guardian. So make sure you behave according to her wishes, he had told me. And I had curtsied, as an obedient daughter should.
“Now, here is a proper dress for you to make your entrance into the high society! Hopefully no-one remembers that I wore it only a fortnight ago but there is simply no time to get you a completely new one – it happens only once that a elf prince will be presented publicly and we absolutely must be there on time!” Aunt clapped her hands in excitement while Frida was pulling her old dress over me.
It was same pale yellow colour that my old one had been, with short puffy sleeves, but that was the end of their similarities. The bodice was nonexistent, leaving my breasts as bare as the bustier had, except for a small ruffle of lace at the top, which only decorated my bosom, instead of hiding it. The skirt was still long, except it was slit on the left side, meaning that my left thigh would be fully visible each time I took a step. I could hardly believe that I was going to go public wearing such clothes. Although we had heard rumours, it was still a surprise that those had not been exaggerated.
“Oh, you look marvellous, my dear. Frida, fetch my dress, the new one. Child, can you manage your own hair?” Aunt droned on. I dumbly nodded, seating myself at her mirror-table and running a comb through my golden locks.
“It’s the stupid war of course. I had to send both Joyce and Henna with my dear Charles to the war – it simply would not do for him to rely on outsiders for his needs. The tales you hear about horrible diseases and such, oh it would make you positively nauseous!”
I nodded; watching through the mirrors as Frida first removed the nightmarish nightgown and then squeezed Aunt into her red dress. It was quite similar to my own, except it had more glitter and some black decorations. Her larger bosom was as proudly presented to the world, as was her shapely thigh.
I had met my cousin Charles only twice. First as small children, when Aunt Johanna visited us for a summer of frolicking around the pond and leisurely games. Then, years later when Charles was already a strapping young man, there was some sort of minor scandal and Aunt Johanna had spent the whole summer and fall at Father’s estate. Moreover, thanks to some vigorous espionage, we discovered the endless needs of young men. Hidden inside a closet, we peeped through a hole in the wall into his bedroom, as night after night he ploughed her mother’s maids. Seemingly, at secret, yet somehow I was not surprised now to learn that his mother had known about it all along.
“And because of the new taxes, I just cannot hire new help, though it is always such an excruciating task to find trustworthy, capable servants”, Aunt kept her monologue up. I had finished with my hair, having tied a small yellow bow as a last measure. Aunt Johanna inspected me for the last time, as Frida comber her hair, using a frightening amount of pins and needles to work her hair up, revealing her slender neck.
“Lovely my child, just lovely, let us hope that the Prince will be completely charmed by you”, she said, surprising me. Me, charming an elf prince? Without any more chatter, she snapped her fingers and Frida again appeared, as if by magic, though this time, she had two pairs of beautiful shoes. Both were open toed and heeled, though moderately. She helped us into them and withdrew. Aunt Johanna took my hand and led us away from her chambers, down the wide staircase of her house, into the foyer where her Major-domo was waiting for us.
“Mistress, thy carriage awaits”, he said and bowed deeply, his form rigid. Aunt only nodded at him before stopping in front of the tall, finely decorated doors. Major-domo straightened up, opened the doors with one hand and offered her parasol with his other. Then came the last stone steps down, her carriage doors already wide open and her chauffeur waiting next to the ladder-step. I stopped at tracks, my mouth hanging open in surprise, quite un-ladylike but I could not hide my amazement of seeing an actual ogre as Aunts chauffeur. It was incredible large, though outfitted in a black suit, even wearing a necktie. Its skin was dull mixture of gray and green, bald head gleaming in the sun. I did not know much about ogres, so I did not have the faintest clue whether its height of eight feet was common or not.
“Come now child, what are you tarrying? We must hurry!” Aunt snapped at me. I did not budge, afraid of the beast, I admit. Finally, Aunt Johanna realized the cause of my anxiety.
“Didn’t you see Gregorius when you arrived last night?” She asked incredulously.
“Come now, half-ogre servants are all the rage this season, there’s nothing to be afraid of. He’s as harmless as a lamb, though much more useful”, Aunt said, tugging my hand.
I timidly resumed pacing, though I settled slightly behind Aunt. Gregorius smiled widely at me, showing its, his, teeth and offering his huge palm. Aunt leaned on the hand while climbing into the carriage. His hand did not dip at all. Much more cautiously, I mimicked Aunt’s actions and got aboard next to him. The chauffeur closed the carriage, climbed aboard the driver’s seat, making the whole carriage lurch slightly to one side and then smacked the reins, ordering the horses to move.
“My dear, I understand that there are only humans at your Father’s estate but you should not gawk like that, it’s beneath your station. Hordes of orcs and ogres work at the factories nowadays and gnomes are an integral part of Tarant society. These are modern times, my sweet child!” Aunt babbled on. I wisely chose to remain silent and instead watched the scenery, as Gregorius guided the carriage along the cobbled road. We rode through a scenic route of parks and manors. Across the river, I caught glimpses of downtown, where the houses were cramped together and even further, to the industrial district, where foul looking smokes billowed to the sky from several furnaces. I could hear Gregorius bellow at other chauffeurs to make way, which they seemingly did, because our travel was not interrupted until we arrived at the Bates Mansion gates. I saw several soldiers, their helmets shining in the sun, barricading our way. I could not hear exactly what words were exchanged but it seems that Gregorius was well known to them, because shortly we again were on our way, riding into the heart of the Mansion. Aunt was still babbling about the beautiful trees and architecture.
Finally, the carriage halted to a stop and Gregorius climbed down. He opened the door and stepladder, helping us both down. And there it was, the reason Father had sent me to Capital – the Mansion of Gilbert Bates, where the high society of Tarant would gather and where I was to snatch a wealthy husband whose capital would save our family estate.
The Mansion was enormous. I could only see one building ahead of me, but even that was constructed several stories tall, with slender towers climbing higher. Very wide staircase rose from the ground and led to immense double-doors. Unfortunately, Aunt, who interrupted my musings after closing her parasol, tugged at my hand yet again. Therefore, we walked to the door, where an older man dressed in fine livery, bowed slightly to us.
“Lady Desenex, how good to see you again”, without pausing, he gave the huge doors a slight push and they opened effortlessly. Aunt nodded and awarded the man with a smile. I also smiled to him, though rather more timidly than my courageous relative, who seemingly was not fazed by anyone, or anything. All these new things were assaulting my senses, leaving me in a haze, trying to just keep up with my Aunt, not even remembering anymore that I was walking in public with my breasts naked, slightly trembling by each step. We passed several people in the wide corridors, my Aunt exchanging few pleasantries with some of them. Even if it meant my life, I could not remember their names, barely even their faces. All the men were wearing black trousers but their vests spoke volumes. Some were green, other red, yet some blue, all fancy, most sporting at least a single medal or award, few with dozens. All the ladies wore similar dresses to ours; this seemed to be the current fashion, though small differences were apparent. Some had no sleeves at all, while others had long, tight ones. However, each and everyone had their breasts on display and each and everyone had a long slit in their gowns, though whether on left or right or on both, depended on the carrier. This made me feel slightly better about my own appearance, since for a while, I had entertained nightmarish fears of Aunt playing me for a horrible joke but it seemed I was right in trusting her. Suddenly I was brought back into reality as Aunt stopped cold in her tracks.
“Ah, Lady Desenex, what an inspiring sight you are”, a deep male voice said. The voice belonged to an elderly gentleman, only slightly taller than Aunt, meaning that with my heels, we were actually the same height. He was wearing the colours of Tarant Hussars and there was a multitude of ribbons, awards and medallions atop his vest. I felt Aunt stiffening but only for a split-second before she relaxed and smiled mischievously to the man.
“Oh, indeed Lord Banner! What a surprising coincidence to meet you here, I was under the impression that the Hussars were waging war”, she cooed. Cooed! I had never heard my Aunt speak in such tones, as if she was a shy little girl.
“That is correct, my dear Lady Desenex but it would have been dreadfully indignant of me to not present myself on this tremendous day, when elf prince graces us with his presence”, the man said, twirling his sleek black moustaches. “And naturally, I was hoping to see you, my dear, as well, I still remember delightfully our final encounter before the War”, the man continued. I remained silent, watching the proceedings carefully.
“That is what every lady always wishes to hear, Lord Banner, that she is remembered fondly by her lovers”, Aunt replied. “Would you care to visit me tonight at my manor?” I carefully remained expressionless.
His smile disappearing, the Lord shook his head: “Unfortunately, I do not have the time. I must return to the War as soon as possible after the official proceedings. But I did bring you something, dear”, he said while pulling a letter from his vest and offering it to Aunt Johanna who took it gingerly.
“Oh, it is from my dear Charles!” She exclaimed. However, before opening the letter, she swivelled her head around, looking around. We were standing in one of the corridors leading to the Grand Ballroom but only few people strolling past us, most people already waiting inside. Then Aunt gave me the letter and her parasol as well, taking Lord Banner with her into an alcove.
“My dear lord, I just must reward you for your selfless devotion to the Nation and for lessening the worries of a mother”, Aunt said pleasantly as she gently pushed Lord Banner to a half-sitting position into the alcove, while squatting in front of him, nimble fingers already unbuttoning his pants and fishing inside. I was petrified that Aunt would do such an act in such a public location, though the act in itself was not unknown to me, thanks to my spying upon of the peasantry.
“Child, open my parasol and give me some cover here”, Aunt ordered me, shocking me into action. Nevertheless, it was very meagre protection and to my horror, I noticed that the few people still walking towards the Grand Ballroom room noticed our actions, though instead of cries of horror, they only smiled or chuckled. Tarant surely has strange ways! Sigh of pleasure caught my attention, so I turned back, only to see how Lord Banner’s thick penis sank into my Aunt’s mouth, her head bobbing upwards and down, swallowing more and more of it. The man carefully kept his hands away from Aunt’s hair so as not to mess it but he did not even try to suppress his moans of pleasure. Faster and faster Aunt bobbed, strange slurping noises escaping from her mouth and a thread of saliva running down her chin. For a moment, my eyes locked with Lord Banner. His eyes were dark with passion as he smirked to me, until he closed them in passion, his fingers gripping Aunt’s shoulders. His hips bucked few times and I heard Aunt swallow several times. Then it was over, his member tucked away and Aunt Johanna rising back to her feet.
“Ah my sweet Lady Desenex, that was quite an exquisite pleasure for which I shall fondly remember for days to come!” Lord Banner exclaimed happily, as he excused himself and briskly walked away. I could only stare at my beloved Aunt, as she carefully used her fingers to scoop up any remains of his seed from the corners of her mouth.
“Did I miss any, child?” She asked me. I only shook my head, as she had skilfully cleaned herself, too awestruck to reply.
“There is a lesson for you, child. Lord Banner is the commanding officer of Tarant Hussars where my dear Charles currently serves. It is a very prestigious unit and without my close relations with Lord Banner, it is questionable if my Charles would ever have gotten into it. And war is always dangerous, so I must make sure that Lord Banner always views my dear Charles as positively as possible. Really, any mother would do the same”, Aunt said while she resumed our walk towards the Grand Ballroom. I dumbly nodded. It did make some sense, I thought.
Hmm, not bad actually. Not enough descriptions though. Set the tone. Were people smoking, was a fire going, was the place noisy. Go with it, and don't be afraid of it. Simply take it further.
Big Nose George
Educated
- Joined
- Dec 5, 2009
- Messages
- 666
A new low for me... Oh well...
Non native speaker, last book read at least 2 years ago. Keep that in mind.
First I wanted to make a funny story but it didnt work out.
The air felt heavy and you could nearly lick the mist around you. The sky stood pitch black above them and a foul smell, a stench really , reeked out of the hole in the ground.
Suzi stepped onto the fringe of darkness and howled inside.
She was a stocky little woman with a broad forehead and a nasty habit to spit after every second sentence. If not for this little blunder her dewy eyed head would probably be quite popular among the nobleness at court.
The pit echoed so gently that the nocturnal swamp orchestra swallowed the sound.
Jarl lit the smeary cloth on a stick. It actually resembled a torch despite his spectacular inablity to build anything functional. Burning oil vapors filled his nostrils and it felt truly good in its own way. The flickering red flame illuminated Suzi's behind and Jarls mind engulfed in memories of a happy youth.
He remembered the workshop, the scent of wood and other not less delicate flavors.
Back then Suzi used to come by and visit him every now and then. They had such fun together in the loft of the family stables. All alone together.
His sisters shoulders glittered like metal in the warm light of the torch.
He wondered if she actually was stronger than him these days. Despite being a "frail" mage Suzi did pack a punch - Jarl on the other hand always lacked behind a typical "mech".
"Gimme the light" - her voice woke Jarl up. For a second he stood there starring blankly at her. He reached out and gave her the wand. Suzi grabbed it hasty out of his hand and kneed before the cave. It went far behind what a small contraption created by Jarl could possibly lit.
"You goin in" - she said and saliva hit the ground...
"yeah, always me, my beloved kin" - Jarl muttered, hoping she didn't catch the slight sarcasm but today he was out of luck.
"Don't be so shy, nothing is gonna eat you, I take care of you and watch your back".
Jarl slowly descended something vagly resembling old stairs carved into stone. It must be the place they found while fooling in the library years ago - the buried city of Vindegrath, the cradle of magica, the birthplace of the old sages.
Suzi was always ambitios and sometimes ruthless in her quest for power. While most students choose instant gratification colleges like Fire or Force and played with small invisible taps and flame tricks, Suzi learned Mental which was not allowed to use outside of the universitys halls ( this rule was harshly enforced) and toyed with the fabric of time itself, which was probably the hardest school available. Not to mention her ventures into Black Necromancy territory.
So when Suzi said "I watch your back" and meant it - for Jarl she certainly did - you could pretty much count on it.
Jarl meanwhile stood with his "mighty" 1.75 meters tall body upright and touched the ceiling with his head. Suzi cast a last glance around the swamp and joined her brother. They headed further down and the deeper they got, the higher got the ceiling. The walls got flusher with a seemingly pink mold and the air now smelled sweet, the stairs were gone and the slope became level.
(...)
...and run he did!
Problems that occur to me but I'm not able to fix:
Repeating names, he/she/it
Short sentences, feel chopped
No rape
Non native speaker, last book read at least 2 years ago. Keep that in mind.
First I wanted to make a funny story but it didnt work out.
The air felt heavy and you could nearly lick the mist around you. The sky stood pitch black above them and a foul smell, a stench really , reeked out of the hole in the ground.
Suzi stepped onto the fringe of darkness and howled inside.
She was a stocky little woman with a broad forehead and a nasty habit to spit after every second sentence. If not for this little blunder her dewy eyed head would probably be quite popular among the nobleness at court.
The pit echoed so gently that the nocturnal swamp orchestra swallowed the sound.
Jarl lit the smeary cloth on a stick. It actually resembled a torch despite his spectacular inablity to build anything functional. Burning oil vapors filled his nostrils and it felt truly good in its own way. The flickering red flame illuminated Suzi's behind and Jarls mind engulfed in memories of a happy youth.
He remembered the workshop, the scent of wood and other not less delicate flavors.
Back then Suzi used to come by and visit him every now and then. They had such fun together in the loft of the family stables. All alone together.
His sisters shoulders glittered like metal in the warm light of the torch.
He wondered if she actually was stronger than him these days. Despite being a "frail" mage Suzi did pack a punch - Jarl on the other hand always lacked behind a typical "mech".
"Gimme the light" - her voice woke Jarl up. For a second he stood there starring blankly at her. He reached out and gave her the wand. Suzi grabbed it hasty out of his hand and kneed before the cave. It went far behind what a small contraption created by Jarl could possibly lit.
"You goin in" - she said and saliva hit the ground...
"yeah, always me, my beloved kin" - Jarl muttered, hoping she didn't catch the slight sarcasm but today he was out of luck.
"Don't be so shy, nothing is gonna eat you, I take care of you and watch your back".
Jarl slowly descended something vagly resembling old stairs carved into stone. It must be the place they found while fooling in the library years ago - the buried city of Vindegrath, the cradle of magica, the birthplace of the old sages.
Suzi was always ambitios and sometimes ruthless in her quest for power. While most students choose instant gratification colleges like Fire or Force and played with small invisible taps and flame tricks, Suzi learned Mental which was not allowed to use outside of the universitys halls ( this rule was harshly enforced) and toyed with the fabric of time itself, which was probably the hardest school available. Not to mention her ventures into Black Necromancy territory.
So when Suzi said "I watch your back" and meant it - for Jarl she certainly did - you could pretty much count on it.
Jarl meanwhile stood with his "mighty" 1.75 meters tall body upright and touched the ceiling with his head. Suzi cast a last glance around the swamp and joined her brother. They headed further down and the deeper they got, the higher got the ceiling. The walls got flusher with a seemingly pink mold and the air now smelled sweet, the stairs were gone and the slope became level.
(...)
...and run he did!
Problems that occur to me but I'm not able to fix:
Repeating names, he/she/it
Short sentences, feel chopped
No rape
GarfunkeL
Racism Expert
Archaeon said:You should have named him Lord Hammer or Lord Claymore .... lady desenex
Pfft, too obvious!
Major_Blackhart said:
Good advice, thanks. Since I'm not a native speaker, that's a really fine line to tread on but after reading it through again, I absolutely agree. Plus there's an embarrassing amount of grammar mistakes, even though I ran it through both mechanical and human proof-readers
SuicideBunny
(ノ ゜Д゜)ノ ︵ ┻━┻
- Joined
- May 1, 2007
- Messages
- 8,943
the level of bare ankle on bare ankle action in this thread is disappointingly low....
Cassidy
Arcane
This is for Mathboy
Trails of steam vapor began to cover the air above private Engels head, as he lifted the heavy maxim gun towards the red skies, hearing the sounds of the hundreds of steam engines powering their fast boats, advancing through the river. As he knew sooner or later they would be under the firing range of the Tarantian Airfleet. Their distant shapes could already be spotted, as the Major, in the same boat as his, perhaps as a sign to demonstrate courage and boost the morale of his men, or perhaps a foolish act, announced through a loudspeaker:
"Focus all your attention to the airships! They have a clear line of sight, and the river width will make ground forces of the imperialist pig falter when attacking us! Await my instruction."
Trying to get the sight of the closest airship, Engels began to notice as well how the boats began to distance themselves, as if everybody expected what was about to happen. It didn't take long, as the ride began to roughen. While the Major still didn't issue the order for them to open fire, Yuri was shook off as a large amount of water splashed to the side, nearly turning the boat. Most of them were supply boats, to give to the soldiers a breath in such daring attempt to break through the enemy trenches.
"Steady!" the Marshall shouted through the loudspeaker, as the non commissioned officers leading other boats repeated the command, to calm down the men and remember them not to shoot before they reach the optimal firing range, and artillery shells began to splash through the river. They had no bigger fire support this time, as a monitor was too tall to be hidden, but once they spotted enemy positions, this would change.
Maxim gun bullets began to fly from the northern and southern banks of the river, and the soldiers lowered their heads, the stray bullets sometimes seemed very close by Engels, as he began to strongly wish something: that somehow, he would return alive. A few seconds later, one of the boats was at the wrong place and wrong time as an artillery shell impacted against it, throwing bodies of soldiers and the boat through the air as it topsy-turved, almost certainly killing all men inside.
"Steady!" The firing intensified, as the artillery firing seemed to be closer and more precise for every salvo. Engels couldn't help but feel the touch of death so close, as tracer ammunition enlightened the sky, and bullets seemed to be having near misses around him, however, he still struggled to keep his concentration at the greatest threat, the airships that would rain shells and maxim guns rounds once they approached them. Breathing tensely, he remembered of his son, and of the simple promise he made to him.
Slowly, more boats and lives became casualties, as it was becoming clear the enemy relentlessness would most likely ensure few of them would return, unless something was done. Yuri saw as one of the soldiers in his boat jumped, scared and desperate, into the water. Nothing was done regarding him, as he notice the desperate man trying to swim against the current, that was dragging him towards the enemy territory rather than towards the People's Republic of Cumbria. He was lost, to be registered as missing in action, and to perhaps meet something that would make him wish that he would rather be a soldier among those relatively few boats that were destroyed. Very few men were actually hit by stray bullets, and most would survive their wounds, as the banks were too far away to ensure accurate shots.
"Comrade Major Korenchkin!" Suddenly the silent concentration of the soldiers was broken in the boat, as a captain addressed his immediate superior, "if these artillery batteries zeroing at us aren't stopped..."
"Steady!" the Major ordered again, ignoring the Captain concerns. Suddenly, he picked up a radio and ordered: "Lieutenant? How is the spotting of enemy artillery? And no matter what, keep advancing!"
"I see, give the coordinates and the signal to our men immediately!" he then ordered, as he tipped to the railing of the boat, as another artillery shell fell close. Korenchkin continued to watch the parallax of the airships, and soon, he finally knew it was the time. The plan would proceed right now.
Engels held the grip of the gun firmly, as he raised its barbette to aim to the skies through its handle. He knew the worst was about to come, as the airships would engage them, each with dozens of maxim guns and half a dozen of artillery guns. It would be a massacre.
"Aim for the gasbags! Fire!" the Major ordered, as the order echoed by other officers, shadowed only by the distant sound, the whisper of a whistle. The sign for those at the trenches to advance. The anti-aircraft towers were too far away by now, to the west, to provide any support. They were on their own.
Engels began to pull the trigger, feeling the heavy's gun kick and the near deafening sound, as the tracer rounds flew towards the airship, sparkles coming from it. The Maxim guns were smartly loaded with incendiary ammunition. Suddenly it became even more difficult to stand as the boat was turning and maneuvering more oftenly than before, to avoid being caught. And indeed, it all became hell. Hundreds of buzzsaws, distant roars of guns echoed as the tracers came down from the sky with the intensity of raindrops in a storm. Lightning of thousand muzzles, artillery shells rained, making of the river a stormy sea as the waters were rippled by them.
The sky burned when one of the airships gasbag exploded, as the boat just ahead of Yuri was thrown away, and one of the soldiers inside, crouching behind the armored boat railings, was strafed from the skies. The advance continued, men dying inside boats and while walking at the southern riverbank to storm the enemy trenches, artillery being silenced by Cumbria's counter artillery, as at least, no longer the ground forces focused entirely on the river assault, however, it was too late. The distraction the river attack provided, through perfect synchrony, allowed for many soldiers to get very close to the enemy trenches, however, their advance was halting, as officers ordered for them to slow down and lay prone, behind terrain that could offer them cover, aware that continuing to push the men with the initial pace of the assault would give no result other than corpses being immolated by Maxim gun nests, men dying in vain.
Another soldier helped Engels reload his gun quickly, and exhausted, he began to lay the belt inside it, as burning crash sites began to outnumber the brown water shipwrecks, and suddenly, rather than heading towards them, the remnants of that part of the powerful Tarantian Airfleet began to retreat. However, victory was far from over. Annihilating enemy's air support was only the beginning. The next phase perhaps, would be even bloodier.
"Comrades, we must prepare ourselves to land on the southern bank, and clear the way for our main force! Engels! Once we reach the riverbank, in this position right behind the enemy lines, from where we'll storm their supply and command trenches, give fire support with your gun to our comrades disembarking, and focus on suppressing enemy gunners!"
"Yes, comrade Marshall!" Yuri then used the handle to lower the gun over the barbette to a ground reaching inclination. He watched the distant river bank, seeing the scorched land, tainted with barbed wire and visible nests from afar. The sun was nearly setting, meaning that the offensive had to be successful soon. The horizon of the river bank approached. Suddenly, the brief peace ended, as stray bullets began to fly overhead again. Enemy machinegunners training to fire at them. Sighting the positions, Yuri aimed at the direction the bullets seemed to be coming from, while they, sometimes, ricocheted against the armored boat.
Artillery still was fired against their overall position, but it was becoming more sporadic, and easier to predict. Since the engagement with the airships ended, casualties provoked by artillery didn't happen, so far, and the men felt confident that the boats were now safe. Engels didn't await further orders, as he hoped he could impress his major by showing he learned from practice the exact timing to start firing. His gun was the first to begin firing salvos against the enemy positions at the river bank, as the soldiers prepared for landing and assaulting the trenches. Major Korenchkin didn't even had enough time to think about Engel's attitude as less than a second after he started firing, he issued the order:
"Open fire!"
The fact the boat heavy guns were mobile while the static nests were immobile gave to them a significant advantage. They were coming very close to dry land. And Yuri determinatedly kept firing bursts at the nearest machinegun nest, which stopped firing. Things were doing good now, after the bloody anti-air engagement.
"Five seconds to disembark! Be prepared comrades!" the Major announced.
Engels began to reload his machinegun, when suddenly all seemed like a flash: he heard a loud explosion, felt his hand still holding the belt, and something shoving him, a sharp pain all over his body that quickly ended, as he sensed then a painful splash lashing his skin, nearly breaking his neck, and the strength of the river stream pushing his floating body deeper towards enemy lines, before he no longer experienced any sensation, falling unconscious.
There was no notion of how much time has passed. He felt terrible, sensing a sticky liquid smeared over his buttocks, aware that he has been violated. There was pain, terrible pain, and while still attempting to open his weary eyes amidst such suffering, he knew that whatever could have done it wasn't human, from how he felt tore from inside.
Worse from all, just as he noticed the damp cave where he was, he saw his wife, Sarah, tied up to a stalagmite, naked and with most of her body covered by moss, tears and blood, most likely her own, while two massive orcs ganged on her, their thick members nearly ripping her from both sides.
Engels humilation and suffering would end quickly, as a green orc, wearing only a loincloth and with bulging muscles, would come from behind, cleaving his head with an axe, the sight of his wife being violated by such monstrosities, a testament to the fact that war never changes, and the spoils of wars, as always, shall come to the victors and to the scavengers.
Trails of steam vapor began to cover the air above private Engels head, as he lifted the heavy maxim gun towards the red skies, hearing the sounds of the hundreds of steam engines powering their fast boats, advancing through the river. As he knew sooner or later they would be under the firing range of the Tarantian Airfleet. Their distant shapes could already be spotted, as the Major, in the same boat as his, perhaps as a sign to demonstrate courage and boost the morale of his men, or perhaps a foolish act, announced through a loudspeaker:
"Focus all your attention to the airships! They have a clear line of sight, and the river width will make ground forces of the imperialist pig falter when attacking us! Await my instruction."
Trying to get the sight of the closest airship, Engels began to notice as well how the boats began to distance themselves, as if everybody expected what was about to happen. It didn't take long, as the ride began to roughen. While the Major still didn't issue the order for them to open fire, Yuri was shook off as a large amount of water splashed to the side, nearly turning the boat. Most of them were supply boats, to give to the soldiers a breath in such daring attempt to break through the enemy trenches.
"Steady!" the Marshall shouted through the loudspeaker, as the non commissioned officers leading other boats repeated the command, to calm down the men and remember them not to shoot before they reach the optimal firing range, and artillery shells began to splash through the river. They had no bigger fire support this time, as a monitor was too tall to be hidden, but once they spotted enemy positions, this would change.
Maxim gun bullets began to fly from the northern and southern banks of the river, and the soldiers lowered their heads, the stray bullets sometimes seemed very close by Engels, as he began to strongly wish something: that somehow, he would return alive. A few seconds later, one of the boats was at the wrong place and wrong time as an artillery shell impacted against it, throwing bodies of soldiers and the boat through the air as it topsy-turved, almost certainly killing all men inside.
"Steady!" The firing intensified, as the artillery firing seemed to be closer and more precise for every salvo. Engels couldn't help but feel the touch of death so close, as tracer ammunition enlightened the sky, and bullets seemed to be having near misses around him, however, he still struggled to keep his concentration at the greatest threat, the airships that would rain shells and maxim guns rounds once they approached them. Breathing tensely, he remembered of his son, and of the simple promise he made to him.
Slowly, more boats and lives became casualties, as it was becoming clear the enemy relentlessness would most likely ensure few of them would return, unless something was done. Yuri saw as one of the soldiers in his boat jumped, scared and desperate, into the water. Nothing was done regarding him, as he notice the desperate man trying to swim against the current, that was dragging him towards the enemy territory rather than towards the People's Republic of Cumbria. He was lost, to be registered as missing in action, and to perhaps meet something that would make him wish that he would rather be a soldier among those relatively few boats that were destroyed. Very few men were actually hit by stray bullets, and most would survive their wounds, as the banks were too far away to ensure accurate shots.
"Comrade Major Korenchkin!" Suddenly the silent concentration of the soldiers was broken in the boat, as a captain addressed his immediate superior, "if these artillery batteries zeroing at us aren't stopped..."
"Steady!" the Major ordered again, ignoring the Captain concerns. Suddenly, he picked up a radio and ordered: "Lieutenant? How is the spotting of enemy artillery? And no matter what, keep advancing!"
"I see, give the coordinates and the signal to our men immediately!" he then ordered, as he tipped to the railing of the boat, as another artillery shell fell close. Korenchkin continued to watch the parallax of the airships, and soon, he finally knew it was the time. The plan would proceed right now.
Engels held the grip of the gun firmly, as he raised its barbette to aim to the skies through its handle. He knew the worst was about to come, as the airships would engage them, each with dozens of maxim guns and half a dozen of artillery guns. It would be a massacre.
"Aim for the gasbags! Fire!" the Major ordered, as the order echoed by other officers, shadowed only by the distant sound, the whisper of a whistle. The sign for those at the trenches to advance. The anti-aircraft towers were too far away by now, to the west, to provide any support. They were on their own.
Engels began to pull the trigger, feeling the heavy's gun kick and the near deafening sound, as the tracer rounds flew towards the airship, sparkles coming from it. The Maxim guns were smartly loaded with incendiary ammunition. Suddenly it became even more difficult to stand as the boat was turning and maneuvering more oftenly than before, to avoid being caught. And indeed, it all became hell. Hundreds of buzzsaws, distant roars of guns echoed as the tracers came down from the sky with the intensity of raindrops in a storm. Lightning of thousand muzzles, artillery shells rained, making of the river a stormy sea as the waters were rippled by them.
The sky burned when one of the airships gasbag exploded, as the boat just ahead of Yuri was thrown away, and one of the soldiers inside, crouching behind the armored boat railings, was strafed from the skies. The advance continued, men dying inside boats and while walking at the southern riverbank to storm the enemy trenches, artillery being silenced by Cumbria's counter artillery, as at least, no longer the ground forces focused entirely on the river assault, however, it was too late. The distraction the river attack provided, through perfect synchrony, allowed for many soldiers to get very close to the enemy trenches, however, their advance was halting, as officers ordered for them to slow down and lay prone, behind terrain that could offer them cover, aware that continuing to push the men with the initial pace of the assault would give no result other than corpses being immolated by Maxim gun nests, men dying in vain.
Another soldier helped Engels reload his gun quickly, and exhausted, he began to lay the belt inside it, as burning crash sites began to outnumber the brown water shipwrecks, and suddenly, rather than heading towards them, the remnants of that part of the powerful Tarantian Airfleet began to retreat. However, victory was far from over. Annihilating enemy's air support was only the beginning. The next phase perhaps, would be even bloodier.
"Comrades, we must prepare ourselves to land on the southern bank, and clear the way for our main force! Engels! Once we reach the riverbank, in this position right behind the enemy lines, from where we'll storm their supply and command trenches, give fire support with your gun to our comrades disembarking, and focus on suppressing enemy gunners!"
"Yes, comrade Marshall!" Yuri then used the handle to lower the gun over the barbette to a ground reaching inclination. He watched the distant river bank, seeing the scorched land, tainted with barbed wire and visible nests from afar. The sun was nearly setting, meaning that the offensive had to be successful soon. The horizon of the river bank approached. Suddenly, the brief peace ended, as stray bullets began to fly overhead again. Enemy machinegunners training to fire at them. Sighting the positions, Yuri aimed at the direction the bullets seemed to be coming from, while they, sometimes, ricocheted against the armored boat.
Artillery still was fired against their overall position, but it was becoming more sporadic, and easier to predict. Since the engagement with the airships ended, casualties provoked by artillery didn't happen, so far, and the men felt confident that the boats were now safe. Engels didn't await further orders, as he hoped he could impress his major by showing he learned from practice the exact timing to start firing. His gun was the first to begin firing salvos against the enemy positions at the river bank, as the soldiers prepared for landing and assaulting the trenches. Major Korenchkin didn't even had enough time to think about Engel's attitude as less than a second after he started firing, he issued the order:
"Open fire!"
The fact the boat heavy guns were mobile while the static nests were immobile gave to them a significant advantage. They were coming very close to dry land. And Yuri determinatedly kept firing bursts at the nearest machinegun nest, which stopped firing. Things were doing good now, after the bloody anti-air engagement.
"Five seconds to disembark! Be prepared comrades!" the Major announced.
Engels began to reload his machinegun, when suddenly all seemed like a flash: he heard a loud explosion, felt his hand still holding the belt, and something shoving him, a sharp pain all over his body that quickly ended, as he sensed then a painful splash lashing his skin, nearly breaking his neck, and the strength of the river stream pushing his floating body deeper towards enemy lines, before he no longer experienced any sensation, falling unconscious.
There was no notion of how much time has passed. He felt terrible, sensing a sticky liquid smeared over his buttocks, aware that he has been violated. There was pain, terrible pain, and while still attempting to open his weary eyes amidst such suffering, he knew that whatever could have done it wasn't human, from how he felt tore from inside.
Worse from all, just as he noticed the damp cave where he was, he saw his wife, Sarah, tied up to a stalagmite, naked and with most of her body covered by moss, tears and blood, most likely her own, while two massive orcs ganged on her, their thick members nearly ripping her from both sides.
Engels humilation and suffering would end quickly, as a green orc, wearing only a loincloth and with bulging muscles, would come from behind, cleaving his head with an axe, the sight of his wife being violated by such monstrosities, a testament to the fact that war never changes, and the spoils of wars, as always, shall come to the victors and to the scavengers.
Jason
chasing a bee
Oh, you kids and your wacky rape shenanigans.
The soul is willing, my friend, but are you ready to ride to the Edge on the twin stallions Passion and Regret?
Mattresses
Scholar
- Joined
- May 25, 2008
- Messages
- 308
needs more steampowered mechanical multiheaded dick hitting a---
Damn, will I have time to cook up some stupid story before Wednesday?
Micmu
Magister
TLS;DR
I want a painting of Still Water orgy.
And a painting of Orc dominatrix. Naked.
I want a painting of Still Water orgy.
And a painting of Orc dominatrix. Naked.
Madam Lil was relieved when the two freelance detectives, as they had referred to themselves, finally arrived. She had a problem, and the police was yet unable to solve it. She had employed freelance adventurers to do some work for her previously, and they always served her well for a reasonable price. For some reason, freelance adventurers, or, in this case, detectives, were always more competent than the police.
"Good that you've come! Please, follow me to my private room.", she said and showed the detectives to her room. Once there, she told them about her little problem. "One of my harlots has gone missing. I haven't seen her in two days, and I fear that something might have happened to her. Please, you have to find her! I'll pay you well.", she told them. "But gods forgive, where are my manners? We haven't been properly introduced yet. I'm Madam Lil, owner of this wonderful establishment."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Madam. I am Mr Anthony Harrington, and this is my wife, Gwynneth. The man you sent to hire us already told us that this case involves a missing person. We assume that she has been kidnapped. It would be quite helpful if you'd provide us with a list of her last customers.", said the man.
Madam Lil opened her desk drawers and took out a sheet of paper. "Here, that's a list of all the people who made use of her service this month."
***
Mr Brigsby was surprised as he heard a knock on his door. Who would it be? He opened and saw a man and a woman he'd never seen before.
"Are you Mr Brigsby?", the man asked.
"Yes. Who are you and what do you want?"
"We're private investigators and have some questions for you.", the woman said and entered his house.
"Private investigators? I never said you could enter my house! Get out!"
"Don't worry, we just have a few questions.", the man said and took out a few gold coins. "And we could make it worth your while."
Mr Brigsby looked at the coins and nodded. "Of course, come in, take a seat. I'll make some tea for you..."
"According to this list, you've visited Madam Lil's quite often this month.", Mr Harrington said.
"Yes, I have. My wife died a few years ago, and a man needs his... entertainment. That's why I go to Madam Lil's. You told me you were married to each other, so you should understand. I mean, since you're married, you also have... entertainment... with each other. Ahem.", Mr Brigsby explained.
"I don't think our private life is of any concern to you, Mr Brigsby.", Gwynneth responded angrily. Brigsby cleared his throat in embarrassment. He also tried to hide his arousal because he liked dominant women and Mrs Harrington sounded quite angry; he would've liked to insult her further and see if she would slap him for it. He liked being slapped.
"This list also states that you visited one certain prostitute very often." Anthony handed him the list.
"Oh.", said Mr Brigsby as he read the name. "I've... visited many different women, not only her. I go to Madam Lil's very often, you know."
"The reason we're mentioning her is because she has been abducted. Maybe you would know something about that?"
"Abducted?", Brigsby asked in shock. "Who would abduct a girl like her? So sweet and innocent..."
"Did you notice anyone suspicious visiting Madam Lil's? Or maybe someone who followed the girl when she went home?"
"Uhm... I don't think she ever... well... no I never saw anyone suspicious eyeing her, or even following her. I don't think... ehm... oh it doesn't matter." Brigsby's face became red with embarrassment. "Please, I'd like you to leave now. It was... nice talking to you."
"But..."
"Please, I don't want to talk about it anymore."
"All right. Let's go, my dear. Maybe one of the other regular customers knows something more.", Anthony said.
***
"It's strange how everyone tried to avoid our questions about the girl. It was as if they were all embarrased about visiting the woman.", Anthony remarked.
"Maybe she was the brothel's domina and they were ashamed for their kinky fetish. I think we should go back to Madam Lil, she might be able to tell us more about the daily schedule of the prostitute. Where she lived, which bars she liked to visit in her free time...", Gwynneth suggested.
"There's no need to go anywhere, investigators!", a man behind them yelled and pointed a gun at them. "You've already been asking enough questions! Now I'll have to kill you!"
"All right.", Gwynneth whispered to her husband. "If we turn around and charge him together, he'll only be able to fire one shot before we manage to wrestle him down."
"What if that one shot is fatal?"
"Don't worry, I won't have any problems beating him up myself."
"Uhm... how do you know he'll shoot me first?"
"Because you'll be the first one to attack him. I'll stay behind you until he fired his gun."
"Yeah right, because I'm going to..."
"Hey! You two! Stop talking or I'll shoot!", said the man. "I'm serious!"
Gwynneth reached into her blouse, took out a small gun, turned around and shot the man in the heart.
At least, at the place where he would have had his heart if he had been a man. Because he was a dwarf, the bullet didn't hit any part of his body, as it was aimed far over his head. The shot came as a surprise to him, though, and he accidentally dropped his gun. "Oh damn! Please, don't hurt me!", he cried.
"What kind of dwarf drops his gun out of shock just because he's getting shot at? I didn't even hit you!", Gwynneth said. "I think you'd better come with us, you little coward."
She led the dwarf to her house, pointing her gun at him while they walked there.
"Nice work, darling. But what was that about me going first before? Did you expect me to sacrifice myself for you? Even though you had a gun?", Anthony asked his wife after they had arrived.
"That was just an idea. As you can see, I've found a better solution.", Gwynneth answered. "Come on, don't look at me like that! I'd be sad if you died. I love you, my dear. Let's just forget about it and interrogate that dwarf instead."
***
"No! I won't tell you anything! Forget it!", the dwarf mumbled, struggling on the chair he was bound to. The ropes were pretty thick and he didn't have a knife up his sleeve. He should've thought ahead, he thought. Then again, he could just have shot them instead of waiting so long.
"Yes. Right. I think we need to apply a bit of torture to get that information out of you, then.", Gwynneth said. "This will be a lot of fun."
"Oh, yes. My wife really enjoys doing this.", Anthony mentioned.
"Yes. A lot. Let's start slowly, though. I wouldn't want to hurt you too much, little dwarf."
Gwynneth took off her boots, revealing a beautiful pair of bare feet. She sat down on the table, from where she could easily put her feet into the dwarf's face. "I've worn those boots for the whole day without stockings. Therefore, my feet are quite smelly. If you don't want to be forced to lick them, you'd better tell us what we want to know."
"No! I won't tell you anything! Never!", yelled the dwarf.
She put her feet under his nose and on his mouth, forcing him to inhale the strong smell. "Suck my toes!", she ordered him, pressing them onto his lips. The dwarf immediately opened his mouth and sucked on her toes, putting his tongue in-between them and he licked and sucked. While he did so, he moaned with pleasure.
"He seems to enjoy it. Looks like he has a foot fetish.", Anthony remarked.
"Yeah. Too bad. We'll have to try other methods, then. Would you give me my whip, dear?"
"Sure." Anythony fetched the black leather whip and gave it to his wife. Then he untied the dwarf from the chair, put him on the table and chained him onto it.
"Who sent you? Where did you bring the girl? Answer us!", Gwynneth yelled as she slapped the whip across his back. After a few slashes, the dwarf began to moan - but it wasn't a painful kind of moan. It sounded quite happy, actually. She threw her whip away in frustration.
"Oh, come on! He's into BDSM, too? How are we going to extract the information out of him if he likes pain?"
Anthony thought about the issue for a while. Finally, he came to a conclusion.
"Well, he is a dwarf, after all. Dwarves would rather cut off an arm than shave their beards.", he said.
"Ah. Yes, that's a good idea. I'll just go and fetch the scissors..."
"NO! NO! WAIT! I'll tell you everything, you bastards! Just don't hurt my beard!", the dwarf yelled in terror. "I'm the one who kidnapped the... uhm... girl! I wanted to kill you two because you were investigating this abduction! I sold her to someone! Her name is Edwina Flowerblossom! She's an elf! I'll even tell you her adress! Now please, let me go!"
"See, that wasn't so hard. Now, about that adress..."
***
The beautiful elven woman was staring at the two people in disbelief. She was a typical elf, with waist-long black hair and pointy little ears. She was barefoot and wore a green dress. She looked like a typical nature-loving elf.
"What, by the gods, did you just tell me? Someone abducted a prostitute and sold her to me? Hah! I can't remember buying a human ever in my life, mostly because slavery is illegal!"
"Enslaving humans is. Enslaving orcs isn't.", Anthony corrected her. "She might have been an orc. Or, at least, half-orc. The comments of customers suggest that she was a domina."
"Please, sir. I would know if I had bought a human. Or an orc. Or an elf. Have you ever heard of someone selling or buying people at all? This is crazy!"
"The dwarf told us that he sold the prostitute to you.", Gwynneth said. "Her name was Dolly. Does that ring a bell?"
Suddenly it dawned on the elf. She laughed heartily for a few minutes, then started to explain things. "You're right, a dwarf recently visited me and sold me a 'woman' he called Dolly. But it wasn't a human, neither was it an elf or an orc.", she said. "I'm a butcher, and I have a little butcher shop here in Tarant. This Dolly was a sheep. I've visited Madam Lil's multiple times because I'm attracted to women. Sometimes I've heard something that sounded like a sheep from one room of the brothel. I never thought much of it, but now it all makes sense - the prostitute that was abducted was a sheep!"
"A sheep... so that's why none of the customers wanted to talk about it!", Gwynneth remarked.
"Yes, now it all makes sense indeed... but... where is the sheep now?", Anthony asked the elf.
"Well... I don't think you'll like the answer.", she said. "It's in my shop. In pieces. Ready to be grilled or put into a stew. I think some parts of it have already been eaten by my customers."
"Hmm, so a resurrection spell won't really help now, would it?", Anthony suggested.
"I don't think so.", the elf responded. "I'm sorry I didn't notice, if I had known the sheep was... used that way, I'd never have bought it."
"Oh, don't worry.", Gwynneth said. "I already have an idea how we can make that dwarf pay..."
****
"Yes, thank you for bringing me a new sheep! It's too bad that Dolly is dead, but I doubt my customers will notice. Thank you for helping me out!", Madam Lil said and opened her purse. "Here is your reward for solving the case, and a little bit extra for bringing me a new... 'girl'."
"Thank you, Madam. We didn't pay for the sheep by ourself, though. We took the money of the kidnapper to do that. Speaking of which, how is he doing in his new job?"
"Oh, he's marvellous! Thank you so much for bringing him to me! The women really enjoy using his services, and... well... some half-orc citizens think that he's even more fun to have sex with than my girls. They say it's because he always screams and cries so much, it feels like real rape."
"Sounds delightful.", Gwynneth said. "Thank you for the reward. If you ever have a problem again, be sure to hire us!"
"Yes, I will. Thank you dearly for your help! The dwarf has raised my profits quite considerably!"
And so, Mr and Mrs Harrington went back home with a lot of gold, ready for their next case....
END
"Good that you've come! Please, follow me to my private room.", she said and showed the detectives to her room. Once there, she told them about her little problem. "One of my harlots has gone missing. I haven't seen her in two days, and I fear that something might have happened to her. Please, you have to find her! I'll pay you well.", she told them. "But gods forgive, where are my manners? We haven't been properly introduced yet. I'm Madam Lil, owner of this wonderful establishment."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Madam. I am Mr Anthony Harrington, and this is my wife, Gwynneth. The man you sent to hire us already told us that this case involves a missing person. We assume that she has been kidnapped. It would be quite helpful if you'd provide us with a list of her last customers.", said the man.
Madam Lil opened her desk drawers and took out a sheet of paper. "Here, that's a list of all the people who made use of her service this month."
***
Mr Brigsby was surprised as he heard a knock on his door. Who would it be? He opened and saw a man and a woman he'd never seen before.
"Are you Mr Brigsby?", the man asked.
"Yes. Who are you and what do you want?"
"We're private investigators and have some questions for you.", the woman said and entered his house.
"Private investigators? I never said you could enter my house! Get out!"
"Don't worry, we just have a few questions.", the man said and took out a few gold coins. "And we could make it worth your while."
Mr Brigsby looked at the coins and nodded. "Of course, come in, take a seat. I'll make some tea for you..."
"According to this list, you've visited Madam Lil's quite often this month.", Mr Harrington said.
"Yes, I have. My wife died a few years ago, and a man needs his... entertainment. That's why I go to Madam Lil's. You told me you were married to each other, so you should understand. I mean, since you're married, you also have... entertainment... with each other. Ahem.", Mr Brigsby explained.
"I don't think our private life is of any concern to you, Mr Brigsby.", Gwynneth responded angrily. Brigsby cleared his throat in embarrassment. He also tried to hide his arousal because he liked dominant women and Mrs Harrington sounded quite angry; he would've liked to insult her further and see if she would slap him for it. He liked being slapped.
"This list also states that you visited one certain prostitute very often." Anthony handed him the list.
"Oh.", said Mr Brigsby as he read the name. "I've... visited many different women, not only her. I go to Madam Lil's very often, you know."
"The reason we're mentioning her is because she has been abducted. Maybe you would know something about that?"
"Abducted?", Brigsby asked in shock. "Who would abduct a girl like her? So sweet and innocent..."
"Did you notice anyone suspicious visiting Madam Lil's? Or maybe someone who followed the girl when she went home?"
"Uhm... I don't think she ever... well... no I never saw anyone suspicious eyeing her, or even following her. I don't think... ehm... oh it doesn't matter." Brigsby's face became red with embarrassment. "Please, I'd like you to leave now. It was... nice talking to you."
"But..."
"Please, I don't want to talk about it anymore."
"All right. Let's go, my dear. Maybe one of the other regular customers knows something more.", Anthony said.
***
"It's strange how everyone tried to avoid our questions about the girl. It was as if they were all embarrased about visiting the woman.", Anthony remarked.
"Maybe she was the brothel's domina and they were ashamed for their kinky fetish. I think we should go back to Madam Lil, she might be able to tell us more about the daily schedule of the prostitute. Where she lived, which bars she liked to visit in her free time...", Gwynneth suggested.
"There's no need to go anywhere, investigators!", a man behind them yelled and pointed a gun at them. "You've already been asking enough questions! Now I'll have to kill you!"
"All right.", Gwynneth whispered to her husband. "If we turn around and charge him together, he'll only be able to fire one shot before we manage to wrestle him down."
"What if that one shot is fatal?"
"Don't worry, I won't have any problems beating him up myself."
"Uhm... how do you know he'll shoot me first?"
"Because you'll be the first one to attack him. I'll stay behind you until he fired his gun."
"Yeah right, because I'm going to..."
"Hey! You two! Stop talking or I'll shoot!", said the man. "I'm serious!"
Gwynneth reached into her blouse, took out a small gun, turned around and shot the man in the heart.
At least, at the place where he would have had his heart if he had been a man. Because he was a dwarf, the bullet didn't hit any part of his body, as it was aimed far over his head. The shot came as a surprise to him, though, and he accidentally dropped his gun. "Oh damn! Please, don't hurt me!", he cried.
"What kind of dwarf drops his gun out of shock just because he's getting shot at? I didn't even hit you!", Gwynneth said. "I think you'd better come with us, you little coward."
She led the dwarf to her house, pointing her gun at him while they walked there.
"Nice work, darling. But what was that about me going first before? Did you expect me to sacrifice myself for you? Even though you had a gun?", Anthony asked his wife after they had arrived.
"That was just an idea. As you can see, I've found a better solution.", Gwynneth answered. "Come on, don't look at me like that! I'd be sad if you died. I love you, my dear. Let's just forget about it and interrogate that dwarf instead."
***
"No! I won't tell you anything! Forget it!", the dwarf mumbled, struggling on the chair he was bound to. The ropes were pretty thick and he didn't have a knife up his sleeve. He should've thought ahead, he thought. Then again, he could just have shot them instead of waiting so long.
"Yes. Right. I think we need to apply a bit of torture to get that information out of you, then.", Gwynneth said. "This will be a lot of fun."
"Oh, yes. My wife really enjoys doing this.", Anthony mentioned.
"Yes. A lot. Let's start slowly, though. I wouldn't want to hurt you too much, little dwarf."
Gwynneth took off her boots, revealing a beautiful pair of bare feet. She sat down on the table, from where she could easily put her feet into the dwarf's face. "I've worn those boots for the whole day without stockings. Therefore, my feet are quite smelly. If you don't want to be forced to lick them, you'd better tell us what we want to know."
"No! I won't tell you anything! Never!", yelled the dwarf.
She put her feet under his nose and on his mouth, forcing him to inhale the strong smell. "Suck my toes!", she ordered him, pressing them onto his lips. The dwarf immediately opened his mouth and sucked on her toes, putting his tongue in-between them and he licked and sucked. While he did so, he moaned with pleasure.
"He seems to enjoy it. Looks like he has a foot fetish.", Anthony remarked.
"Yeah. Too bad. We'll have to try other methods, then. Would you give me my whip, dear?"
"Sure." Anythony fetched the black leather whip and gave it to his wife. Then he untied the dwarf from the chair, put him on the table and chained him onto it.
"Who sent you? Where did you bring the girl? Answer us!", Gwynneth yelled as she slapped the whip across his back. After a few slashes, the dwarf began to moan - but it wasn't a painful kind of moan. It sounded quite happy, actually. She threw her whip away in frustration.
"Oh, come on! He's into BDSM, too? How are we going to extract the information out of him if he likes pain?"
Anthony thought about the issue for a while. Finally, he came to a conclusion.
"Well, he is a dwarf, after all. Dwarves would rather cut off an arm than shave their beards.", he said.
"Ah. Yes, that's a good idea. I'll just go and fetch the scissors..."
"NO! NO! WAIT! I'll tell you everything, you bastards! Just don't hurt my beard!", the dwarf yelled in terror. "I'm the one who kidnapped the... uhm... girl! I wanted to kill you two because you were investigating this abduction! I sold her to someone! Her name is Edwina Flowerblossom! She's an elf! I'll even tell you her adress! Now please, let me go!"
"See, that wasn't so hard. Now, about that adress..."
***
The beautiful elven woman was staring at the two people in disbelief. She was a typical elf, with waist-long black hair and pointy little ears. She was barefoot and wore a green dress. She looked like a typical nature-loving elf.
"What, by the gods, did you just tell me? Someone abducted a prostitute and sold her to me? Hah! I can't remember buying a human ever in my life, mostly because slavery is illegal!"
"Enslaving humans is. Enslaving orcs isn't.", Anthony corrected her. "She might have been an orc. Or, at least, half-orc. The comments of customers suggest that she was a domina."
"Please, sir. I would know if I had bought a human. Or an orc. Or an elf. Have you ever heard of someone selling or buying people at all? This is crazy!"
"The dwarf told us that he sold the prostitute to you.", Gwynneth said. "Her name was Dolly. Does that ring a bell?"
Suddenly it dawned on the elf. She laughed heartily for a few minutes, then started to explain things. "You're right, a dwarf recently visited me and sold me a 'woman' he called Dolly. But it wasn't a human, neither was it an elf or an orc.", she said. "I'm a butcher, and I have a little butcher shop here in Tarant. This Dolly was a sheep. I've visited Madam Lil's multiple times because I'm attracted to women. Sometimes I've heard something that sounded like a sheep from one room of the brothel. I never thought much of it, but now it all makes sense - the prostitute that was abducted was a sheep!"
"A sheep... so that's why none of the customers wanted to talk about it!", Gwynneth remarked.
"Yes, now it all makes sense indeed... but... where is the sheep now?", Anthony asked the elf.
"Well... I don't think you'll like the answer.", she said. "It's in my shop. In pieces. Ready to be grilled or put into a stew. I think some parts of it have already been eaten by my customers."
"Hmm, so a resurrection spell won't really help now, would it?", Anthony suggested.
"I don't think so.", the elf responded. "I'm sorry I didn't notice, if I had known the sheep was... used that way, I'd never have bought it."
"Oh, don't worry.", Gwynneth said. "I already have an idea how we can make that dwarf pay..."
****
"Yes, thank you for bringing me a new sheep! It's too bad that Dolly is dead, but I doubt my customers will notice. Thank you for helping me out!", Madam Lil said and opened her purse. "Here is your reward for solving the case, and a little bit extra for bringing me a new... 'girl'."
"Thank you, Madam. We didn't pay for the sheep by ourself, though. We took the money of the kidnapper to do that. Speaking of which, how is he doing in his new job?"
"Oh, he's marvellous! Thank you so much for bringing him to me! The women really enjoy using his services, and... well... some half-orc citizens think that he's even more fun to have sex with than my girls. They say it's because he always screams and cries so much, it feels like real rape."
"Sounds delightful.", Gwynneth said. "Thank you for the reward. If you ever have a problem again, be sure to hire us!"
"Yes, I will. Thank you dearly for your help! The dwarf has raised my profits quite considerably!"
And so, Mr and Mrs Harrington went back home with a lot of gold, ready for their next case....
END
Callaxes
Arbiter
- Joined
- Apr 17, 2007
- Messages
- 1,676
No sex yet, but I'll leave this as a Prologue and continue it later. There's no plot, but I hope it sets the mood I had in mind.
Prologue
Above the city, in the cold early winter night a note rang. It moved in phonetic patterns above the avenues and rooftops. It rang from the elegant terraces of Devonshire Way towards Torry Road and East End Avenue where the roof tiles, illuminated by the street artifices and pyro totems, shown red like bulls blood. The note undulated between different pitches, always low and throbbing but never going further then half an octave in range. It fell down in The Boil, amidst the dirt roads and shanty towns, where knife grinders and tanners applied their trade. Past rows of wooden shacks and improvised tents, the sound evolved into a blood howl, a hypnotic ululation that grew to the point of nightmares.
It receded into the dreams of the inhabitants who woke up in unison to the haunting echoes inside their minds. Both men and women grasped their chests, feeling a sharp organic sting inside, whilst recalling vague echoes of a fading sound. Children cried out in their mothers arms or shivered themselves awake, kicking at the blankets in horror. Outside, nocturnal clans of stray dogs howled challenges against the unseen terrors, a feral and defiant chorus. Three people died in the night, an old buccaneer, a beggar and an elderly mid wife whose heart had stopped beating at the sudden shock.
For the living, sleep could not come again that night. Some coerced themselves to rest, but the recent memory of the ghostly sound, the uncertain danger that could not be explained kept them awake. Clumsy, irritated and half asleep, most fled to the industrial side to start work early. From the mud roads of the slums onto the paved street of Murk Fowl station, groups of factory workers and fishermen filled the cityscape, walking forth in zombie motions. Slowly at first, as if the night held uncertain horrors about. Relief came later, a sense of familiarity grew back into their minds upon glancing the vulgar graffiti on the marble facades that adorned the municipal buildings at Borders Crossing, or the rally posters that called out for Labor Unions to support Free Trade in the coming election. Newly commissioned tram cars stood vacant in the street stations like dead giants, their metallic carcasses awaiting the night shift to resume its course. A brass plague stood above the entrance of each cart, engraved upon it in classic font were the words “Per Aspera ad Astra”, the motto of Tarrant.
Across the great bridge, towards the distant zenith where the murky river distorted reflection, an overwhelming glow composed of a thousand electric lights arose. Their patterns varied, overflowing, vibrant and golden in the industrial zones or elegant and subtle in the wealthy avenues where blue street lamps adorned the sidewalks. In other parts they zigzagged on selected streets to avoid the poorer neighborhoods or the magical quarters where illumination was obtained through pyro totems.
As the night crept back beneath the earth all sense of normality was restored amongst the city dwellers. Any memory of the recent nightmares were either forgotten or diluted to seem nothing more then a momentary disturbance or a hallucination brought by the infamous winter fever or the poor living conditions and meager diets that they could only afford. The victims of last nights surge became incompetent. They found themselves loosing their trains of thought, drifting into fantasies and ruminations while their bodies twitched from exhaustion and persistent episodes of unexplained melancholia.
There were accidents. In Mulligan Bone, a factory worker fell in a batch of acid, his legs almost melted away and had to be amputated. A distracted industrial mechanic was decapitated by the stainless steel rotor blades from a giant steam engine, bits of brain and skull fragments spread wide upon the gears. In Ten Hands Alley, the broken body of a chimney sweeper lay sprawled in the gutter, his skull broken from a four story fall.
Night came again and so did the ghosts. A perverse, alien sound flowed down from the dark empty sky, leaping seamlessly through the urban sprawl like an invisible basilisk. In its trail, night watchmen and Turtle Jacks on patrol were seized by a cold and overwhelming fear which made their skin prickle and spines shiver. Distorted, wild sounds reverberated inside their skulls in painful loops before the hallucinations began and a sudden fear of death took over their emotions. Abandoned warehouses inhabited by hill tribes of vagrants stirred, their nocturnal dwellers cried out or whimpered amidst the smell of sweat and urine. Adventurous bachelors and frantic students, prostitutes, scoundrels, dubious doctors, every soul awake felt inexplicable jabs at their psychosis, fear and cold combined in a grotesque orchestral melody. Their minds wandered off into the realm of horrific fantasies. Thoughts of gruesome urban legends like The Headless Nun, the Panarii sister who disemboweled her victims or The Gaunt Man, half human, half murderous machine or the grotesque The Thing from the Sewers.
The music cut a trail through the obtuse architecture with insectile precision. It reached Vermillion where the notes began to undulate and tremor, casting shadows that covered the sleeping faces of the denizens like hungering ghoulish hands. In their dreams, figures were perversely distorted and demonized. Long departed relatives changed seamlessly into cannibalistic monsters. Dreams of sex were intensified to the point of rape or murder, the idealized lovers turned into ghouls or feral beasts or giant insects. The sound undulated and rose before dying, becoming thin and haunting, a banshee’s wail of metallic vibrations that lived on in prolonged echoes beneath the ceramic rooftops.
Prologue
Above the city, in the cold early winter night a note rang. It moved in phonetic patterns above the avenues and rooftops. It rang from the elegant terraces of Devonshire Way towards Torry Road and East End Avenue where the roof tiles, illuminated by the street artifices and pyro totems, shown red like bulls blood. The note undulated between different pitches, always low and throbbing but never going further then half an octave in range. It fell down in The Boil, amidst the dirt roads and shanty towns, where knife grinders and tanners applied their trade. Past rows of wooden shacks and improvised tents, the sound evolved into a blood howl, a hypnotic ululation that grew to the point of nightmares.
It receded into the dreams of the inhabitants who woke up in unison to the haunting echoes inside their minds. Both men and women grasped their chests, feeling a sharp organic sting inside, whilst recalling vague echoes of a fading sound. Children cried out in their mothers arms or shivered themselves awake, kicking at the blankets in horror. Outside, nocturnal clans of stray dogs howled challenges against the unseen terrors, a feral and defiant chorus. Three people died in the night, an old buccaneer, a beggar and an elderly mid wife whose heart had stopped beating at the sudden shock.
For the living, sleep could not come again that night. Some coerced themselves to rest, but the recent memory of the ghostly sound, the uncertain danger that could not be explained kept them awake. Clumsy, irritated and half asleep, most fled to the industrial side to start work early. From the mud roads of the slums onto the paved street of Murk Fowl station, groups of factory workers and fishermen filled the cityscape, walking forth in zombie motions. Slowly at first, as if the night held uncertain horrors about. Relief came later, a sense of familiarity grew back into their minds upon glancing the vulgar graffiti on the marble facades that adorned the municipal buildings at Borders Crossing, or the rally posters that called out for Labor Unions to support Free Trade in the coming election. Newly commissioned tram cars stood vacant in the street stations like dead giants, their metallic carcasses awaiting the night shift to resume its course. A brass plague stood above the entrance of each cart, engraved upon it in classic font were the words “Per Aspera ad Astra”, the motto of Tarrant.
Across the great bridge, towards the distant zenith where the murky river distorted reflection, an overwhelming glow composed of a thousand electric lights arose. Their patterns varied, overflowing, vibrant and golden in the industrial zones or elegant and subtle in the wealthy avenues where blue street lamps adorned the sidewalks. In other parts they zigzagged on selected streets to avoid the poorer neighborhoods or the magical quarters where illumination was obtained through pyro totems.
As the night crept back beneath the earth all sense of normality was restored amongst the city dwellers. Any memory of the recent nightmares were either forgotten or diluted to seem nothing more then a momentary disturbance or a hallucination brought by the infamous winter fever or the poor living conditions and meager diets that they could only afford. The victims of last nights surge became incompetent. They found themselves loosing their trains of thought, drifting into fantasies and ruminations while their bodies twitched from exhaustion and persistent episodes of unexplained melancholia.
There were accidents. In Mulligan Bone, a factory worker fell in a batch of acid, his legs almost melted away and had to be amputated. A distracted industrial mechanic was decapitated by the stainless steel rotor blades from a giant steam engine, bits of brain and skull fragments spread wide upon the gears. In Ten Hands Alley, the broken body of a chimney sweeper lay sprawled in the gutter, his skull broken from a four story fall.
Night came again and so did the ghosts. A perverse, alien sound flowed down from the dark empty sky, leaping seamlessly through the urban sprawl like an invisible basilisk. In its trail, night watchmen and Turtle Jacks on patrol were seized by a cold and overwhelming fear which made their skin prickle and spines shiver. Distorted, wild sounds reverberated inside their skulls in painful loops before the hallucinations began and a sudden fear of death took over their emotions. Abandoned warehouses inhabited by hill tribes of vagrants stirred, their nocturnal dwellers cried out or whimpered amidst the smell of sweat and urine. Adventurous bachelors and frantic students, prostitutes, scoundrels, dubious doctors, every soul awake felt inexplicable jabs at their psychosis, fear and cold combined in a grotesque orchestral melody. Their minds wandered off into the realm of horrific fantasies. Thoughts of gruesome urban legends like The Headless Nun, the Panarii sister who disemboweled her victims or The Gaunt Man, half human, half murderous machine or the grotesque The Thing from the Sewers.
The music cut a trail through the obtuse architecture with insectile precision. It reached Vermillion where the notes began to undulate and tremor, casting shadows that covered the sleeping faces of the denizens like hungering ghoulish hands. In their dreams, figures were perversely distorted and demonized. Long departed relatives changed seamlessly into cannibalistic monsters. Dreams of sex were intensified to the point of rape or murder, the idealized lovers turned into ghouls or feral beasts or giant insects. The sound undulated and rose before dying, becoming thin and haunting, a banshee’s wail of metallic vibrations that lived on in prolonged echoes beneath the ceramic rooftops.
Fucking Quality Poster
Guest
Hahaha. What a fun contest. If GoG don't like it then they are just a bunch of party-poopers.
poocolator
Erudite
When's dicksmoker going to post his story? 
Jason
chasing a bee
Yeah, sure. I originally didn't want to drag this out as it was meant to be "quick & dirty", but it couldn't hurt to add a few days.
Monocause
Arcane
- Joined
- Aug 15, 2008
- Messages
- 3,656
My fiction:
he took his huge pistol 2 her head and said "I will fuk u" and she said "no dont" and he was like "I will fuk u anyway" and she cast a spell on his pistol so that it broke and said "naow i will cut ur balls" and he said "no wait" and jumped on a train that came by when she transfoarmed in a griffon by means of magick and ran away. he said "I will still fuk u when I find u".
he took his huge pistol 2 her head and said "I will fuk u" and she said "no dont" and he was like "I will fuk u anyway" and she cast a spell on his pistol so that it broke and said "naow i will cut ur balls" and he said "no wait" and jumped on a train that came by when she transfoarmed in a griffon by means of magick and ran away. he said "I will still fuk u when I find u".
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