As the “diplomatic conference” between Ambassador [[Ogmant]] and Queen Cwestalia neared its climax...
[[leave out the sordid details]]
[[sordid details, please]]
Famous for his oratory skills, he also used his silken tongue to lick ladies into a state of utter, leg-shaking, pussy-clenching ecstasy. But his most notorious talent was wielding a little whip with nine rubber tails, inflicting pleasurable pain upon partners with peculiar preferences.
[[1<-continue]]
someone rapped insistently upon the door.
“Who dares disturb a royal diplomatic conference of great international importance?” the queen roared.
“Lieutenant Ulderi, your majesty. It’s an emergency!”
Letting out a sigh, the queen looked up at the ambassador and said, “Better take a breather, Oggie,” then climbed from the bed, donned her robe, went to the door and opened it.
[[2<-continue]]
The rubber strands of Ambassador Ogmant’s little cat-o-nine-tails slapped Queen Cwestalia’s back as her grunts of guilty pleasure drowned out the first rappings on the door of her bed chamber.
He paused to catch his breath, his muscular chest shining with perspiration, his lungs heaving – more from arousal than exertion. Just as he raised his hand to resume the erotic action the rap came again, louder now, more insistent.
The queen lifted her head from the pillow her chin had been resting on and glowered at the door.
“Who dares disturb a royal diplomatic conference of great international importance?” she roared.
“Lieutenant Ulderi, your majesty. It’s an emergency!”
Letting out a sigh, the queen looked up at the ambassador. “Better take a breather, Oggie.”
He nodded and trotted behind the dressing screen with the pink cranes on it as the queen rose from the soggy sheets of her four-poster bed. She threw on her royal blue silk bathrobe, tied the sash beneath her big, saliva-slick breasts, then walked to the door and flung it open.
[[2<-continue]]
Ulderi bowed her head. “Begging your pardon, your majesty, but my news cannot wait.”
“Come in.”
Ulderi entered and handed the queen a small piece of rolled-up parchment. “A raven landed in the north watchtower a few minutes ago, carrying this.”
The queen unrolled the scroll, her eyes narrowing as she read the message written upon it. She unleashed some very unregal cuss words, crumpled up the parchment and hurled it to the floor.
[[3<-continue]]
A WEEK EARLIER...
Queen Yothandel stroked the aura over her crystal ball and peered at the four-masted man-o-war surging through the choppy waves of the Enshrouded Sea thirteen nautical miles to the south.
“The *Moanthistle,”* she rasped gleefully. “One of Cwestalia’s ships! What incredible luck! Just as my powers reach new heights, fate delivers an enemy into my grasp!”
She rose from her throne and strode toward the doors, cackling with glee.
[[4<-continue]]
A few minutes later she stood on an onyx altar atop an obsidian outcropping buffeted by chill breezes, with dark clouds scudding across the gray sky above her and icy ocean waves breaking against the boulders on the narrow beach far below.
She shut her eyes, deep in thought, pondering her choice. She could only muster up enough magic for one brief transformation, so she must choose wisely.
She made the decision and spoke the words of an ancient spell, and a pulsating pistachio glow enveloped her as she writhed and grunted and gasped, turning into a ...
[[sea serpent]]
[[giant bird]]
The sailors screamed in horror as the giant serpentine creature undulated through the churning waves, its scaly body glistening in the moonlight.
*Wham!*
Its snout rammed into the side of the ship, rupturing the hull. The serpent rose, towering higher than the masts as it snatched the lookout from the crow’s nest, chewing him up and gulping him down.
“Yum yum!” it growled, then bowed its head, plucking sailors off the deck like a genteel lady picking through a box of bonbons – taking a bite out of each, judging the flavor, setting some aside, devouring others.
A few brave crewmen manned the steam-powered harpoon guns and fired at the monster, but the barbed bolts bounced off its thick scales. Other sailors sprinted for the lifeboats, lowered them frantically and manned the oars, rowing for their lives, making agonizingly slow progress through the choppy water.
The sea serpent slammed down its tail, smashing one lifeboat to splinters, then sucked up the swimming seamen.
“Sailor stew! Delicious! *Burp!*”
The monster indulged in seconds. Thirds.
Then it spotted oak barrels floating out of the hole in the hold and ...
[[chose to ignore them]]
[[took a closer look]]
The lookout in the crow’s nest jerked up his head as something moved past the moon. He raised his spyglass, stared, shouted:
“Giant bird ho! Giant bird ho!”
Nearly six feet tall with a twelve foot wingspan, the white bird behemoth landed on the deck and approached [[Brustesh<-the captain]].
[[5<-continue]]
The sea serpent swam away from the sinking, shattered ship, humming happily to itself as it headed for home, its belly full, its hunger for men – and revenge – satiated in equal measure.
THE END
[[giant bird<-become the bird instead]] It wriggled over to the casks and bit into one.
“Oh my Goddess! Abyssinian absinthe! My favorite!”
It guzzled down the contents, spitting out the staves, then helped itself to another, and another, till it was so drunk it couldn’t maintain its sea serpent spell and reverted to human form, hiccupping as it sank beneath the waves, consigned forever to Dave Jones’ locker.
[[chose to ignore them<-ignore the casks]]
Othaniol Brustesh, a reasonably handsome man in his thirties with a neatly trimmed black beard and a heart tattooed on his forearm bearing the word “Luraloy,” the name of a tavern maid in Tipperary he’d fancied in his younger days before she ran off with a brigand on a brigantine bound for Bermuda.
[[5<-continue]]
“How ya doin, big boy?” the bird said in a sultry voice.
“Uh....” the captain replied.
The avian entity drew near, no longer strutting like a bird, but gliding with the hip-swaying sashay of a woman on the prowl.
“How’d you like to blow this tub and hightail it back to my cozy little island for a romp in the nest, eh?”
“Uh ...”
The bird stroked his cheek with one wing tip, then ran it down his neck, his chest, his stomach ... lower.
“Stop,” he said.
“Stop? Since when does a sailor turn down a chance for a frolic?”
“You’re a bird, not a person. Such a frolic would be ... unnatural.”
[[6<-continue]]
“I’m a lot more human than you think.” The bird shrugged its shoulders and the feathers over its chest fell away, revealing a human woman’s bosom beneath. “I’m molting! Molting! Oh, what a world! What a world!”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Inside joke.”
The bird-woman pressed her big breasts against his chest. His manhood stirred. Her mouth came closer and he saw it was no longer a beak but a pair of human lips, full and ripe.
Another sailor, a grizzled old swab, limped swiftly toward them. “Don’t do it captain! It’s bestiality! You’d be committing a crime against nature and a sin against almighty God!”
[[7<-continue]]
“Shut up, you old Bible-thumping butt-head!” the buxom bimbo bird brayed, then swatted him with one of her massive wings. He flew across the deck, smashed through the railing and sailed off into the darkness, splashing into the hungry waves, never to be seen again.
“Now see here!” the captain said. “You had no right to ...”
The bird smothered his protestations with a kiss, her wings curling around his back and squeezing tight. By the time the kiss ended he was ready to pass out, the breath sucked clear out of him – along with his wits and willpower.
“Change course to zero one three degrees and let’s head for Gloomgoria!” the bird cooed, and without a moment’s hesitation he gave the order.
The first mate approached, a mop-haired fellow named Prid. “Captain, we can’t do that. It violates our patrol orders, issued by the queen herself.”
[[8<-continue]]
The bird’s wing swept out again, sending Prid over the side to join the grizzled old swab in the briny deep.
The captain didn’t even notice, keeping his dazed gaze focused on the helmsman as he softy said, “Obey my command, Phettel.”
“Aye aye, sir,” the helmsman replied and hastily spun the wheel, setting the ship onto the new heading.
[[9<-continue]]
A few days later the *Moanthistle* arrived in [[Gloomgoria.]]
[[10<-continue]]
A large island dominated by six black peaks shrouded in gray mist. Black-leafed palm trees with skull-shaped nuts lined the shore, and grotesquely shaped chunks of driftwood resembling writhing skeletons were strewn across the beach.
The Gloomgorians lived in squalor in villages in the valleys, eking out a living growing turnips and fishing for crappie in little stinky ponds, and fearing and envying the cruel queen whose dark castle perched like a vulture atop the sixth peak.
[[10<-continue]]
A steep and narrow trail led up to the castle – a hulking, windowless structure devoid of elegance and grace, made of blood-red rock with the faces of leering imps carved into the crenels on the battlements.
The drawbridge yawned open and the giant bird led the captain and his crew across a moat of bubbling brown ooze and entered the castle, where black candles glowed in chandeliers made of bones, and the pelts of three-headed hounds lay scattered across the obsidian floor.
While his men gaped fearfully at their ominous surroundings, the captain seemed oblivious, his enraptured gaze never leaving his hostess.
[[11<-continue]]
The bird stepped up onto a dais of dark purple troll-stone and snapped her pinky fingers and her body rippled and wriggled as it returned to human form.
Yothandel sat down on a throne made from the fused skulls of peasants and princes. She crossed her long and shapely legs, then gestured at a plump pink pillow on the floor at her feet.
“Sit,” she said, as if speaking to a dog. And the eager captain obeyed.
[[12<-continue]]
Yothandel reached into an iridescent bowl on a table to her left and picked up a melon. Her pointy black fingernails extended three inches and she stuck them into the melon and sliced it into two sections, taking a bite out of one and handing the other to Captain Brustesh. He devoured it eagerly as his eyes feasted on the witch’s luscious, naked body.
She picked up a second melon, sliced it, served it. Moans and slurping sounds filled the throne room as the duo dined.
Then a new sound – grumbles from the crew.
Yothandel glared at them. “Is something the matter?”
[[13<-continue]]
“Yeah,” said Dryam, the second mate. “We’re hungry too! How about some food for us!”
“Yeah!” the other crewmen chorused.
Captain Brustesh blinked at the men, as if awakening from a dream, then turned back to Yothandel, frowning.
“I ... I’d completely forgotten about them. Yes, we must feed them too!”
Yothandel smiled sweetly. “You wish to end their hunger? Very well. I shall end it.”
[[14<-continue]]
She pinged her finger against a little brass gong hanging off the side of her throne. Behind the dais, burgundy curtains parted and two young men emerged, clad only in black velvet dhotis, their dusky shin gleaming in the candlelight. They were incredibly well-built, handsome lads, yet their eyes stared vacantly, like windows in an empty house.
They carried trays loaded with food and drink – black grapes, black bread, blackbird pie and flagons of blackberry wine – which they served up to the starving sailors before scurrying back behind the curtains.
But moments after the feast began, it ended, as the crewmen’s faces turned purple and they clutched at their throats and stomachs, gagging and gasping, then fell to the floor, twitching, retching, moaning.
Then the sounds ceased and a terrible stillness came over them.
[[15<-continue]]
Captain Brustesh leapt to his feet and dashed off the dais, hurrying from man to man, hoping to find some signs of life. When he finished examining the last sailor he rose slowly and turned toward the throne, his hands balled into fists, his eyes glowering with fury.
“You murdered them! You evil fiend! You treacherous wench! I’ll kill you! So help me God, I’ll kill you!”
[[16<-continue]]
He charged toward the dais, but Yothandel waggled her left ring finger and uttered a single word and streams of black smoke poured from the chandelier, spiraling downward and wrapping themselves around him, solidifying into ropes, cinching tight.
“Relax, dear captain,” the sorceress said. “Your men shall rise again, for I have further need of them. The *Moanthistle* must have a crew – but from now on they shall serve me, not Queen Cwestalia. And once I get through with that bitch she won’t need ships or crews or anything else ... except a coffin.”
[[17<-continue]]
She reached into a compartment in the side of her throne and took out a little bamboo writing desk and placed it on her lap, then lifted the lid and grabbed a small piece of parchment and a quill pen made from a raven’s feather. She dipped the pen’s tip into a bottle of red ink and began scratching out a message...
[[18<-continue]]
A WEEK LATER...
*To Cwestalia, Self-Proclaimed Ruler of Dunslauffen:
One of your ships, the "Moanthistle," trespassed into Gloomgorian territorial waters, in clear violation of international maritime law. It has been seized and now belongs to the Queendom of Gloomgoria. Its crew was more than happy to renounce their allegiance to you and pledge their loyalty and devotion to me.
If you wish to dispute my claim to the ship and its men, you are welcome to come to Gloomgoria and face us in maritime combat. If you decline my offer I shall consider the matter settled, once and for all. And I assume you will decline, since you know damn well you wouldn’t stand a chance against me.
Ta ta.
Yours truly,
Queen Yothandel
Sorceress First Class and
Undisputed Ruler of
the Queendom of Gloomgoria –
and proud new owner of the "Moanthistle"*
“What utter bullshit!” Cwestalia snarled. She kicked the crumpled note halfway across the room, then spun around to face Ulderi.
“Tell Captain Nakelle to get the *Bexa* ready for a voyage to Gloomgoria. We sail at dawn. But before we do, there is one extra preparation we must make.”
[[18A<-continue]]
[[replace the regular tips on the harpoons with silver ones blessed by High Priestess Tattali]]
[[swap out the regular cannonballs with hollow ones filled with silver shot, blessed by High Priestess Tattali]]
[[paint magical glyphs on the sails]]
[[hang witchstone amulets from the neck of the figurehead]]
[[load the larder with extra honey cakes]]
[[take on extra casks of purified water]]
Careful. You could poke an eye out with one of those things.(set: $harpoons to 1)
[[Moanthistle<-continue]]
Hey, it’s worth a shot.(set: $silver to 1)
[[Moanthistle<-continue]]
The paint is dry. The sails are ready.(set: $glyphs to 1)
[[Moanthistle<-continue]]
Amulets – what every fashionable figurehead is wearing this year.(set: $amulets to 1)
[[Moanthistle<-continue]]
A well-fed crew is a happy crew.(set: $honeycakes to 1)
[[Moanthistle<-continue]]
Not as much fun as rum, but on this voyage it is far more important.(set: $water to 1)
[[Moanthistle<-continue]]
SUNRISE, A WEEK LATER, TEN MILES OFF THE GLOOMGORIAN COAST...
“Warship off the port bow!” the *Bexa’s* lookout cried. “Looks like the *Moanthistle!*”
Queen Cwestalia peered at the approaching man-o-war through her spyglass, scowling as she saw the flag flying from the main mast – not Dunslauffen’s lavender and buff banner, but Gloomgoria’s: black with a red horned skull in the middle ringed by a purple pentagram.
Then she trained her glass on the deck and saw a far more disturbing sight...
[[19<-continue]]
The sailors’ flesh was green, their movements jerky, their eye sockets filled with blood that ran down their sunken cheeks in a never-ending stream.
“Zombies!” Capt. Nakelle cried, staring at the horrid scene through her own spyglass. “She’s turned them into zombies!”
The queen spotted Yothandel on the *Moanthistle’s* quarterdeck, her feet spread, her black gown billowing, a look of triumph on her pasty face, her right arm raised high, the fingers forming a blasphemous sigil.
And then the sorceress transformed, growing fifteen feet tall, her hair morphing into writhing snakes, her body encased in a protective shell of magical energy shaped like an hourglass and giving off a pulsating glow – first red, then green, then blue ... gold ... purple ... magenta ... chartreuse ...
“What a fucking show-off!” Cwestalia muttered.
[[20<-continue]]
A movement at the ship’s bow caught her eye: the figurehead, twitching and squirming as if it were alive – another demonstration of Yothandel’s magical powers.
But as the ship drew nearer Cwestalia realized it wasn’t the figurehead at all, but Captain Brustesh, lashed to the bottom side of the bowsprit – with nary a stitch of clothing to protect him from the chilly waves splashing against his body.
Her mind flashed back to one pleasant evening not that long ago when she’d entertained the captain in her private chambers, marveling at the length and hardness of his own bowsprit – but now it hung flaccidly, flopping in the wind and waves.
“Curse you, Yothandel!” she growled. “I’ll make you pay for this!”
“Your majesty,” Lt. Ulderi said, “I understand your anger. I share it. But I strongly suggest we withdraw. Yothandel’s sorcery is far more potent than before. We cannot defeat her without reinforcements – both military and magical.”
The queen snorted. “She’s no goddess. She must be putting out a ton of energy right now. She can’t keep it up forever.”
“But we have no idea when her witchcraft will wane, ma’am. It might take hours, days. We must withdraw now and live to fight another day.”
Cwestalia slowly lowered her spyglass and turned to her friend.
[[Sigh. “Agreed.”]]
[[“Withdraw hell! We attack!”]]
The *Bexa* did a one-eighty, but Yothandel sent sorcery into the *Moanthistle’s* sails and quickly overtook her foe, then cast yet another evil spell, causing leathery wings to sprout from the backs of her undead seamen. With hideous shrieks they leapt off their ship, flew to the *Bexa* and pounced on its crew.
Queen Cwestalia stood on the quarterdeck with Capt. Nakelle and Lt. Ulderi, their backs pressed against each other, their scimitars slicing at the necks of a cluster of corpses closing in on them. Undead heads fell, making horrible thumping and rumbling sounds as they landed and rolled back and forth on the pitching deck.
The decapitated dead men stood there, frozen, their arms falling to their sides, but more zombies rushed forward to press the attack, shoving their headless companions out of the way.
Cwestalia and her two friends grit their teeth and kept fighting, their sword arms aching, their blades blunted. But they knew they couldn’t keep it up much longer.
“We’re finished!” Capt. Nakelle cried in despair. “Yothandel has won!”
The queen glowered at her. “No! She has not!”
[[21<-continue]]
(if: $glyphs is 1)[[glyphs-2<-You chose to paint magic glyphs on the sails. Let’s see how that turned out.]]
(if: $amulets is 1)[[amulets-2<-You chose to hang amulets from the figurehead. Let’s see how that turned out.]]
(if: $honeycakes is 1)[[honeycakes-2<-Would you care for a honeycake?]]
(if: $water is 1)[[water-2<-It’s time for a drink – of water]]
(if: $harpoons is 1)[[harpoons-2<-Time to try out those special harpoons]]
(if: $silver is 1)[[cannonballs-2<-Time to try out those modified cannonballs]]
She leapt onto a rope ladder and clambered up the mainmast, grabbed a halyard and swung to the stern of the ship, kicking a couple of zombies aside as she landed. She flung open a hatch and scrambled below deck, grabbed a lantern hanging off a peg on the wall, then opened the hatch to the gunpowder magazine and hurled the lantern inside.
*DA-THOOM!*
The explosion ripped both ships apart and blew the crews to smithereens. Yothandel’s magical shield was no match for such a blast, and as her mangled body plunged into the ocean her shriek of rage shook the very heavens.
Some mariners claim the witch’s wailing can still be heard to this day, if one is brave enough to sail in Gloomgorian waters on nights when the moon is full.
[[18<-try again]]
Glyphs? Seriously? An evil sorceress who earned a Mistress’s Degree from the Conservatory of Malevolent Magic in Dredfulia would hardly be thwarted by some pictures painted on canvas.
Prepare to die.
[[18A<-try again]]
Amulets? Seriously? An evil sorceress who earned a Mistress’s Degree from the Conservatory of Malevolent Magic in Dredfulia would hardly be thwarted by some blingy thingies hanging off a wooden woman.
Prepare to die.
[[18A<-try again]]
Enjoy your last meal as Yothandel destroys you.
[[18A<-try again]]
“Launch the water casks!” Cwestalia commanded, and the catapults fired.
The casks struck the *Moanthistle* and burst open, the shattered staves flying every which way as water deluged the deck.
Yothandel smirked at the desperation of her foe – until her glowing magical shield dissolved with a hiss and the cask water splashed onto her skin. For this was no humdrum H2O; it had been blessed by High Priestess Tattali and its divine drenching would prove deadly.
“It burns! It burns!” the soaked sorceress screamed, flailing her arms and sinking to her knees as her body began to melt. In less than a minute there was nothing left of her but a big puddle of bile-colored glop.
Her zombie sailors froze, their minds no longer controlled by Yothandel’s evil incantations. And then, very slowly, they lay down on the deck, giving up the ghost, their liberated spirits departing from their corrupted corpses.
[[finale<-continue]]
“Fire the harpoons!” Cwestalia commanded. “But don’t hit the bow!”
“Aye aye!” Capt. Nakelle said, and gave the order.
*Hiss!
Twannng!
Whooossh!*
Twenty harpoons headed for the *Moanthistle.* Some skewered zombies, pinning them to the deck as they writhed and rasped, vainly trying to free themselves. Others hurtled straight toward Yothandel, but her magical shell blunted the attack and the harpoons clattered harmlessly to the deck, their points bent like fish hooks.
And now she retaliated.
“Open fire!” she roared, and the zombies manning the cannons touched torches to fuses.
*Ra-droom!*
Cannonballs pounded into the *Bexa,* holing the hull and snapping the masts and cratering the deck. Lt. Ulderi grabbed Cwestalia’s arm and urged her toward a lifeboat, but the queen shook her off and stood her ground, refusing to abandon the sinking ship, shaking a defiant fist at her evil counterpart as the sea water lapped at her legs, rising higher and higher...
[[18A<-try again]]
“Fire the cannons!” Cwestalia commanded. “But don’t hit the bow!”
“Aye aye!” Capt. Nakelle said, and gave the order.
*Gudda poom! Gudda poom!*
Forty four cannons roared. Forty four deadly balls hurtled toward the *Moanthistle.* They burst apart on impact, unleashing their ensorcelled silver shot, which gooshed and gashed and gutted and ground up many of the cadaverous crew.
But Yothandel was unaffected, the projectiles bouncing off her thick ward of wizardry.
And now she retaliated.
“Open fire!” she roared, and the zombies manning the cannons touched torches to fuses.
*Ra-droom!*
Cannonballs pounded into the *Bexa,* holing the hull and snapping the masts and cratering the deck. Lt. Ulderi grabbed Cwestalia’s arm and urged her toward a lifeboat, but the queen shook her off and stood her ground, refusing to abandon the sinking ship, shaking a defiant fist at her evil counterpart as the sea water lapped at her legs, rising higher and higher...
[[18A<-try again]]
With the *Moanthistle* in tow, the *Bexa* returned to Dunslauffen, where Captain Othaniol Brustesh made a full recovery from his ordeal, thanks to the gentle ministrations of Queen Cwestalia herself.
THE END