JAUNTY SAUCY MISTRESSES AND SORDID JAUNDICED WARRIORS
By Quillon42
CHAPTER THE SECOND
In the wake of the caustic chastening of that pair of pusillanimous piranhafaces that were Lasciviousa and Chantraggia, another unpleasant entity emerged with the object to subject another fair maiden to an agenda which was most antisocial and anything but just.
"You there," began this gorgon most garrulous, as she launched the lens of a churlishly-cradled camera into the face of a fawn-eyed femme. "What's your name?"
The eloquent answer issued from the mouth of a maid whose ability lay not in oration, as with Galadriel previously, but rather in orchestration. This mellifluous miss sounded off much better on a musical rather than a verbal basis…although for certain she could dignify the gadfly now gawking at her with at least a name.
"I'm Lucinda," the silken siren said in reply, the syllables of her illuminating appellation descending down in dulcet tones dually, so that it was issued as "Luc…Inda" (with a soft "C" for the first of the fragments, of course).
And also of course here, the roiling rakshasi who was conversing most contrarily with this luminous lady had to interpret the other's elucidation in the most offensive manner imaginable.
"Loose Inda what?" prompted the questioner, also known as Zarnanusia.
"Luc…Inda," reiterated the regent of ravish, most gently in her enunciation, and with lithe fingers raised to emphasize the syllabication…which again for whatever of reasons only flustered her foe all the further.
"Loose Inda what?" repeated the harrying harpy, whose craw began to crescendo most cattily. The embattled babe opposite her thought to beat feet for an instant as her enemy pressed pursuit, even though the latter's sternum was burdened with udders extending down beneath knee level. "Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what?" carped the crone in continuation, as Lucinda retreated a bit more, she bearing the abuse with the greatest of patience…though her oral assailant's affronts were beginning to grate on her grace.
"Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what?"
Upon further lack of elaboration, the vile vomitous volcano present erupted in its full fatuous feminist fury.
To the sperm-shaded sentries all around her, (each of them stymied still by the Cuck…Ew Clock from the last chapter: "She just…she just sexually harassed me!"
Then to the loverly lady Lucinda herself: "HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU?"
Of course, as the zed that was Zarnanusia harbored an accent that was shrilly British in nature, it actually came out more as "HOW DEAH YEAU?!" But anyone who was already acquainted with the horrors endured by a henpecked American known unofficially as Hugh Mungus, he or she could imagine how the shrieking sounded here.
Most thankfully for all involved, it was at this instant that Lucinda could manage no more of this needling naga of negativity. "HOW DEAH…"
"BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNKKKKK!"
And thus the full fury of the official and obscure Horn, now trumpeted damningly by the tender damsel, had blasted into the schnoz of Zarnanusia such that the icky echidna had oozed down to the forest floor, she flatly flummoxed by the intonation of that terrible tocsin. Smiling sweetly, Lucinda lifted the instrument loftily for the other ladies to see, and they all applauded accordingly. Who could deny that hoary yet honorable Horn, which by some was dubbed the Horn of Harmony, and others the Horn of Horniness…
…
…because of the mere fact that it was the quintessential specimen of a brass blarer.
…
…
(…What? Where's your mind at?!)
…
Upon yet another nook of the noxious coppice clearing, a certain chimera of a champion of all these vindictive vipers had readied what she had dubiously dubbed her "Snarkles"—shackles fit to fetter these most delicate of dames who were deadest against her inauspicious invasion of their hallowed homeland. With the implementation of these infernal items, this manticore, verily, this manic whore would evilly enslave all the ladies all by herself, and yet parade these proper gals about as if they were victimized all along by the patriarchal establishment of Elrond.
Such shines most miserably monkey were in fact the braindaughters of an alleged woman who was the mistressmind of this entire attack—who abandoned her Frequencies most ineffably Feminist and initiated the campaign "I Need A Snark Legion," as a game play on both her own abominable names, both Satanic- and sur- alike, so that she could in fact assemble the countless crusaders clad in colors of cum who infested this enchanted wood at present.
Yes, the indubitably iniquitous one known in this kingdom as Sarkdonica, she now took the fore in the forest, she rearing back with her Gonzo faucet nasalith astride her infamously fugly features, she fixing to fit each of Kuros's comely comrades with the most miserable of manacles…
[DEEDLEEDEEDLEEDEEDLEE]
when of a sudden a bubblegum-seeming blast issued from a rod that was surely to be reckoned with…at least as of now. The ensuing pink projectile enveloped the evil overlady, causing the caustic cow to stay suspended in her animation before she could wreak ruin with her rotten restraints.
A calming carnation glow radiated from the end of the item that issued forth the fearsome fuchsia force. Yea, as with the once-ignominious Cloak of Darkness, here too would one Wand ever considered to be a waste would be redeemed by a daring damsel. Now it was she who was considered to have the loveliest face, and yet the ugliest name, who would defend her fellow females.
"It's a good thing that my own talent lies more in the culinary than in the mercenary, as if the case with my brother Kuros," began Grizelda as she slung the Wand of Wonder behind her head, she utilizing its decorative star to scratch her back a second. "Otherwise I'd have eradicated, rather than refrigerated you."
"Ulp…
"Yhhyh…
"YeeeeeAAAAAAHHHHH GO POWDERTITS!"
Grizelda then glanced across the glade as Sarkdonica could definitively not do in her congealed condition. The maiden had colored a shade of salmon herself, then glared at a now-inebriated Esmeralda who catcalled her an instant ago. Really she wished that everyone would cease their teasing her with that; Kuros's sibling was a mite bitter that she ever shared her favorite color with the other ladies. As it turned out, Grizelda grew to like pink, as she was indeed imprisoned in caverns which some renditions of her brother's first adventure had recounted as being puce in hue. What was more, upon researching the reader's reality to find an ideal stone with the same kind of shade, she'd hit upon a mineral named Poudretteite, which was both pink in pigment and weighty in its worth.
Of course, she could entirely leave it to her peers to prod at her with a bastardization of the handle regarding that precious metal she'd cherished so affectionately.
She shrugged it off at the moment at any rate, because the maid was too taken up with taking this yammering yo-yo of the Tubes of You to task. "I will not permit you to plague our kind any longer with your imbeciles or with your invectives," gritted the beauteous Grizelda, she waving the Wand lecturingly rather than threateningly—as certainly the most static Sarkdonica was now no issue to anyone at all.
"See, back around the time when our particular delightful yet derivative atmosphere of Elrond was invented, there was a certain craze that arose in your reality. It did not involve boots, or potions, as my brother Ku here so fondly fetishizes…but rather gloves.
Addressing further the chilled challenger of civility, Grizelda: "Your present state brings to mind those velvety gauntlets that we girls all wanted so badly when we were young…the closest thing we could come to them were the Mitts of Mottle, but they were only statically multicolored, and didn't change hues the way the ones in your world did."
The graceful Griz now meandered up to the mug of the monstress before her. "In your world, they were so dubbed…'Freezy Freakies.'
"That is exactly the term that has been aroused in my id right now, beholding your frigiferous visage at the moment. Though you can take comfort in the fact that you're still much more a Freak than Freeze, even now.
"And by the way," added the purveyor of pink, as she went to the side of her brother, who was just raring to throw down with so many faux warriors who were also frozen at the moment, though only in time and not in temperature, "…you might be wondering how I might have struck out at you without your detecting me. Let's just say that, as one might do so cheaply in so many digitized boss battles, such as those which even my bro has perpetrated, in the throes of levitation on the leftmost section of so many lairs of evil…
"…I took advantage of a safe space."
Even in her benumbed state, in which no one could perceive any reaction from her person, Sarkdonica was triggered thoroughly at this insouciant assault without warning.
Nevertheless, the countess of correctness in all piddlings most political was prepared for such a sitch as this, and it was now that the feminist failsafe was to be activated most proactively.
What was believed to be a boulder in this erstwhile serene clearing had now seemingly grown arms as well as a gigantic pig's pate of a head. In fact, it had been the fifth and final of the femmes who was invading Elrond, who had been sedated till now, given her volition towards volatility on so many occasions. Yes, just as at the climax to the initial kewl Konamian adventure involving whipping varlets vanquishing whimsical vampires…here too the main brain behind the entire aggression had been beaten—but now a mindless mammoth had sprung forth to ensure that the virtuous would not survive.
"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHRRRRR…"
Springing to life nearby out of an urge for impromptu self-preservation, the courtesan known as Candida dove out of the way of the ham-diameter hands that swung out violently and indiscriminately in her direction. Fortunately for this forest-adoring yet once-castle-cloistered frau, her own talents thrived in the art of dance…and for certain, she would need to beat feet in order to hope to escape the threat of this murderous mesa of mass that was shivering ever so slobberingly her way.
"KEEP…YOUR…DAMSELS…OUT…OUR…COSMOS…"
Terrifyingly now did these words emanate from the gargantuan gullet of this omnicarnivorous creature known to this world as Triggnometria. Now she shook her Galactan gams, now she swung her Everesty arms, now she cried another catastrophically Cthulhan call as Candida pivoted and pirouetted out of the way as much as she could.
"KEEP YOUR DAMSELLLLL…RRRRRAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHRRRRRAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!"
It was the Daphne-transformed-Banshee at the end of the second arcade ordeal of Dirk the Daring. It was the gigantic mutant torso threatening the randy Raider of Tombs at the close of her first recorded crucible. Confrontations such as these were what was brought to mind as a diminutive figure fought with all she had to evade an enormous entity bearing down on her. The looming leviathan raised her isthmuses of arms up once more, then brought them crashing down to destroy an ensorcelled sequoia. Candida ducked just in time as the Pangaea-pulverizing pistons of this ghastly gravy-blooded behemoth blew by just above her saffron-shining scalp.
There was one weapon of sorts which the luscious lady could use against the imposing tectonic-grating goliath that was Triggnometria…and just now, for once, Candida cherished, rather than cursed, those days she spent in the murky keep of Malkil.
"CHANGELINGO REVERSO!" screamed the satiny miss now, as she found a toehold on a tuffet a few feet from the brutish beast behind her. It was just then, as she uttered the words, that the gluttonous Ghidorah ganging up on her had diminished a dash, she/it shrinking in stature one meter, then another,…then another…then another…then another…then another…then another…then another… then another…and then another…the frightening Trigg taken down so many miles of notches, while her lava-gargling larynx took on a tone that was more that of the middle five letters of her repugnant name.
"KEEP YOUR DAMSELS OUT OUR COSMOS…
"KEEP YOUR DAMSELS Out Our Cosmos…
"Keep Your Damsels (out our cosmos…"
And then, when Candida was satisfied that this nastiest of feminist nephilim had been reduced down to an inch—the horrid thing taking the size-based trajectory opposite that of the Changeling Skeleton which Kuros had faced to harrow Candi herself—the maiden lifted her gown to reveal that which she wished to gouge the knight with across his back in the throes of prospective copulation…those risqué kissing cousins of the Boots of Force…
"Get thine folds of fulminating fat primed…for the impacts of the Pumps of Fuck."
Now it was the maddened mistress's turn to tromp about, as she rambled out a riverdance with said hellacious heels, routing the runt underfoot that was once Triggnometria. While the abovementioned Boots could cause chests to cave, these Pumps could crush castles into crumbs.
After Candida had found herself all tapped and stepped out, she looked at her slipper's soles and noticed only so much gore and gravy adorning their surfaces. She looked to the other ladies and abruptly curtsied, to a cloudburst of clapping approval.
With this, the women in Kuros's company now looked to the knight himself to deliver on his own brand of destruction and discomfiture, all upon the cream-curdled semblances of men surrounding them all. For certain, the canticle to chronicle this conquest would be one to recall throughout all realities…and the wondrous warrior's vauntings of violence would not fail to impress his enticing entourage.
Surely, Kuros's fights would not disappoint the dames…but his features may yet disillusion them. For each of the elflike envoys had expected Fabio beneath the brusque brim that was the hero's helmet, according to the extolled exploits of Ironsword…but they would all soon discover instead the face of another famous yet less glamorous F.
TO BE CONCLUDED