munchausen
TMF Expert
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Here's part two. For some reason, apostrophes and quotation marks are coming out as capital A's, squigglies, and equals signs. I don't have time to comb through and fix them all. I hope it's legible as-is. If someone knows a quick and easy way to fix this, clue me in.
Two: At Sea. Pirates. A Peculiar Beast.
A few days after their ordeal, Drumpf and Amethyst sat at a small dockside tavern on the southern coast of Caerdyl, sipping sweetwater (it was far too early in the morning for ale) and waiting for their passenger craft to board. At 4:45 a.m., all the patrons in the tavern were prospective passengers, and few of the small but diverse assemblage appeared happy to be stirring at this hour. Aside from Drumpf and his ward, there were seven of them, speaking in subdued tones, munching on mediocre rolls and butter, and listening to the stevedores load the small ship docked outside with cargo. As Drumpf gazed pensively out at the mists, Amethyst took stock of their fellow travellers.
At the table nearest them was an oddly matched middle aged couple. The man was tall and angular, with spidery limbs, long, almost overlarge hands and feet, and a rapier nose jutting out from between the small round lenses that obscured his eyes. He wore the uncomfortable looking black suit of the cleric of a particularly ascetic deity, and stringy silver hair protruded from under his broad-brimmed black hat to fall wispily around his shoulders. The woman was quite a contrast, in appearance and apparent temperament. She looked to be considerably younger than the man--perhaps in her mid 40=s--with smooth, healthy skin and a fine color to her cheeks. At first, Amethyst had thought she was heavy, but a closer look brought the rather embarrassed realization that what seemed to be heaviness was caused merely by the enormity of the woman=s breasts, slung like two great melons within her modestly cut white dress: her stomach seemed lean, and her hips, though ample, had no bulges or creases of excess flab. In fact, Amethyst, who was conventionally more attractively built, found herself slightly envious. The woman=s face, like the rest of her, was pleasantly round without being fat, and bore a lovely grin that illuminated her surprisingly delicate features--she appeared to be amused at something that apparently bore no similar appeal for her companion. Her golden hair hung loose down her back, the greater part of it gathered into a waist-length braid as thick as a rope.
At another nearby table sat three companions of even more intriguing aspect. They were two women and a man. Both women were clearly half-elven, possessed of that almost ethereal beauty of the elves but rendered less waifish by their human side. Both wore the habit of warriors, clad in light mithril chainmail and resting valkyrie-like helms upon their knees. One had silver locks that fell in thick waves over her shoulders, a shade darker than her mail shirt; the other was auburn-haired, her tresses cropped short save for feminine bangs that fell across her large grey eyes. The man with them was obviously from the east, and wore the habit of an asian warrior monk. He seemed considerably older, with a shaven head and short braided beard, and he seemed to speak words of encouragement to his yawning companions.
The final two wore dark, hooded cloaks that concealed even their gender--they gave Amethyst a vague feeling of unease.
The captain called for boarding, and the odd party filed onto the charming little ship. With a nervous grin, Drumpf murmured, AAnd we=re off!@
Late The Previous Night on the High Seas...
Maeve the Prate Queen was rapidly approaching a state of utter annoyance with the seagoing life. The Sable had been at sea for six weeks, blazing a successful campaign of non-lethal piracy against the bloated merchant ships that ran between the mainland and the outlying islands. Maeve was richer than she had ever been, but the loneliness was taking its toll. She had a policy never to sleep with crewmen, as it caused far too many problems. While she certainly had no objection to occasional bouts of self-gratification even in the more active periods of her life, the solitude had become tiresome. AAnother week,@ she told herself. AThen things on the mainland will have cooled down enough for us to put in at some out-of-the-way shithole.@ She sighed, pulled the sheets up around her neck, and closed her eyes.
A second later, they flew open as a cry went up on deck. ACreature sighted! Starboard bow!@
ASon of a bitch,@ Maeve muttered. She rose from the bed and wrapped the sheet around herself in a sort of makeshift toga. Quickly fastening her thick, waist-length blue-black hair in a single unobtrusive tail, she grabbed her cutlass and climbed barefoot up the rope ladder to the deck.
On the deck, Smede, a short, round, comical little man who actually wore a bandana bearing the skull-and-crossbones, greeted her with a flustered salute. His eyes feasted on her golden skin, and on the perfect body made all-too-evident by the play of lantern-light through the thin sheet. Maeve noticed his attentions; her long-lashed black eyes narrowed into a smirk. AWhat=s this creature, first mate?@
AI-I don=t know, ma=am. It=s submerged again. From what I could make out, it=s at least as large as the ship, and appeared to have a number of tentacles.@
Maeve took Smede=s spyglass and scanned the waves off the starboard bow. AI don=t see anything, Smede. Are you sure you didn=t do this just to see me come up half-dressed?@
Smede blushed crimson--she loved to tease him. Pirates had begun to creep up from belowdecks, now, and looked around bleary-eyed. Among them were the great red-bearded half-giant, Firbolg, and Zula, the ebon-skinned, silver-haired sorceress from the southern isles. Neither looked happy.
ANow just what the hell=s goin= on here?@ Firbolg belched.
AIs something amiss?@ Zula asked in her heavily accented voice. Her flawless, classically beautiful face expressed her weariness--she had been studying spells, and hated to have her concentration broken.
AWe don=t know,@ Maeve said. AWhatever it was, it appears to have gone...@
At that moment, a tentacle snaked up onto the deck and grabbed the great Firbolg around the waist, hoisting him into the air. The crew gasped, readying weapons, as Firbolg struggled in vain at the multiple vines that now snaked out to wrap around his arms and legs. At that moment, a floating figure--a woman, dark elven by the looks of her, in flowing crimson robes--appeared well out of reach above the deck. ASurrender your ship,@ she said. ARest assured that we have the power to do with you exactly as we will.@
AThe hell you say!@ shouted Maeve, drawing her cutlass. Her attention was quickly distracted, though, by a booming chuckle most uncharacteristic of the half-giant Firbolg:
AHeh-heh-heh. C-come on, now. Woo hoo ha! Cut that out!@ Looking on with a mixture of disbelief, terror, and amusement, Maeve saw that the vines had drawn the sandals from Firbolg=s huge bare feet and now tickled his soles--apparently to great effect, judging from his squirming and the wiggling of his toes. As the tendrils struck the bottoms of both feet at once, Firbolg began to guffaw, his face reddening with helpless laughter.
Before she could react, Maeve saw more tendrils snake out and grasp Smede, hoisting the squealing pirate upside down by his ankles. In seconds, the vines had bared his small feet and began tickling their bottoms as the little man hollered mirthful testament to their ticklishness.
ASweet mother!@ Maeve swore as she hacked away a tentacle and began climbing the rigging toward the crow=s nest. There was a crossbow there--if she could just put a shot into that elf, this whole ridiculous episode would be over. Howls of laughter were erupting from all sides now--for god=s sake, was her whole crew ticklish? Because of the hour and the general habits of seagoing pirates, many had already been barefooted; those who were not presented no obstacle, as boots thudded and stockings fluttered to the decks below.To her right, Robin Flametress, a pretty young archer, squealed and giggled as the vines pulled back her bare toes and danced ticklishly across her taut soles. Two her left, three burly, bearded crewmen , each cocooned in tendrils so that only their reddened faces and leathery bare feet protruded from either end, howled with laughter as the tendrils rather creatively picked up deck-scrubbing brushes and scraped them back and forth across their surprisingly ticklish foot-bottoms. It was chaos--how could something like this bring her proud crew down?
ADamn it, Zula! Where are your magicks?@ Maeve muttered as she continued her ascent. Her question was quickly and ruefully answered by a peal of musical, smoky-voiced giggles above her. The great ebony sorceress had been hoisted upside-down by one ankle, her robes falling down to reveal her silk panties, and as having the bottom of her wriggling bare foot tickled by the nails of the elf-woman herself. Zula=s long silver hair whipped about as she struggled ineffectually and laughed like a madwoman. AThere=s nothing quite so gratifying as draining a fellow sorceress,@ the elf said. Then her gaze fell on Maeve, still climbing the rigging. AUnless, of course, it=s draining a pirate queen.@
Maeve tried to say something tough, but before she could get the words out she felt the rigging beneath her begin to move. She tried to bring her sword into play, but the rigging shook so that she lost her grip. Maeve swore as the amazingly dextrous vines wrapped the rigging-ropes around her with blinding speed. Before she knew it, she was wrapped in the ropes from ankles to chin.
Above, vines took over the tickling of Zula=s bare feet and the elf hovered down to gaze into Maeve=s beautiful, deep, fiery dark eyes. AWill you yield the ship?@ The elf asked.
ALike hell,@ Maeve spat. Her toes worked nervously, wrinkling the soles of her long feet. She had never been so conscious of being barefoot.
AAny of your crew would gladly yield now. But, perhaps you can=t be expectd to understand until you experience...@
With that, the elf drifted almost casually to Maeve=s bare feet. Maeve wore an ankle bracelet and toe ring, which seemed to amuse the elf sorceress greatly. Maeve became conscious that her crew was silent now--though they were still trapped, their tickling had stopped so that they could watch their captain be broken. Zula was the only exception--the elf did not trust a sorceress, and so every few seconds, the vines would brush the soles of her ticklish feet just enough to make her jerk, giggle, and lose concentration.
With the natural cruelty of a torturer, the elf began to drag her long fingernails lightly over the wrinkled gold-pink soles of Maeve=s bare feet. Maeve bit her lip and shut her eyes tight; her bare toes spread, clenched, and wiggled as the elf maintained the teasing pressure. As the elf began to tickle her feet more rapidly, Maeve began to shake and tremble, then to make funny noises in her throat. At last, as the elf scratched the bottoms of her feet in earnest, the barefoot pirate queen let out a shriek that dissolved into veritable peals of whiskey-voiced laughter: AEeeeeeeyahahahahahahahahaha!@ Her ticklish feet danced in a futile attempt to escape her tormenter; she laughed until her muscular stomach ached with it. She had known that her feet were ticklesome--pampering and massages on exotic shores always reduced her to giggles--but to be tortured this way had never occurred to Maeve, and Maeve was familiar with more things than most. It was horrible--she wiggled and clenched her toes, her breath heaved, her eyes teared, until at last--unthinkably--she forced out the words, AThe sh-ship is ha ha h-hyours.@
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By the next morning, the elf woman and her lackeys had jettisoned the bulk of Maeve=s crew in small lifeboats, leaving only Maeve, Firbolg, Zula, Robin Flametress, and Smede of her original crew. Astoundingly, a single command from the elven sorceress caused the sail to fill without any wind--the ship made astonishing progress, seemingly powered only by a small golden box that the sorceress placed open on the deck. Maeve disliked going near the box--it seemed to echo with the faintest hint of tortured laughter.
Once she had secured their cooperation, the elf sorceress--who introduced herself as Lorelei--became considerably more friendly. Maeve somewhat resented this change in mood, as it signalled a certain degree of confidence in the level of control she had attained, but she philosophically decided that her situation was as it was, and insolent ire for its own sake would win her nothing. She elected to court the mysterious sorceress= favor in hopes of learning the source of her mysterious power and regaining control of her vessel.
She stood now at the bow of the ship. She was fully clothed, now, in white silk shirt, black vest, leather breeches, and high black boots. A great black cloak billowed out behind her, as did her thick, lustrous, waist-length straight black hair. A single gold hoop earring decorated one earlobe, and, most important of all, her cutlass hung at her slim waist. She scowled out at the open sea and waited for a plan to emerge in her sharp, embittered mind.
A sound behind her made her turn; she altered her scowl into an unassuming smile as Lorelei strode toward her. AHello, pirate queen,@ Lorelei said. AI have been conferring with Zula. What charming little magicks she knows!@
The elf=s offhand dismissal of Zula=s mighty spells put Maeve even more ill at ease.
AI hope the ship is to your liking. I=m sorry we have no cooks or scullery maids, but you appear to have jettisoned them.@
Lorelei laughed, a hollow, musical sound like the wind through tubular chimes. AWorry not, pirate queen. My servants will suffice.@
Lorelei=s servants were three young, nordic-looking blonde maids, stunningly beautiful and nearly identical with their short-cropped blonde hair and ice blue eyes. They appeared to be her handmaidens; the grunt-work was done by a troop of ill-tempered goblins whom she appeared able to summon and dispell at will.
Lorelei looked at Maeve=s fine, well-sculpted profile for several moments. AYour services will be well recompensed, Maeve. I do regret having to commandeer your ship.@
Maeve turned, dark eyes flashing, and at last let some anger show through. ABut why my ship, Lorelei? Do you realize the humiliation this causes me--not to mention the manner in which you took control? And why keep the five of us? You don=t appear to be putting us to any use.@
Lorelei smiled, her pupilless silver eyes glistening. AYou=re quite right. We could have taken any ship we desired--or, I could easily conjure my own out of the very air. But we need the five of you--you have talents that could prove enormously beneficial or utterly disastrous to the Grand Design.@
AI take it you=re not ready to reveal what that design might be, or what the hell talents we might have? I can see Zula, and maybe Firbolg, as being important, but Smede, for god=s sake?@
Lorelei chuckled again and was silent.
AAnyway, answer me one question. Why did you take us the way you did? Why tickle? Isn=t that kind of an absurd way to capture a pirate ship?@
AAbsurd, perhaps, yet unquestionably effective. But not the most effective nor expeditious method, you=re right. The key lies within that box there, that powers the ship. It collects pure, unadulterated mirth energy--the energy of laughter. It can be given freely, but can be taken through precious few methods. I have found tickling the soles of the feet to be among the most effective.@
ASo it=s a kind of mystic vampirism?@
AIf you like, though it leaves those drained little the worse for wear unless they are mages themselves. Any laughter feeds the mystic stores: the potency of the technique against mages is that it allows for the usurpation of their mystical energies if applied long enough.@
Maeve stifled a shudder, and tried to make her voice neutral. ASo you=ve developed the means to virtually limitless power.@
Lorelei began to speak and stopped, visibly controlling what was perhaps an imprudent tendency to volubility. ANot yet,@ she said evenly. ABut very soon.@
They were silent for awhile, as Maeve gazed out over the waves and wondered how the hell she was going to get her crew out of this. After a time, she spoke. ASo, where exactly are we going now?@
ATwo of my operatives are undercover on a commercial vessel on which a couple of potential thorns in my side are travelling in search of their former colleagues. Once they have captured the slippery little salamanders, we will meet on the island of three moons. From there, we will decide what to do with the captives.@
ANot us, of course,@ Maeve said evenly.
Lorelei laughed again, a sound that would have been musical had it not come from a being of such wickedness.
ACertainly not! As I told you, we have definite plans for your crew.@
ASwell,@ thought Maeve. AWe=ll take you to your island. But you may well find that you=ve underestimated us in very unfortunate ways.@
Two: At Sea. Pirates. A Peculiar Beast.
A few days after their ordeal, Drumpf and Amethyst sat at a small dockside tavern on the southern coast of Caerdyl, sipping sweetwater (it was far too early in the morning for ale) and waiting for their passenger craft to board. At 4:45 a.m., all the patrons in the tavern were prospective passengers, and few of the small but diverse assemblage appeared happy to be stirring at this hour. Aside from Drumpf and his ward, there were seven of them, speaking in subdued tones, munching on mediocre rolls and butter, and listening to the stevedores load the small ship docked outside with cargo. As Drumpf gazed pensively out at the mists, Amethyst took stock of their fellow travellers.
At the table nearest them was an oddly matched middle aged couple. The man was tall and angular, with spidery limbs, long, almost overlarge hands and feet, and a rapier nose jutting out from between the small round lenses that obscured his eyes. He wore the uncomfortable looking black suit of the cleric of a particularly ascetic deity, and stringy silver hair protruded from under his broad-brimmed black hat to fall wispily around his shoulders. The woman was quite a contrast, in appearance and apparent temperament. She looked to be considerably younger than the man--perhaps in her mid 40=s--with smooth, healthy skin and a fine color to her cheeks. At first, Amethyst had thought she was heavy, but a closer look brought the rather embarrassed realization that what seemed to be heaviness was caused merely by the enormity of the woman=s breasts, slung like two great melons within her modestly cut white dress: her stomach seemed lean, and her hips, though ample, had no bulges or creases of excess flab. In fact, Amethyst, who was conventionally more attractively built, found herself slightly envious. The woman=s face, like the rest of her, was pleasantly round without being fat, and bore a lovely grin that illuminated her surprisingly delicate features--she appeared to be amused at something that apparently bore no similar appeal for her companion. Her golden hair hung loose down her back, the greater part of it gathered into a waist-length braid as thick as a rope.
At another nearby table sat three companions of even more intriguing aspect. They were two women and a man. Both women were clearly half-elven, possessed of that almost ethereal beauty of the elves but rendered less waifish by their human side. Both wore the habit of warriors, clad in light mithril chainmail and resting valkyrie-like helms upon their knees. One had silver locks that fell in thick waves over her shoulders, a shade darker than her mail shirt; the other was auburn-haired, her tresses cropped short save for feminine bangs that fell across her large grey eyes. The man with them was obviously from the east, and wore the habit of an asian warrior monk. He seemed considerably older, with a shaven head and short braided beard, and he seemed to speak words of encouragement to his yawning companions.
The final two wore dark, hooded cloaks that concealed even their gender--they gave Amethyst a vague feeling of unease.
The captain called for boarding, and the odd party filed onto the charming little ship. With a nervous grin, Drumpf murmured, AAnd we=re off!@
Late The Previous Night on the High Seas...
Maeve the Prate Queen was rapidly approaching a state of utter annoyance with the seagoing life. The Sable had been at sea for six weeks, blazing a successful campaign of non-lethal piracy against the bloated merchant ships that ran between the mainland and the outlying islands. Maeve was richer than she had ever been, but the loneliness was taking its toll. She had a policy never to sleep with crewmen, as it caused far too many problems. While she certainly had no objection to occasional bouts of self-gratification even in the more active periods of her life, the solitude had become tiresome. AAnother week,@ she told herself. AThen things on the mainland will have cooled down enough for us to put in at some out-of-the-way shithole.@ She sighed, pulled the sheets up around her neck, and closed her eyes.
A second later, they flew open as a cry went up on deck. ACreature sighted! Starboard bow!@
ASon of a bitch,@ Maeve muttered. She rose from the bed and wrapped the sheet around herself in a sort of makeshift toga. Quickly fastening her thick, waist-length blue-black hair in a single unobtrusive tail, she grabbed her cutlass and climbed barefoot up the rope ladder to the deck.
On the deck, Smede, a short, round, comical little man who actually wore a bandana bearing the skull-and-crossbones, greeted her with a flustered salute. His eyes feasted on her golden skin, and on the perfect body made all-too-evident by the play of lantern-light through the thin sheet. Maeve noticed his attentions; her long-lashed black eyes narrowed into a smirk. AWhat=s this creature, first mate?@
AI-I don=t know, ma=am. It=s submerged again. From what I could make out, it=s at least as large as the ship, and appeared to have a number of tentacles.@
Maeve took Smede=s spyglass and scanned the waves off the starboard bow. AI don=t see anything, Smede. Are you sure you didn=t do this just to see me come up half-dressed?@
Smede blushed crimson--she loved to tease him. Pirates had begun to creep up from belowdecks, now, and looked around bleary-eyed. Among them were the great red-bearded half-giant, Firbolg, and Zula, the ebon-skinned, silver-haired sorceress from the southern isles. Neither looked happy.
ANow just what the hell=s goin= on here?@ Firbolg belched.
AIs something amiss?@ Zula asked in her heavily accented voice. Her flawless, classically beautiful face expressed her weariness--she had been studying spells, and hated to have her concentration broken.
AWe don=t know,@ Maeve said. AWhatever it was, it appears to have gone...@
At that moment, a tentacle snaked up onto the deck and grabbed the great Firbolg around the waist, hoisting him into the air. The crew gasped, readying weapons, as Firbolg struggled in vain at the multiple vines that now snaked out to wrap around his arms and legs. At that moment, a floating figure--a woman, dark elven by the looks of her, in flowing crimson robes--appeared well out of reach above the deck. ASurrender your ship,@ she said. ARest assured that we have the power to do with you exactly as we will.@
AThe hell you say!@ shouted Maeve, drawing her cutlass. Her attention was quickly distracted, though, by a booming chuckle most uncharacteristic of the half-giant Firbolg:
AHeh-heh-heh. C-come on, now. Woo hoo ha! Cut that out!@ Looking on with a mixture of disbelief, terror, and amusement, Maeve saw that the vines had drawn the sandals from Firbolg=s huge bare feet and now tickled his soles--apparently to great effect, judging from his squirming and the wiggling of his toes. As the tendrils struck the bottoms of both feet at once, Firbolg began to guffaw, his face reddening with helpless laughter.
Before she could react, Maeve saw more tendrils snake out and grasp Smede, hoisting the squealing pirate upside down by his ankles. In seconds, the vines had bared his small feet and began tickling their bottoms as the little man hollered mirthful testament to their ticklishness.
ASweet mother!@ Maeve swore as she hacked away a tentacle and began climbing the rigging toward the crow=s nest. There was a crossbow there--if she could just put a shot into that elf, this whole ridiculous episode would be over. Howls of laughter were erupting from all sides now--for god=s sake, was her whole crew ticklish? Because of the hour and the general habits of seagoing pirates, many had already been barefooted; those who were not presented no obstacle, as boots thudded and stockings fluttered to the decks below.To her right, Robin Flametress, a pretty young archer, squealed and giggled as the vines pulled back her bare toes and danced ticklishly across her taut soles. Two her left, three burly, bearded crewmen , each cocooned in tendrils so that only their reddened faces and leathery bare feet protruded from either end, howled with laughter as the tendrils rather creatively picked up deck-scrubbing brushes and scraped them back and forth across their surprisingly ticklish foot-bottoms. It was chaos--how could something like this bring her proud crew down?
ADamn it, Zula! Where are your magicks?@ Maeve muttered as she continued her ascent. Her question was quickly and ruefully answered by a peal of musical, smoky-voiced giggles above her. The great ebony sorceress had been hoisted upside-down by one ankle, her robes falling down to reveal her silk panties, and as having the bottom of her wriggling bare foot tickled by the nails of the elf-woman herself. Zula=s long silver hair whipped about as she struggled ineffectually and laughed like a madwoman. AThere=s nothing quite so gratifying as draining a fellow sorceress,@ the elf said. Then her gaze fell on Maeve, still climbing the rigging. AUnless, of course, it=s draining a pirate queen.@
Maeve tried to say something tough, but before she could get the words out she felt the rigging beneath her begin to move. She tried to bring her sword into play, but the rigging shook so that she lost her grip. Maeve swore as the amazingly dextrous vines wrapped the rigging-ropes around her with blinding speed. Before she knew it, she was wrapped in the ropes from ankles to chin.
Above, vines took over the tickling of Zula=s bare feet and the elf hovered down to gaze into Maeve=s beautiful, deep, fiery dark eyes. AWill you yield the ship?@ The elf asked.
ALike hell,@ Maeve spat. Her toes worked nervously, wrinkling the soles of her long feet. She had never been so conscious of being barefoot.
AAny of your crew would gladly yield now. But, perhaps you can=t be expectd to understand until you experience...@
With that, the elf drifted almost casually to Maeve=s bare feet. Maeve wore an ankle bracelet and toe ring, which seemed to amuse the elf sorceress greatly. Maeve became conscious that her crew was silent now--though they were still trapped, their tickling had stopped so that they could watch their captain be broken. Zula was the only exception--the elf did not trust a sorceress, and so every few seconds, the vines would brush the soles of her ticklish feet just enough to make her jerk, giggle, and lose concentration.
With the natural cruelty of a torturer, the elf began to drag her long fingernails lightly over the wrinkled gold-pink soles of Maeve=s bare feet. Maeve bit her lip and shut her eyes tight; her bare toes spread, clenched, and wiggled as the elf maintained the teasing pressure. As the elf began to tickle her feet more rapidly, Maeve began to shake and tremble, then to make funny noises in her throat. At last, as the elf scratched the bottoms of her feet in earnest, the barefoot pirate queen let out a shriek that dissolved into veritable peals of whiskey-voiced laughter: AEeeeeeeyahahahahahahahahaha!@ Her ticklish feet danced in a futile attempt to escape her tormenter; she laughed until her muscular stomach ached with it. She had known that her feet were ticklesome--pampering and massages on exotic shores always reduced her to giggles--but to be tortured this way had never occurred to Maeve, and Maeve was familiar with more things than most. It was horrible--she wiggled and clenched her toes, her breath heaved, her eyes teared, until at last--unthinkably--she forced out the words, AThe sh-ship is ha ha h-hyours.@
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By the next morning, the elf woman and her lackeys had jettisoned the bulk of Maeve=s crew in small lifeboats, leaving only Maeve, Firbolg, Zula, Robin Flametress, and Smede of her original crew. Astoundingly, a single command from the elven sorceress caused the sail to fill without any wind--the ship made astonishing progress, seemingly powered only by a small golden box that the sorceress placed open on the deck. Maeve disliked going near the box--it seemed to echo with the faintest hint of tortured laughter.
Once she had secured their cooperation, the elf sorceress--who introduced herself as Lorelei--became considerably more friendly. Maeve somewhat resented this change in mood, as it signalled a certain degree of confidence in the level of control she had attained, but she philosophically decided that her situation was as it was, and insolent ire for its own sake would win her nothing. She elected to court the mysterious sorceress= favor in hopes of learning the source of her mysterious power and regaining control of her vessel.
She stood now at the bow of the ship. She was fully clothed, now, in white silk shirt, black vest, leather breeches, and high black boots. A great black cloak billowed out behind her, as did her thick, lustrous, waist-length straight black hair. A single gold hoop earring decorated one earlobe, and, most important of all, her cutlass hung at her slim waist. She scowled out at the open sea and waited for a plan to emerge in her sharp, embittered mind.
A sound behind her made her turn; she altered her scowl into an unassuming smile as Lorelei strode toward her. AHello, pirate queen,@ Lorelei said. AI have been conferring with Zula. What charming little magicks she knows!@
The elf=s offhand dismissal of Zula=s mighty spells put Maeve even more ill at ease.
AI hope the ship is to your liking. I=m sorry we have no cooks or scullery maids, but you appear to have jettisoned them.@
Lorelei laughed, a hollow, musical sound like the wind through tubular chimes. AWorry not, pirate queen. My servants will suffice.@
Lorelei=s servants were three young, nordic-looking blonde maids, stunningly beautiful and nearly identical with their short-cropped blonde hair and ice blue eyes. They appeared to be her handmaidens; the grunt-work was done by a troop of ill-tempered goblins whom she appeared able to summon and dispell at will.
Lorelei looked at Maeve=s fine, well-sculpted profile for several moments. AYour services will be well recompensed, Maeve. I do regret having to commandeer your ship.@
Maeve turned, dark eyes flashing, and at last let some anger show through. ABut why my ship, Lorelei? Do you realize the humiliation this causes me--not to mention the manner in which you took control? And why keep the five of us? You don=t appear to be putting us to any use.@
Lorelei smiled, her pupilless silver eyes glistening. AYou=re quite right. We could have taken any ship we desired--or, I could easily conjure my own out of the very air. But we need the five of you--you have talents that could prove enormously beneficial or utterly disastrous to the Grand Design.@
AI take it you=re not ready to reveal what that design might be, or what the hell talents we might have? I can see Zula, and maybe Firbolg, as being important, but Smede, for god=s sake?@
Lorelei chuckled again and was silent.
AAnyway, answer me one question. Why did you take us the way you did? Why tickle? Isn=t that kind of an absurd way to capture a pirate ship?@
AAbsurd, perhaps, yet unquestionably effective. But not the most effective nor expeditious method, you=re right. The key lies within that box there, that powers the ship. It collects pure, unadulterated mirth energy--the energy of laughter. It can be given freely, but can be taken through precious few methods. I have found tickling the soles of the feet to be among the most effective.@
ASo it=s a kind of mystic vampirism?@
AIf you like, though it leaves those drained little the worse for wear unless they are mages themselves. Any laughter feeds the mystic stores: the potency of the technique against mages is that it allows for the usurpation of their mystical energies if applied long enough.@
Maeve stifled a shudder, and tried to make her voice neutral. ASo you=ve developed the means to virtually limitless power.@
Lorelei began to speak and stopped, visibly controlling what was perhaps an imprudent tendency to volubility. ANot yet,@ she said evenly. ABut very soon.@
They were silent for awhile, as Maeve gazed out over the waves and wondered how the hell she was going to get her crew out of this. After a time, she spoke. ASo, where exactly are we going now?@
ATwo of my operatives are undercover on a commercial vessel on which a couple of potential thorns in my side are travelling in search of their former colleagues. Once they have captured the slippery little salamanders, we will meet on the island of three moons. From there, we will decide what to do with the captives.@
ANot us, of course,@ Maeve said evenly.
Lorelei laughed again, a sound that would have been musical had it not come from a being of such wickedness.
ACertainly not! As I told you, we have definite plans for your crew.@
ASwell,@ thought Maeve. AWe=ll take you to your island. But you may well find that you=ve underestimated us in very unfortunate ways.@
