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Post by Char-Vell on Jul 15, 2018 23:40:00 GMT -5
I
A Gift from Ignatios
“You resemble the typical Aesir closely enough, but your great stature and robust bone structure lend credence to Othostenes’ tales of a tribe of pale man-apes far to the north of Nordhiem. I would very much like to examine your teeth.” the swarthy Kothian antiquary crooned. From his mustachioed, pockmarked face, framed by oily black ringlets, glared the eyes of a fanatic. He reached out with bejeweled fingers to the scowling face of the tawny-haired giantess standing before him. Sigyn took a step backward, suppressing the urge to knock the man senseless. “I think not. Better to turn your attention to this idol you hired me to recover. I am anxious to be on my way.” She rested her hand suggestively on the hilt of the heavy saber hanging at her armored hip. Ignatios, the wealthy dealer of antiques and esoteric curiosities in the Kothic city of Krosha, Grinned toothily and raised his open hands in a gesture of mock supplication. “Your whim is my mandate, my dear.” He turned and leered lovingly at the outrageous jade figure squatting loathsomely on the lacquered countertop before him. It was of a stylized anthropomorphic creature that combined the reptilian with the piscine. It’s most prominent feature was the grotesquely exaggerated phallus that protruded from the figure and made up a majority of its mass. Sigyn would have found the thing riotously funny had she not spent weeks in the Kambujan jungles, crawled through a narrow, insect infested shaft and battled a giant, poisonous toad in order to get it. Ignatios picked it up and rolled it about in his hands. He fixed Sigyn with his wild gaze. “Yahuul-Ikoss, an obscure fertility god from the days when Valusia and Lemuria towered proudly above the waves! I have at least two collectors clamoring for such a piece! I will make a handsome profit, unless I choose to keep it for my own modest collection.” The Kothian caressed the figurine in a provocative manner. “Its attributes are amusing, wouldn’t you agree, Aesir?” Sigyn tapped the countertop impatiently. “The gold, Kothian.” “Of course.” In a flurry of elaborately embroidered silk robes, Ignatios whirled and strode into his office, Leaving Sigyn alone for a few moments. She looked around the shop. It was filled floor to ceiling with all manner of outré artifacts. Figurines and fetishes from religions and cultures from all over the word. Paintings of varied styles and levels of mastery, row upon row of grimoires and piles of moldering scrolls. All shared one common theme; sexual perversity both profound and pervasive. Sigyn sneered in mild disgust. She was far from prudish, nor was she one to be easily offended, but the proclivities of civilized people often baffled her. She was idly scraping bits of dried mud from her cuirass when Ignatios returned carrying a leathern satchel. “Here is the agreed upon amount.” he purred, handing the laden bag over the Aesir. “In recognition of the supreme effort you put forth, I have included a little…something extra! A gift if you will. A sprightly volume of illustrations by the Acheronian master Volga-Gar!” the Kothic antiquary fairly quivered with delight. Sigyn thought he might succumb to a fit of giggling. Sigyn shouldered the satchel and headed for the exit. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it. Farewell Ignatios!” Ignatios grinned like a lunatic at Sigyn’s back as she stepped out into the bustling streets of Krosha. He licked his greasy lips and rung his bejeweled hands. “Oh, you will enjoy it to be sure, my sweet!” he crooned, “You will enjoy it to the fullest extent!” |
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Post by zarono on Jul 16, 2018 7:51:12 GMT -5
Beware of gifts from Kothian antiquarians! Good stuff CV!
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Post by Char-Vell on Jul 16, 2018 17:38:51 GMT -5
Beware of gifts from Kothian antiquarians! Good stuff CV! I'm sure there's nothing to worry about..... |
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Post by Char-Vell on Jul 18, 2018 21:00:29 GMT -5
II
Interloper
Sigyn Entered the comfortable, if somewhat overpriced room she’d hired at the Suckling Calf, one of Krosha’s more luxurious inns. She threw herself face first on the bed and stared the lacquered floorboards, brows furrowed over her blazing green eyes.
“Atali’s Tits!” she shouted at the empty room, and angrily began removing her sandals.
After leaving Ignatios’ shop, she had raced to her room to trade her armor and boots for more feminine attire of a blue linen gown and delicate sandals, (She kept the saber at her side, what fool walks the streets unarmed?) She then hastened to the plaza in Krosha‘s market district, where the Aquilonian minstrel Rinaldo was to perform. For a year or more, Sigyn had made it her business to keep track of the minstrel and see him perform as often as she could, having become enamored of Rinaldo’s verse, singing, and aye, of the man himself. Having attended several of his performances in different Hyborian kingdoms, she had managed to strike up a friendship with him, and it seemed the attraction was mutual. Rinaldo would heap flowery compliments on Sigyn and listen intently to tales of her adventures. This night however, there would be no tales. Sigyn was determined to get under, or on top of, the elegant Aquilonian.
All had seemed to go according to plan. After a performance of his most riveting material, Rinaldo invited her to his rooms at a nearby inn. Once there, Sigyn plied her not inconsiderable charms, tempering her savage passions with more subtle lovemaking methods she’d learned in her travels. Rinaldo however, had seemed more interested in lecturing the libidinous Aesir on politics, society, and the duties of a ruler to his subjects. He became quite intense on the subject, eschewing wine, food, or anything else Sigyn had to offer. At last his tirade was interrupted when a peculiarly rhythmic knock was performed on the door. Rinaldo made a stammering apology for having forgotten these visitors were to arrive, and bade Sigyn leave, giving her flowery assurances he would seek her out to continue their assignation. Sigyn complied sheepishly, somewhat stunned by the turn of events. She scowled at the interlopers as she passed them in the hall: four men in hooded cloaks, at least one of whom wore an obviously false beard.
Sigyn had stormed back to her room at the Suckling Calf, were she now paced restlessly, torn between weeping and smashing everything breakable in the room. Finally she decided on throwing herself on the plush couch by the window and finishing the jug of purple wine the inn had provided her. She drank and gazed idly out the window, watching the comings and goings of the night owls on the street below, illuminated by noxiously smoking oil lamps. Her eye was drawn to a lit window in the building across the street. There, given a surreal quality by the distortion of the glass panes in the window, Sigyn spied a couple, a man and woman that were most assuredly making love.
She took a sip of her wine and speculated on what sort of people they might be. The man was fit and in fighting trim, his brown hair and beard carefully groomed. Probably a member of one of the mercenary companies that abounded in Koth. The girl was distinctly Kothian, luxuriously voluptuous and dark-haired. A sellsword and his whore then? Nay. She was too well kept to be a soldier’s whore, and his manner toward her was too tender, obsequious even, and she returned his ardor. Sigyn leaned closer and shifted to get a better view. The couple where in love, and made love with the passion of those not long in love. “They should put out the lamp, or close the shutters.” thought Sigyn, idly rubbing the mouth of the wine jug across her lips. “They should definitely do that.” Sigyn decided the woman must be married to another besides he whom she cavorted with, for why else would they choose an inn for such an entanglement. “Aye! Clearly adulterers.” she mused.
The couple’s lovemaking grew more intense, and Sigyn felt suddenly self-conscious. She forcibly turned away and cast her gaze around her own room. Her eyes now fell on the satchel containing her pay from Ignatios resting on the bed. Peeking out of it was the edge of the book he’d insisted upon giving her. She downed another draught of wine and moved to lie on the bed, taking out the book and opening it.
It was about the size of her hand, bound in tattered red silk. The writing was unknown to her but there was little of this, for the book was dominated with pictures. The first few pages were crudely illustrated with figures of men, women, and beasts engaged in lewd and vulgar acts. Sigyn snorted in laughter at some of them, they were the sort of juvenile vulgarities that amused schoolboys, workmen and sailors the world over. As she turned the pages, however, the artistry displayed in the drawings improved, and the vulgarities portrayed grew more sophisticated, darker. Then, in the latter part of the volume, she was confronted by intricately masterful drawings of stunning realism, portraying abominable delights and compelling obscenities that simultaneously disgusted and titillated her.
Part of her brain screamed at her to cast aside the foul pamphlet, yet another part cooed and cajoled her to look at the next page. Yes! She would look! With trembling hands and moist fingers she groped to turn the next page. As she was about to gaze upon the final picture on the last page, the lamp beside the bed sputtered and went out, casting her into darkness.
The abrupt change of illumination seemed to snap her out of a daze. She found the room had grown hot, and her hair and garments were soaked with sweat. Sigyn rose, stripping off her sodden gown as she went to the window. Unlatching it and casting it open, she luxuriated in the cool night air that wafted into the room. She shivered as the sweat evaporated from her skin, turning it to goose flesh. Hands on hips, she regarded the street outside. The couple across the way had extinguished their lamp and were no longer visible.
“This is an expensive room, in a wealthy quarter; there should be less likelihood of cutthroats crawling in the window.”
Leaving the window opened wide, she sprawled out on the couch to fully enjoy the night air. She placed her saber on the floor beside her, resting her fingertips on its hilt. She dozed, her mind afire with phantasms spawned by the half remembered illustrations in Volga-Gar’s infernal tome.
What caused her to wake and leap to her feet, catlike, blade in hand, she knew not. A subtle noise? A peculiar odor? Or some preternatural sense that makes the wild beast and the savage aware of imminent death when the tame or civilized would slumber? Whatever the cause she found herself facing a hulking shadow that loomed on the other side of the bed. She tossed her tawny mane and brandished the saber.
“You bark up the wrong tree dog! Get out ere I twist this steel in your guts!”
The figure shifted in the dark, it top portion seemed to ooze forward, pushing a face into the scant light coming through the window from the street. Sigyn recognized the greasy, leering countenance of Ignatios.
“You are truly a magnificent creature, Sigyn of Asgard! You stand fully alert, prepared to slay mere heartbeats after I gained entry to your chamber! And a civilized woman would be cowering by now, pleading, seeking to cover her nakedness. Not you, daughter of the snows! Aye, I would sorely like to examine your teeth!”
“You’ll examine your own liver if you don’t get out!”
Sigyn felt something was wrong. Ignatios was not a tall man, yet now she looked up into his glassy lunatic stare. And the body… had he been so bulky?
“No need to shed blood Aesir, I am merely paying you a professional visit… Ah! I see you’ve examined the book! I trust perusing its contents refreshes you?”
“Get out, dog! Last warning!” Sigyn snarled and coiled to strike. She knew she was more than a match for a man like Ignatios, but the bristling hairs at the base of her neck warned her against charging recklessly.
The antiquarian grinned sickeningly and with a sweep of the arm thrust the bed aside and moved toward Sigyn. The Aesir she-wolf hesitated no longer; she lashed out at Ignatios’ neck with the heavy saber and sent his head bouncing across the floor.
But there was something wrong. She had not felt the sickeningly familiar vibration of her blade shearing through flesh and bone; rather it felt as though the head had merely been knocked off the shoulders. Further, the bulky, now headless form still stood upright and took a step forward. Sigyn retreated until she felt the couch against the back of her legs.
The figure was more fully revealed in the dim light. A corpulent, flabby mass of flesh, smooth and pale as a bloated grub worm. There was no head, nor any stump where a head would have been, merely an empty space between the flabby, gelid shoulders. It raised it hands, palms toward Sigyn. She nearly retched at the sight of the ruddy, fanged, vertical maws that gaped in the palm of each mole-like claw.
Then came the moment of supreme horror as Ignatios’ severed head spoke from its place on the floor.
“Behold! Behold and make obeisance to our majestic defiler!” |
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Post by buxom9sorceress on Jul 18, 2018 22:56:04 GMT -5
Dear CV Superb grim fantasy entertainment, with your own special gorey blend of very clever dark weird raw horror, and Sigyn great sharp character. Many thanks.  i always want to read more delights by you. ==== i did not know that the great Zarono was also rumoured to be the Acheronian master artist Volga-Gar ??  [ that could explain a lot ? ] |
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Post by zarono on Jul 19, 2018 7:23:24 GMT -5
Dear CV Superb grim fantasy entertainment, with your own special gorey blend of very clever dark weird raw horror, and Sigyn great sharp character. Many thanks. i always want to read more delights by you. ==== i did not know that the great Zarono was also rumoured to be the Acheronian master artist Volga-Gar ?? [ that could explain a lot ? ] As the Ka tumbles through the eons it picks up names and shapes as a rolling chariot wheel might gather dust. The dust falls away at each new turn of the road but the wheel remains the same. |
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Post by zarono on Jul 19, 2018 7:35:41 GMT -5
Another fine tale CV! All the Sygin tales are excellent but I'm especially impressed by your craftsmanship on this story; you've woven fantasy, horror, and a tasteful eroticism together in superb balance. Look forward to the conclusion!
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Post by Char-Vell on Jul 19, 2018 8:57:26 GMT -5
Dear CV Superb grim fantasy entertainment, with your own special gorey blend of very clever dark weird raw horror, and Sigyn great sharp character. Many thanks. i always want to read more delights by you. ==== i did not know that the great Zarono was also rumoured to be the Acheronian master artist Volga-Gar ?? [ that could explain a lot ? ] That's an interesting theory, we may have to get Zarono to submit to being hypnotized by my associate Prof. Conrad.
also, never visit Volga-Gar.com at work.
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Post by Char-Vell on Jul 19, 2018 8:58:06 GMT -5
Dear CV Superb grim fantasy entertainment, with your own special gorey blend of very clever dark weird raw horror, and Sigyn great sharp character. Many thanks. i always want to read more delights by you. ==== i did not know that the great Zarono was also rumoured to be the Acheronian master artist Volga-Gar ?? [ that could explain a lot ? ] As the Ka tumbles through the eons it picks up names and shapes as a rolling chariot wheel might gather dust. The dust falls away at each new turn of the road but the wheel remains the same. hmmm.... What was the Acheronian equivalent to a corndog? |
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Post by Char-Vell on Jul 19, 2018 9:02:30 GMT -5
Another fine tale CV! All the Sygin tales are excellent but I'm especially impressed by your craftsmanship on this story; you've woven fantasy, horror, and a tasteful eroticism together in superb balance. Look forward to the conclusion! Thanks. I found the eroticism difficult, I feared pushing it too far. No chance of me getting any work from the Harlequin romance crowd.
Skull splitting and spilled entrails are much easier.
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Post by Char-Vell on Jul 19, 2018 20:07:55 GMT -5
III The Defiler For a time there was silence, save for Sigyn’s rapid breathing and a low titter emanating from the hellish, disembodied head of Ignatios. The corpulent monstrosity stood in front of her, swaying from side to side on legs that were unto flabby, necrotic tree stumps. It did not advance further, perhaps daunted by the keen edge of the barbarian’s Kothic saber that glinted in the dark. Sigyn was beyond fear, the madness of what she beheld had put her in a state outside of herself, it was a though she watched a drama played out upon a cosmic stage. “What in hell are you?” she heard herself whisper. Ignatios’ head, having sprouted dozens of insectoid legs from the stump of the neck, scuttled up to the ankles of the monstrosity, like a loyal dog would scamper to its master. His voice rose to a high wail as he answered the Aesir’s query. "He is my master. He is YOUR master! He is the eternal steward of those given over to perversion and depravity! The master of all who wallow in in obscenity and base sensualism. He was worshipped under a forgotten name by the dimly remembered denizens of Kaa-u, and is now grimly invoked as Yungguh-Ollak by the cannibals of Darfar! He is named Ghul-Nak in Kosala, and is exalted in deliciously repellent rituals performed on stained, musky altars! Behind hidden walls he waits, seeking worthies to anoint as his priests! Lo! He has chosen you for this honor, yellow-hair!" “Like hell! I know no master! And I am no priest, by Ymir! I reject this honor! The head of Ignatios recoiled and wailed as though scandalized. “You dare invoke Ymir before the Defiler? He who was ancient when the gods of Nordheim where but embryonic motes in the soup of cosmic creation? Abase yourself she-ape! Give thyself over to your new master! You pledged yourself to him when you wallowed in the abysmal delights of the Book of Volga-Gar! You praised his holy name when you played out behind your eyes the sweet perversions you would perform with the minstrel Rinaldo! Aye, we know your base thoughts, Woman! We…” “Enough.” The word was issued in a deep rich bass voice that emanated from the repellent mouths in the Defiler’s palms. Sigyn felt the voice rumble deep in her guts, sickening her. “Heed no more of this cretin’s babble, Aesir. The ranks of my priesthood are already swollen with his ilk! I require strong, robust creatures to make real my visions! You are not being presented an offer woman, but a simple choice. You will become my priestess here and now or you will not leave this room alive.” The threat snapped Sigyn out of her daze. She sneered and raised her saber. “Death is an old companion of mine, creature, he has dogged my heels as long as I can remember. Should he take me home this night I will count myself lucky to have lived as long as I have! Your threat is empty! Now, I give you a choice, beast; get out or taste my steel!” With an unholy bellow the Defiler lurched forward, the mawed hands closing in on Sigyn like pincers. She slashed at the thing’s belly, opening a great gash that spilled black ichor and tangled masses of writhing, worm-like creatures. The monster was not hindered. It barreled into Sigyn and pushed her onto the couch, which gave way under their combined weight. The Aesir found her self pinned under the gelid bulk. The hands sought her bare flesh. One grasped her bare hip and she shrieked as the teeth tore into her. The other hand descended toward her neck, but she managed to get her blade in front of it. Unable to swing the saber effectively, she sawed away at the forearm as the hideous mouth snapped a drooled over her face. She felt another sharp pain and surmised that the head of Ignatios was biting into her foot. Pain and fear fueled a barbaric fury that lent her preternatural strength. She forced her blade through the layers of ectoplasmic blubber until a last she cut into bone. The Defiler released her hip and tried to wrench the saber away, but by then she had managed to sever one limb. The arm thudded meatily on the floor and its mouth worked and snapped impotently. The monster dealt her a blow with its remaining hand, and stars exploded before the eyes of the she-wolf. But the Defiler was weakened, weakened enough that Sigyn could draw her legs under its fetid bulk. At great risk Sigyn dropped her sword, and with all the strength in all her iron-thewed limbs, she hoisted the obscene mass that was the Defiler up, and backward toward the open window. Too late did the God of the Perverse realize the barbarian’s plan. His struggles only unbalanced him further, pitching him out of the window and onto the flagstones two stories below. The fall was not great enough to deal much harm. But the sun was rising, a few people were out and about, early risers or those only now ending their carousing. These witnessed the abomination fall from the window of the Suckling Calf and writhe on the flags. They shrieked and wailed in horror and called for the watch. Light. Observers. Attention. These things were anathema to the Defiler. He could not countenance them. With alarming rapidity the nightmare form on the street began to decay…dissolve… Sigyn leapt to her feet and took up her saber once more. The severed arm of the Defiler quivered at her feet. “This is no victory for you, bitch!” the rude slash of a mouth pronounced. “My avatars are without number, my follower’s legion! Your perversions have marked you as mine! I will see you again Sigyn of Asgard!” With that, the arm of the Defiler dissolved into a fetid puddle. Sigyn sighed and turned her attention to her savaged hip. The flesh was painfully lacerated and bled profusely, but she would not bleed out or be maimed. “More scars!” she spat. “I shall take up sleeping in armor!” Sigyn heard a clattering and chattering moving toward her, and quickly turned, bringing up her saber. The head of Ignatios scuttled toward her on its myriad legs, eyes bulging and ablaze while the slobbering mouth gibbered esoteric madness. “Barbarian slut! You have sealed your doom! Already your name has been whispered to the Black Bat of Cykranosh and she carries it to the Tribunal of Yikkak. Repent and beg forgiveness of the Defiler, ere your body is quartered at the Pillars of Dread Ibak and carried down the River of…” “I do believe I’ve heard enough out of you, Ignatios!” Sigyn brought down the saber with all the strength available to her, and silenced Ignatios forever by slicing his skull neatly in twain. The End |
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Post by zarono on Jul 22, 2018 7:27:27 GMT -5
Another great tale CV! I've heard rumors the Cult of the Defiler persists event to this day in the shadowed aisles of certain bookstores and the grimy booths of isolated eating establishments that serve all you can eat poutine dishes.
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Post by Char-Vell on Jul 23, 2018 6:49:04 GMT -5
Another great tale CV! I've heard rumors the Cult of the Defiler persists event to this day in the shadowed aisles of certain bookstores and the grimy booths of isolated eating establishments that serve all you can eat poutine dishes. Each time you get that third plate of General Tso's chicken and spring rolls, you invoke The Defiler. |
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[ that could explain a lot ? ]