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The Old Firm

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Jollyrei

Angelus Mortis
Staff member
Old Firm 10:

It was one of those quiet, warm days, when the air seems to be waiting for something and the birds have all gone to sleep. Maybe that was just an impression, but there was a sense of anticipation, which was all to the good, from the perspective of the two men strolling along the path through the forested parkland.

Despite the warm weather and stillness, they were both dressed in well pressed dark business suits, with white shirts and black ties. The suits were well tailored, but despite fitting each man perfectly, they gave the impression that they were about to burst out of them.

“We’ve been here for days now and haven’t so much as killed anyone,” said Phlebas.

“One must have a bit of patience, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. “I remain convinced that our employer will contact us shortly with final instructions.”

“And if he doesn’t, Mr. Jollyrei?” asked Phlebas.

“If he doesn’t,” said Jollyrei, picking an apple off a tree, inspecting it with a discerning eye, and then crushing it in his fist, “then you will have another outlet to alleviate your current boredom.”

“I don’t like boredom, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.

“In any event, we will shortly be at the rendezvous point,” said Jollyrei, “I have a tremendous sense that our long pursuit of this enterprise is nearly at an end.”

“Something, or someone, is going to end anyway, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas. “I’m not that happy that we’re working for a squirrel.”

“As long as he pays us, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. “His references were good.”

“References can be faked, Mr. Jollyrei,” grumbled Phlebas.

“Quite true,” said Jollyrei, “in which case he will find out that our penalty clauses are not faked, and…”

“…are fatal,” said Phlebas.

***

Wragg strode into his private suite in the West Wing of the Abbey. The suite contained a study, a bedroom, a large ensuite bathroom and, most importantly to him at the moment, a closet. Windar followed a few paces behind, giving an account of the defenses.

“We opened the sluice gates from the river and re-filled the moat,” he said, “and we managed a few barricades on the main driveway in. Then there are the bars at the main doors, and we knocked down the footbridge and barricaded the back gate from the gardens,” he said.

“Pants!” said Wragg.

“I’m sorry if it’s not enough,” said Windar, “but it was the best we could do in a short time. That Windrunning Rodent fellow said he didn’t think the Old Firm can swim.”

“No,” said Wragg, “I meant, I need pants. Trousers.” He stripped off the lacy loincloth that Eulalia had given him. He looked at it wistfully. It reminded him of a rather pleasant experience. Perhaps he would keep it as a souvenir.

He selected appropriate undergarments and a serviceable pair of trousers, suitable for hunting and outdoor pursuits, specially tailored for the discerning man on the go, or so his clothier had assured him. They fit, anyway.

“There,” said Wragg, “much better. A chap doesn’t really feel ready for action while wearing nothing but a lace loincloth and a leather jacket.”

“Words to live by, I’m sure,” said Windar. “Anyway, those are our defenses.”

“What are?” asked Wragg. “My leather jacket?”

“No,” said Windar patiently, “the moat and barricades and a sturdy barred door.”

“And you say this black squirrel fellow advised you on this,” said Wragg.

“Not exactly. He said he had some past experience and could find out where the Old Firm was,” said Windar. “He’s out doing that now, I expect.”

“Why would he do that?” asked Wragg. “What’s in it for him?”

“I think he likes Messaline,” said Windar.

“Everyone likes Messaline,” said Wragg.

“Yes,” said Windar, “but large squirrels especially seem to like her. That red squirrel, for example.”

“Good point,” said Wragg. “Racing Rodent. Solid fellow. So squirrels like Messaline. Still, seems a bit thin to base our survival on. Is the drawbridge up?”

“Of course,” said Windar.

There was a creaking sound from some distance away, followed by a slight vibration and rumbling, and then a solid thumping crash.

“What would you say that sound was?” asked Wragg, pulling on a pullover shirt and his jacket again.

“I would reluctantly have to consider that it was the drawbridge,” said Windar.

“I was afraid of that,” said Wragg. He tossed a sword to Windar from a nearby umbrella stand, and selected one himself. Both were solid working swords. “We’d best go find the girls and make sure of a few things.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a couple of pistols around,” asked Windar.

“Don’t be silly,” said Wragg. “Guns are dangerous and don’t fit in the umbrella stand.”

* * *

Racing Rodent watched the Old Firm leave their hotel. He tailed them as they walked down the road and then off onto the gravel drive that led to the Abbey. He watched as they easily passed booby trapped defenses, seemingly unharmed.

He scrambled up a tree to get a better view of the Abbey. It stood surrounded by a moat, now filled with water, and with its drawbridge up. That didn’t last long.

With a creak and a rumble, the drawbridge lowered, rumbling down on it’s ponderous chains and crashed down over the moat.

Then he watched the heavy gates of the Abbey open. The two men of the Old Firm strolled across the bridge and Racing Rodent watched them pass inside. He saw the door close behind them, but not before he clearly saw a black squirrel face glancing around, grinning evilly, and then withdrawing.

“So,” muttered the Racing Rodent. “I was right.”

He checked his weapons, and his bag of nuts. All in place, he thought. He descended to the ground and ran quietly across the grass to the driveway. He scurried quickly across the bridge over the moat, and then, making sure he was unobserved, he started to scale the walls. Humans always thought they had the advantage, but sometimes it was just better to be an oversized sentient rodent.

Now, what part of the Abbey would they be in, he wondered. He knew he had to be on time. Late would likely mean that he was not the only “late” person.

“Shit this place is big,” he said to himself. “If I were Wragg, Windar, and three women, where would I be?” That produced a number of conflicting answers, mostly based on his own ideas of where he would want to be with three young women. Bedroom, sauna, and pool all sounded unlikely at this time of day, given the circumstances.

“You looking for someone,” asked a Raven. Racing Rodent looked at the Raven. He had always heard they were intelligent, but none had ever talked to him before. Mind you, he thought, not talking to squirrels might be considered intelligent by some species.

“Got friends in trouble,” said the Rodent. “Wragg, Windar and three girls.”

“Ballroom,” said the Raven. “I noticed some activity in there.”

“Cheers,” said the Rodent. “And you are?”

“Just a friend of Eulalia’s,” said the Raven.

“A familiar?”

“Don’t get cheeky. Nothing like that,” said the Raven. “Just friends, but I wouldn’t want anything nasty to happen to her. Anyway, go carefully. That Old Firm is in there now.”

“You seem very well informed,” said the Rodent.

“Bloody genius, me,” said the Raven. “They’ve got a black squirrel with them. Nasty piece of work there too.”

“I know,” said Racing Rodent. “He’s some sort of cousin.”

“Family is the worst, isn’t it?” said the Raven. “You get to choose your friends, but…”

“Right,” said Racing Rodent. “Have you seen any Elves? Amazons?”

“Not that anyone can count,” said the Raven. “It’s generally quite quiet around here. There’s one Elf, a girl, in the Abbey.”

“Yeah,” said Racing Rodent, “That part I knew. I would rather have an army of Elves.”

“I think if the Old Firm is hanging around,” said the Raven, “you can bet there isn’t an army around, unless it’s one that they’ve brought with them.”

“Good point,” said Racing Rodent. “Okay, I’ll have to improvise something. How do I get in?”

“Window?” suggested the Raven, cocking his head to the left.

Racing Rodent looked and he saw the vaulted ceiling of the ballroom, along the East Wing of the Abbey. The windows on the upper balcony were open. At least it was a way in.

* * *

Messaline pulled up one of the brass plates in the floor of the ballroom, revealing a square hole. She seemed pleased. She got Erin to help her carry one of the crosses over to the hole and the bottom of the stipes fit neatly into the hole, letting it stand firmly upright.

“This is good,” said Messaline. “Now, we just take off your dress,” she said to Barb.

“Why?” asked Barb, as Messaline undid the clasps at the back and started to slide the dress down. Messaline playfully pinched one of Barbs nipples, and caressed the other breast and the dress fell to the floor without too much further complaint.

In short order, Barb was standing on a chair with her back to the cross, and Messaline was fastening the leather cuffs to her wrists, holding her in place.

“Is this the good part yet?” asked Barb, “because I’m mainly feeling exposed.”

“Don’t worry,” said Erin. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. This isn’t such a great idea, you know,” she added to Messaline. “We should be staying alert and not fooling around with this stuff.”

“We are in a large castle, and we are defended,” said Messaline. “There is no sense of immediate danger. Now, sweet Barb, this is the good part.” Messaline slipped Barb’s kinis down her legs and her tongue played between Barb’s thighs, which parted involuntarily. Barb gasped. Thus distracted, Messaline had no real difficulty in moving Barb’s feet off the chair and onto the small footrest on the cross. She fastened Barb’s ankles with the leather straps attached to the cross.

“Hey,” said Barb. “You tricked me. Get me down.”

“Erin,” said Messaline, “Barb needs company. Help get me up.”

The brass plates were set in the centre of the floor in a semi-circle. There were 5 of them, exactly the same number as the crosses. Messaline opened the one closest to Barb’s cross and set up another cross.

“Wragg has a good attention to detail,” said Messaline happily. “This is quality workmanship.” She moved the chair over to the empty cross, and stripped off her dress. With Erin’s help, she was soon beside Barb, both women bound securely to their crosses.

“There,” said Messaline happily, to Barb. “It’s better when there are two of us. Does this not make you feel free?”

“It would,” said Barb, “or it could, except that now Wragg and Windar are here staring at us. Hey!” she said to Wragg and Windar, “haven’t you seen a naked woman before.”

“Oh dear,” said Erin, covering her face with her hands.

“I have,” said Windar. “What about you, Milord?”

“Definitely,” said Wragg. “Lots of times. Very often here. Never seem to get tired of it.”

“Funny how many times we get asked that question though,” said Windar.

“Look,” said Barb, “if you two are done fooling around…”

“Don’t pay attention to them,” said Messaline. “Just experience.”

“Do you think this is exactly wise?” asked Wragg. “I mean, the two of you look absolutely stunning up there, and under ordinary circumstances this is exactly how I would imagine the afternoon going, but in the present circumstances…”

“We’re probably under attack as we speak,” added Windar.

“We are?” asked Erin.

“The drawbridge seems to have fallen,” said Windar. “We came to make sure you were okay, and here you are crucifying each other.”

“And very helpful that is, too,” said a voice. “Wouldn’t you say, Mr. Phlebas.”

“Saves us some trouble, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas. The two stood just inside the door of the ballroom, blocking any escape. They seemed unconcerned that the three not-crucified people in front of them were all armed. Mr. Jollyrei closed the door.

There was a loud Elvish battle cry, and Erin launched herself at the pair, her sword swishing from its scabbard. Unfortunately, when she got to where they were supposed to be, they weren’t there anymore. She charged through empty air and crashed against the doors. Mr. Phlebas picked her up by her hair and took away her sword. Erin struggled in his grip, landing a few solid punches which had no visible effect, except to cause mild discomfort.

“Mr. Jollyrei…” said Phlebas.

“My apologies, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. He walked over to where Phlebas was taking punches and kicks, and applied pressure to the back of Erin’s neck with his hand. She went instantly still.

“Too many distractions, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. “We need some calm.”

“I think we’d better do something,” said Windar.

“Run?” asked Wragg. “Of course we should do something, but a frontal attack seems futile, given their speed.”

Phlebas pulled his switchblade out of his pocket and it flicked open with an ominous click. It looked lethal, especially to Erin whose eye was about an inch from the point of the blade now.

“Gentlemen,” said Jollyrei to Wragg and Windar, “I would invite you to decide whether to die heroically now, or assess the odds of coming out of this alive later…”

“Which are slim, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas helpfully.

“Indeed,” said Jollyrei, “and I would add that any immediate heroics will result in…”

“…the immediate death of this Elf girl,” said Phlebas. The blade never wavered from its position one inch from Erin’s right eye.

“I think we’ll opt for the gamble on coming up with something later,” said Wragg.

“Splendid,” said Jollyrei. He picked up Erin’s sword and was suddenly behind Wragg. “In that case, I would invite you to tie your colleague here to that chair.” The chair sat in front of the crosses where Erin had left it.

“Wragg…” said Windar.

“Just sit in the chair, Windar old boy,” said Wragg. “I’ll think of something, but if I’m dead of a sword wound, it will take longer. Something like that anyway,” he added.

Windar sighed and sat down. Wragg took rope from Jollyrei and tied Windar to the chair. Jollyrei checked to make sure things were secure.

Wragg chose that moment to spin around, picking up his own sword from the ground. It swished smoothly through a perfect arc headed accurately toward Jollyrei’s neck. It was lethal silver lightning. Wragg prided himself on his swordsmanship. He felt confident.

There was a clang as Jollyrei impossibly parried. Then there was a thump as Wragg was hit on the head with a fist and went down, stunned.

“Let us not act too hastily,” said Jollyrei.

“Could make mistakes, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.

“I thought he had him,” said Barb, from her cross.

“I think Erin was right,” said Messaline. “This was a bad time to play.”

Jollyrei opened a couple of the other brass plates on the floor, exposing two more of the square holes. He easily picked up two crosses from against the wall and in short order had them lying next to the holes.

“My dear Lady Erin,” said Jollyrei. “If you would be so kind, remove Lord Wragg’s clothing.”

“No!” said Erin, still hanging helplessly in Phlebas’ grip.

“I suppose I must then threaten the safety of the Lady Barb,” Jollyrei said. “I won’t kill her...”

“Yet”, said Phlebas.

“…but I can cause considerable pain.”

“Don’t do anything they ask!” exclaimed Messaline.

“Dear, dear,” said Jollyrei. “So very uncooperative.” He reached up to Barb’s left hand, so both Erin and Messaline could see, and took hold of her little finger. He bent it suddenly. Barb screamed.

“Does the class have any further questions,” asked Jollyrei.

Phlebas dropped Erin to the floor. She staggered to her feet and went to the prone Wragg. Clumsily she pulled off his trousers and shirt, and the rest of his kit. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Barb whimpered in pain, and watched as Phlebas lifted Wragg like a doll and dropped him onto one of the crosses, fastening the leather cuffs.

Jollyrei turned to Erin and suddenly tore her shirt in two, stripping it off her. Her breeches were torn apart like tissue and fell off her. Erin struggled but his grip was like steel on her arm. She knew they were hard to kill, but she hadn’t thought it was impossible. Now she wasn’t sure.

Jollyrei pulled her across the floor and threw her down onto the fourth cross. She landed on her side with the breath knocked out of her. Phlebas pulled her into position, and fastened the cuffs around her wrists and feet.

Between the two of them, Jollyrei and Phlebas easily raised the two crosses which stood roughly facing Barb and Messaline.

“That’s better, I think, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.

“Set-up is always tedious, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. “All those little details to work out.”

“I suppose I’d better let him know we’re ready for the main event,” said Phlebas.

“Ah, yes,” said Jollyrei. “It is time for our friends here to meet our employer, and the host of these festivities.”

“You call this a festivity?” asked Windar.

“Well, it’s festive to some of us, anyway,” said Jollyrei.

“The turkey doesn’t like Christmas, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas. “It’s still festive.”

“A salient point, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei.

To be continued…
 

Barbaria1

Rebel Leader
Staff member
“It would,” said Barb, “or it could, except that now Wragg and Windar are here staring at us. Hey!” she said to Wragg and Windar, “haven’t you seen a naked woman before.”

Geeze! :rolleyes:

Rollicking good fun. Love this story thread!
 

phlebas

PRIMUS POENUS
Staff member

Held in their nut sack? Sorry, sorry, that's bag of nuts, apparently.

“I don’t like boredom, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.

And indeed I don't. Lucky there is no chance of that here, nice work Jolly :)
Now Mr Jollyrei and Mr Phlebas will triumph and the story will end. That's how it goes, isn't it? We are the heroes, aren't we?

or

8ubGFLt.gif
 

Wragg

Chronicler of Crux
Staff member
A chap doesn’t really feel ready for action while wearing nothing but a lace loincloth and a leather jacket.”
Depends a bit upon the action, of course..

I wouldn’t want anything nasty to happen to her.
Again :rolleyes:

There was a clang as Jollyrei impossibly parried. Then there was a thump as Wragg was hit on the head with a fist and went down, stunned.
So, would that have gone any worse if I had been wearing a a lace loincloth and a leather jacket? :confused:

Phlebas easily raised the two crosses which stood roughly facing Barb and Messaline.
Well, Phlebas, old bean, I suppose I should be grateful to you for a decent view, at least... :cool:
 

Rabbit71

Assistant executioner
A Simple Job

“Good Calends, Mr. Phlebas?”

“Quite good, Mr. Jollyrei. Quite a decent little party. You?”

“Not bad. Just a quiet Calends this year. I did get down to Capri for a day of sun. Nothing too stressful.”

Picture Mr. Phlebas and Mr. Jollyrei, the former of average height and athletic build, the latter tall and slim, some might call him thin. Both are of indeterminate age. They are strolling along a path up the hill from the city below. It’s Roman, but it’s not Rome. They are dressed in black hose, white tunics, and each sports a black leather jacket. The jackets do not have words stitched on them.

“Did you hear about Mr. Windar?” asked Jollyrei.

“No,” said Phlebas. “What about him?”

“Said he didn’t like this business anymore. It didn’t “speak to him” or something,” said Jollyrei. “He closed up shop and went into business with Mr. Wragg.”

“Really,” said Phlebas. “Don’t understand that, but to each their own. So Wragg and Windar, eh?”

“Windar and Wragg, actually,” said Jollyrei. “Apparently it sounds better.”

“Could be,” said Phlebas. “What’s their line?”

“Punishment of slaves, flogging, scourging.”

“Contract stuff?” asked Phlebas.

“Yes, but they do a good line in walk-ups too,” said Jollyrei. “You know, chap has a slave who spills wine on the proconsul’s wife, he can take the slave down to W and W directly and have him whipped while he waits.”

“Nice,” said Phlebas. “Sort of a discipline emporium.”

“Apparently they also have the government contract,” said Jollyrei.

“Really?” said Phlebas. “I thought that was Apostate’s gig.”

“Yes,” said Jollyrei, “it was. Unfortunately there was this cock-up with the daughter of the Proconsul’s neice, twice removed by marriage.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” said Phlebas.

“Sort of a distant relative,” said Jollyrei. “The girl was caught in flagrante dilecto (that means having a damn good fuck, I think) with a large Nubian. They assumed he was a slave.”

“Tricky business,” said Phlebas.

“Quite,” said Jollyrei. “Anyway the girl was pulled off to Apostate’s place. He wasn’t there, but his major-domo gave the girl 20 of the best with a leather braided thing. Warmed the skin a bit, I fancy.”

“And the Nubian?”

“30 lashes with a flagellum. Cut his back to pieces.”

“Lucky to get away with his life, I’d say,” said Phlebas. “Flagrante dilectoing a Roman girl like that. I’d have crucified him.”

“They didn’t know who his owner was,” said Jollyrei. “They didn’t want to destroy property without notifying his master. Good thing too, it turns out.”

“How so?”

“The Nubian turns out to have been an emissary of a tribal king of Punt. Dignitary. All a bit of a diplomatic embarrassment.”

“Oops,” said Phlebas, and meant it.

“And that’s not the half of it,” said Jollyrei. “The major-domo failed to check the dates on which the dilecto incident took place. Turns out it was the middle of Saturnalia.”

“When licentious behaviour is permitted,” said Phlebas.

“Right,” said Jollyrei. “Anyway, neither of them should have been punished at all. Apostate was furious.”

“I daresay,” said Phlebas. “So what happened?”

“I think he had the major-domo flogged and sold to the galleys. The girl was going to make a big deal of some sort – religious discrimination or something, but Apostate decided he’d had enough and retired. He’s an artist now. Paints crucifixions and such. They say his depictions of lewd poses and gnashing teeth are all the rage. He has a staff of 30 slaves reproducing tablets for connaisseurs.”

“Crux porn,” scoffed Phlebas. “Can’t imagine anyone would go for that, Mr. Jollyrei.

“You’d be surprised, Mr. Phlebas.”

“Apparently,” said Phlebas. “So when did all this take place?”

“A few months ago,” said Jollyrei, “just after Saturnalia. What’s the date now?”

“I haven’t the foggiest,” said Phlebas. “Year 47 or something now, I think.”

“So Saturnalia would have been in 46,” said Jollyrei.

“No, 48,” said Phlebas.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, years count backwards. Next year will be 46.”

“How in the underworld does that work?” asked Jollyrei.

“It’s what this Jewish prophet from Judea told me,” said Phlebas. “It’s 47 before some birthday or something.”

“You mean we’re counting back towards the birth of some guy that hasn’t even been conceived yet?” asked Jollyrei.

“Seems that way,” said Phlebas, shrugging.

“Better be a big thing in the year zero,” said Jollyrei.

“What’s that?” asked Phlebas. “We don’t have a zero.”

“Some Arabian idea,” said Jollyrei. “It means "nothing".”

“Means nothing to me either,” said Phlebas. “Ah, here we are.”

The two men crested the top of the hill. There was the usual murmur of anticipation as Mr. Phlebas and Mr. Jollyrei arrived. There were the five or six tall poles planted in a semi-circle. There was a small crowd of spectators, who were doing the murmuring.

There was a man with an easel with a parchment attached and a palette of pigments. The pigments favoured earth tones and a fair bit of red. The man was holding up a thumb toward the semi-circle of poles and looking along his arm at it, as if this would either make the poles or the thumb more prominent.

“Ah, Mr. Apostate,” said Jollyrei.

“Heard you went into a new line of work,” said Phlebas affably.

“Should have done it years ago,” said Apostate. “You know, I thought this would be a retirement hobby, but the sestertii just keep flying in now. I may have to buy more art slaves.”

“Good job,” said Phlebas. “That’s how it goes with these startups – you get in on the ground floor and you’re gold.”

“Oh, look,” said Jollyrei. There’s the other guys.” He and Phlebas left Apostate to contemplate whichever other bits of his hands he might find appropriate in preparation for painting, and went to meet the other two men in the clear circle around the poles.

“Mr Wragg, Mr. Windar,” said Jollyrei. “What have we got today?”

“Mr. Jollyrei and Mr. Phlebas,” said Wragg. “Thought it would be you.”

“People like a professional job,” said Phlebas.

“Indeed they do,” said Windar. “And we have delivered a professionally flogged subject for you.”

“Barbarian slave girl today,” said Wragg. “Arguing with her mistress and then hitting the master’s heir with an amphora.”

“And that’s crucifixion?” asked Windar.

“Ours not to reason why, gentlemen,” said Jollyrei.

“Indeed not,” said Wragg. “Purely professional interest.”

“Of course,” said Jollyrei. “The flogging business going well?”

“Oh yes,” said Windar. “The walk-in discipline clinic is very popular. We’re planning to branch out into other cities. A chain of Double W establishments, for all your disciplinary needs.”

“Well done,” said Phlebas.

The murmur of the crowd suddenly increased in volume. A bored looking cohort of legionnaires was working its way slowly up the trail to the top of the hill. In the middle was the girl, a slim, fit, attractive young woman under a stout patibulum.”

“Ah,” said Jollyrei. “I spy, with my little eye, Mr. Phlebas, someone that’s going to be…”

“…howling in pain in a minute, Mr. Jollyrei” said Phlebas.

“If it’s all the same to you,” said Windar, “I don’t need to watch this. Seen enough of these.”

“No worries,” said Phlebas.

“Get the girl in the refreshment tent to give you a squeezed citrus drink. She even has ice from the mountains. All the rage these days. On me.”

“What’s the point of the ice?” asked Windar.

“Makes the drink cold,” said Jollyrei. “New fad.”

“Modern rubbish,” said Wragg, as Windar strolled off to a colourful tent at the side of the hilltop. It seemed to be popular with some of the ladies in the spectators as well.

The legionnaires pushed the girl into the clear circle. She stood there panting. Her shoulders and back were laced with an artistic criss-cross of lashes, and her nicely rounded bottom was similarly treated. The small of her back was clear. The firm of Windar and Wragg clearly knew their business – flogging without damaging any sensitive organs.

“She’ll last a couple of days at least,” said Wragg. “We didn’t damage anything important. Didn’t do the front either. Wouldn’t want to spoil the look. She’ll look pretty good up there too.”

“I’m sure Apostate will be pleased,” said Phlebas. “Better get started, eh?”

“Right,” said Jollyrei. He turned to address the girl and the soldiers. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully.

The soldiers grumbled something and the girl just glared at him.

“So, what have we here?” asked Jollyrei.

“Barbaria, a barbarian slave, sentenced to crucifixion for assaulting her master’s son,” said the Optio.

“Well, that seems straightforward, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Phlebas?” said Jollyrei.

“Indeed, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.

“Let’s get that patibulum off you then,” said Jollyrei. He pulled out his dagger and cut the ropes that bound the beam to Barbaria’s arms and shoulders. Phlebas lifted it off and carried it over to the centre pole.

“Anything you want to say before we get started?” Jollyrei asked Barbaria.

“He was an idiot,” said Barbaria. “I don’t suppose it matters that he was going to rape me.”

“Not at the moment,” said Jollyrei. “Seems a bit harsh, perhaps, but there it is.” He took hold of her arm. “Come on then.”

Phlebas took hold of the other arm and they marched her to the patibulum, spun her around, and pulled her down onto her back on the rough grass.

“Look,” said Barbaria, “I don’t suppose you could just let me go. I mean, I could promise not to do it again.”

“What?” asked Phlebas. “In front of all these witnesses?”

“We do have a professional reputation to consider,” said Jollyrei.

“But I’m innocent!” said Barbaria, as her arms were stretched out on the patibulum. Jollyrei and Phlebas each tied down a wrist.

“Not according to the charges,” said Jollyrei. “She has a lovely figure, does she not, Mr. Phlebas?”

“Yes, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas. “Very nice breasts.”

“Nipples nicely tumescent,” said Wragg. He seemed to be sweating slightly.

“Very poetic, Mr. Wragg,” said Jollyrei. “I liked that description, Mr. Phlebas.”

“Mr. Wragg has a romantic soul, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.

Jollyrei picked up a hammer and fished a large square spike out of a leather bucket at the base of the pole. He placed the point on Barbaria’s left wrist and brought the hammer down. Barbaria’s body bucked and arched and a ragged gasp escaped her. On the second blow of the hammer she screamed.

Phlebas hammered in a similar spike on the right wrist, Barbaria’s legs kicking and her body twisting, trying to escape the pain. Four blows of the heavy hammers was all that was needed to seat the nails and fix her to the beam. She lay on the ground gritting her teeth against the pain.

“Up we go,” said Jollyrei. “Do you mind taking the ladder, Mr. Wragg? Our usual support staff seems to be missing.”

Wragg set a ladder against the pole and climbed up. Jollyrei and Phlebas each took a side of the patibulum and lifted Barbaria up onto her feet again. She staggered backwards as they manoeuvered her against the pole, gasping and sobbing as she was lifted up, stretching onto her toes and then off the ground. Wragg pulled the patibulum into the notch in the pole and secured it with some stout rope.

“Feet outward, I think, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei.

“Considering the artistic presence, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas nodding toward Apostate who was poised over his easel with his brush.

Barbaria’s feet were soon securely lashed with her knees pointed out in a diamond shape. Jollyrei got two more of the square spikes.

“Would you care to…” he asked.

“No, please go ahead,” said Phlebas.

Jollyrei placed a spike at Barbaria’s instep and hammered hard on it. Feet were harder. You had to have the feet properly lashed to the stipes or the subject pulled free. A person could get kicked and seriously injured. In this case, the bindings held. Barb howled in pain as the first spike went through her foot and into the stipes. She was exhausted and out of breath and only sobbed quietly, shuddering as the other foot was similarly fixed. Then the bindings were removed and she hung on her cross, suspended on her four nails.

“Oh,” said Jollyrei. “We seem to have forgotten something, haven’t we, Mr. Phlebas.”

“We have, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas. He reached up and tore Barbaria’s loincloth off her, leaving her naked and exposed, her body on display to the crowd. There was a murmur of appreciation. The soldiers were already marching down the hill back to the city.

“She is lovely,” said Wragg.

“Are you alright?” asked Phlebas.

“Just a slight cold, I think,” said Wragg. “I’ll be fine.” His eyes never left Barbaria. Apostate was painting furiously, anticipating a sellout edition of his portraiture.

Suddenly there was a commotion, and some shrieks of surprise, a yelp of pain, from the crowd. The refreshment girl ran past in a panic. A large horse erupted from the refreshments tent carrying a red-haired woman with elvish features and piercing eyes. She wore some sort of mail armour and carried a long sword. She was also quite annoyed.

“Trouble, Mr. Jollyrei?” suggested Phlebas.

“As you say, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. He drew his Roman short sword, as did Phlebas and Wragg.

“I am Erin the Brave,” said the elvish woman in a steady and stern voice, which still managed to be melodious. It was the voice of someone who, if they told you to do something, you would want to do it. Phlebas thought that would be especially true if she told him to remove all of her armour. Unfortunately, he had also heard that Erin the Brave was not inclined to give those sorts of instructions to men.

“You will release Barbaria at once!” said Erin. Phlebas felt that was an instruction he should obey and turned to start lowering the cross.

“What are you doing?” asked Jollyrei.

“Well, she did say…” said Phlebas.

“What are we? Some sort of servants to elvish women in metal dresses now?” asked Jollyrei. “No, Mr. Phlebas. We are an ancient partnership, the Old Firm. We burned down Troy. You and I buried Agamemnon. We will handle something as simple as this crucifixion.”

“Um,” said Wragg pointing to a spot behind Jollyrei. Jollyrei turned his head to see the blade of a longsword at his neck and the clear steady eyes of Erin looking at him.

“Release her,” said Erin, twitching the sword blade against Jollyrei’s neck.

“On second thought, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei, “I may have to defer to your clearer judgment in this instance.”

“Thought you might,” said Phlebas. “So we take her down?”

“I would suggest so,” said Jollyrei, looking annoyed. “Before things become even more inconvenient.”

Wragg and Phlebas lowered the cross and with the help of heavy pincers, the nails were pulled. Wragg wrapped clean cloths around Barbaria’s wrists and ankles, wrapped her in his own cloak, and handed her up to Erin. Only then did Erin’s sword leave Jollyrei’s shoulder.

“I told you I would always come for you, my Lady,” said Erin to Barbaria. “You,” she said to Jollyrei, “are fortunate she lives. If she had died…” She left the point hanging as she slammed her sword into its scabbard, wheeled her charger around and was off down the hill away from the city.

The crowd was standing dumbstruck.

“Well,” said Phlebas. “That was different.”

Jollyrei was standing and staring after the disappearing charger with a sort of ferocious intensity. He was breathing heavily.

“I think that was no ordinary slave girl,” said Wragg. “Oridinary slave girls don’t get rescued by elvish warriors.”

“Nobody gets rescued by elvish warriors,” said Phlebas, “in our normal experience.”

“Never seen anything like it,” said Wragg. “The procurator is not going to be happy.”

“Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei.

“Yes, Mr. Jollyrei.”

“I have considered the situation, and I have a thought.”

“Indeed, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas. “And that would be.”

“Bugger the procurator, Mr. Phlebas, and this whole bloody town.”

“What then, Mr. Jollyrei?” asked Phlebas.

“We find her, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei, “and we do her again properly. Thank you for your help, Mr. Wragg,” said Jollyrei, shaking Wragg’s hand. “We will no doubt meet again. Best wishes to you and Mr. Windar in your disciplinary venture.”

“Cheerio,” said Phlebas. He and Jollyrei sauntered down the hill in the direction that Erin had gone. Wragg wondered if they were really abandoning the city just like that. It certainly seemed like it. He wondered how much he actually knew about Phlebas and Jollyrei.

“Fortunately, our elvish friend did not do anything silly and inconvenient like cutting off my head,” Wragg heard Jollyrei say. “I hate when that happens, Mr. Phlebas.”

“Very nasty, Mr. Jollyrei,” agreed Phlebas. “Takes a while to sort out that kind of thing, not to mention the mess on your clothing.”

“Indeed, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. “Indeed.”

“That redhead with the horse ruined my portrait,” said Apostate irritably.
Very good, great wit and a lightness of touch, amusing and engaging, as a spectator I was fascinated at the turn of events.....
 

Jollyrei

Angelus Mortis
Staff member
I wait.... :BoredSmiley:, @Jollyrei !
Yes, I hear you. I really need to get back to this story. Somewhere it all just got away on me again.

Very good, great wit and a lightness of touch, amusing and engaging, as a spectator I was fascinated at the turn of events.....
Thank you. :) I will try to do justice to it in the end, although I think it probably involves a battle between two squirrels. I know, I know... :rolleyes: :doh:
 

Jollyrei

Angelus Mortis
Staff member
REBOOT 2: I think this is the second time in about 3 years that I have had to recap and reboot or bump this thread and this story. I apologise for the delay, especially to Barb, Messaline, and Erin who have been hanging around on crosses for rather a long time now, it seems.

Let's see if I remember how this story goes. The enterprise of Windar and Wragg has been well established in the outlying Roman provinces for ages now, taking contracts for judicial floggings, but really making money doing "special corporal services" for well heeled young Roman ladies (discretion guaranteed). They don't like the guys doing the crucifying, two gentlemen known as Jollyrei and Phlebas, because they are generally vicious and casually amoral. A young slave girl, Barbaria is sentenced to crucifixion, and Jollyrei and Phlebas are on the job. Oddly enough, Barbaria turns out to be the long lost queen of the Elves and is rescued in the nick of time by Erin, the fearless Elf Warrior Maiden, and whisked off to Eulalia's cottage...er...somewhere. Wragg, as it turns out, is more than he seems as well, and is called (mystically, if you wish) by Eulalia to come help out, because, unfortunately, Jollyrei and Phlebas are also more than they seem at first. In fact, they're timeless monsters in suits who will stop at nothing to fulfil their contract, which involves the death of Barbaria and potentially anyone else in their way. Eulalia is a kind of witch or enchantress and commands portals to other places and she whisks Barb, Erin, Wragg and Windar back to Cruxton Abbey, where Messaline has been hanging out waiting for them. Eulalia also gives Wragg a mystical box. Then she gets captured rather carelessly by Jollyrei and Phlebas (now known as the Old Firm, likely because they have been around so long and possibly burned down Constantinople at one point in history). She is mercilessly killed in a wonderful chapter involving tea.

Turns out that the mystic box that Wragg carried is part of Eulalia's life force (she's very clever that way) and so Wragg has to bravely go back through the portal (which is inexplicably in the Cruxton Abbey fountain) to Eulalia's time to find her body and resurrect her. He does this in a rather flashy sexy way, in which most of his clothing is burned off with magical sexy fire (he doesn't mind that at all), and when Eulalia is resurrected has to wear a lacy loincloth with his leather jacket, going back to the Abbey with her (he brought her a dress to wear - very chivalrous that).

Anyway, turns out that the Old Firm is simply taking the long way through time, and will arrive any moment. Bob Inder shows up and goes for help, notably Messaline's Amazon warriors, although what he really wants to do is find Alice (a mystic girl that he keeps seeing in paintings). Racing Rodent also is lurking about, convinced that his cousin, a devious black squirrel, is the employer of the Old Firm and trying to take over the universe or something by having Barbaria killed. You'd think evil would be it's own reward. Anyway, a small army of Elvish warriors is also about to show up.

So anyway, if you like squirrels, torture, a bit of magic, and a few naked girls (and Wragg) on crosses, you might like the next installment of "The Old Firm", which will be posted as soon as I find the file on my computer and get it up. (The FILE up! Honestly, the places your minds go.)

Please stand by...
 

Jollyrei

Angelus Mortis
Staff member
Old Firm 11:

When we last saw Sir Bob Inder, he had gone in search of Messaline’s Amazons, a group of young (for the most part), battle hardened women, who he found in Dover, presumably because they had come to England from France. That’s as good an explanation as you’re about to get, so you might as well accept it. It is, after all, easier to stomach the notion that Sir Bob and the Amazons, who all had horses, were now galloping up the M20 highway past Maidstone (Maidstone: north of Mockbeggar, south of Gravesend, and nowhere really close to Fulking).

It may also interest you to know that all these people were observed by other people, who saw a bunch of women (and Bob) riding motorcycles, which only goes to show that people simply see what they believe they should see. In this case, it was far easier to cope with 40 women (and Bob) in bikinis (not Bob though) riding along on motorcycles at top speed down the M20 on shiny BMW, Honda, Yamaha, and Ducati motorcycles. One of the younger Amazons was observed riding a Vespa, which normally doesn’t do those sorts of speeds.

Anyway, the small army of Amazons finally veered off the road causing a snarlup of traffic as they turned off the A433 north to Balls Green (considerably south of Bishop’s Itchington, but well west of Cock Green, if you must know). After that it gets a bit murky, since Cruxton Abbey is situated (more or less) in England, but we’re not entirely sure if “where?” is the right question.

This did not bother the Amazons (or Bob) who broke out of a thicket of trees and found themselves outside the front gates of the Abbey.

“Should the drawbridge be down?” asked the leader of the Amazons. She tossed her mane of auburn hair in a rather fetching, and simultaneously aggressive manner.

“I wouldn’t think so,” said Sir Bob. “Last I saw, the place was under siege and fortified like a virgin’s…”

“Look, it’s not my fault!” said a girl a few rows back. “I haven’t found the right boy yet is all!”

“It’s okay, Tessa,” said another girl. “He’s not really trying to be critical.”

“Oh,” said Tessa, “okay then. Sorry.”

“Hey,” said the other girl brightly, “when this is all over, maybe Sir Bob will take care of things for you.” There were murmurs of consideration, edging toward appreciation.

“Girls, if we can all just focus on the job at hand,” said the leader, whose name was Daisy.

“Sorry,” said Bob, “bad choice of metaphor. Anyway, they look wide open to attack.”

“Then perhaps we just ride in and attack,” said Daisy, the Amazon leader.

“Who?” asked Bob. “We don’t know if Messaline, Wragg and the others are fine or in trouble yet.”

“Well,” said Daisy, “we can’t just stay where we are. Can we girls?”

“No!” shouted the other Amazons.

“Stay where you are!” commanded a regal female voice. “Leave your weapons where we can see them.”

A silver-haired Elf Warrior maiden strode regally and stylishly out of the wood, followed by a troop of about 50 Elf Warriors of both sexes (there were some sounds of appreciation and frank lust from the Amazons), who were all striding stylishly. Elves always manage to out-style everyone else.

“Lady,” said one of the other Elves, “if they have their weapons where we can see them, does that not mean they must draw their weapons?”

“This is a good point,” said the Lady. “Leave your weapons, if you please, where we cannot see them,” she added.

“This is also unsatisfactory, I am afraid,” said the other Elf.

“Perhaps we should simply attack,” said the Lady.

“Who?” asked everyone else, Elf, Amazon, and Bob.

And so the Amazons got to know the Elf battalion, and vice versa, and everyone already seemed to know Bob, so that was fine.

“What brings you here, Lady,” asked Bob finally, after it had been established that the Elves were not out hunting Amazons after all.

“We have received word from our Captain, Erin the Brave, that our Queen is in danger,” said the Lady. “We will defend our Queen, naturally.”

“Is that Barbaria?” asked Bob. “Isn’t she a human?”

“Yes, but the Queen must be human,” said the Lady, as if anything else was unthinkable.

“Fair enough,” said Bob. “So what shall we do? Just wait? I feel we should do something.”

“Surround the Abbey,” said Daisy. “Block all the exits, and send in a message that they must give up their prisoners or die.”

“If they’re captured,” said Bob, “they’re in the hands of the Old Firm.”

“Send a message that they must give up their prisoners, or suffer some inconvenience,” said the Lady. “It is hardly a forceful message.

And so they pitched camp and laid siege to the Abbey. They agreed around midnight that Bob would be the messenger.

* * *

It was perhaps not a grand entrance. Woodrunning Rodent, the black squirrel did his best to saunter casually into the ballroom, but with Windar tied in a chair facing away from the doorway, the three naked women hanging from crosses all watching what the Old Firm might do next, and Wragg (also naked on a fourth cross) still unconscious, the effect was rather lost.

Let’s review this panorama. We are in the ballroom of Cruxton Abbey, the family seat of Lord Wragg, who now hangs resplendently on a cross, having first been stripped of his clothing by Erin. This was while he was unconscious, after suffering a mishap while attacking Mr. Phlebas with a sword in a gesture of gratuitous and misplaced bravery. He is still unconscious, and so has not really come to grips with his current situation. It looks bad.

Beside him to his right is Erin the Brave, Elf Warrior, similarly naked, except that she’s a woman, so perhaps not quite so similarly naked, and she is stretched out decoratively (and stylishly, since she is, after all, an Elf) on her cross, held in place by leather cuffs on the stipes and crossbeam.

Moving along the line, there is Messaline, who started the whole crucifixion scenario as a bit of fun, trying to get Barb to relax or something. She is beautiful, as always, and she looks like she is quite used to being on the cross. Her body is stretched attractively, a bit flushed, because she has been up there for a little while now.

Finally, at the far right (that’s Wragg’s right, and potentially your left, depending on where you think you are standing, there is Barb, Queen of the Elves, also totally naked and perhaps not having a good time, since she is complaining.

“I may have made a little mistake,” said Messaline, pushing herself up on her cross and taking some weight off her arms. “These games are much more erotic and satisfying when we are not under attack.”

“Too bad Wragg couldn’t kill them,” said Erin, “and I really think I should have tried to die fighting for my queen a bit harder.”

“Nobody wants you dead,” said Barb.

“Au contraire,” said Jollyrei. “We always want people dead.”

“Only not too quickly,” said Mr. Phlebas. “That’s why we like crosses.”

“Well, I don’t,” said Barb. “This is stupid. Get us down.”

It was in this tableau, if that’s the word I’m looking for, that the black squirrel tried to make an entrance.

“Oh, there you are, sir,” said Jollyrei to the black squirrel.

“Shall I come in again?” asked the squirrel testily. “They don’t seem to be particularly impressed.”

“I think that will not, in fact, be necessary,” said Jollyrei. “In any event, as you can see, we have delivered Barbaria, Queen of the Elves, and her companions to you…”

“…in an alive condition,” added Phlebas.

“This really is a moment to savour,” said Woodrunning Rodent. “The moment I get to take the throne of the Elves.”

“They’ll never follow you,” said Erin forcefully from her cross.

“But they must,” said Woodrunning Rodent. “I will make Barbaria abdicate in my favour. All legal. As I said, a moment to savour.”

There was a crash, as one of the ornate windows around the ceiling broke and a large red squirrel swung down on a rope. The rope made several circles before the squirrel managed to reach the ground.

“I told you this was a dumb idea,” said a raven from the window. The raven flew down and perched on Wragg’s cross. “Hey, Lordship,” it said. “Wakey, wakey.” Wragg made groaning noises.

“Well, if it isn’t my cousin, Racing Rodent,” said the black squirrel. “I suppose you think you’ll save the day.”

“Something like that anyway,” said Racing Rodent. He pulled up a squirrel-sized crossbow and shot Woodrunning Rodent between the eyes. The black squirrel went down and didn’t get up. One often wonders why these things don’t happen more often in stories. So often the protagonist spends pages explaining things, when a quick shot to the forehead is what’s needed.

“Oh dear,” said Jollyrei. “That would appear to be contrary to the terms of our employment contract.”

“It was a stupid contract anyway,” said Barb. “I would never work for a squirrel.”

“Ah,” said Jollyrei. “That just shows your lack of vision. We, on the other hand have an open mind, and will very happily work for anyone, of any race, creed, species or other orientation…”

“…if they pay us enough,” said Phlebas.

“Yeah,” said Racing Rodent. “Well that (he kicked his late cousin) isn’t going to pay anyone.”

“Fortunately,” said Jollyrei, “we are expansive in our thinking. Payment can take many forms. In this case, the terms of the contract were that, in the event of the demise of our employer, we would inherit all assets and prisoners resulting from our operation…”

“…to dispose of as we wish,” said Phlebas. “Is that not so, Mr. Jollyrei.

“Correct to the letter, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei.

“Can someone fill me in on how I come to be naked on a cross, while the world fills with baddies and squirrels?” asked Wragg groggily from the cross.

“Shall I?” asked Windar. Jollyrei nodded. Windar filled Wragg in. “…and then these gentlemen appeared and required the Lady Erin to remove your accoutrements and other, er, accessories, and attach you to the cross. Then this red-haired rodent gentleman appeared and shot the black haired rodent gentleman, and so here we are,” he finished.

“I never seem to be able to keep my pants on in this little adventure,” said Wragg in annoyance.

“Sorry,” said Erin.

“Don’t blame yourself,” said Barb. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“But I did sort of pull his clothes off him,” said Erin. She blushed in a rather attractive Elvish way that made her whole body seem to glo. “I wish I was honourably dead.”

“All in good time. Anyway, on to business,” said Jollyrei.

“’Dispose’ has such lovely meanings,” said Phlebas.

“There is, we must consider, no rush, Mr. Phlebas.”

“No indeed, Mr. Jollyrei.” Phlebas pulled out his switchblade again and flicked it open.

“I’ll just “dispose” of the squirrel first,” he said.

Racing Rodent decided that elsewhere was a good choice of destinations and ran up a pillar to the ceiling beams.

“Looks like you’ve bought some trouble, anyway,” said the Raven from the relative safety of Wragg’s cross. “There’s an army of Amazons and Elves outside.”

“So if you kill us,” said Barb, “there’s nothing to stop them coming in and hacking you to pieces in revenge.”

“Yes,” said Wragg hopefully. “The only thing stopping them now is that they think you’ll kill us all if they attack.”

“The corpses-to-be have a point, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.

“But you know we can’t be killed like that, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei.

“No,” said Phlebas, “but it is a bit messy and inconvenient.”

“Oh, have it your way then,” said Jollyrei. “I do rather like this suit anyway. A shame to destroy it. We shall adjust our plans slightly. Here you!” he shouted to Racing Rodent. “Go tell the alleged army that we have these people crucified here, and will kill them…”

“…in a rather excruciating manner…” said Phlebas.

“A nice play on words there, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. “Yes, kill them if the armies do not withdraw immediately.”

“Whatever,” said Racing Rodent, but he climbed to the ceiling and vanished out the upper windows.

“Seems like a stalemate,” said Windar. “Wouldn’t you say, milord.”

Wragg tried to look his lordly best, which is difficult when hanging from a cross in your altogether. He did the best he could. Fortunately, he thought to himself, he had been eating a balanced diet, and avoiding all those little cakes that he really loved, and had been getting exercise recently, what with all the questing, time travel, and rescuing he’d been doing, so he looked really quite decent for a man his age, which was not old, as I think I mentioned before, but also not entirely young. Sort of prime of life sort of thing, really. Anyway, he looked about as lordly as a person like that could look. A bit unhappy, if you ask me, probably because he remembered the sacrifices he had made not eating those cakes.

But I digress.

“Indeed, old boy,” said Wragg. “If they kill us, they get attacked, but the Amazons and Elves know that if they withdraw, they’ll kill us, and then the Amazons and Elves will…er…have to attack…but they won’t withdraw, so the Old Firm says they’ll kill us, but they can’t because if they do, they’ll be hacked to bits by about a hundred Amazons and Elves.”

“Succinctly put, lordship,” said Windar. Barb rolled her eyes.

“My Elves will never withdraw!” said Erin forcefully.

“Or my Amazons,” said Messaline. “And I am not afraid to die on the cross!”

“How convenient that is,” said Jollyrei. “You may still get to do that.”

“We live in hope, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.

to be continued... Soon. Promise.
 
Last edited:

Barbaria1

Rebel Leader
Staff member
Good clean outrageously rollicking fun! Bedtime reading for me. Happy to see this story resurrected and alive. Turning out the lights now with a smile and a giggle. Thanks Jolly!
 

malins

Stumbling Seeker
“Well,” said Daisy, “we can’t just stay where we are. Can we girls?”
“No!” shouted the other Amazons.
“Stay where you are!” commanded a regal female voice. “Leave your weapons where we can see them.”
A silver-haired Elf Warrior maiden strode regally and stylishly out of the wood, followed by a troop of about 50 Elf Warriors of both sexes (there were some sounds of appreciation and frank lust from the Amazons), who were all striding stylishly. Elves always manage to out-style everyone else.
“Lady,” said one of the other Elves, “if they have their weapons where we can see them, does that not mean they must draw their weapons?”
“This is a good point,” said the Lady. “Leave your weapons, if you please, where we cannot see them,” she added.
“This is also unsatisfactory, I am afraid,” said the other Elf.
“Perhaps we should simply attack,” said the Lady.
Sounds like something from a lost Monty Python episode ;)
 

messaline

Crucified Amazon
... Moving along the line, there is Messaline, who started the whole crucifixion scenario as a bit of fun, trying to get Barb to relax or something. She is beautiful, as always, and she looks like she is quite used to being on the cross. Her body is stretched attractively, a bit flushed, because she has been up there for a little while now ...

"Am I wishing to be delivered ? In fact, NO ! I love so much to be contemplated and admired , nailed to my cross and showing my sufferings with a deep feeling of proudness : I am the "Amazons'Queen", worshiped by my tribe !"

... my thoughts at the moment ...

Messa test 003.jpg :rolleyes::rolleyes:

:rolleyes::rolleyes:
 

phlebas

PRIMUS POENUS
Staff member
"Am I wishing to be delivered ? In fact, NO ! I love so much to be contemplated and admired , nailed to my cross and showing my sufferings with a deep feeling of proudness : I am the "Amazons'Queen", worshiped by my tribe !"

... my thoughts at the moment ...


:rolleyes::rolleyes:

And are you also enjoying the view of Wragg on his cross in all his splendour?

With Barb, Erin, Messa and Wragg already crucified, I don't know how Jolly is going to top this but
“We live in hope, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.
 

bobinder

ARTISAN
In this case, it was far easier to cope with 40 women (and Bob) in bikinis (not Bob though) riding along on motorcycles at top speed down the M20 on shiny BMW, Honda, Yamaha, and Ducati motorcycles.
I'm not used to these mechanical horses, so I got a lift from Judith - she's determined to find Messa! :eek: Congratulations on the resurrection of 'The Old Firm'. Well done, Jolly! :D

 
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