Rose, Violet and Daisy
The challenges of surfing Space-Time - wandering Freckles, truly Radiant lips, and Sorcery for beginners - R.O.U.S. and Centaur sex - Wizardry, the Blues, and a hot Kat - Carnal Greetings and Sexual Carnage.
Having received the message from Dick
- AKA Lord Ribbontongue - Frank flew back to his castle, with the messenger pigeon drafting in his wake. On the way, he considered what help he could provide. He had no army, nor even subjects beyond Mabel the cook, Sally the maid, and - technically - a few stubborn farmers in the lower reaches of his valley.
"The boy and I will fly out there, of course," he told his wife Trixie, after giving her a condensed version of the bird's message. "Could you ask your Fairy Godmother if she might pop over there and scout this out for us?"
"Of course. Shirley ..."
<POOF> "Hello, everybody! This sounds serious - I think I should maybe take the triplets along."
"You heard everything already?" asked Frank.
Uncharacteristically, Trixie was way ahead of him. By the triplets, Shirley had meant her sisters Florid, Fawna, and Barelyweathered. The trio had been deeply involved in the well known Sleepy Beauty fiasco. "Couldn't they delegate? Like, you could tie all your wands together or something ..."
"Could work. Good idea! See you there, Frankie." >FOOP<
First, Shirley took a layover to confer with her sisters (excepting her own twin, Game Edna, who had unaccountably chosen a career in entertainment) at their mighty mountain Fortress of Lassitude. This establishment was created from a static ripple of space-time, and permitted easy travel in both. The downside was that inside the mighty gates was a single room no bigger than their old cottage in the forest.
She had some catching up to do - what with her fairy godmothering (and her dedication to making the two-backed beast with Fullstaff back at the Boar's Little Head, just off Gropecunt Lane), she hadn't been by to visit for some time. After catching up (and some rumptypumpty - she was very fond of her sisters), she manifested onward.
<POOF> "Hello, everybody!"
Ribbontongue jumped six feet and blasphemed a fire-embellished oath across his mead hall. "Zounds and keee-rackatoa! Who are you?"
"Shirley, FGM, at your service," said his suddenly-arrived and garishly sequined visitor. "Your cousin Frank sends his regards, and asked me to tell you he is on his way."
"I'm amazed you got through. That bastard Tyrant has put a magicks dampening spell on my lands. Without magic, there's bugger all we can do against an army. At first I flew around roasting them," - he smiled grimly at the memory - "and then the pricks started taking hostages. They've breached the Western Wall by using my subjects as shields, the cowards!"
"Anti-magic magicks, is it? Hmm," mused Shirley. "And these are the young women who've started this war, then?"
It was, indeed - beyond a crowd of dismayed denizens of Dryadia all hoping the Dragon could save them, our girls stood together, wearing rather pretty frocks borrowed from some of Dick's harem (which group included a number of his previously rescued sacrifices). Rose bristled at Shirley's comment. "It wasn't our fault!"
"I'm sure it wasn't. Still, you won't mind helping us set it right, now would you." Delivered in Shirley's unusually deep voice, it didn't sound like a question.
"Of course not - but what can we do?"
"You'll be amazed. The Tyrant's wizard has used a powerful spell, to be sure - but it only works because the magic hereabouts is mostly all diffused - spread around, like. By good chance, I just happen to have a concentrated dose of the stuff." She flourished her wand, which was not, in the event, four tied together. It was clearly supercharged, though, and threw random sparks across the hall. "I think I can transfer some of my power, along with a tiny bit of juice from everyone in the land, and put it ... there!"
She snapped her wand in the direction of Rose, Violet and Daisy. Instead of the usual Fairy Godmother type tinkling flash, a powerful bolt of lightning crashed across the hall and lifted the three off the floor. But, instead of tumbling back to the flagstones, they hung in the crackling air, glowing - with their arms and legs spread wide, their hair standing straight up and their borrowed dresses literally smouldering.
Suddenly, the entire hall was awhirl with faintly glowing motes, as though the still-bright light had lit up the dust (which to some extent it had, since 'mead hall' and 'dusting' are mutually exclusive concepts). It seemed to come in from everywhere, building to a dense, glowing cloud centered on the girls.
Their clothing was soon blazing, but they seemed not to notice. Their bodies could be seen to be changing, too - already ample hips and breasts were enlarging sufficiently to blow apart the last of their tattered garments, sending flaming fragments to the floor. And the dancing sparks of magical essence were now seemingly being sucked into their bodies - their lips and labia glowed red, like iron in the forge, as though from the heat of the passing energy.
"Whoa!" said Ribbontongue.
"Not bad, if I do say so," agreed Shirley.
As the crowd watched in fascination, the girls slowly settled onto their bare feet, and the glow faded until they were left with the faintest of auras. Their now voluptuous forms gleamed with sweat, as though from enormous exertion. Or possibly from lust - their oversized nipples were stiff and long, and their puffy lips, above and below, were still bright carmine. One could see a hint of powerful muscles rippling just below their new padding, and their original attributes were intensified. For example, Daisy's freckles remained brighter than ever, but they could be seen to roam around her body. Just now they seemed to be favouring the inside of her wide-set thighs. And - like both the others - her hair was longer, and was curled and piled majestically, where normally you'd expect a wild tangle.
And then, of course, there was the matter of the new, leathery wings sprouting from their backs. These were much smaller than those of the dragon, indeed they seemed to be so small as to be simply decorative.
"Death angels," said a voice, nervously.
"Morrígna," said another, nearer to Shirley.
"Fucking gorgeous," said a third. Clothing was purely optional in Dryadia, although most favoured your diaphanous gown or the over-one-shoulder-check-out-my-tit toga look (these being pretty much randomly distributed between sexes and races). Beauty was in no short supply, either - gargoyles and trolls notwithstanding. But these three creatures were definitely outstanding.
"Not angels, or goddesses," said The Godmother. There was no gainsaying the third comment. "But close enough. Lust Sorceresses. Shape shifters, too."
