sgrildrig

Sir Pandolier was on errantry on his huge black charger, and had been so for nearly a year when he chanced upon a maiden sitting on a rock by a stream. Times being what they were, he was wary of the encounter. True, she could be a dark-haired maiden, sweet and virginal, attired in white samite with a silver circulate upon her brow. But she could also be a fae, set in his path to thwart his chivalrous oath. Worse, she might be a witch or demon in disguise, seeking his undoing for ignoble gain. Pandolier loosened the leather strap around his sword's hilt. The maiden glanced up, following with guileless blue eyes as he guided his horse to a point on the other side of the stream where he dismounted, patting its neck while it bent to drink. "Tis a fine steed," she proclaimed in a musical tone. With a gracious little bow, Pandolier replied, "He's the largest horse in the seven kingdoms." A smile graced her ruby lips. "Surely, not the largest," she chided him. "I've

(this image by angelgts came up in chat, so I'm taking a stab at adding words to it) Her name was Ta Juska Owaci, which may or may translate to Dances with Ants, depending on how badly the writer mauled his feeble understanding of an English-to-Lakota dictionary. And yes, she should probably be Seneca instead of Sioux, but that dictionary was even harder to parse, so too bad. But this is all off the mark. Back to the story. Ta Juska earned her name due to an incident involving bare feet and some less than friendly fire ants. And while this isn't necessarily the greatest way to earn a moniker, it was actually rather adorable, and she totally owned it. On the whole, these were peaceful times. The maize was growing well. Ta Juska often went to the fields to check on it or to scatter the crows. It was during one of these forays that she discovered the settlement. That actually wasn't the word that sprang to mind for her. From her perspective it looked a bit like a

A series of tsunami-like waves presaged Priya's imminent arrival, washing up against the docks, sending vessels of all sizes clattering and crashing into each other; while the tallest swells overtopped the breaker walls, flooding lower portions of the city. General Hammond watched her steady, unstoppable approach through a pair of binoculars, pursing his lips as he spotted several luckless vessels churned to wreckage between her colossal thighs. "You wanted to know her intentions," he told the mayor. "She's wearing a bib written with the words, 'my favorite flavor of tiny people is 'more'." "What the hell is this interest in vore?" the mayor complained. "I wouldn't be caught dead licking anybody in this city, much less scarfing them down like raisins." "Nobody scarfs raisins, sir," the general pointed out. "Well, they should," was the indignant response. "We'd have a healthier electorate that might be able to outrun her. Have you any idea how many voters I could