Princess to Pleasure Slave Adventure 2
Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust
By Amanda Clover and Jay Aury
@amandasmut
Art created for the cover by Yellow Room
This book is an original work for Amazon, available exclusively on Kindle, but made possible with the support of CHYOA.COM where hundreds of naughty interactive adventures can be found.
This book and all its contents are copyright 2017 by Amanda Clover. All rights are reserved and no portions may be reproduced unless for the use of brief quotations for review purposes.
All characters appearing in this story are over the age of 18. This is a work of parody and any resemblance to real people or situations is coincidental.
BEWARE!
YOU are Penelope Helsdottir, the heroine of this novel, and you decide her actions.
Each time you encounter a monster you will usually have five basic actions you can take - WAIT, meaning observe and wait for an opportunity, PARLEY, meaning try to communicate with the monster, ATTACK, meaning use your sword or other physical attacks, MAGIC, meaning use your limited knowledge of spell casting, or SURRENDER, meaning give yourself up to the monster.
Many monsters have more than one correct solution to advance past them. Choosing SURRENDER almost always ends your adventure. Occasionally you will be presented with additional contextual options or you may discover that choosing one of the basic actions may branch into other actions.
This is a fantasy adventure, but it is also a work of cosmic horror. It is possible for your character to perish in this story, sometimes in frightening or gruesome ways. You should try to avoid that happening as much as possible.
At the end of an encounter you may need to choose CONTINUE > to advance to the next encounter. Other options may be presented depending on the context within the story. If you have reached one of this book's 83 different endings you can begin again by choosing START OVER or go to the INDEX to start somewhere else in the story.
Good luck on your adventure, do not be afraid to make the naughtiest choices, and try not go get eaten by any monsters!
The Scholar of Monsters
You are surrounded by the comforting smell of old books. It’s a mélange of the mustiness of moldering paper, ancient vellum, cracked leather covers, wood, glue, and strange inks from faraway lands. Your reading lantern spills a small circle of golden light over the pages of Ab Iloso Rannab, The Hymnal of Ruin. The book is written in Yarkotish, a long dead language, but you have studied its glyphs and can decipher the words. The difficulty is picking out actual words in the looping, maddening scrawl squeezed between perverse, mold-flecked illustrations.
The image on the page you are studying seems to be of a woman’s distended vulva giving birth to some sort of worm. Liquid is depicted spilling from the woman’s taut folds and even her anus seems to gruesomely bulge. The illustration is disturbing in both its subject matter and the fact that the crazed, hash-marked style of art reaches the sketchbook realism of an anatomist.
“The Sombrolith worm.” Your voice is a whisper as you read the looping text and copy what you are reading to your notes. “This robber beast… no… hmmm… parasite. This parasite emits the stench of sleep and loses… no, not loses, drops its eggs in the womb of a sleeping woman. The host may sleep for days and the tremors, no, the pleasures of the worm cause dreams of great intensity in the—“
“Penelope, it is time,” the voice is just over your shoulder, causing your breath to catch in your throat. You sit up straight and slam the book closed to hide the exact subject you were studying. Better that Grazmer never know some of these maddening truths.
You smile as you turn in your chair and look at the wizened librarian who guards the collection of forbidden texts. His bushy white eyebrows hang over his brow and nearly hide his milky eyes. He is almost completely blind, you swear, and yet he always knows what you’re reading.
“Ah, the Hymnal of Ruin,” says Grazmer, lowering his lantern to the black, acid-etched cover of the book. “One of the strangest items in our collection. I believe it was turned over to my predecessor by a Red Cloak Janissary working for the Temple of Oreth. Brought in a blessed box. The church found it in a hidden room inside their own temple. A room that did not show up on any of their charts. It was surrounded by superstitious wards and symbols as if they believed the evil of the book was an actual force.”
“Very strange indeed,” you agree, not wanting to tell Grazmer about the powerful evil you feel emanating from the book like an ill wind. “I am almost done, sir. If you could give me another hour, I will be able to complete the transcription of another of the entries.”
“I am afraid, Penelope, that the coins you slip me and my fondness for your pretty smile have their limits.” He walks to the entrance to the vault of forbidden books and gestures to the darkness outside the library’s many-paned windows that tower over the reading chapel. “I must sleep, my dear, and you must go. The library has been closed for some time.”
You are gathering up your family codex of monsters and your many notes when you spot the glinting of the key to the vault of forbidden books hanging on a chain around Grazmer’s withered neck.
“You know, you could just give me the key and I could let myself out,” you suggest.
Grazmer takes the key in his fingers and fidgets with it as if considering your suggestion.
“No, I am afraid not,” he says. “I trust you, Penelope. I know you are an honest girl. But the masters of the Great Library of Akrane would not look kindly on the keeper of the forbidden books loaning his key to a teenage girl.”
You chuckle softly. He is right of course, but if you were your mother, who always gets what she wants, you would seduce the old man and take his key. The chuckle dies on your lips.
“I understand,” you say. “I am sorry for making you stay late, Keeper Grazmer.”
“You make me do nothing I do not want to do,” he says, patting your shoulder. “Come. I will walk you to the main door.”
Your heeled boots click on the marble floors behind his silent shuffle. The Great Library of Akrane truly lives up to its name. Akrane is the greatest city in the kingdom of Heimsvak, the most powerful nation of the known world, and the library is a testament to this power and wealth. Huge, robed statues of the fourteen divinities look down over the reading chapel and its wide tables and leather-backed chairs. The library’s vast collection reaches several stories high, to moonlit mazes of knowledge.
Following the elderly keeper through this monument of knowledge reminds you of your small place in history. The access Grazmer grants you to the forbidden books, by contrast, reminds you that your family plays an oversized role in a darker and secret history: the history of monsters.
“Here we are,” says Grazmer, unlocking the main door and opening it with a creak of its huge brass hinges. “Be safe, Penelope. There are all sorts in the city. Even with Candlefest upon us.”
“I am always wary,” you say, leaning up on your tiptoes and kissing Grazmer on his cheek.
As you leave the library, your thoughts return to that pang of sadness you experienced when you imagined what your mother might do to the old keeper. It has been many months since you have heard from her. She is a monster huntress and her profession takes her far away, traveling and only resting to recover from injuries, but never before has it been so long between letters or visits. It has been almost as long since you have heard from your sister, Kara, but that is not unusual. She is a huntress like your mother and even more solitary.
You sigh and adjust the weight of the satchel containing your notes and your family codex of monst
ers, maintained and expanded for over ten generations. Now you are a scholar, a glorified keeper of the family wisdom, too plump and soft to ever be a huntress like Kara and your mother.
The cobbled streets and shops still bustle around you with nocturnal life in Akrane. You hear laughter and voices. You see the glowing candles of the winter Candlefest in the windows of houses and apartments as you trudge past. There is the alchemy college of St. Seffreen and there is the Grand Temple of Lasha, the healer. All these people, coming and going, laughing as they share pastries or mulled wine, all blissfully unaware of the many evils that lurk in the shadows.
You arrive at the tenement where you pay your rent and climb up to the fourth floor, past the sounds of crying children and couples fighting, fucking, or maybe both. You share your cramped apartment with Velora. As you unlock the door, you see that the curtain is drawn across her half of the space, indicating she has a customer. Velora, red-haired and wild, is a “lady of pleasure.” She says she is licensed to offer her body to men by the city government. You suspect that’s something less than the truth.
You trudge over to your small bed and your modest heirlooms and set your satchel on your study table. It is the only piece of furniture you own besides the bed. The table is stained with ink and the many candles have melted together into a single mass frozen in mid-melt over the back of the table and onto the floor.
You use one of the few magical spells you can reliably cast and conjure a flame from your fingertips. You spread the tiny fire to the wicks of the candles. As the glow of their light spreads, you notice by their glow that a long package and a battered envelope have been propped against the foot of the table.
You hear the rack of the divider curtain opening a little and quickly snap the magic flames away from your fingers. Velora, face painted, lipstick smeared, pokes her head through the curtain, but draws it tight around her neck.
“That arrived for you, love,” she says. “Runner said it came direct from Estermar by riverboat and rider. Something urgent, I reckon. That’s… oooohhhh…”
She moans and her eyes roll back a little. She ducks her head back through the curtain and you hear the murmur of her say something to her customer. Her head comes back through.
“Said it was from your sister. Kara.”
Kara? You quickly pick the envelope up from the package.
“You said you was worried about her,” says Velora. “Maybe it’s a present for Candlefest.”
“Thank you,” you mumble.
You open the envelope with a finger and find your sister has written a proper letter for once. Her lettering is far more elegant than the hasty scrawl she uses when she sends you a request for information on a monster. You hold the paper up to your nose and inhale the scents of the sea and black powder.
“Dearest sister,” as you read you picture Kara, white-haired and golden-eyed, penning the letter in the back room of some grimy dockside tavern. “If you are reading this letter and have not received another from me first, then something terrible has likely befallen me. I am writing this as I make arrangements to travel from Estermar to the lost island of Ctharne. Yes, it is real, and mother has found it. She came to me in my dreams and shared its location with me.”
Dream walking is just one of the magics your mother knows, but you have never mastered. Like your skill with a sword and a pistol, your magical skills are far beneath those of your mother and sister. Though you know more spells than both combined, you lack the focus to cast them.
You continue to read.
“Mother told me that she was in grave danger and that a great evil has awakened on Ctharne. She wanted me to bring you and come to the island as soon as possible. I did not want to disturb you, sister, so I intend to go alone. I am leaving this letter with a trusted friend by the name M—“
The ink is smudged. It might be Malthaeus or Malthazar.
“—if I have not returned with Estermar in ten days, he is to send the letter and the package to you. Penny, if these things come, it means something has gone wrong on Ctharne. It means this great evil mother warned me about may still be stalking the land. I know you have never believed in yourself, but mother always knew it. You know it deep down.
“You are a huntress. Just like me. You know more about monsters than even mother. You have to stop whatever is coming. If you receive this letter, then you are the only one left who can.”
Tears well in your eyes at the thought that your mother and sister may have fallen prey to monsters. Your mother was invincible. Your sister was ten times the fighter you were at your best and that was when you were fifteen. You are nineteen now and in no shape for battle.
You look across the small apartment at Velora’s silver mirror. You see your wide, golden eyes glistening with tears. You see your delicate nose and full lips, your pale cheeks rosy still blushing from the thought of Velora with her customer. Your ample breasts are well hidden beneath a loose-fitting green frock. Your long skirt nearly drags the floor, but cannot hide your wide hips and plump bottom. Your waist may be fairly trim, but you have none of Kara’s toned physique or even your mother’s voluptuous strength.
“I cannot do this,” you say, your gaze returning to the end of the letter. You read it, almost hearing Kara’s stony voice speaking the words in your ear.
“I have always been hard on you, sister,” she writes. “Mother was hard too. But she knew it was inside you, waiting to come out. Accept your destiny. Become the hunter that is in your blood. Your sister, always, Kara.”
Your hand falls to your side as the image of Kara writing the letter fades from your mind. She is gone. Your mother is gone. In their place is the impossible demand that you, of all people, become a monster hunter.
Knowing that dwelling on these thoughts will drive you to despair or madness, you instead undertake to open the long box. Inside, you find a pair of well-used flintlock pistols with curved ivory handles carved to resemble the heads of serpents. Kara has included a small kit for cleaning and provisioning the guns. You know how to operate many types of flintlock, though you have not in many years and were never skilled with them.
There is also a long, curved sword wrapped in black velvet. This type of blade you recognize as a kirana from the distant deserts of Ishabbaria. The handle of the sword has been wrapped in leather that bears the impression of your sister’s grip. The blade is nicked, but very sharp. It is a long sword of medium length, probably given because your sister knows you are not strong enough to wield anything larger and far too clumsy for fencing weapons. It feels heavy in your hands. Your sister has also included a small field alchemy kit with a selection of common reagents in small glass vials, a tiny mortar and pestle, braced alembic, and a silver flask.
Beneath the alchemy kit is a folded nautical chart of the sort that can be purchased in most maritime communities. Your sister has circled the port of Estermar on the far southeastern coast of Heimsvak. She has drawn a navigational line to a point south and east of that, in the Ilwent Sea. Printed on the map is the ominous description, “Pitiless Gyre” and a crude drawing of a ship sinking. Right in the center of this feature is where your sister has plotted the island of Ctharne.
You put the map aside and open a small satchel containing a thick, hide jacket large enough to cover your ample bust. The hide has an unusual, red-flecked color and you guess it is the hide of a monster your sister has cured. That might lend it some sort of magical property. The leather trousers she has included are, alas, too small for your round bottom.
Velora finishes with her customer, a rather handsome man with muttonchops and a fat mustache, and she shows him to the door. Once he is gone, she hurries over to have a look at your package.
“Pirate pistols? A sword? What is all this, Peaches?” She crouches down beside you, her perfume doing its best to cover the scent of sex that hang in the air. “Did your sis send you all this?”
“Yes,” you say. “My mother and sister are…”
“Poachers,�
� she says. “You told me when we had those bottles of summer wine. Said it was your family business. They tryin’ to drag you into it?”
“Something like that,” you say, fingering the rough hide of the jacket.
“And you don’t want to,” she says, understanding your predicament. “You’re not the sort to break the king’s law.”
“More worried that I won’t be much good at… poaching.” You look at her again. “I have to do it though. They’re depending on me.”
“So that’s it then. What’s that mean? You leavin’ me?”
“For a while,” you say and then sigh. “Honestly, probably for good. I think once I go… where they are… I may not be able to come back.”
You tell Velora about Estermar and needing to book dangerous passage across the Ilwent Sea.
“A pretty girl like you will have no trouble finding a ship,” she assures you, brushing the one white lock of your otherwise brown hair from your face. Her full lips curl into a gentle smile and her blue eyes glitter. “It’s an adventure, love. Did you want to stay here in this slum your whole life, readin’ them strange books about beasties?”
“You looked at my book?” You say, slightly wounded by the intrusion.
“Aw, come on now,” she laughs. “You’ve fallen asleep workin’ on the big one more times than I can count. I have to get you into bed and I can’t help seeing a page here and there. Very curious stuff, love. Wild imagination. I think it would be healthy for you to get away from that and really live your life.”
“You’re right,” you say, trying to sound certain.
“How’s about I open a bottle of summer wine I got stashed and you try on these clothes. You can show me how a poacher dresses.”
The wine eases your nerves. It is sweet and warm in your belly. You are shy about Velora seeing your body. She sends you behind the curtain to try on the jacket and the leather trousers. As you expected, the leather trousers do not even come close to lacing and they feel impossibly tight on your bottom.
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