Red Tsonia & the Jungles of Madness

by Blind Justice and LoquiSordidaAdMe

Author's Note: This will be this year's entry into Literotica's Geek Pride Day Event, a shared tale written together with LoquiSordidaAdMe.

As always, thanks to my lady love for inspiration and criticism and honored Patron Fireball for his insights after a quick beta-read.

We wanted to write a grim, brutal sword-and-sandal adventure in the style of Robert E. Howard, creator of characters like Conan the Barbarian, Soloman Kane, and Red Sonya (whom we pay homage to in this tale). We both took it in turns to develop the plot and characters and passed the story back and forth as we saw fit. The section breaks do not necessarily indicate a change of author. Loqui was kind enough to let me post this under my name. I hope we managed to piece together a tale of high adventure worthy of your praise.

***

The grim visage of a snarling war goddess carved into the prow cut a foaming trough through a particularly high wave as fifty slaves grunted with the effort of dragging their oars through the churning waters, spurred on by the pounding drum and the sting of the lash. Slicing through the choppy sea with the practiced grace of a harem dancer, the sleek bireme stalked her prey, her sail taut and a firm hand on her tiller. With the salt wind in his hair and the brine spray on his face, Ambrose smiled.

Gods willing, the Tyrant's Blade, would finally overtake Kelgore the Despoiler today, putting an end to the pirate king's bloody rampage and filling Ambrose's purse with coin. The dreaded pirate had pillaged his way along the Xhastrian coast, uncannily avoiding his pursuers through guile, bribery and masterful seamanship. The merchants and nobles of Xhastria called out for the God-King to put an end to Kelgore's atrocities. Despite unleashing the considerable naval might of Xhastria upon him, Kelgore still evaded justice.

And so the heavy bounty levied on Kelgore's head was enough to pique the interest of every mercenary who could stomach a rolling deck beneath their feet.

Ambrose counted himself lucky to have cut a deal and joined forces with a warrior-witch whose renown, if not already legendary, was certain to become so. He had once seen Red Tsonia's prowess in battle for himself and it made his heart glad that she sailed under his banner, and not Kelgore's.

Tsonia, flame-haired, long-limbed and clad in a woolen cloak against the stinging wind and spray, shot him a fierce glare. "The storm draws closer, Captain," she stated flatly. In any other, Ambrose would have expected at least a note of worry in the statement.

"Aye, and Kelgore sails into its teeth!" he replied.

Leaden clouds hung but a hand's breadth above the slate-gray, foam-crested waves and the sky between was hidden behind a curtain of distant rain. Less than a scant league ahead of them the silhouette of Kelgore's ship drew low in the water, over-burdened by its plundered cargo. A lance of lightning bisected the sky to the west but still Kelgore's crew pulled hard for the rain shroud.

"He means to lose us in the maelstrom," Ambrose continued, barely audible over the groan of the oars, the howl of the wind and the roar of the waves around them. "But Tyrant's Blade is lighter. Faster. We'll be on him before he's swallowed by the storm."

"We'll both be in the gullet of that storm if the winds change," Tsonia observed, bracing a hand against the rail as a heavy swell rolled the deck beneath her feet. "But I'd rather die than let the last fortnight's hunt go to waste. Kelgore the Despoiler dies today, come hell or high water."

Ambrose, steady as always, leaned against the rudder to climb the steep swell and keep Kelgore in sight. "You might have both if that storm catches us," he replied. Then to his crew he shouted "Make ready to cut away the sail lines! We'll not waste time furling if the winds shift!'

The bireme pitched up another undulating hillock of water, smashed across its foamy crest, and plunged down the far side towards a deep valley. For the moment, Kelgore was lost to sight in the sea's rolling hills. Tsonia cursed and clambered snarling up the aft castle but Ambrose merely grinned. A great warrior she might be, he thought to himself, but she cannot brook losing sight of her quarry because she cannot read the ocean.

Down and down the Tyrant's Blade dove, gaining speed as the oarsmen pulled and the sail snapped. Down, until the valley floor rose to meet them, as Ambrose knew it would. The deck yawed hard and pitched up suddenly. Above him, Ambrose heard Tsonia curse again. The rising swell had caught the ship on its back and bore her aloft towards the iron clouds above.

As the turbulent waves fell away on either side, a great shout went up from the crew, for dead ahead was Kelgore's ship, her sail fallen slack, as the wind had turned.

"Cleave the lines!" shouted Ambrose, though he needn't have bothered. His crew knew their jobs and let heavy axes fall across the hempen cables at the first sign that the sail might falter and drag. The heavy canvass flapped away in the headwind, an expensive sacrifice, but dreams of wealth beyond counting had made Ambrose and his crew reckless in their thirst for Kelgore's blood.

"He turns!" shouted Tsonia from the aft castle. "Kelgore means to fight!"

Thunder exploded and another fork of lightning stabbed at the sea, as if to portend the inevitable battle to come. Ahead, Ambrose could see the broadside of Kelgore's ship turning towards them, two banks of oars dragging in the water on her port side. Kelgore's limp sail suddenly snapped taut as it caught hold of the shifted headwind.

"Ramming speed!" Ambrose bellowed. The tempo of the drum quickened and the oars beat a staccato rhythm through the violent sea. Tyrant's Blade lurched forward into the wind like a mad dog broken free of its lead.

"To the bow Tsonia, and ready your blade!" he shouted up to the top of the castle.

She leapt down from the roof and threw off her spray-sparkled cloak. In nothing more than a cropped halter of tarnished chainmail and a kilt of the same, Tsonia sprinted towards the front of the ship. Her sandaled step held her balance on the capricious deck and she drew a wickedly curved scimitar from its scabbard as she ran, the perfect weapon to maul unprotected flesh with quick, wide slashes.

From the tiller, Ambrose couldn't help but admire Red Tsonia's shapely figure as she stood at the head of the mercenary crew, one hand braced against the ship's high prow, the other idly testing the weight of her sword, her crimson locks tossed behind by the shrieking gale. Once again, lightning split the sky and thunder rolled a warning omen as the ship bore heedlessly down on its prey.

"There's a sight to daunt a man's soul," Ambrose said to the figure in the bright tangerine cloak who emerged from the castle. "Two fell goddesses bearing down on you with murder in their eyes. By the gods man, that's a scene you ought to paint!"

"Yes," agreed Joras, taking in the volatile chaos unfolding before him and clinging tightly to a rail. "But to capture the proper perspective, I'd need to be on Kelgore's ship."

***

Even amidst the roar of the waves and the booming thunderclaps, the impact of Tyrant's Blade against Kelgore's galley was ear-shattering. The heavy bronze-clad ram that the war goddess figurehead sat astride pierced the side of Kelgore's ship in a cacophony of bursting planks, splintering oars, and wailing men as wood and flesh were torn asunder.

Tsonia, nimble like a prowling cougar, used the force of the impact to propel herself onto the other ship's deck feet first, toppling a bleeding sailor feebly clutching at half an oar sticking from his gut. She hoisted his mangled body up by an arm and tossed it towards a cluster of dumbfounded pirates stumbling in from the wounded ship's prow, creating a gap big enough to allow Ambrose's men to follow her onto the deck.

And follow her they did, using a precariously placed boarding plank, hacking and stabbing at everything their short blades and heavy bludgeons could reach.

"Keep them off me while I fetch Kelgore's head!" she bellowed over the chaos just as sheets of rain began to pour from the roiling clouds above. Another peal of thunder rolled above the din, the deck heaved erratically beneath her feet, and Tsonia charged blindly into the deluge with no doubt she would find Kelgore at the helm, wrangling the ship and his men both.

Her scimitar darted this way and that, finding ample bodies to carve open. Across the perilous deck Tsonia danced through the rainfall, plucking a wickedly barbed harpoon from the feebly twitching hand of a pirate she had just eviscerated.

Over the cries of the wounded and dying and the drumming of the rain she heard a gurgling moan. Through the turmoil emerged a hulking, misshapen brute bearing down on her. A head taller and twice as wide as she, the grotesque creature hefted a gargantuan mace, the head a sharp-edged lump of dark matter lined with scintillating veins of a viridian mineral. Heedless if it hit friend or foe, the giant swept the weapon across the deck, felling a handful of his allies and clearing ample space for Tsonia.

The visage of the brute was truly hideous, his features half-melted and covered in purulent boils of some fell disease. One eye was of a sickly green hue, the other of a brilliant blue. Unbridled rage flared in both as he roared, spit flying from swollen lips, rivulets of rain water trickling over thickly corded muscle. The mace came up to drive Tsonia through the deck like a nail but the flame-haired warrior was faster. With the force of a ballista she hurled the harpoon, the ghastly weapon tearing through the giant's throat in a shower of gore. Like a grisly monument, the barbed head protruded from the back of his neck. Spewing blood and madly flailing at the object jutting from his jugular, the giant went to his knees. At last, he managed to grasp the heft of the weapon and pulled, ending his own miserable existence in self-defeating agony.

A hail of arrows came down around Tsonia. Some missiles hit the fallen giant's back, others vanished overboard and into the roiling sea below. Tsonia peered through the torrent at the shadows of men atop the aft castle trying to unleash another volley of feathered death her way. For all the guile their master had displayed during his cunning evasion of the God-King's might, his minions seemed to lack the fundamentals of warfare. No sound tactician would even consider archers in weather like this, but here they were.

Chuckling to herself, Tsonia dashed towards the aft castle, her bloodstained weapon and fierce gaze enough to give pause to many a defender. Those too brave or foolish to flee she cut down as she ran, her curved blade carving horrible wounds into their bodies, only protected by wet cloth and unholy sigils tattooed onto their skin by blasphemous artists.

By the time the third salvo scattered onto the precariously tilted deck, she dove headlong through the sodden curtain covering the castle's entrance tucking into a shoulder-roll to avoid any hidden ambush. The sharpened prongs of a barbed trident scored the rain-splattered planks behind her and the anticipated defender readied his weapon for another attack. Tsonia lithely came to her feet. Her opponent, a half-naked Xhastrian with oiled skin and ceremonial braids in his coal-black hair had the greater reach, but he didn't have her strength. She flung her scimitar spinning pommel over blade, causing him to evade to the side just as she expected. Grabbing his trident behind the viciously barbed tips, Tsonia pulled, breaking his balance and forcing him to stumble forwards or lose his weapon.

The Xhastrian decided not to relinquish the trident and, thinking her unarmed and less dangerous, even put his weight behind it, hoping to put her off-balance. Tsonia let him push, allowing the weapon to glance off her shoulder. Too late the Xhastrian realized what her true plan was—but by the time he tried to pry her hands off his temples, it was too late. One quick snap to the side and the man's neck broke. Tsonia tossed his limp body aside, scowling at the gash the trident had carved into her fair skin. The wound was already closing, her black blood hardening into a protective scab. In an hour, only the ghost of a scar would tell the tale of this exchange. A day later, even that ghost would only be a memory.

Reclaiming her sword, Tsonia looked around. Another curtain covered the only other exit from the castle's main cabin. Above the patter of rain and frantic footfalls on the roof above, Tsonia heard urgent muttering from beyond the curtain, syllables of a knotty language she knew all too well.

Snarling in anger, Tsonia burst into the room beyond the curtain. Runes and sigils had been smeared onto the planks and the stink of death and magic was heavy in the air. A wizened old crone, naked but for bloody symbols painted onto her saggy skin, held the bleeding corpse of a young girl in her arms. A crimson gash on the girl's throat told Tsonia all she needed to know. The storm tossing them about was not borne of nature, but of demonic forces.

"Do not trifle with me, sell-sword," the hag wheezed, brandishing a knife made from some large predator's tooth. "I alone hold the storm's true fury at bay."

The weather-witch rammed the blade into the girl's chest, drawing thick red heartblood. Like a living entity, the trail of blood curled upwards like a charmed serpent while the crone sang, enticing unspeakable powers from beyond the veil to do her bidding. Tsonia lunged forward to interrupt the unholy spell being invoked before her, the scimitar in her hand a crimson-stained arc of steel as she aimed for the crone's neck.

The weapon tore through flesh and bone, separating the still muttering skull from the neck it had sat upon. Blood fountained and the grinning head bounced off the floor, coming to rest near the veiled exit.

"Take your lies to the Pits for all I care," she growled, just as the planks beneath her feet rocked as if struck by an angry titan and the drumming rain above her intensified.

There was a horrified yell from outside, even audible over the roar of the waves and the howl of the wind piercing every tiny opening in the ship's hull. A moment later a horrible impact ripped through the aft castle. Beams cracked and planks split as a large weight slammed into the ceiling.

"What in the Burning Hells have you done?" a cultured voice demanded to know.

Tsonia tore her gaze away from the torrent of water sluicing through the shattered castle and pooling around her ankles. She saw his eyes first, black like twin obsidian beads piercing her with a gaze of dark nothingness. Behind those eyes, the man who clambered through the castle wreckage was tall and handsome despite sodden, battle-worn raiments. Long hair of sable hung wet and dripping past his sharp cheekbones and an angry snarl curled his thin lips as he snatched the severed head from the surging foam.

"I have given your demon-kisser what she damn well deserved," Tsonia spat, struggling to place her feet for a quick strike. But the heaving deck gave no quarter and left her clutching at the broken walls for balance.

"You have damned us all, you stupid cow!" the empty-eyed man growled. "Like demons, storms are easy to summon but nigh impossible to control. And you just slew the one person who might have done so!"

If possible, the hungry storm outside intensified, howling wind cutting through every tiny gap in the ship's hull like the wail of unquiet dead. Ferocious waves tossed the ship. With a crash of splintering wood, a seismic wave shook the broken structure as the fragile ships were smashed together in the turbulent gale. There suddenly was the rush of water, very loud and very near.

Tsonia found herself drawn to his stoic magnetism, and recognized the force of his presence instinctively. This man could be none other than Kelgore himself. His ebon eyes marked him as demonically debased, just as her own black blood marked her. It explained much about his wild success against the Xhastrians.

"Since you seem to know so much about demons and storms, you must be Kelgore," Tsonia bellowed over the clangor of the storm. "My hunt has come to an end at last!"

Heedless of the precarious surroundings, Tsonia lunged, her blade aiming for the dread pirate's heart. But the blow never connected.

A murderous god's fist shook the world as another mighty wave crashed down upon the interlocked and damaged ships. Already crippled, Kelgore's vessel finally broke. Wood tore like paper, friend and foe were tossed like rice grains in a tornado. A widening circle of debris was tossed about by the raging waves. And Tsonia was in the midst of it all, sinking into the fathomless depths, the taunting smile of Kelgore still before her eyes.

****

How had it all gone so wrong, Joras wondered as he clung to the rail of the tossing ship. Two weeks ago it had started out as such a pleasant adventure. The ocean breeze was warm and spiced with the scent of salt and pitch. The sea birds heralded Tyrant's Blade as they followed the coastline under sail, saving the strength of the oarsmen. He'd filled pages of his sketchbook with Tsonia, Ambrose, and the crew.

Why, he'd even managed to sketch a school of gamboling spout-fish as they playfully followed in the ship's wake.

But then two days ago the lookout had spotted the billowing smoke over the ruins of a fishing village, and soon after the lone ship that sailed away. The pleasant hunting cruise had turned into a grim pursuit as all aboard saw the Xhastrian reward close enough to claim. The seas grew choppy and the skies grew dark. The seabirds fell behind and the salt spray threatened his sketches as they chased Kelgore out into the open ocean.

Joras was glad to have his precious pages wrapped in oil cloth and stowed safely in the aft castle, but it meant the image of Tsonia leaping from the crashing prow into the throng of pirates had to be roughed out in his memory alone and he always seemed to lose the little details that brought a painting of his muse to life.

He wished he had the fortitude to follow Tsonia to the bow, to see and record the way Tyrant's Blade pierced the other ship like a violent lover. From aft, he lost sight of Tsonia in the skirmish. All he could see was the feeble attempts of Kelgore's oarsmen to dislodge the intruding ram. But the two small vessels were too tightly conjoined. Kelgore's sail dragged the pair spiraling through the tempestuous waves and Ambrose held his rudder to pry deeper into the broken hull.

With a crack of thunder the sky suddenly tore open and a deluge of rain overwhelmed sight and sound. Joras couldn't make out more than shadows through the downpour. He clung to the railing as the deck dropped away beneath his feet, and then heaved upwards again.

"The storm's gotten worse," he remarked with as casual a tone as he could muster while shouting to be heard.

"It has," agreed Ambrose, leaning all his weight against the tiller while straining to see the battle at the front of his ship.

"Of course, I'm sure you've seen worse," Joras added, trying to sound confident. "I'm sure you've survived dozens of squalls worse than this."

Thunder ripped the air again, and through the veil of rain Joras saw a blinding spike of lightning drive through the mast of Kelgore's ship, shattering it like summer hay under the flail.

"No," Ambrose turned to face Joras and Joras saw the fear in the captain's eyes. "No, this is the kind of storm that turns fishermen into farmers."