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Short story - Frikka's desire (with foreword)


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Foreword / disclaimer:


I apologise in advance for any lore errors made by myself making things up to fill in gaps – I’m sure that there’d be some sort of ruminant. Cow? Sheep? I went with goat, thinking that it wouldn’t be too out there.


I’ve never ever written what could be considered a ‘completed’ story with beginning, middle and end, so I hope this isn’t too dreadful. I was aiming for fairy story genre, hope it meets.


I had to heavily cut it, apparently I waffle too much, It might have lost a lot in the process, but at least it now meets the criteria.

The finished story is precisely 1998 words long (after having had to lose a rather fun torture scene) and now has a censored [chest] to make things meet NSFW criteria. Sorry all, no [bosoms] or [mens vulnerables].


Oh, and my punctuation sucks.


Ex-Member of :   Lf6MJUL.png  Re-applying soon!


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Frikka's desire.



The ancient farmer was taking the appearance of a demon-goat and shrieking Yaga witch with remarkable aplomb.


He gave a tilt of his grinning face, gesturing towards my naked breasts.


“You’ll forgive an old man for asking, but might I?”


A slight confused pause, then a flush of horror and I could swear that I turned red all over.




“Ah, forgive me, but I’m sure you can understand it’s been a mighty while since I’ve seen breasts as fine as yours”


He nodded his shrivelled head and gave a happy sigh.


“Come to think of it, it’s been a mighty while since I’ve seen anyone’s breasts"


“Stop talking about my breasts!”


I was starting to regret what was undoubtedly the most idiotic idea in all the worlds.



- - -




Nines days out from the castle of Bodigforge and I had come across this old man being tortured by a pair of ill-looking thugs.


Peeking out from the woodland edge I cast my eyes over the scene, trying to make sense of it.


A small rodent faced man was working on an aged grandfather with a knife, whilst his tall well made accomplice paced around, randomly throwing rocks at the livestock.


Though he clearly hadn’t been blessed with brains, I knew that he was exactly the kind of giant of a man I could develop a passion for. He may have had the eyes and slack-jawed stare of a fool but he was ruggedly handsome.


(Sadness. No husband for you Frikka.)


Not for the first time I wished that I had the strength of will to pass by such obvious abuse; but my mother always said that a corrupted star passing at my birth had blessed me with a nose that led me towards things that weren’t my business.


A glance around my shady surroundings didn’t give me much to work with.


(Who am I to say he doesn’t deserve it anyway?)


I planted my feet firmly in the ground as a goat running away from the buffoons pelted rocks rushed towards me in the shadowy gloom cast by the trees.


(He could have short changed or stolen from them.)


Wrestling with the animal I managed to fling it to the ground and wrap my scarf around it’s neck.

A couple of swift knots and the goat was secured to a tree.


(Frikka, you don’t have time for this. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t make it back to her ladyship with the package.)


Unsheathing my knife I straddled the back of the woolly creature. Held tightly between my knees, the animal stopped struggling.

I hacked off its horns halfway down, leaving it with a couple of cup like remnants on its pitiful head.


(First time you’re ever given such responsibility and you’re going to ruin it. Lady Fable will never allow you back in the castle again.)


I got off the bemused creature and got to work.

Tops sliced off the horns gave me simple trumpets. I swiftly poured my water provisions from the hogs-bladder canteen into an already muddy divot by my feet.


(You’ll never survive the Hunger without the castle…. plus you’ll never get a chance to moon hopelessly at Skeetch ever again.)


Stretching the top of the empty bladder across the mouth of the second horn, I pulled a length of bark-twine from my bag and secured it firmly in place.


Blessing my grandmothers insistence at my being prepared, my fingers located the sewing pouch she’d put in my pack.


(If you hadn’t been cutting sleep to travel swiftly this would never seem a reasonable plan.)


Taking a pre-threaded needle, I pierced the horned drumskin and tied it off, leaving me with a completed air roarer to go alongside my horn.


(You’re going to regret this.)


A glance at events taking place past in the farm past the edge of the woods showed me that the old guy wasn’t dead yet, that he was holding out against the brigands torments with an admirable strength of will.


Hurriedly I slathered the body of the startled goat with mud from the puddle.


Spending time in the company of guards you’ll always hear gossip, I don’t know why women are renowned for tattling, the men I’ve spent time with are just as bad, only difference I’ve noticed is they have a better vocabulary.


The goat-type creature gave me a grumpy stare as I inserted leafy branches into the cup remnants of it’s horns.


I’d had a chance to overhear the mens stories about nude witches dancing about, casting wicked spells upon sinners, driving them insane and preparing them for Yagas embrace.


I felt sick at what I was about to do, but dis-robed with as much speed as I could muster.


(You can still change your mind.)


Daubing myself with what muddy sludge I had left, I saw the goat had started merrily chewing away at a clump of moss he’d found himself standing on.




I soon had the lichen I was seeking.


They call it travellers joy and after I’d dressed the goats new antlers with it, it took the spark from my flint like the All-father had intended when he’d created it.


With one tug on the scarf, the goat was released and running fast.


Having its head on fire probably had something to do with that.


It charged out of the woods towards the perceived safety of it’s home, towards a familiar barn and straight towards the brigands and their victim.


Unable to turn back now my course was set.


I ran naked out of the woods, wind-drum whirling at my side making ghostly noises, alternating blowing my trumpet wand and yelling;

“I claim you for Yaga, may she take your life’s blood and draw you to her side!”


I can only think that the gods must have laughed hard at the sight because they blessed me by making the thugs flee in terror.





The old man chivalrously managed to drag his gaze away from my chest.


“If it’s making you uncomfortable I’ll stop, but you are... a remarkable woman.”


In my life I never had such attention as this grandfather paid me as I dressed.


What was that all about?” I queried


“They were drinking in a tavern I delivered to this morning.” He winced in pain.

“They followed me home claiming I stole a relic from them whilst there”


(Frikka you idiot. When will you learn not to get involved.)


“Did you?”


“You can call me many things, but no-one can call me a thief without h’self being a liar.”


Funny but I believed him. Something in his crusty old face reminded me of my father, who’d not had the best turn in life, but had always stayed true to his principals.

I bent down to look at the damage the duo had done to the old mans carcass.

Blood soaked his shabby trousers and his tattered top, sliced apart by cuts, hung off him revealing the extent of the gashes on his old body.


“We better get you fixed up”


“I’m done for, get yer sen out of here. That was one fancy trick you did but they’ll be back.”


His eyes shone brightly at me despite of his age and pain, and I was once again lost in admiration of his fortitude.


“Um… no.. I’ll get us both out of here”


That was it, the worst decision I ever made.


With a bit of struggle we got the old man on a pony and with me seated behind him, to hold him on and steer the reins, set off into the woods again.


We spoke as we rode, laughed and joked and my admiration of this man grew.

He learned about myself and I about him until I felt I had known him for a lifetime.

We rode for hours making camp in darkness only when I was sure that we had put enough distance between ourselves and the farm.


A brief sleep took me, dreams I have forgotten now but that I remember left me shaken and hollow at the time.


It was a messenger of the all-father who woke me. The sharp shriek of the crow perched upon the greying flesh of the farmers cadaver.

It winked at me evilly through it’s yellow eye, flapped and cawed at me as I shooed it away.


My Lady Fable would lecture that it was the spirit of the man, but that’s ancient folklore, there’s no crow in me, I’d know it.


I couldn’t have felt more awkward stripping the clothes off that old man given his previous leering at me, but if he wasn’t naked, how could he face the oblivion of the Hunger? There’d be no proper funeral or prayers to the gods out here.


Free from my burdensome companion I pulled myself together and set out once more in the direction I had been charged, only Valkyn had other plans for me that day.


The second bend I came to and the two ruffians from the farm leapt upon me.


To this day, a cold wind blows through my bones to think of the beatings and tortures that they bestowed upon me, I must leave the details to your twisted imaginations.


They left me bloody and bound to a tree where I waited, shivering in the darkness in fear of their return.


It landed close to me, and tilted it’s head to one side, flickering an evil yellow eye at me in a strangely familiar fashion. I clearly remember the little hope that flickered into my heart at the sight of the crow that appeared to me then.


I don’t believe in nonsense stories of ghosts and men.

Crows and spirits.

I don’t believe in anything but blood and flesh, touch, taste, hunger and sleep.

Though, if I was ever meant to start believing, it would have been that day.

That day when the crow, clever bird that it was, tried to carry a knife left behind by the brigands off to it’s nest, dropping it due to it’s weight just close enough for me to reach it and use it to cut free my bindings.

Days of trudging without thought passed. I neither knew nor cared which direction I was heading in.


I used the pain of my body to drive me forward one step at a time, until the stench of wood smoke called me towards the shell of a village ravaged by fire.


I laughed dementedly when, whilst searching amongst the empty buildings I came across a bundle that held Fable’s sigil. I wouldn’t be returning empty handed.


Before I turned back, the gods had one more curse in store for me.


The un-singed shrine was place well back, one of those where the priests line the walls, and floors with lifeless men and women; and there he sat, my winking yellow eyed friend, perched atop one of the most beautiful corpses that I have ever seen.


I turned to leave.


He called me back, his eyes met mine and I was lost to him.




(But that was then, this is now.)


Curses to the day I met him. He stole my heart and melted my world like acid, now only bitter vengeance remains.


Zaleena, embrace him for eternity. Bind him in the toxic swamp of a broken mind.


Yaga may he disappear from your sight. Never collect his life, never stop his suffering.


Malekai spit your darkness upon his lover, never let her sleep, gift her with your waking nightmares.


Years have made me used to the fog that the Fable cow clouded my right eye with, but the stabbing agonies that come from the gnarled stump where my left arm used to be, never allow me peace.

Each season’s change bringing a different kind of pain.


My heart is cold iron now where there used to be such fire.

I close my eyes and lose myself in memories.





- - - - -


Edited: I read it back to myself and realised that the breast references weren't really nsfw, so put them back in, and fixed a couple of random auto-correct spelling changes that had slipped in there.

Ps, I know it's terrible, but I am so happy I tried, almost tempted to try again now :D

Edited by Mother_Fable

Ex-Member of :   Lf6MJUL.png  Re-applying soon!


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