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Kingfisher Chronicle….The girl with the tail to tell

The girl with the tail to tell


Talia slipped into a deep depression in the days following the discovery that her new appendage was a permanent fixture. The ‘thing’ could not be removed, not even surgically, she tried, it hurt like hell and then grew back overnight and by the time it had finished regenerating it was slightly thicker and a shade more heavily scaled than it was before. It could not be hidden beneath her trousers without completely disfiguring her backside profile and the thought of wearing a long floor length gown from now until the end of eternity made the red haired party queen feel queasy in the extreme… and if all this was not enough Kingfisher now called her ‘Tailia’ rather that ‘Talia’, he thought it was funny but it did nothing to lighten her mood whatsoever.


Sitting in the darkest corner of the Empire Tavern, Talia was nursing another one of George the barman’s famous cocktails; it was a multicoloured combination of spirits that looked like a party in a glass, unfortunately it wasn’t having the desired effect on Talia. Her mood was dark and had been ever since this ‘thing’ grew out from the bottom of her back or the back of her bottom dependant on how you want to look at it, never again would she be able to flash a little thong top, she now had what could be considered as the biggest ‘whale tail fail’ ever seen this side of a weight watchers convention.

The ‘thing’ also had a mind a mind of its own, it wagged like a little puppy dogs tail if she saw something that pleased or amused her, not that much had amused her of late but the sight of Faye the Room Maid bringing her a breakfast in bed on the instruction of Kingfisher had it thrashing around like a semaphore signer with a bad case of tourette syndrome and when Talia had visited the chocolate shop it picked up a rather nice fruit and nut combination and placed it on the counter.

Daily visits to Necrototh had resulted in him refusing to answer the door and threatening legal action if she ever came back, everything looked black. She had grown a tail and she would have to make the best of it.

So here she was, in a bar all alone and more than three quarters drunk, this is what her life had become now that she was a freak of nature.

Sitting in a rather moth eaten old armchair Talia kicked back and rested herself against the wall, she looked a picture of misery but that did not stop her becoming the focus of unwanted attention when a group of four rather loud and extremely well dressed young men entered the bar looking for more alcohol than they could swallow and more trouble than they could handle. The Empires Tavern was no stranger to groups of men out on the town as Dvorganna Fjall was ‘The’ destination of choice for Hen and Stag parties along the entire Frontier but there was something about this group that really did not sit well with George the barman at all. He made sure he had his cudgel at hand just in case something went wrong. Talia at this point in time was totally oblivious to the men; they were of no interest to her as she played with her new iOrb, a gift from Jahmedhi in the hope of cheering her up.

“What will it be lad’s?” asked George the barman, his craggy features and straggly whiskers doing the best they could to form a friendly face

“Witches Piss…doubles!” snarled the largest of the four “And don’t try passing off none of that fake shit on us boys, we know the real deal when we drink it!”

“I don’t sell Witches Piss, neither genuine nor fake; I don’t like the stuff…how about a Cheeky Vimto or a Turbo Shandy? Always popular choices with groups of well heeled lad’s like yourselves that are out on the tiles”

“Do we look like girls you fat useless moron?” snapped the smallest of the group, an impeccably well dressed but inimitably ugly creature of a man that lacked height, hair, looks, teeth and I.Q and therefore set himself the task of putting things right by being the most horrible little man this side of the Eastern Sea.

George however had seen bigger and better than this sorry lot of out of town spivs, in his youth he was bare knuckle fighter of savage repute and was one of the few humans that ever went toe to toe with a Troll (albeit a Wood Troll) and lived to tell the tale, the Troll however was not so lucky as George broke its neck in the fourteenth round and tore off its penis as a suitable trophy. George looked at his cudgel safely hidden beneath the counter of the bar and smiled, that old Wood Troll had knocked more people out with its petrified dick in death than it ever had with its fists in life and George expected it to add a few more to its tally before this night was over.

The doors of the bar slammed open and in poured more of the same, it was at this point Talia became aware that she was no longer the only customer in the bar as her multicoloured mod breaker was knocked from the table by an errant bottle that had been thrown in jest by one of the party that had just entered the bar.

“Oy-oy!!” screamed the newcomers “Get those drinks in you wankers!!”

Talia looked at the group of men coldly, the bottle had only just missed her head but in doing so it had utterly destroyed her cocktail, nothing remained excepting a few shards of glass a slice of pineapple and an umbrella. She was not best pleased.

“Steady down boys!” bellowed George “Steady down or you are out on the street!”

“Shut it! You fat old man! Get the Witches Piss on the bar or else there is going to be some proper bollocks kicking off !”

George wasn’t going to take any lip from such a type as this so before the well tailored yob could slam his fist full of gold coins on the bar George had filled his face in with twelve inch of troll dick. The yob hit the floor with three fewer teeth than he had less than two seconds previous but it would be a good few hours before he would be conscious enough to notice that they were gone.

“What have you done that for ?” snarled the ugly short man with less teeth than I.Q points “ We only wanted a drink and a good time, you  were here to provide the drinks and that red haired slag in the corner would provide the good time”

“Get out of my bar now before anyone else gets hurt and take that lump of shit out with you!”

“You just pour the drinks old man, we are here for a good time and I am sure she would love to feel my cock in her” The short ugly yob threw a bag of gold in the general direction of George “And there is plenty more where that came from!”

“I would love to feel your cock in me? Is that in your world or the real one you rancid little Uber-Porg?” Talia snarled

The crowd of yobs began to laugh at their friend “She called you a Porg, are you going to stand for that Roonzy?”

Talia laughed as she walked over to the men at the bar “Is he standing for it? Because from where I am standing it looks to me like he is sat down”

“Porg? How dare you address me in such a way don’t you know who I am you red-haired slag?

“Red-haired slag, I haven’t heard that one before…do you know who I am? Do you know what I am?” Talia was now in the thick of the men “So who are you then?”

“Don’t you watch the Polo?” sneered one of the men before he saw it “Whoo-oahhhh…Bloody hell boys this girls got a tail! What the hell? It’s a chick with a dick”

… And that is when all Hell broke loose…

A blow by blow narration of a bar brawl is generally viewed upon by the story teller as being as good a way as any of bulking out a tall tale of derring-do… but the fact of the matter is that fights in public houses and hostelry’s are generally a lot less glamorous in real life than when they are recounted in the recalled word of an author or narrator that couldn’t fight his or her way out of a wet paper bag and that is why I am taking a moment out to warn anyone that is of a mind to start a fight in pub, club or bar to think twice before they decide to open their mouth and utter those fateful words, that generally end up with a trip to the hospital and no, I don’t mean ‘ it’s a chick with a dick’ I am talking about the fate sealing phrase of ‘do you want some then?’ The lads in the bar ‘wanted some’ and asked the question, unfortunately they couldn’t handle what they got.

After a very short while most of the bar occupants were on the floor either unconscious or completely immobilised but one unfortunate that thought a broken bottle was in the rule book was now dead and would be taking no further part in the proceedings. George was busy finishing off the two lads that had managed to blindside him and hit him over the head with a large iron ale horn causing a little structural damage to the area around his left eyebrow and Talia was involved with the porg and three of his friends. George looked to be on top in his little soiree as he forced his troll penis cudgel into the open mouth of one of his assailants before giving it a cheeky little twist and shattering the lad’s jaw but Talia was struggling as she had broken off one of her heals in the eye socket of a chap that had come at her with a broken bottle, he was the dead one amongst those sorry souls that were scattered on the floor of the bar. The dead one was presently fixed into a cadaveric spasm that looked rather terrible; it seems that the steel heel of a ‘Jimmy Choo’ is a most unpleasant way to leave this world we all call home. Killing him wasn’t the intention but then again neither was losing a heal from a pair of boots that cost a whole months wages, no that certainly wasn’t in the plan as it meant Talia’s balance was shot to pieces whilst ever she couldn’t get her boots off and level herself up and to make matters worse she was well on the way to being fully drunk when this little escapade kicked off.

Pinned to the floor by her hair she found herself looking up into the face of the porg man adhis friends, things did not look good, he was bleeding from a split lip but Talia had to admit for an ugly little shit he had some fire in him and was probably going to use that rather large shard of glass he was holding in his hand to sit her throat from ear to ear.

And that is when she saw it coming out of his mouth, the porg gagged and a little blood drippled down his chin as the last three inch of Talia’s new appendage forced its way out of his mouth after travelling through his ribcage, his chest cavity and out through his mouth, certainly not nice but very effective.

It was also at that moment the bar doors smashed in and less than two seconds before the tip of a boot, point of a knife and the last twelve inch of a spear finished off what was left of Talia’s assailants.

Talia struggled to extricate herself from the now deceased porg as the barb that had appeared in the tip of her tail was catching in his ribs, eventually the barb saw fit to retract and Talia managed to push the ugly little wretch off of her and sat up, Kingfisher placed his large hand on her shoulder “You ok?”

“Yeah…just a bit shook up”

“Feeling better for that then? Did it blow a few cobwebs away?”

“A few”

“Your mood could always be lifted by the application of the ‘four C’s’ principle”

“Four C’s principle? What the hell are you talking about now, have you gone mental?”

“Not at all, I just know what makes you happy; if you apply enough chocolate, carnage or cock to a bad day you can guarantee things will look a little bit better in the morning”

“You have a point…but that’s only three C’s”

“Why do you think Faye was sent to see you with the breakfast in bed?” winked Kingfisher “That was the first ‘C’ on your list…To be honest I thought that one would have been enough to cheer you up”

Talia smirked at kingfisher

Kingfisher looked at Talia’s tail “You know what, with a few accessories it will look quite cute…in fact Faye thinks it very sexy”

“She said that?”

“Indeed she did” Kingfisher said before he ordered his guards to help George to the infirmary an order that the barman belayed insisting that he was fine and had been in tighter scrapes than that in the old days. The Guards were instead given the duty of helping to tidy up the tavern and make tally of the score. The final score being four dead, three seriously wounded and not expected to live, twelve more in a critical but stable condition and fit to stand trial for public affray by the end of the month. Kingfisher made a mental note to preside over their hearing whereby they would all be sentenced to death. He guided his red haired friend outside to where a carriage was waiting “Shall we get you cleaned up and have some supper?”

“Yeah…that would be nice, it’s been a funny day”

“It has, you’re not wrong…I only slipped out for a Duvel”

“I’ve got a tail”

“Join the club “

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