Fantasy TSA: Exactly as Tolkien Intended

Duchess can't help but giggle in delight as she runs her fingers along your freshly shaved face, you trying your best to avoid drawing unnecessary attention as you wait your turn in line.

"You look so much nicer, Daddy..." she coos, though you can't help but feel like Dogsbody doesn't agree. Well, can't fucking please them all; right now you're mostly focused on not being dragged back to some barracks to be poked in the bits with an on-fire spear. Like, this guy in front of you. He's actually braided his inky black goatee like a fucking pharaoh. And is that a goddamn skullcap?! This one is definitely primed for some too-hot bits poking.

You try to shush Duchess a little, the girl getting a bit too frisky for the overall plan, when a sort of whirling sound spins through your head. You blink rapidly, woozily spinning as Duchess looks up at you with alarm. "Daddy??"

You screw your eyes shut and give your head a shake, trying to clear out your mind, and when you cautiously open them again you're looking down into Duchess's vaguely scared brown eyes. And, you can't help but notice, the interface from your spellbook seems to have rebooted; 'DUCHESS' floats above her head with a list of statistics threading down from it. Though this seems to still be a very truncated version of what you had before, as the list is very short. All that's listed is 'FEELING NICE', 'LOOKING NICE', 'DADDY' AND 'WOOF'. You try clicking on one to try altering it, but receive an incredibly annoying error sound; guess this is a read-only version for now.

Though honestly, it might just be that Duchess is that simple. Or the fact that she's already been totally changed by your spells, not that you regret the decision. But it might be a good idea to test this out on someone else. And wouldn't you know it, you've got the perfect opportunity because you realize you're very nearly at the end of the line, and the obvious baddie in front of you is being inspected by the most insultingly wholesome man you've ever seen.

He's tall and lean, with long blonde hair tied back and the squarest jaw you've ever seen. For real, it's like his head is a fucking handsome box. You carefully move your interface's focus over to the criminally pleasant-looking man and are briefly surprised to discover his profile lacks any entries. After a moment, though, you figure it out, flipping over to his Keystone Traits to find every single aspect of this guy listed there. Apparently the arbiter of your fate is so confident in every aspect of himself that you can't change a thing about him, even with spells you got from an actual devil.

Well fuck. Hope this plan can get by on it's own legs. Better listen in on how Dumbo in front of you does.

So far, not well. Before a word had been spoken, Sir Boxjaw took obvious note of your stupid peer's ridiculous beard, motioning for his sour looking aide de camp to mark something down on his scroll. Once he had, the absurd knight, or guard, or fucking whatever, cleared his throat to speak in a ringing baritone. "And what is your name, good sir?"

The definitely soon to be arrested guy puffs himself up "I, mortal," the sour looking assistant marks something off again, "am Baron Blackmire Helsent. The Ineffable."

Oh fuck that. This guy is for real Effable.

Sir Boxjaw doesn't appear too impressed himself, motioning for his perpetually frowning assistant to put down his scroll. "Well that's just swell, Baron Helsent. Say, did you know that it is the princess's birthday tonight?"

Baron Dumdum blinks. "But...it's a full moon tonight."

Sir Boxjaw nods. "But I couldn't say much about the position of the stars."

"T...they're in perfect allignment!"

The knight claps a beefy hand to the nearly ninety degree angle of his chin. "Oh! Well, that's okay. We definitely won't take the proper precautions."

Baron Total Fucking Moron begins cackling maniacally, so overtaken by devilish glee that he totally fails to notice the two knights flanking him until they take hold of his shoulders. "Bwuahaha! Bwuaaahaha!.........oh."

Sir Boxjaw takes a moment to call out to the slumped over Baron as he's led away, thankfully causing him to miss the giant gulp you take. "For the record, the princess's birthday is in four months! Don't send a present!" He nods to his still sour-looking assistant, then turns his gaze, probably quite pleasant to most but utterly terrifying to you in this moment, upon you.

He gives a quiet hum, glancing between you and your two female companions. For a long, delirious moment you think that shaving off your beard was all you needed to do, and he's going to send you through to freedom. Then, however, he shrugs and nods for Sourpuss to raise a new scroll. "Well, just a few questions. I'm sure you don't mind, sir...?"

You cough, hoping it doesn't come out as strangled sounded as it clearly was. Okay. Fuck. You've practiced this. "Ahem, yes, it's, Sir Dogood. Sir Forthright Dogood."

Sir Boxjaw stares at you for an excruciatingly moment. "Sir Forthright Dogood."

You **** back a whimper, opting to just nod as the knight continues to stare at you. It's with almost a sense of disbelief that you see his cube-like face split into a gleaming white smile, the man clapping you on the shoulder. "Now there's a name! A name you can really trust!"

Oh thank god he's a dumbass.

Sir Boxjaw seems like he's about to wave you through, but a look from Sourpuss prompts him to sigh and square off again. "Oh right, well, I suppose protocol should be followed. May I ask, who is your enchanting companion?"

He gives Duchess a courtly half bow, the sort-of noblewoman rising her chin in a show of pride and vague aloofness. Guess she really does only have eyes for you. Well, you were prepared for this too. "The Duchess is the daughter of my late wife, rest her sainted soul." You take a moment to look mournfully skyward, Sir Boxjaw giving a murmur of sympathy. "I have been guardian and guide to her as best I could, in her dear mother's absence. I only can only hope that, when we are at last rejoined in the next life, that she judges I have done adequately."

Duchess stares up at you with a vaguely blank expression, the little pink wheels not making much of an effort on this one. Boxjaw doesn't seem to notice or mind, though, the man wiping a glistening tear from one eye. The knight starts to motion for you to go through again, but at a cough from his assistant sighs and resumes questioning. "And what brings you to the village and our fair castle?"

You open your mouth, but are cut off when Duchess flounces into your side, gripping your arm as she groans up at you. "Daddy, this is booooring....you promised to buy me dresses!"

The girl getting involved had not been part of the plan, but instead of panicking you chuckle and give Duchess a little peck on the forehead, smiling ruefully at Sir Boxjaw. "I suppose I do spoil her a touch. But oh, she is Daddy's treasure!"

Sir Boxjaw chuckles along with you, starting in on how he too indulges his little daughters, and oh would you like to know everything about them? Of course you would; they sound like perfect angels. And he rambles on, you're actually a little surprised at how easily you're delivering these lies. Is it because of who you are in this world, or just out of your deeply held desire to not be taken to some dirty backroom and **** to deepthroat a battleaxe? Life is full of fucking mysteries, and you'll ponder the shit out of them as soon as you get into this goddamn village.

You are entirely confident you're in the clear as you nod along with Sir Boxjaw's glowing assessment of his girls' reading skills, slightly turning your head towards Dogsbody. She'd helped you plan this all out, and you feel it's only right to give her a conspiratorial little wink that you're confident only she can see. You are less confident that the others don't see when she twitches and gives a little grunt, gushing in an entirely visible orgasm in front of everyone.

Sir Boxjaw trails off. He definitely noticed. For a dreadful moment, everything is silent. Then you speak up. "My butler has a condition, and no true gentleman would make further mention of the matter."

That seems to be the final straw for Sir Boxjaw, who immediately nods with a look of deep understanding and empathy. "Well said, Sir Dogood, and well done in all."

"Please. Call me Forthright."

The man gives you a wide grin. "I believe I shall. Well then, Forthright, allow me to be the first to welcome all of you to our fair -"

A pinched voice cuts him off. "Sir. I really must insist that we perform the final test."

The knight sighs in exasperation, turning to face his sour-faced assistant. "Oh surely not; haven't we held up these good people long enough?"

"I must insist."

Duchess must have noticed the irritation creeping through your mask of civility, because she's wrinkling her nose at the assistant with an odd squint in her eye. Sir Boxjaw sighs again, giving Sourpuss a reproachful look before turning back to you with an apologetic look. "I really do apologize for this, but my aide is insisting on just one final hoop. Don't worry, I swear this will be just a minor inconvenience and then you can all be on your way. Please follow him, and I'll be along very shortly to relieve you."

Sourpuss turns on his heels and starts off, thankfully in a direction opposite from where the marked warlocks were being dragged. You're not entirely sure what to expect here. Even less so when Duchess leans in to whisper into your ear, "Daddy...that's the man who broke into our room last night."

Well okay. Sure. Why the fuck not.