A beautiful woman, clad in not too much leather

The seasoned pirate managed to roll onto her front and put her knees under her in a single move that wasn't nearly as graceful as she'd've liked. This acrobatic endeavor ended with staring at the feminine boots of the speaker. Mentioned boots were slender and spiky, with pointed toes and tops that peaked to cover the knees, and made of a black organic sort.

As Liz slowly straightened herself into the kneeling position she saw more of this woman. At the intersection of two shapely legs, the towering woman's quim was cupped from behind by some strange garment with tendrils reaching up her bald mons pubis. Liz guessed it was an extension of the woman's corset. This was made of a material similar to her boots, rigid and ridged, ending at quarter cups under her large breasts with more tendrils reaching up and almost making the top. The thin supports didn't cover the nipples; these were covered by black, pyramid spikes that looked to have been adhesively applied. Her elbow gloves, with pointed fingers that reminded of claws, completed the direful ensemble.

The women's face was immaculate, slender with high, defined check bones, lips of deep red around a smile of pearl teeth, and eyes of piercing blue like the depths of the artic sea. Yet for a color for the women's hair, one would have to visit the equator and see the thick pillars of dark brown wood that neighbored black in depth but held firm to their richness. This shade-from-black hair was straight and in a perfect, high pony tail; every strand was in place, as if petrified of this mystery woman. Perhaps in could reason as she carried a coiled whip in her hand.

"Rapscallion," she addressed Liz, "my title is The Mistress. But we don't need to be so formal; you may simply call me mistress if it makes you more comfortable." The pirate stared up at her as the woman spoke again "I am here to introduce you to the ways of Valhalla. You lead a very naughty life fraud, piracy, **** need I go on? There were many worse afterlives you could have wandered into. But you posses an intriguing spirit, thus an invitation was extended to you."

Outwardly Liz maintained her steel, by swallowed the clod forming in her throat.

"Silence?" questioned The Mistress with genuine astonish behind her embellishment, "From such a foul-mouthed roughian? I hope your tongue isn't tangled." Rhetorically, the statuesque example of female perfection paused, pretending to ponder for an idea that'd being conjured before she'd started speaking. "Aha, I know. You'll test your tongue by licking my boots?"

Liz wasn't the kind to follow an order without the precedent of trust or other good reason, and was especially unkeen on becoming someone's boot-lapping dog. Thusly she chose it more tactful to scoff, "bend arse, ye brasser, and lather your own boots."

The Mistress splayed an amused smirk broad upon her face and adjusted the coil of her whip before answering. "Tut-tut, name calling? I guess I should have expected that from a misbehaving minx like yourself. But I don't see what has your hackles up; many have payed for the privilege of licking my boots. And it's always more than a brass." Her face hardened to commanding stone. "Be a good girl and don't make me repeat myself," The Mistress warned, yet the stubborn pirate made no motions.

Within the blink of an eye, the whip had struck Liz's left nipple, "bube-rot," she spat through gritted teeth.

The devil-woman was already efficiently re-coiling her whip. "Shall I repeat myself again?" It wasn't necessary. Liz knew she was out of her class in this round of dominance. It would seem this land had unkind intentions if this was her welcome. Would humiliation be her eternal rest? She bowed her head and tentatively smeared her tongue twice across a mere inch of the glossy boot. A capitulation to be sure, but limited, lest she embarrass herself more than necessary.

The Mistress huffed disappointed at the limited pair of tongue-taps, yet spoke no more of the matter in favor of elaborating on Valhalla as a whole. "In Valhalla you will entertain guests," she expounded, hiding a threat in the finality of her statement, for Liz surmised the skilled whip wielder could make a flogging quite entertaining for those not dancing with the lash. "These are upstanding and noble people as you will no doubt see. Make them happy however you like and you will earn favor," Liz's interest wavered; catering to the whims of authority oft lead to enough congratulations to fill a sail and scarce coin to even buy one. "Represented by gold and similar treasures," The Mistress added reorienting Liz's interest back to task. "Although such trinkets have no inherent value in the afterlife, as a representation, they can be traded for luxuries. Of course, idleness is not tolerated, and you will lose a small amount of favor daily. Not to worry, embrace the theme of this place and you'll do quite well." The Mistress paused to let Liz bring aboard her explanation before advancing the subject.