All right, so she wore her turrets partially covered these days. Because of the invasion of her striding dykish females, decolletage was very much in vogue.
Sanctuarite breasts were bared just short of the nipples-while skirts were long and flounced and saddlebagged.
“I’ve no-tisssed,” Strick said, and Fulcris chuckled.
“Me too. The skirts are stupid and ugly but I do love all the jiggle above!”
A demonic monoceros had run rampant, goring people and wrecking real estate.
“They have a low inn or dive called the Obscene Monoceros,” Strick said, shaking his head.
Fulcris stared for a moment, then fell back laughing. “Vulgar Unicorn!” he corrected.
Strick shrugged. “Blackest magic,” he muttered, staring into his cup. “This city is damned and abhorred by all gods, surely.”
“Yet why do gods or people allow it,” Fulcris said, and drank. “You heard about the dead (?) warrior-god-female, of course-some fool revived to terrorize streets and citizenry?”
Strick countered with the fact that another someone had broken into the palace, impossibly, and (impossibly) made off with the head snake-lady’s wand or something, and she had done not a bloody thing about it. Incredible!
A nasty adolescent boy in a female body was going about in the garb of a Rankan arena-fighter, insulting and threatening everyone in sight, including the ones she whorishly lay with. Five well-trained soldier-bodyguards from Ranke were reduced to guarding cattle or goats or orchards, while a street tale-teller was in the palace, wearing silk robes. The Rankan highest priest was apparently giving more time to personal romance-despite his being married-than priesting.