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Description
"All rise for the Attendance of the Representative of His Splendour the Margrave, Magistrate Pallen!" screed the nasally little man in livery. He had an extraordinary way of pronouncing the capital letters at the fronts of words.

As predicted, into the court strode a tall, skinny man with large ears and expensive and solemn clothing made from a stitched-together tapestry of various honours and badges of office. He gave an impression of sleep-walking when he moved, and he soon gracefully sleep-walked over to a large lectern.

"May the defendant please state her name for the record," the first man projected out his nose. It wasn't really a courtroom, but then, it wasn't like it had to hold a jury, legal counsel, or anything else really relating to quibbling with the finer details of law or justice by which so many vile criminals in other countries had at some time or another managed to wiggle their way free from their just deserts. It was dark, and wood-panelled, and one of its three doors lead to the Executioners' Guild it shared the building with. Overall, it was not calculated to reassure the young tiefling sitting on the uncomfortable wooden bench in the dock.

"Uh, Ember. Your, uh, your honour?"

"May the defendant please state her full name for the record," he spoke, still looking at a point where the wall met the ceiling, and giving off waves of oceanic exasperation.

Ember's heart moved to a steady trot. Oh dear. She didn't have a surname, she had been 9 before she even got the first one. Time for some of her classic quick-thinking. Well then, someone who ploughed a field all day was called a Ploughman, and someone who worked with metal ended their name with 'Smith', and someone who shod horses was called Ferrier, so by that clever bit of logic her name would be...

"Cocksucker, your honour!" she said proudly.

Magistrate Pallen coughed, providing a small measure or relief to several people (including both of the City Watch present, the errand boy scrubbing the floorboards, the stenographer, the liveried herald, and the defendant herself) that he was still alive. Ember was pretty sure dust came out.

"You are a Lady of the Evening, then?"

"...Uh?"

"Do you have a permit? Are you in residence at the Whores' Guild?"

"Uh, I just got into town and haven't started business yet, actually, your honour." Ember smiled. She had knocked gawky village boys off their draught-horses with that smile. But the Magistrate seemed to keep his eyes closed by default. A mouse ran down her right side, ice-cold little feet skittering, and she shivered. Oh, hold on, that was just cold sweat. She was getting all flustered, she didn't usually say 'uh' this much. She just had no experience in law.

"Ember Cocksucker," sneezed the nasally little man. "You are charged with entering Halma City illegally..."

"Hoy, the lads at the gate let me in! They didn't say anything about it!" Drat it. I blew that handsome city-guardsmen because I didn't have the 3 coppers to pay the entry toll, all for nothing! That bastard! I bet there isn't even a 'gate toll', he probably just made that up. I am the victim of a terrible crime. This is awful.

"...of Unlicensed Licentiousness,"

"What?"

"...Of disturbing public peace and good order."

"Hmph! People like my routine. Y'all are a bunch of squares."

"...Of theft of one chastity belt and the upper half of a chainmail bikini from Halma City Public Baths,"

"Are you f*cking kidding me!" Ember didn't remember starting to her feet, but the bar of the wooden fence marking the edge of the dock was suddenly pressing into her legs. She didn't remember raising one finger grandly into the air, either. "Hello, it is literally locked onto my body! I have been trying to get it off for a month. That bastard!" Here she swung around to point at the complainant, a mild-faced, slightly rotund middle-aged man in tasteful clothing and with a habit of dabbing at his cheeks and forehead with a handkerchief. Mr. Taphael hadn't said anything since the hearing began, and he jumped in place when Ember swung her finger over at him. "Put it on me after he had his bully-boys kidnap me! You cannot possibly accuse me of taking it!" She scowled and swept a hand down her body, ending over the heavy and very obviously locked chastity belt she was wearing, heavy tail thrashing the air behind her in still-unspoken rage.

"...For disrupting the Hearing with infantile disruptions, infantilely,"

Ember sighed. It was a small sound. She slumped forward slightly, roiling morass of brown curls pouring down over her forehead.

"...And for public indecency."

Ember sighed. It was most definitely not a small sound, as slowly she melted forwards onto the table, put her hands on the base of her horns, and emptied her lungs into it.

"Again?" she asked the universe, a question so softly spoken yet so large it could only be delivered to a correspondingly large target.

"Aha-hem! The magistrate sentences you to trial by ordeal."

Ember's amber-coloured eyes appeared from between her fingers and hair, suddenly very wide. Oh. Oh no.

"The Ordeal shall be by the Trial of 9 Hands. You are also to return all stolen property."

Her heart was cantering along freely now. The crier appeared to have some kind of symbiotic relationship with Magistrate Pallen. Come to think of it, those long ceremonial robes hid much of his form, and Pallen himself was well-protected behind his lectern, what if the crier was really some kind of clockwork automaton, controlled by pneumatic tubes of some kind leading to the judge's lectern? It would certainly explain his voice pitch if it was all just pressurized air being vented out in bursts. Trial by some miserable Ordeal, burning dominions but this could not get any worse...

"As you are a Tiefling, and devilkin, for the good of the community you are also to be re-united with your own kind. Via execution, to occur in the public square three days hence."

Ember's eyes bulged out like they were mounting a very successful escape-attempt from the apparently doomed body they had the misfortune to find themsleves attached to. Her heart went into a gallop inside her chest and nearly left the rest behind. She gaped at Pallen, and then, when he failed to evince signs of life himself, she spun and swapped a horrified glance with Ran Taphael across the aisle. The pudgy man was starting up, waving his handkerchief at the crier womanishly.

"Er, I say, Lord Magistrate, if I might.... Dearie me, I mean... You can't just..."

"The hearing is now over," cried the crier. "The City Watch will imprison the prisoner in prison. Good day." Considering how stately their entrance had been, it was amazing how quickly they were gone.

Ember rose slowly. The floorboards felt like they were shifting beneath her feet. They were. It was the approach of both of the City Watchmen, nice big, burly fellows, with nice big bully-clubs that had been worn smooth by loving care and steady use. They each grabbed one of her shoulders and began easily shoving her away, towards the street. For his part, Taphael kept pace.

"Oh, I'm very sorry, good heavens I did not expect this, I'm terribly sorry, I mean, they can't possibly... Oh my, I have important friends on city council, I go Hawking with the Chief Magistrate every other Sunday, I'm sure I can see it overturned, oh dear... But, here now, let's get you out of those." He produced a little yellow key.

Ember didn't like the man ever since he had had her kidnapped and pressed into service as a space-heater, but her good sense told her not to antagonize one of the only people either able or willing to help her at present. Within the milieu of her own head, Ember's good sense was rather like a kindergarten teacher, one who had been bound and gagged and was trapped at the back of the bus while a class of children raced it down the freeway, shrieking with laughter.

"You idiot!" she roared, snatching the key away. "They're going to kill me now! Dying is for children, I'm too old for it." The large and obvious lock placed over her groin clicked obviously, and for a moment she wore a grin of long-awaited triumph, until the garment nearly dropped off her hips and she arrested it just in time. The quartet was outside in the square, with all its bright sunshine and chuckling fountains, and with all the people going about their business pausing to point and mutter ominously. "Wait, if I have to give this back, what am I supposed to wear?!"

To her surprise, the Watchman in firm possession of her left shoulder spoke up. She had rather forgotten that they could talk.

"We're not savages," he said, and passed her a large square of brown fabric. "You can wear this. Probably for the whole rest of your life."

"Aha!" cried Ember in delight, being marched along rather faster than she liked while struggling to keep her steel thong on with one hand. She shook the garment out. "Finally some real... Some real... Clothes." The garment unfolded. She regarded it quizzically and shook it out, as if hoping that she might dislodge a few more folds of material thus far hidden. She appeared to be now in possession of a child's shift, dirty and thread-bare, but after a moment to bestow a glare at everyone in her field of vision (Ran mopped at his brow some more), she slid it on, fishing out her metallic bra and thong and bundling them into his arms unceremoniously. He walked as though they were very heavy, and Ember did have to admit she felt much lighter and more free without them on. It was probably also the wind blowing unobstructed around her nethers. At least this dratted third of a dress had a rip in the back so it went around her tail instead of bunching up, but still...

"Keep it. Treasure it. Cherish it. It's yours. I hope you're happy, Mister Taphy."

"Uh, that would be Ran Taphael, miss, er, Miss Cocksucker. And, er, yes, very expensive, quite happy to have these back, real trouble if I did not..."

They turned out of the square into a little jailhouse, and Ember was just formulating plans of stomping on feet and racing for the entrance when she got a good shove in the seat and nearly avoided kissing the far wall. The weather was warm, and yet it sill tasted grimy. She spat and spun around, facing the prison bars. The two Watchmen were already clomping off down the corridor, but Taphael was still there, busily dry-washing his hands.

"Well, what are you -we -I what am I am going to do? That handsy slime-girl you set on me to drag me back here, whatwashername, could you have her break me out?"

"I'm sorry, but she doesn't work on Juiblex's Holy Days. Which are all of the rest of the week."

They stared at each other across the bars.

"But I will think of something! I just need a day or two!" squeaked Ran, when to his guilty mind the silence had grown unbearable. "I have connections with, er, with City Council, yes! I am very sorry, executions are rare around here, really. We have a points systems for crimes and misdemeanours, and I forgot about the 10,000% multiplier applied for Tieflings! We don't get many of them around here, you see."

"...Demon Lord Juiblex has holy days?" Ember blinked audibly. "Whatever. Fine. Forget about that. Please, please do whatever you can so that they don't, uh, don't execute me."

Ran nodded so fast his puffy lips flaps. Ember tried to make herself relax a bit, sliding her hands down the bars, trying to ground herself with the cool and stolid metal.

"Great! Grrrrreeeeeaaat. So. What's this Trial by 9 Hands? Are 9 City Watchmen going to all take hands to me and slap me around, and then if the bruises heal they'll let me go?"

"Oh, no, it is not that at all..."

"What? Even worse? Are they going to burn my hands, let it heal, then burn or stab me there again until they've done it 9 times, and then see how quickly I heal up?"

"Oh, dearie me, no, Miss Cocksucker, it is nothing like that. You see, it actually refers to 9 detached Mage hands, and..." He told her about the Trial by 9 Hands. "...And it should only go on for about 9 hours or so, as is tradition. See? Nothing to fear." He paused, while Ember slumped down against the bars, and began to steadily beat her huge curling rams-horns into the metal with a distant and resonant clanging noise. "It is very commonly used on young ladies, since they are too delicate and innocent for most of the sterner stuff, you do understand." He mopped at his brow again. "But just sit tight. I'll have you out of there very soon, just you see. Connection yes, important, er connections." He mopped at his brow and waddled out, still chunnering to himself about his alleged connections.

Ember watched the motes of dust dancing in the beam of bright corn-yellow sunlight, located far away in another world on the other side of the bars. The view was broken up into sections unpleasantly by the vertical metal poles. Her mind felt vague, and empty.

...Juiblex has holy days?

---

Oh no! Having been captured and brought to justice, our heroine's days are now numbered short indeed! Will she ever escape?

Apologies and begging your patience on account of the typos. I'm disproportionally proud of 'Unlicensed Licentiousness' as the crime of being a whore without a Permit Issued to a Member in Good Standing with the Whore's Guild (if the oldest profession doesn't get one, why should anyone else?), and to references to Lord Juiblex having holy days. If you don't think it's funny, you probably have a point, but it is a reference to the Forgotten Realms Demon Lord of Slimes and Oozes, perhaps the single most unpleasant creature in the multiverse. It seemed the obvious choice as a target of worship for a devout young slime-girl bountyhunter. forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wik…

I'm still worried I made this one (the image) too dark, but I wasn't sure what to do about it. I also was terrified of over-shading again, either highlights or shadows, but perhaps I can optimistically claim that the light is especially dreary and diffuse in whatever dungeon she's been chained up in this time.

Thanks for stopping by, feel free to leave a comment (I treasure every one), and have a nice day!

Description
"All rise for the Attendance of the Representative of His Splendour the Margrave, Magistrate Pallen!" screed the nasally little man in livery. He had an extraordinary way of pronouncing the capital letters at the fronts of words.

As predicted, into the court strode a tall, skinny man with large ears and expensive and solemn clothing made from a stitched-together tapestry of various honours and badges of office. He gave an impression of sleep-walking when he moved, and he soon gracefully sleep-walked over to a large lectern.

"May the defendant please state her name for the record," the first man projected out his nose. It wasn't really a courtroom, but then, it wasn't like it had to hold a jury, legal counsel, or anything else really relating to quibbling with the finer details of law or justice by which so many vile criminals in other countries had at some time or another managed to wiggle their way free from their just deserts. It was dark, and wood-panelled, and one of its three doors lead to the Executioners' Guild it shared the building with. Overall, it was not calculated to reassure the young tiefling sitting on the uncomfortable wooden bench in the dock.

"Uh, Ember. Your, uh, your honour?"

"May the defendant please state her full name for the record," he spoke, still looking at a point where the wall met the ceiling, and giving off waves of oceanic exasperation.

Ember's heart moved to a steady trot. Oh dear. She didn't have a surname, she had been 9 before she even got the first one. Time for some of her classic quick-thinking. Well then, someone who ploughed a field all day was called a Ploughman, and someone who worked with metal ended their name with 'Smith', and someone who shod horses was called Ferrier, so by that clever bit of logic her name would be...

"Cocksucker, your honour!" she said proudly.

Magistrate Pallen coughed, providing a small measure or relief to several people (including both of the City Watch present, the errand boy scrubbing the floorboards, the stenographer, the liveried herald, and the defendant herself) that he was still alive. Ember was pretty sure dust came out.

"You are a Lady of the Evening, then?"

"...Uh?"

"Do you have a permit? Are you in residence at the Whores' Guild?"

"Uh, I just got into town and haven't started business yet, actually, your honour." Ember smiled. She had knocked gawky village boys off their draught-horses with that smile. But the Magistrate seemed to keep his eyes closed by default. A mouse ran down her right side, ice-cold little feet skittering, and she shivered. Oh, hold on, that was just cold sweat. She was getting all flustered, she didn't usually say 'uh' this much. She just had no experience in law.

"Ember Cocksucker," sneezed the nasally little man. "You are charged with entering Halma City illegally..."

"Hoy, the lads at the gate let me in! They didn't say anything about it!" Drat it. I blew that handsome city-guardsmen because I didn't have the 3 coppers to pay the entry toll, all for nothing! That bastard! I bet there isn't even a 'gate toll', he probably just made that up. I am the victim of a terrible crime. This is awful.

"...of Unlicensed Licentiousness,"

"What?"

"...Of disturbing public peace and good order."

"Hmph! People like my routine. Y'all are a bunch of squares."

"...Of theft of one chastity belt and the upper half of a chainmail bikini from Halma City Public Baths,"

"Are you f*cking kidding me!" Ember didn't remember starting to her feet, but the bar of the wooden fence marking the edge of the dock was suddenly pressing into her legs. She didn't remember raising one finger grandly into the air, either. "Hello, it is literally locked onto my body! I have been trying to get it off for a month. That bastard!" Here she swung around to point at the complainant, a mild-faced, slightly rotund middle-aged man in tasteful clothing and with a habit of dabbing at his cheeks and forehead with a handkerchief. Mr. Taphael hadn't said anything since the hearing began, and he jumped in place when Ember swung her finger over at him. "Put it on me after he had his bully-boys kidnap me! You cannot possibly accuse me of taking it!" She scowled and swept a hand down her body, ending over the heavy and very obviously locked chastity belt she was wearing, heavy tail thrashing the air behind her in still-unspoken rage.

"...For disrupting the Hearing with infantile disruptions, infantilely,"

Ember sighed. It was a small sound. She slumped forward slightly, roiling morass of brown curls pouring down over her forehead.

"...And for public indecency."

Ember sighed. It was most definitely not a small sound, as slowly she melted forwards onto the table, put her hands on the base of her horns, and emptied her lungs into it.

"Again?" she asked the universe, a question so softly spoken yet so large it could only be delivered to a correspondingly large target.

"Aha-hem! The magistrate sentences you to trial by ordeal."

Ember's amber-coloured eyes appeared from between her fingers and hair, suddenly very wide. Oh. Oh no.

"The Ordeal shall be by the Trial of 9 Hands. You are also to return all stolen property."

Her heart was cantering along freely now. The crier appeared to have some kind of symbiotic relationship with Magistrate Pallen. Come to think of it, those long ceremonial robes hid much of his form, and Pallen himself was well-protected behind his lectern, what if the crier was really some kind of clockwork automaton, controlled by pneumatic tubes of some kind leading to the judge's lectern? It would certainly explain his voice pitch if it was all just pressurized air being vented out in bursts. Trial by some miserable Ordeal, burning dominions but this could not get any worse...

"As you are a Tiefling, and devilkin, for the good of the community you are also to be re-united with your own kind. Via execution, to occur in the public square three days hence."

Ember's eyes bulged out like they were mounting a very successful escape-attempt from the apparently doomed body they had the misfortune to find themsleves attached to. Her heart went into a gallop inside her chest and nearly left the rest behind. She gaped at Pallen, and then, when he failed to evince signs of life himself, she spun and swapped a horrified glance with Ran Taphael across the aisle. The pudgy man was starting up, waving his handkerchief at the crier womanishly.

"Er, I say, Lord Magistrate, if I might.... Dearie me, I mean... You can't just..."

"The hearing is now over," cried the crier. "The City Watch will imprison the prisoner in prison. Good day." Considering how stately their entrance had been, it was amazing how quickly they were gone.

Ember rose slowly. The floorboards felt like they were shifting beneath her feet. They were. It was the approach of both of the City Watchmen, nice big, burly fellows, with nice big bully-clubs that had been worn smooth by loving care and steady use. They each grabbed one of her shoulders and began easily shoving her away, towards the street. For his part, Taphael kept pace.

"Oh, I'm very sorry, good heavens I did not expect this, I'm terribly sorry, I mean, they can't possibly... Oh my, I have important friends on city council, I go Hawking with the Chief Magistrate every other Sunday, I'm sure I can see it overturned, oh dear... But, here now, let's get you out of those." He produced a little yellow key.

Ember didn't like the man ever since he had had her kidnapped and pressed into service as a space-heater, but her good sense told her not to antagonize one of the only people either able or willing to help her at present. Within the milieu of her own head, Ember's good sense was rather like a kindergarten teacher, one who had been bound and gagged and was trapped at the back of the bus while a class of children raced it down the freeway, shrieking with laughter.

"You idiot!" she roared, snatching the key away. "They're going to kill me now! Dying is for children, I'm too old for it." The large and obvious lock placed over her groin clicked obviously, and for a moment she wore a grin of long-awaited triumph, until the garment nearly dropped off her hips and she arrested it just in time. The quartet was outside in the square, with all its bright sunshine and chuckling fountains, and with all the people going about their business pausing to point and mutter ominously. "Wait, if I have to give this back, what am I supposed to wear?!"

To her surprise, the Watchman in firm possession of her left shoulder spoke up. She had rather forgotten that they could talk.

"We're not savages," he said, and passed her a large square of brown fabric. "You can wear this. Probably for the whole rest of your life."

"Aha!" cried Ember in delight, being marched along rather faster than she liked while struggling to keep her steel thong on with one hand. She shook the garment out. "Finally some real... Some real... Clothes." The garment unfolded. She regarded it quizzically and shook it out, as if hoping that she might dislodge a few more folds of material thus far hidden. She appeared to be now in possession of a child's shift, dirty and thread-bare, but after a moment to bestow a glare at everyone in her field of vision (Ran mopped at his brow some more), she slid it on, fishing out her metallic bra and thong and bundling them into his arms unceremoniously. He walked as though they were very heavy, and Ember did have to admit she felt much lighter and more free without them on. It was probably also the wind blowing unobstructed around her nethers. At least this dratted third of a dress had a rip in the back so it went around her tail instead of bunching up, but still...

"Keep it. Treasure it. Cherish it. It's yours. I hope you're happy, Mister Taphy."

"Uh, that would be Ran Taphael, miss, er, Miss Cocksucker. And, er, yes, very expensive, quite happy to have these back, real trouble if I did not..."

They turned out of the square into a little jailhouse, and Ember was just formulating plans of stomping on feet and racing for the entrance when she got a good shove in the seat and nearly avoided kissing the far wall. The weather was warm, and yet it sill tasted grimy. She spat and spun around, facing the prison bars. The two Watchmen were already clomping off down the corridor, but Taphael was still there, busily dry-washing his hands.

"Well, what are you -we -I what am I am going to do? That handsy slime-girl you set on me to drag me back here, whatwashername, could you have her break me out?"

"I'm sorry, but she doesn't work on Juiblex's Holy Days. Which are all of the rest of the week."

They stared at each other across the bars.

"But I will think of something! I just need a day or two!" squeaked Ran, when to his guilty mind the silence had grown unbearable. "I have connections with, er, with City Council, yes! I am very sorry, executions are rare around here, really. We have a points systems for crimes and misdemeanours, and I forgot about the 10,000% multiplier applied for Tieflings! We don't get many of them around here, you see."

"...Demon Lord Juiblex has holy days?" Ember blinked audibly. "Whatever. Fine. Forget about that. Please, please do whatever you can so that they don't, uh, don't execute me."

Ran nodded so fast his puffy lips flaps. Ember tried to make herself relax a bit, sliding her hands down the bars, trying to ground herself with the cool and stolid metal.

"Great! Grrrrreeeeeaaat. So. What's this Trial by 9 Hands? Are 9 City Watchmen going to all take hands to me and slap me around, and then if the bruises heal they'll let me go?"

"Oh, no, it is not that at all..."

"What? Even worse? Are they going to burn my hands, let it heal, then burn or stab me there again until they've done it 9 times, and then see how quickly I heal up?"

"Oh, dearie me, no, Miss Cocksucker, it is nothing like that. You see, it actually refers to 9 detached Mage hands, and..." He told her about the Trial by 9 Hands. "...And it should only go on for about 9 hours or so, as is tradition. See? Nothing to fear." He paused, while Ember slumped down against the bars, and began to steadily beat her huge curling rams-horns into the metal with a distant and resonant clanging noise. "It is very commonly used on young ladies, since they are too delicate and innocent for most of the sterner stuff, you do understand." He mopped at his brow again. "But just sit tight. I'll have you out of there very soon, just you see. Connection yes, important, er connections." He mopped at his brow and waddled out, still chunnering to himself about his alleged connections.

Ember watched the motes of dust dancing in the beam of bright corn-yellow sunlight, located far away in another world on the other side of the bars. The view was broken up into sections unpleasantly by the vertical metal poles. Her mind felt vague, and empty.

...Juiblex has holy days?

---

Oh no! Having been captured and brought to justice, our heroine's days are now numbered short indeed! Will she ever escape?

Apologies and begging your patience on account of the typos. I'm disproportionally proud of 'Unlicensed Licentiousness' as the crime of being a whore without a Permit Issued to a Member in Good Standing with the Whore's Guild (if the oldest profession doesn't get one, why should anyone else?), and to references to Lord Juiblex having holy days. If you don't think it's funny, you probably have a point, but it is a reference to the Forgotten Realms Demon Lord of Slimes and Oozes, perhaps the single most unpleasant creature in the multiverse. It seemed the obvious choice as a target of worship for a devout young slime-girl bountyhunter. forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wik…

I'm still worried I made this one (the image) too dark, but I wasn't sure what to do about it. I also was terrified of over-shading again, either highlights or shadows, but perhaps I can optimistically claim that the light is especially dreary and diffuse in whatever dungeon she's been chained up in this time.

Thanks for stopping by, feel free to leave a comment (I treasure every one), and have a nice day!