Handbook of Erotic Fantasy: My Vigil Now Is Ended (Patreon)

The trade winds carried many things. Ships and cargo. White-winged terns and great-winged drakes. The songs of sailors, and the spray of the sea, and the scent of spices from distant ports. It was springtime in the Roaring Archipelago, and enough oddments floated above the deep to fill a d100 table. The sound of combat was not among them.

For along with the spring came the king tides. The great snapping turtles had all returned to the sea, there to glide beneath silvered waves and greet the encroaching moon. In another season, the shores would team with their children, and some few squires might earn their banners and their helms in turn. The ranks of the knights would swell. But in the meantime, as the order chivalrous awaited the return of their steeds, they passed their days as they had ever done.

The sound of moaning voices echoed from the hallowed halls. The smell of wine wafted through. The haft of a spear was gripped and regripped with practiced hands. For Cavalier had done with her yearly vigil, and the spear in question was a euphemism.

“Wouldst call thyself a polearm master?” she chided. "What say I enter your reach so we might find out?"

The young knight in question landed his opportunity attack. Yet the fellow tired quickly, and had done with sparring before Cavalier was even winded.

“Come then!” she cried to all and sundry. “Are there any three among you who stand before me? Or shall I lay you all low?”

There was a murmur among the gathered gentry. They seemed to reach some silent accord. And her challenges fanned out to try and take her from all sides.

They laid on then. It was a melee, and it was exceptionally grand. Lances were couched. They struck home one after another. The spray of shattered jousting tackle joined the list of things borne by the ocean breeze, and no few of these found purchase upon the face and tongue and rocky tits of the battle-lusted oread.

Her challengers fell one by one: spent, weary, and  unable to continue. And when at last she held the field, the Order of the Shell called her name in rising chant. She’d never thought to become champion, but she would not shrink from duty. Nor would she refuse her new title.