Along a distant balmy coast, a sun-kissed paradise sandwiched between glittering aquamarine seas and craggy snow-capped peaks, in an out-of-the-way location of no great strategic value - some would rudely say a backwater, even - lay the Holy Magocracy of Futanaria, a small and dignified state with a long if uneventual history. Hardly significant compared to the great powers of the day, it might have gone unnoticed entirely had not the Hermaphrodite Goddess, Futana, sowed her seed among the inhabitants in ancient times. The Futanari, those blessed with the gift of the goddess, who possessed the lustful virility of a man's cock and the elegant beauty of a woman's body in divine unison within a single body, were more common in Futanaria than anywhere else in the known world. Here Futana was worshipped by the Holy Magocracy that ruled the peaceful land, her futanari priestesses, clerics, witches and sorceresses united by a common devotion to their goddess.<br/><br/>Foreign visitors there always were, not too many but still a steady trickle, stopping by this paradise for days or weeks to enjoy sweet rum, golden beaches, and love freely - or at least cheaply - given by men, women, and futa alike. Rarer but perhaps purer in purpose were those futanari who lived in other lands, but arrived on pilgrimage upon these shores to understand their roots, pay their respects to Futana and receive her blessing. Blocked off from the surrounding lands by impassable mountains, the sole way in or out of Futanaria was through its only port, Imenia. So it was that at the piers of Imenia, a certain futanari, having secured passage on a merchant vessel that would pass through Futanaria's waters during the voyage, was dropped off just as the sun was beginning to set, its last rays of gold and crimson reflecting off the waves of the westward-facing beach. The captain of the vessel decided shortly after that it wouldn't hurt to lower anchor and let the crew have a day or two of shore leave as well to relieve themselves of pent-up frustrations and improve morale.<br/><br/>The problem facing all of them was that the gates, where the piers joined dry land, were shut, Futanaria's customs officers working short hours and wouldn't be back until the next morning - and late in the morning, almost practically noon, at that. That left the would-be tourists stranded outside without shelter for the night, except for the happy coincidence of an inn built for that express purpose - an inn at the end of the pier, built over the water and supported by reedy stilts that somehow managed to hold up the structure, made of thin wooden walls with palm fronds for a roof: the<em>Fisherman's Wife</em>. Here was a place to pass the night, and seek entry into Futanaria proper come the next day.<br/><br/>Inside the place, which was decorated with trophy plaques upon which were mounted all manner of specimens of sea creatures - some known, some exotic, and some never seen before - there was a common area, a bar, and several private rooms in the back for those who didn't feel like sleeping in the common area. The common area had been practically commandeered by the rowdy sailors, who were going through mugs of rum at an alarming pace, singing raunchy songs at the top of their lungs, and groping the busty serving wench who was tasked with refilling their cups. For the former passenger (whose association with the merchant vessel and its crew had ended, now that she had been delivered safely to her destination), there was no real choice but to sit at the bar.<br/><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://i1300.photobucket.com/albums/ag94/Autocad-E/troll_by_sofee_c-d46fsde_zpstgfggzgk.jpg)</div><div class="floatright">(http://i1300.photobucket.com/albums/ag94/Autocad-E/megacon_drive__bunnygirl_by_freelancemanga-d5vy2n3_zps3ozcsjii.png)</div>She wasn't alone in her plight. There were two other guests at the bar in a similar dilemma, though the ships that brought them here must have sailed off already. They were conversing with each other, their backs to her, and didn't notice the newcomer's approach. The shark-futanari tending the bar - and there was no mistaking her for anything but a futanari, since she wore little more than a scrap of fabric around her large round breasts and another tiny piece of cloth about her hips, which sported an obvious bulge - grinned with a mouthful of sharp triangular teeth. "What'll be your pleasure, missy?"<br/><br/>The question caught the attention of the other two, who turned around to look at the recipient of the greeting. The taller of the two was a heavily muscled troll male, his skin hued a deep purple, with a pair of upturned tusks protruding from his upper jaw, a long thick nose, and meticulously trimmed hair - facial and scalp - dyed red. The other was a bunnygirl, a pair of large ears extending up inquisitively from her head, her facial features delicate with a heart-shaped birthmark under her left eye, and quite definitely sporting nothing between her legs.<br/><br/>"By Futana!" the bunnygirl exclaimed, rising from her bar stool with her hand clapped over her mouth in shock. Then she caught herself, blinked, and took a closer look at the futanari's face, moving closer and tilting her head as she did so. "My apologies, I mistook you for someone else," she continued. "Ah, where are my manners! Let me introduce myself. Countess Sivia ua Frizania, pleased to meet you!" she finished with a little curtsey.<br/><br/>Her troll companion didn't seem in any hurry to introduce himself, at least not until Countess Sivia nudged him in the ribs. He gave a slightly awkward bow. "Septimus Oswinium, fourth son of Chief Oswinus of Dosia, here to seek his fortune in her Majesty's Royal Vanguard," he introduced himself proudly.