The Great UnSeelie Court Swindlers

The frozen wasteland stretched far and wide, a kingdom of ice and ruin beneath a shattered moon.

Crumbling buildings stood like ancient tombstones in the frostbitten earth, their skeletal remains casting long shadows beneath the eldritch glow of distant, dying stars.

Quaraun’s vardo rattled into the crumbling human settlement, drawn by mechanical cyborg moose beasts of brass and bone, their red eyes glowing in the perpetual twilight. He stepped down, his tussah silk robes swirling, the venomous silver strands of his jellyfish hair slithering with a mind of their own.

The JellyFish Moon Elf carried himself like a highborn merchant prince, though he was, in truth, nothing but a peddler of phantasms and folly.

BoomFuzzy leapt from the cart, a short, broad beast of a man wrapped in black hakama and a purple plaid great kilt. His wild grey dreadlocks were tied with purple ribbons, his enormous steampunk goggles hiding the ghostly silver of his nearly sightless eyes. With the air of a drunken bard and the swagger of a warlord, he bellowed to the haggard crowd.

"Free food! Getcha hot food! Warm stew! Breads ye ain't seen since afore the world went ta shite!"

His voice rang out, rough as gravel, thick with a Scots burr that made him sound both foolish and fearsome.

A horde of starving survivors stumbled forward, drawn by the scent of roasted meat and melting butter, a fragrance so rich, so impossible, it could not be true.

Far too good to be true in fact, for there was nothing in bowl but rotted acorn caps, mealy worms, and wriggling acorn grubs, that could not be seen by the Humans.

But there stood BoomFuzzy, ladling steaming broth from a great cauldron into wooden bowls, passing out soft loaves of bread, their golden crusts an impossible luxury in a world stripped bare.

"How—how is this possible?" a ragged woman gasped, cradling the bread as though it were a sacred relic.

"Magic," BoomFuzzy said with a grin, though his silver eyes gleamed with something darker.

“Magic?”

“Aye!”

“Magic ain’t real.”

“It is when you’re the world’s greatest master chef.”

“I ain’t no chef.”

“No. But I am.”

“Who are you?”

“BoomFuzzy the Unicorn. Pleased ta make ya acquaintance.”

BoomFuzzy tipped his top hat, its long black veil sweeping the ground. Then he handed her a plate.

The illusion held—for now.

While the crowd pressed closer, GhoulSpawn moved through them, silent as a shadow. His long green velvet Fagin coat, tattered and patched, concealed a dozen hidden pockets, each deeper than the laws of reality permitted. With deft, nimble fingers, he slipped between desperate souls, plucking pouches of coins, scavenged tools, and even trinkets Quaraun had sold just moments before.

Quaraun, standing at his makeshift stall, smiled his most dignified, sly, snake oily, highfalutin smile as he gestured to his wares—fine silks, enchanted baubles, vials of miracle elixirs that promised warmth against the endless winter.

"This, my dear fellows, is no ordinary fabric! Nay! This silk is woven from Moon Moth larvae, rarest of the rare, known to ward off sickness and chill alike. You will never shiver again whilst clad in such finery!"

A grizzled man, his teeth yellowed and cracked, squinted at the shimmering cloth.

"How do I know it's not a bunch of flimflam?"

Quaraun gasped, loud and overly melodramatic, clutching a gold-plated mechanical hand over his heart.

"Flimflam? Poppycock! Do I look like a scoundrel? A charlatan? A dunderheaded lackwit peddling balderdash? No, good sir! This fabric is worth ten times what I ask, twenty times, a hundred! But I am feeling generous today. One time sale. Today only! Half off my usual price!”

Though he neglected to say that his usual price was a thousand times more than his products were worth.

“You look like a madman in a pink dress is what ya look like.”

Quaraun scowled.

“Do you want the silk or not?”

The man hesitated, then handed over a pouch of coins. Quaraun swept them into his sleeve with a flourish, pressing the folded silk into the man’s trembling hands.

"May you never again know the curse of cold," he said solemnly.

The man shuffled away, clutching his prize. And, unnoticed, GhoulSpawn ghosted behind him, slipping the very same silk from his hands before he had walked five paces. The bundle vanished into the abyss of GhoulSpawn’s coat, the man now carrying a bundle of rags. Moments later, Quaraun was reselling it to another eager fool.

BoomFuzzy continued his performance, yelling at the crowd, keeping their eyes fixed on the miracle of hot food.

"Ain’t no catch! Ain’t no cost! Just eat, drink, an’ be merry, fore tomorrow y’all die when the zombies come eat you!"

He cackled, a madman’s laugh, full of wicked mirth.

The crowd gobbled down the feast, greed blinding them to the trick. None noticed that as soon as they turned away, their bowls emptied, their bellies remained as hollow as before. They still felt the gnawing ache of hunger, the cold still bit into their bones, but the illusion of warmth lingered just long enough to keep them from questioning.

Quaraun continued his sales, his eloquent spiel dazzling, his pockets filling with coin, while GhoulSpawn wove through the throng, gathering back the wares as fast as they were sold. And when the town's supplies were stripped near bare, when the last coin had been exchanged, the last stolen trinket secured, BoomFuzzy let out a deafening—

"BOOM!"

The crowd shrieked, startled, turning in every direction, seeking the source of the explosion. But there was none. BoomFuzzy stood where he had always been, grinning wide, eyes gleaming with mischief.

And when they turned back—Quaraun, BoomFuzzy, GhoulSpawn, the vardo—gone.

Vanished.

A wind howled through the ruins, carrying with it the faint, mocking laughter of a trickster king and his merry band of knaves.

The people stood in stunned silence, realizing, too late, that they had been hoodwinked, swindled, bamboozled beyond all reckoning.

“Faeries,” some whispered.

The food had never been real.

Their pockets, once full, were now light.

Their goods—gone.

The great UnSeelie Court Swindlers had struck again.

Quaraun and BoomFuzzy

The Pink Necromancer, Moon Elf silk weaver & merchant: Quaraun on Noodle Beach. His master chef Phooka turned Lich husband: BoomFuzzy with his 1968 VW Bus Beach Noodle Food Truck. And their on again/off again mad scientist Sheep Demon lover: GhoulSpawn with his 1974 AMC Gremlin time machine. Time Travel setting swings back and forth between 40th century Maine after a comet hit the moon decimating the planet, and the 1970s, Maine. Quaraun in the main character, he and BoomFuzzy are a married gay couple. GhoulSpawn is their shared live-in lover. Art by Wendy Christine Allen.

BoomFuzzy

Quaraun

GhoulSpawn and BoomFuzzy

GhoulSpawn

GhoulSpawn and Quaraun

Faeries vs Elves (In The Quaraun Series) A Pink Necromancer World Lore Post

The Pink Necromancer: The Adventures of Quaraun The Insane aka The Twighlight Manor Series

🌸🦄🌸 Furry Yaoi Fiction about Elves and Faeries and Satyrs and Demons and Unicorns and Technomancer Wizards and Liches living in a Lighthouse and surviving as Travelling Merchants and Food Truck Chefs in Cyberpunk Dystopian 40th Century Maine, and Zombie Apocalypse and Time Travel but it’s Slice of Life Vignettes of Mundane Daily Lives of The UnSeelie Court’s Royal Family trying to survive after a comet hit the moon and turned the Earth into a CyberPunk Ice-Age. 🌸🦄🌸

• eBook Editions from this series can be found on: GumRoad

• Kindle, eBook, Print Paperback, & full colour illustrated Hardcover Editions from this series can be found on: Amazon

Meet The Characters

Wendy Christine Allen, 2019, able to sit up in a chair for the first time in years, and able to raise up my arm and wiggle fingers. This was when I started playing Witcher 3 on Twitch as part of my physical therapy to regain finger movement. Playing Witcher 3 daily from 2016 to 2019, is how I regained the use of my thumb and two for fingers on my right hand... it is also why I stopped playing Witcher 3 in 2019, once I had strengthen my two forefingers enough to start typing again. Wendy Christine Allen, Old Orchard Beach's Autistic Author, Artist, Illustrator, & Art Car Designer Counting Down to the September 23, 2028 50th Anniversary of my first published book (September 23, 1978) If you are here looking for The Twighlight Manor series, The Crystonite Wars series, The Wild Years series, The White Rock Asylum for the Criminally Insane series, The Twisted Tales series, the Captured By a MerMan series, The Space Dock 13 series, The Kats of Planet Ptarmagin series, the stories about Miss Citten the Eel-Kat, or the stories about Etiole... ALL of those series were combined and consolidated into The Adventures of Quaraun the Insane Pink Necromancer series in 2014, so ALL the different series, are now under one series title. List of the published titles still in print: The Index of over three thousand stories in The Pink Necromancer series What the series is about, for those new here: The introduction to The Pink Necromancer Series.

If you want some stories to get you started in The Pink Necromancer series, reading these first will give you a good introduction to the 3 main characters: BoomFuzzy's Chowder Dilemma If your ass ain’t freezing or your brains ain’t scrambled, you’re ain’t really trying A Very Important Clump of Grass The Washer Woman & The Fae Absinthe Slushies: An Ode to Frozen Green Fairy Wine Bone Dice Excited For The New Baby Zwodder: A Drowsy Stupid State of Mind Pink Sheep, Cheesy Burritos, and The Grim Reality of Zombies Open Grave The Phooka's Dragon School The Moon Goddess Laughs From The Rooftops The Jar of Pickled Toes The Book Burning Maggots, a You Can't Spell Hatred Without Red Hats A Day In The Life of a Bumbling Necromancer The Three-Seventeen Pee Expedition

My Elves Are JellyFish...and I asked Google AI and ChatGPT 5.6 what they thought of this.

As requested, my daily writing prompt series is now available print paperback editions on Amazon.

365 Cozy Writing Prompts For Fantasy Writers Vol.1: Daily Writing Prompts Series For Writers of Serial Pulp Fiction

365 Cozy Writing Prompts For Fantasy Writers Vol.2: Daily Writing Prompts Series For Writers of Serial Pulp Fiction

365 Cozy Writing Prompts For Fantasy Writers Vol.3: Daily Writing Prompts Series For Writers of Serial Pulp Fiction

365 Cozy Writing Prompts For Fantasy Writers Vol.4: Daily Writing Prompts Series For Writers of Serial Pulp Fiction

365 Cozy Writing Prompts For Fantasy Writers Vol.5: Daily Writing Prompts Series For Writers of Serial Pulp Fiction

There are 20 volumes of this writing prompt series currently planned and in varying stages of finishing, hopefully all 20 will be published by the end of 2026. I likely will do a 2nd series of writing prompt books in 2027.

Health update: August 4, 2026 - in recovery for 6 months+ (at least until mid-January 2027...all book and video game releases are pushed back at least 6 months) see video below for why...

@eelkat health update #maine #disabilityawareness #wheelchairlife #wheelchairvlogger #multiplesclerosis ♬ original sound - Wendy C Allen | 📚 Author

Update Sept 3, 2026:

I am able to get around enough to take Koko to dog park... today is 29 days since getting out of hospital. My diet is still mostly liquid, but im eating some solid food again, but its like rice or soft mushy baby food type stuff because I still can not chew yet, though I can swallow again. My jaw is still not functioning good so im having trouble talking still. So there's been slight improvement to my mouth, throat, and jaw, but, zero improvement to my eye, which is a major concern, be Im almost fully blind right now. im legally blind since birth in my left eye, so I have no ability to fall back on using my left eye. My right eye is the one injured and my vision in it is "40% decreased" according to my doctor, but it wasn't good vision to begin with, and right now my right eye is not much different from my legally blind left eye. Which I why I have to have someone drive my car for me instead of me driving my car myself right now, which is very frustrating, because, being a female, I had to fight for over twenty years to be allowed to drive. I started sneaking out at age 31 and dressing as a man to go to Old Orchard Beach high school to get a ged, because us females are not allowed to go to school. And i was 37 years old when snuck out to the DMV and got a driver's permit and started going to college. I was 42 and 8 months pregnant when my family found out I was going to college and thats when I was punished by the backhoe driving over my house and my spine broken with a golf club and my baby born right then and killed with same golf club. So it's very frustrating now, so soon after finally being able to drive , to now not be able to drive because of an eye injury, especially after 14 years of being paralyzed from the golf club and not being allowed to have a wheelchair, again, because i am female and we females are simply not allowed to do anything. I hate the culture I was born into. I wish I had the freedom to go to school and drive a car the way American women do. I wish having my spine broken with a golf club and my baby killed with a golf club and a backhoe driven over my house was not how men in my family punishment women in my family for learning to read and write. Its so frustrating not being able to to drive again, so soon after 14 years being paralyzed, and being paralyzed by the golf club was the punishment for getting a driver's license back in 2013 after 30 years of men not letting me have one. I hate my family's culture and how they treat us women.

I get so sick of Americans telling me how they wish they could be a Gypsy… they are either misogynist woman hating pigs, or delusional idiots who haven't got a clue how shittily we Gypsy women are treated by Gypsy men, because no one in their righ mind who knows anything about Gypsy culture would ever want to be part of it. I hate that I was born a Gypsy. 

update sept 7, 2026

"You would not make a good teacher"... what does that mean, and why are there so many people on Railroad Ave and Western Ave and Cutts St why walk up to me and say that to me?

I find it very confusing. I have low functioning Autism (the Rain Man type) and so i have very little understanding of words beyond the basic ones, and i never went to to school, so I never learned maths or sciences, and I only had remedial classes at Southern Maine Community College, because I did not have an education to enroll with regular, I was there taking every reading and writing class they had to learn how to read and write, and also took speaking classes to learn how to talk (i spoke Shetland Scottish language because that was language my grandmother spoke but she died when I was 8 so I only knew that language to speak and write, and I was 37 when I went to college and 42 when I learned English speaking and I still cant speak English good yet), all the other classes I took were art painting and cooking.

So the phrase "You would not make a good teacher" makes no sense to me because it seems to imply that I am trying to be a teacher, but I don't have anything close to the education ti be a teacher, and im not trying to be a teacher. So I don't know why people keep saying this phrase to me and I assume it must have some sort of a slang meaning, but I can't figure out what it could be of why do these people keep saying it to me.

see video below for more information: 

@eelkat "You would not make a good teacher"... what does that mean, and why are there so many people on Railroad Ave and Western Ave and Cutts St why walk up to me and say that to me? I find it very confusing. I have low functioning Autism (the Rain Man type) and so i have very little understanding of words beyond the basic ones, and i never went to to school, so I never learned maths or sciences, and I only had remedial classes at Southern Maine Community College, because I did not have an education to enroll with regular, I was there taking every reading and writing class they had to learn how to read and write, and also took speaking classes to learn how to talk (i spoke Shetland Scottish language because that was language my grandmother spoke but she died when I was 8 so I only knew that language to speak and write, and I was 37 when I went to college and 42 when I learned English speaking and I still cant speak English good yet), all the other classes I took were art painting and cooking. So the phrase "You would not make a good teacher" makes no sense to me because it seems to imply that I am trying to be a teacher, but I don't have anything close to the education ti be a teacher, and im not trying to be a teacher. So I don't know why people keep saying this phrase to me and I assume it must have some sort of a slang meaning, but I can't figure out what it could be of why do these people keep saying it to me. #mainelife #biddefordmaine #maine #disabilitytiktok #Biddeford ♬ original sound Wendy C Allen | 📚 Author

update Sept 15, 2026:

I have some slight movement in some my fingers again again after over a decade being paralyzed

you remember how I used to be a professional doll making, pattern designer, and embroiderer, back before I became paralized and before my son was murdered and being the backhoe drove over my house?

all my equipment, sewing machines, ect were all destroyed by the backhoe driving over my house, and I have been quardepelegic for over a decade because of it so could not use my hands to sew or draw or embroider, and so only continued to do my writing of novels since then because I could do that with dragon dictation software,

well, since 2016, I been playing Witcher 3 and don't starve video games on twitch livestream, one hand two fingers, as part of my therapy to regain nerve and muscle use of my fingers, and now after 10 years of that, I have somewhat more movement in my fingers and im thinking maybe I can try to do embroidery and doll making again, but not sure, anyways, now im rebuying all of my sewing and embroidery equipment that the backhoe destroyed when it drove over my house, and hopefully I can use my hand enough to embroider again.

waiting for stuff to arrive in mail, so soon I should find out if ten years of twitch gaming has given me enough muscle strength to use my fingers to embroider again.

update to the previous video, answering viewer question about lack of hospital vs broken spine

Wheelchair Fundraiser... I need to upgrade to a power wheelchair, the manual one just isn't enough anymore. But the power wheelchair is $25k. Yes, twenty five thousand dollars. Wtf? I can get a car for a quarter that price, why are wheelchairs so damned expensive? That's more money then I make in five years, so I need to start a fundraiser for it.

Books By Wendy Christine Allen
Currently Available on Amazon Kindle:

Index of the Quaraun novels, novellas, & short story collections on Amazon

And GumRoad:

Index of the Quaraun short stories on GumRoad

On Medium:

An Index of the more than TWO THOUSAND Quaraun Short Stories on Medium

(NOTE: a $5 or $15 per month paid subscription required to access stories on Medium)

On Vocal:

Index of the Quaraun short stories on Vocal

On Notd:

Index of the Quaraun Short Stories on Notd

On OnlyFans:

Index of the Quaraun Short Stories on OnlyFans

(NOTE: a $4.99 per month paid subscription required to access stories on OnlyFans)

Pink Necromancer Merch: On CafePress:

An Index of the Quaraun Merch on CafePress

Pink Necromancer Merch: On Zazzle:

Index of the Quaraun Merch on Zazzle

Not Quaraun:

This page was written by Wendy Christine Allen of 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine.

All Rights Reserved.