MISTRESS

18+ ONLY!

Author: gd

  • The Thief, or: A Primer on Mundus Mortis, Part One.

    The most frequent excuse offered by those venturing into the darkness of Mundus Mortis is the legend of life-altering wealth, hidden deep within its cursed halls. It’s not hard to imagine why, given the proprietor of this haunted fortress: Grizelda, the dread lich queen, has been residing there for generations. A sorceress is certain to have all sorts of rare metals, alchemic instruments, and magic bric-a-brac laying about, after all, and any treasure hunter worth their salt knows a merchant or two that deals in such esoteric wares.

    Surely just a peek inside wouldn’t be too dangerous? As long as one was careful not to rouse any of the tomb’s denizens, one could very likely make a small fortune in a single evening… Or so it’s been said.

    ✶ ✶ ✶

    Talia Goodgrave decided to press her luck, despite a satchel already brimming with thick gold rings. Each had a small slit straight through, rounded gently on both sides. What were they supposed to be for, she wondered? No telling with a lich. They were heavy, though, and that meant they’d fetch a high price with the metallurgist. There were easily fifty of them jingling cheerily in the bag, and each time she peeked inside to admire them, they caught the light in a way that made her giddy. It was almost a shame to sell them. Perhaps if she delved a little deeper, she could find a few more alchemic baubles to hock, and still be able keep a ring or two as proof of her daring adventure on the next hard-drinking night at the tavern. Just a little further.

    (more…)

  • Holistic Medicine.

    Always approach the treatment of the patient in a comprehensive way. When the outside and the inside are cared for with a mind towards unity, the therapy has a much better chance of yielding a favorable outcome.

    Some physical reconfiguration may be required for optimal results.

  • Cyber Grizelda.

    Your bloodline probably should have done something about this a few generations ago. Now we’ve all got a cyberlich to deal with. That’s just great.

  • Deidre Delmonico, Freelance Mage.

    “If you’re going to insist on tagging along, at least keep up. It’s getting late, and I don’t sleep in dungeons.”

    A descendant of a long line of unusually-tailed folk, Deidre is a naturally talented practitioner of the magical arts with a hugely inflated opinion of herself. Selfish, proud, and overly confident in her abilities, she enjoys the prestige that comes with adventuring, but has a general distaste for the associated grime and muck. Not terribly realistic in this line of work, but then, nobody has ever accused her of having good judgement. Frequently seen in the company of her long-suffering ward, Roman, an orphan with an uncanny knack for necromancy (and not much else). Though Deidre finds his lack of magical range to be a little boring, his doting admiration for his guardian has proven tactically useful on many occasions.

  • Mating Dance.

    “Ooh! Now that you can’t leave, we’re gonna play my favorite game! I call it Mating Dance! I’ll be Boy, you be Girl!”

    Vorpal’s venom has a heightened potency, thanks to the cursed ichor flowing through her reconstructed body. Her abdomen, hewn from the pulsating remains of a hellspawn hornet, contains the cruel apparatus with which she’s cut short many a quest—her fearsome, oversized stinger. Grizelda decided to improve upon that biological advantage by linking its organs to the pleasure center of her nervous system. As a result, Vorpal has become obsessed with her grafted appendage over the years.

    Most laypeople assume that an insect’s stinger is a simple tube with a sharp tip, like a hypodermic needle. At an enlarged scale, however, the biological complexity of this tool is revealed: A split shaft with serrated lancets helps the hollow stylet wiggle deep inside the prey and lodge in place, before pumping them full of its venomous payload. While Vorpal finds this activity quite enjoyable, her playmates generally do not.

    Given her monstrous size and the unstable nature of Necrow’s flesh, Vorpal’s exoskeleton is unusually fragile. A strong impact can crack her shell, making her mostly reliant on stealth and the element of surprise to subdue her targets. With enough time to recover, however, she can regrow any severed extremity, including her head.

  • Snicker-snack.

    “This one stopped moving, too! I guess that just leaves you, huh?”

    Vorpal spots you from a distance. She’s cautious, given the nature of your presence; you’re most likely here to destroy the Mistress, and she can’t allow that. Taking you on directly would be suicide, not that she’s any stranger to death; as the first line of defense, she’s tasked with greeting all visitors to Mundus Mortis, Grizelda’s horrific subterranean compound.

    Perhaps she’ll creep along the ceiling, hiding between the shadows, waiting for you to let your guard down. She’ll only need a moment. Just a quick sting, and her job is finished. It’s alright if you dispatch her afterwards; Grizelda’s dark science has put her back together plenty of times before. You, on the other hand, have a painful dilemma on your hands: your body is now burning with ichor-infused venom. As your insides melt, you wonder if you should warn your friends or end your own suffering. You don’t have time to decide before you join the souls of hundreds before you.

    A third-generation test subject, Vorpal is a chimera of insectoid corpses implanted with Necrow’s regenerating flesh. Hypnotized by the ichor pumping through her chitinous body since rebirth, Vorpal has been trained in absolute subservience to the Mistress. Any demand, no matter how dangerous or degrading, is performed with an uncannily perverse glee. Her love for Grizelda dominates her thoughts, and she is highly possessive of her attention amongst the other abominations.

  • Red Nightmare.

    “We can taste your loathing and lust mixing together, Matryoshka… The flavor pleases us…”

    A hybrid of three entities, Matryoshka’s layers each have a separate consciousness, but share sensations and a pool of memories. The outermost layer, the demon skin, is loud and boisterous: a talkative and tactless suit of living armor. It can speak through any of its orifices, and it takes great joy in sharing her innermost thoughts with those she least wants to hear them. Its flesh is rubbery, flexible, and completely impenetrable to conventional weaponry. Its mouths can devour almost anything, but it remains a mystery where those things go once they’ve been eaten.

    The middle layer, what remains of her mortal body, still has limited autonomy. Stoic by nature, Matryoshka is a woman of few words, though her skin frequently betrays her thoughts. A massive warrior in life, her strength has increased a hundredfold in undeath, making her Grizelda’s primary choice in personal defense. Her grip can crush a helmet-clad skull like an overripe fruit, and a wound from her wicked blade, Everthirst, inflicts a bleeding curse that can only be staunched with the aid of healing magic. Though she occasionally still yearns for freedom, she has resigned herself to her fate as Grizelda’s plaything.

    Her innermost layer, her heart, is no longer completely within our plane of existence. Transmuted into a cancerous bridge between worlds, it has access to knowledge and power outside of the realm of mortal understanding. It also prefers to be left alone, refusing to participate in the petty affairs of the tangible unless they happen to affect it directly.

  • Consumed by Hatred.

    “So, you’ve come to destroy us… We can already tell you won’t be the one. You’ll be punished for rousing us.”

    Her creation began as her torture. A former witch hunter turned undead bodyguard, Matryoshka tried and failed to slay Grizelda in the days when such a thing was still conceivable. After her capture, Grizelda decided her body would be of greater use in her laboratory, rather than mounted outside on a pike as a warning.

    A second-generation experiment, Matryoshka is a fusion of Necrow’s poisoned flesh and Grizelda’s eldritch summoning. Demonic flesh usually requires regular blood sacrifice to survive, but when summoned into a regenerating host, the flesh can become self-sufficient. Locking her in a cell with the growing abomination, Grizelda planned to document the slow, painful consumption of her prisoner; instead, the flesh bound itself to her, integrating its foul organs with her own. Without the need for blood, demon flesh eventually solidifies into a static shape. In Matryoshka’s case, the visible part of it became her skin, while the rest made her innards host to the unspeakable horrors of the demon world.

    Although she hates Grizelda from the deepest reaches of her being, Matryoshka is magic-bound to eternally serve and satisfy her mistress in whatever ways she demands. Each time a new trespasser enters the halls of Mundus Mortis, Matryoshka prays they’ll finally be the one to release her. So far, they’ve only been grist for Grizelda’s grim mill.

  • What Strange Delights.

    “Such exquisite beauty, oh yes…! This symphony swirling inside of me… I can’t control myself, I must dance! Mistress, I implore you… dance with me again!”

    What’s left of Necrow? Only a shred of what could be recognized as a man. And yet, certain earthly desires persist, even in undeath. Grizelda’s ichor gives her direct control over mortal flesh while she’s tethered, but has other effects when injected into a non-host. In small doses, the subject becomes vulnerable to suggestion: a sort of chemical-induced hypnosis. As the dose increases, they begin to lose their sense of self until they can no longer perform tasks without prompting. This condition isn’t irreversible, assuming that the source of ichor exposure is removed.

    When a subject is continuously injected with ichor over an extended period of time, however, changes begin to take place. Small ones, at first: A faint green shimmer in the eyes, limpness of the skin, scattered loss of hair, feathers, and scales. As the exposure continues, these changes become more pronounced. At a certain point, the body ceases to produce blood entirely, its diseased heart pumping only the ichor poisoning it.

    Few of Grizelda’s test subjects have survived this type of exposure for more than a few months. As her essense rots them from within, their flesh usually withers until their soul is consumed. Necrow is different. For reasons yet unknown, his body eventually adapted to the presence of the ichor, allowing him limited regenerative powers and extending his lifespan. Grizelda has been using samples of his flesh in her research since his metamorphosis, and ensures that his urges are handled on a regular basis to keep him pliable. Not that he needs much encouragement, given his bottomless devotion to his creator.

  • True Believer.

    “I flew, once… I don’t miss it, though. Mistress showed me that I was more useful here, so now I walk. If you play nicely, she’ll let you walk again, as well.”

    One of Grizelda’s first test subjects, now her most loyal acolyte. Hundreds of years have passed since he was reborn as Necrow, an undead husk animated by her ichor, and while his flesh has remained mostly intact in that time, his mind has not. Once a jealous mortal rival, he has since completely surrendered his black heart and soul to Grizelda. His unwavering loyalty is often rewarded with inclusion in her most depraved schemes and desires. Though he can no longer remember his former life or even his name, Necrow isn’t concerned with such trifles; seeing her Grand Experiment through to the very end by putting himself at her disposal is the only thing that drives him.

    What is the Grand Experiment? Grizelda has never made its ultimate goal clear to anyone but herself. Her relentless investigations into the preservation and regeneration of the flesh she’s hoarded in her compound suggests that the monstrosities she’s assembled so far are just the beginning of her mad ambitions.