MISTRESS

18+ ONLY!

Tag: adventurer

  • You Didn’t Die…

    …but there are some things worse than death.

    You don’t remember anything but the gnashing of teeth and the rending of flesh.

    As the muscles, bones, and nerves of your friends’ limbs mend with your own, you feel their final moments of agony seep into your mind. Your wounds burn, ichor oozing from between the sutures binding them. You try to crawl away—somewhere, anywhere—but you discover with swelling terror that all of your strength has abandoned you.

    Your resolve crumbles as you writhe in darkness, stripped bare, helpless.

    “A fine surgery, truly,” croaks a voice from the shadows. Above you, two glowing, emerald orbs regard your disfigurement with keen interest. The stench of decay is overwhelming as Necrow looms over you.

    “There wasn’t much left once Matryoshka had her fill,” he concedes, “But I gathered what I could find and brought it to the Mistress. You were just a ragged lump of meat before, and now look at you… A work of art!”

    Twin rows of glistening ivories are exposed in a hideous simulacrum of a smile. A black, bony hand caresses your naked flesh, admiring your trembling frame. Your skin crawls as it slowly inspects every inch of you, piece by piece. Saliva runs from between its owner’s teeth and onto your exposed belly. The foul liquid is colder than anything you’ve ever touched, instantly taking your breath away with a fluttering gasp.

    “Such beauty,” he continues, “Should be shared.”

    Necrow stands astride you now, the dark magic animating him swirling in the black sockets of his skull. As you muster the will to resist, a sinewy foot presses against your ribs, pinning you to the chamber floor and squeezing the air from your lungs. He slips his hallux claw into your navel, perhaps as a warning.

    You can feel it poking inside you.

    “Would you indulge me in a dance?” he asks coyly, his head turning a full circle on his elongated neck as he leans in closer. “I am something of a connoisseur of the flesh, and yours has stirred within me a most bothersome fascination.”

  • No Escape.

    MISTRESS

    Eye-melting full-color graphics! Blood-curdling stereo sound! Four zones of unspeakable terror! Delve into the darkness of Mundus Mortis in search of fame and fortune, but keep your wits about you: This dungeon is the domain of the dread lich queen, Grizelda, and her legions of undead minions! Will you defeat her and save humanity? Or will you fall into her clutches like all the rest?

    Playable with mouse and/or keyboard. Compatible with 68k/PowerPC processors. Requires 66 MB storage space, 8 MB RAM. Available on disk or CD.

  • The Ranger, or: A Primer on Mundus Mortis, Part Two.

    There was an age, now long since passed, when hope prevailed. In the days when Grizelda first made her ambitions known, fierce resistance broke the waves of her rising tide of evil. But as these mortal men and women eventually grew old and feeble, Grizelda only continued to grow in power.

    Her nightmarish cult had swollen in number, as well—despite the torment stirred in the wake of her Grand Experiment, the power of her ichor was impossible for the weak-willed to resist. They gladly fought and died for her, and when they fell, she stitched their corpses into a patchwork legion that continued to serve her will in undeath.

    Surely some brave remnants of humanity still linger? A band of valiant adventurers, each with abilities complimenting those of their allies, should certainly be capable of breaking the lich queen’s dark spell… Or so it’s been said.

    Gasping for air as he sat hiding behind a crumbling stone column, Rufus Swift felt the walls closing in. His left shoulder was gushing from the razor slice of his assailant’s slender arm, still coated in hot crimson. He could hear her chittering nearby as he desperately fumbled through his pack for what remained of the medical supplies. He was losing the feeling in his fingers, and he knew the crushing fatigue creeping into his eyelids meant that it wouldn’t be long until he succumbed to his injury. His garments were becoming heavy as they soaked with his escaping essence.

    “Don’t be shy,” Vorpal chirped, licking his blood from the length of her bladed forearm, gurgling as it ran down her throat. Her head swiveled on her neck as she scanned the morgue’s examination chamber for her final victim.

    (more…)

  • Battle Log 2.

    Necrow greeted a few guests while the Mistress was preoccupied.

  • Quick Time Event.

    • As you round the corner, you hear the sound of wet footsteps quickly approaching from behind. You turn and raise your torch, but the crackling flame reveals only the same empty, windowless hallway you just traversed. Are your ears playing tricks on you…?

    • You feel something slimy dripping onto your shoulder. An icy chill climbs your spine as your gaze shoots upward.

    • Necrow roars with laughter as his melting frame drops from above! There’s only a split-second to react!

    PARRY ⭆ ((Ⓧ)) ⭅ ◔ ⭆ ((Ⓑ)) ⭅ EVADE

  • Battle Log.

    Vorpal’s first boss battle was highly unusual!

  • Boss Battle.

    • Vorpal gets the drop on you!

    • Vorpal chitters excitedly while she sizes you up!

    ►   Attack
          Defend
          Item
          Flee

  • 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…)

  • 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.

  • 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.