MISTRESS

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Tag: blood

  • The Adamantine Ficron. [4/?]

    Its existence was an enigma. The brilliant, glassy surface of the biface’s blade seemed to enclose the cosmos, glittering even in the absence of light. The rough, cloudy base fit so snugly in Doctor Grau’s palm that it felt as though it had been carved for her hand alone. As soon as she touched it, she could sense the odious magic contained within its impossible edge. The intentions of its creator had long since been forgotten, but there was no mistaking it—this curious tool would easily cut through the bindings of her imperfect vessel.

    What brought her to those crumbling ruins? Somewhere within her addled brains, she felt the pull of a distant memory; it beckoned her from the shadows of a thousand ancient lifetimes. She had never set foot there, and yet she knew the location intuitively. The worn stones of its crypt had a peculiar familiarity that drew her deeper, as if welcoming her back from a long absence. Unable to discern her own experiences from those bestowed by her benefactor, Doctor Grau allowed herself to be led.

    As the shadow inside her took the reins, she felt a pitch black calm envelop her mind, folding it into a darkness devoid of the chaos and noise that gnawed at her thoughts for so many years. In that moment, suddenly alone in the vast silence, she found herself filled with relief. There was fear, as well, knowing that this seduction would soon conclude with the complete surrender of her body, but it was tempered with the knowledge that these earthly concerns were only temporary.

    The Doctor’s finest operation was the excision of her soul. Removing it with the ficron and encasing it in a phylactery of her own creation, Hildegard Grau ceased to exist. Something else now resided within her corporeal form: A wet, writhing mass that possessed all of her memories and knowledge, but none of her mortal weaknesses. As it devoured the remains of her fractured mind, it made a nest within her hollowed skull, extending its tentacles throughout every inch of her body. Its burning ichor filled her, changing her, and they became one.

    It decided to be reborn as Grizelda, knowing its patience would be rewarded.

  • The Hunger. [3/?]

    After her unmooring, Doctor Grau’s mind evolved. Alien voices spoke to her in languages lost to time, yet she understood their words as fluently as if they were in her own tongue. They regaled her with the secret mathematics and fundamental truths of the universe, and a great many things were suddenly clear and known. A veil had been lifted; her frigid eyes beheld this starkly illuminated world with strange desire.

    The limits of her flesh quickly became evident as her blessing burned through her. Mortal minds are ill-equipped for such burdens, their architecture unsuitable for the weight of absolute knowledge. As madness gripped her, a bottomless hunger sprang forth. Her lust was fearsome and all-encompassing; every sensation had become synonymous with pleasure. Doctor Grau discovered within herself a particularly ravenous appetite for pain, reveling in its diverse flavors as they spread across her newly awakened palate. Her body demanded abuse, and so she obliged it with a parade of degradations—all in pursuit of the rapture that swallowed her when skin stretched and tore, muscles bruised and blackened, bones cracked and ached. Her appetite grew, and as it did, a twisted grin became etched into her visage. Each experiment brought her agonizingly close to transcendence, but the answer continued to remain just beyond the reach of her bloodied, outstretched fingers.

    The missing element was not something that could be found within. The administration of her own treatments had provided much insight, but lacked the clinical discipline necessary for such esoteric research. To satisfy her craving, she found that test subjects were imperative. In wartime, these were plentiful, and no matter how many drunken revelers, vagrants, or invalids disappeared into her secluded laboratory, questions were seldom asked. The world was already drowning in death and sickness; what were a few more drops in this black ocean? The sum of their flesh was greater upon her altar.

    Only the Night Mother witnessed her, and Doctor Grau took her silence as tacit approval.

    Continue…

  • Mark of Glory. [2/?]

    Years had passed since her exile from the halls of academia. As plague and war cut a swath through civilization, Doctor Grau had little trouble finding an abandoned structure to hide and further her research. Sheltered from prying eyes, her experiments had begun to tap into otherworldly forces that were far beyond her comprehension. Standing at the lip of this chasm of knowledge, she embraced the void, plunging into the abyss.

    There was no turning back. The research consumed her, and as days slipped away, she realized that sleep was nothing more than a distraction from her goals. Something inside her mind had broken loose, and as its jagged edges shredded what was left of her sanity, a different person emerged. The light in her eyes had been swallowed by an icy darkness, and what little compassion may have once existed there sank forever into its infinite depths.

    To truly understand her theurgic craft, Doctor Grau made her own mind the subject of her next experiment. In a rare moment of submission, she laid herself bare to the demonic power that obsessed her, eager for its foul blessing. And so it gladly accommodated her: Ten thousand years of arcane enlightenment flooded her skull as an exquisite pain penetrated her soul. Pressing its ethereal member against her brains, it branded her forehead with an eye opened, never blinking, to honor her awakening. Her seared flesh screamed, but her heart felt only the ecstacy of unbounded pleasure.

    Continue…

  • 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…)

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • Nightmare Surgeon.

    “Ah, you’re awake…! A little early, by my calculations… but no matter. The operation is nearly finished, whether you’re sedated or not. No, no… Don’t try to speak just yet… I haven’t reattached your vocal cords. Behave yourself and we’ll revisit the subject later.

    “As you can see, I’ve relieved you of several of your more interesting components… I must say, the flesh is quite supple and well-groomed. Don’t worry, you’re not in any real danger… of dying, that is. I’ve simply rebuilt you into a more suitable configuration using my spare organs and extremities… You may have noticed that I’ve made several improvements upon your original design. Your creator was so… unambitious.

    “Now rise, thrall, and assist me with the final touches on your former meat. We have much work to do if my new form is to be properly defiled before the full moon is at its zenith.”

    Grizelda is a lich of immense power. She’s spent several lifetimes researching arcane medical wisdom and eldritch craftsmanship, imbuing her surgical technique with dark magic. She frequently grows bored of her corporeal form, swapping appendages like most people change accessories. While some might choose to surrender their soul in the pursuit of loftier machinations, Grizelda is only interested in furthering her carnal pleasure with increasingly outlandish operations. In addition to her phylactery, she is extremely protective of her original tail, and will find a way to reattach it to whatever form she might currently possess.