MISTRESS

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Tag: ichor

  • 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…)

  • 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.

    Continue…

  • Welcome to the World of MISTRESS.

    Happy Halloween from the cast of MISTRESS!

    All tricks, no treats… except YOU. You’re the treat.

  • 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

  • Festival of Frights.

    Scary Christmas is a little overdone. How about Haunted Hanukkah instead?

    Fun fact: It takes 5 donors for a full 8 nights of celebration at Mundus Mortis! Tell your friends!

  • 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.