MISTRESS

18+ ONLY!

Author: gd

  • 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 on her altar.

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

  • 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.

  • 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!

  • Hildegard Grau. [1/?]

    Before she traded her soul for immortality, the Mistress was known as Doctor Hildegard Grau, practitioner of medical arts. Though medical science as we know it today is quite advanced, the Old Ways were crude and unproven. Simple maladies were often treated with superstitions and phials of swill. Complicated ailments were cured with the bonesaw. Doctor Grau decided to follow a less orthodox path, studying a new branch of medicine involving the dissection of patients as they live and breathe, manipulating their innards to achieve the healthful outcome. Surgery was regarded with suspicion in those days, but it was hard to argue with the results.

    Doctor Grau quickly mastered the scalpel and the needle, and before long, she developed a reputation as a habitual rule-breaker amongst the medical community. Eager to explore her passion, she began to perform unconventional treatments in limb grafting and organ replacement on the infirm. Few of her peers had her academic expertise, and most were hesitant to question her revolutionary methods in public, but privately, they seethed. They saw her ambitions as perverse, a stain on their noble profession. As Doctor Grau pushed the boundaries of their field, they felt the limits of their knowledge weigh heavy on their pride. In hindsight, their decision to shun her and banish her work would be recognized as the first step on her path of ascension.

    Free to pursue her whims, and no longer bound by rules or precedent, the Doctor decided to blend her studies. Alchemic and occult wisdom became sources of profound interest, and as her research deepened, so too did her seclusion. Once hopeful to help mankind with the tip of her knife, her jaded heart now sought to remake it.

  • 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.