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Meat. Meat. Meat. All Charlotte eats is meats.

Exasperated, a well-disguised Obsidian Slime sat at a dinning table of 99% meat -- specifically: a roasted pheasant in a bed of gravy, potatoes, and carrots; a rack of lamb with sweet onion glaze; a rank of baby back ribs soaking in honey barbecue sauce; a hunk of ham with a honey glaze wrapped in brown sugar bacon; a stuffed fat Lasagna Alla Bolognese; and, two dozen Double-Deviled Deviled Eggs.

...and, 1% of C-3's Garden Salad with a lime vinaigrette.

A sigh escaped her, as she ate her modest meal and Charlotte consumed a small farm. For a bit, she entertained the idea of small talk, before surrendering the idea; there was nothing to discuss, except their relationship strain. As she pushed a bit of lettuce around, she thought about the trifle in the sewers, and the dust-up before that. Charlotte's emotional maturity was zero, or, at least, as advanced as an elementary schooler.

It was getting harder and harder to entertain her; even if she was her fondest treasure, it was emotionally draining to forgive and forget. Just once, she wanted to feel more than needed... wanted, perhaps. Desired. It wasn't a thought a Slime should have, but, C-3 wasn't a normal Slime – she was an Obsidian Slime given a name, a purpose, and a destiny. However, Charlotte seemed to see her as a weapon under the guise of a friend, and something to wield in her quest to clapback at her father.

As their dinner wrapped, C-3 decided to sleep off the issue, and retired to a bucket of all beddings; Charlotte's best effort, she conceded. Into her mind, she retreated, and soundly slept...


"Such wasteful emotion. Heiress mine, thou still wants, and yet, refuses to take. How hast thou gone so far under the wastrel waif that hath such a sickening hold of thee?"

"All I can do is follow my emotions. Is that not your teachings?"

"Such bravery thou hath to speak so plainly. Thou art not mistaken, however. Such art mine teachings. And, thou hath followed them well. However..."

There was a pregnant pause. A stillness, wrought of doubt and question...

"Thou shalt come to learn in time, shouldst thou survive the coming storm; mine Heiress's fragility in troubling waters shalt be put to the sword's test."

C-3 knew better than to ask what that meant. No answer would come from her explosive liege. He spoke only in riddle and nuance. In her waking hours, she was meant to find the answers...

As C-3 stirred, she heard Charlotte talking about the last dishes to their, supposedly, shared dinner, and bubbled a sigh. Pretending to sleep, she didn't want to deal with anything, in the least. However, Charlotte was carrying her like some common pail of water without emotion or thought; perhaps, in this way, that's all Charlotte did see her as -- her eyes ever set forward on her personal future. However, when Charlotte crashed into Valkira, C-3 used the momentum to slosh herself out the bucket, and splatter across the ground.

Forming a rudimentary body, the Obsidian Slime slorped off; leaving foot-plops of desiccated earth behind, as she devoured the ground of all valuable minerals and plant life.

<Snipped quote by Enkryption>

Sure! The OOC is up so whenever you finish feel free to post it there, also has our Discord link!

Alrighty. I'll start it, once I'm able. Just need one more question, do I know any spells, or am I totally new at this?

If a Blue Mage possible, by chance? If not, I can run a Machinist.

Tamara stalked through the town, as she moved with purpose; from store to store, shop to shop, she ghosted through the explosion-based chaos, and snipped and snapped items off ranks, shelves, and hooks. It would seem, normal people (note: those without demon blood) didn't take all that to kind to random, distressing explosive interruptions. "Noobs," scoffed the Samurai, as a woman sprawled past her. "Let's see..." Tamara pulled a twenty-foot length of rope off a shelf, and tossed it into an oaken barrel filled with sunflower petals on a wheelbarrow. "Now, I need to find a kitchen," she says, dragging the barrel behind her toward the inn.

Upon reaching the inn, Tamara wheeled the barrel into the kitchen, and rolled through the herb cabinet. "Ah, good ol' garlic," she says, taking the whole stock, and tossing them into the air. A kitchen knife in hand, she did a flurry of slashes, and chopped pieces of garlic fell into the barrel; settling upon the rope and sunflowers. "And, now, we cook..." Tamara put the barrel onto a pot shelf, above a rolling fire, and filled it with water. "O' Lord, Keeper of Us All, here my plea," she placed her hands on the barrel and closed her eyes.

"For a shepherd shall I be, for thee, my Lord, for thee. Thine power descending forth from Thy hand to me, so upon mine feet I may swift carry out Thine command. Ferrying a river flowing merrily, and teeming with sinful souls shall it ever be, for thee, my Lord, for thee. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I create this, blessed it be..."

Suddenly, the barrel, water, garlic, sunflower petals, and the rope were pulling into a blinding light, and burst into a synthesized item:

[Sunshine-blessed Rope of Vampiric Restraint]

Held in her hands, the rope infused with the oak wood of the barrel, the herbal essence of the garlic, the symbolic presence of the sun(flower petals), and the blessing of the Holy One above, pulled taut between her fingers, as she tired a noose for a lasso. Readying her tool, Tamara found herself a stable, and commandeered herself a horse while nobody was fit enough to really pay attention. Spurring the horse on, she rode for the town square, and launched the lasso out, as she came across Nimoa.

"Hiyah!" Tamara commanded, urging the horse on with it's new payload, as Nimoa was yanked, and all but cartoonishly flailing through the air. Broadly, the Cambion grinned, as she raced to the town gates.

Tamara cleared her throat; a bit forcefully, as people looked over. Duffed, Charlotte was confronted with the most seductive figure since forever in this paltry village; the Cambion blending, seamlessly, masculine handsomeness and feminine gracefulness with infernal persuasion and human charm. In short: she was friggin’ hot.

Excuse me, pettanko,” she says, “Retreat your finger, and cease disrupting our meal.” C-3, cheeks crammed with as much greenery as possible, as she devoured several salads as swiftly as possible, looked back at Charlotte, and swallowed. “Pray, mine acquaintance is known to thee,” she asks, feigning ignorance. “Mine apologies, but I know thee not.” Tamara stood, hands on the table, allowing her, simultaneously, muscular yet soft build to flex, and her chest and rear to resume their struggle against the binding of her cotton-silk smallclothes. “I believe, you heard her,” she says, “Remove your hand, or must I assist you?

C-3 whimpered, faking discomfort, as she tried to lean away from Charlotte; merely fueling the fire. After all, Charlotte didn't properly apologize for burning down that forest earlier; that was a good harvest for some uncommon herbs, and Class Syrups were not easy to make.

”Pe…” Charlotte would say, self consciously covering her bust. ”Pe…” she said, sounding a lot more upset this time as her face lit up red and her horns quiverd atop her brow. ”W-Who are you calling Pettanko!? I’m fun-sized!” Charlotte would say, once again regaining her composure as she assured herself that she was not, in fact, a member of the itty bitty committee, but rather that the WORLD WAS TOO FOCUSED ON GROTESQUE HUGE BREASTS! Nodding to herself, Charlotte looked as if she received a revelation of God, before spinning with a flourish. She didn’t WANT to accept the strangely attractive half spawn’s proposal, but...I mean, it wasn’t like she could fight it. After all, if the girl wasn’t C-3, she wasn’t C-3. Sighing, Charlotte removed a rather delectable (to a slime) looking piece of flint and said. ”Guess she really isn’t here...and I was saving this for an apology, too…”

C-3's hair twitched, and she eyed the flint hungrily. “Hm...” she groaned. “Surely, thou might part with it, if thou hast no use for it...” Tamara was looking confused, and before she stood up taller. “Enough of this!” she says, “What is your game, pettanko?

”Nope. Can’t just give away an apology gift to a total stranger Charlotte said, shaking her head. Her gaze met Tamara’s as she stood up, brow furrowed as she was insulted once again. ”What does it matter to YOU? If my friend isn’t here, then I’ll leave.” Charlotte said, shrugging. Spinning the polished piece of flint on her finger, she added: ”Unless, you’re looking to start something without reason, sag-hag.”

Say that again,” Tamara hisses, hand traveling to her katana.

”Sure it won’t break your back to be reminded of how much those things sag?” Charlotte said, grinning as her fists clenched. Itty Bitty for life.

Tamara didn't retort, as her lashed out with her blade; cleaving cleanly through Charlotte's chest. The Anti-Material Severing Sword sheared through the armor, as if mere butter, yet phased through her skin, as if never there. Spinning her blade, she sheathed it from her iaijutsu draw. “My back is well,” she says, narrowing her eyes.

Charlotte cried out as the blade sunk into her skin...but...really didn’t hurt all that much. She was just left confused as to what happened before she saw that along the line of her clavicle the cloth had been cut, leaving her tie to fall to the floor, and her shirt to spill down, the folded over fabric just barely managing to keep the context of the writing at a solid PG-13. Blinking a few times, Charlotte stooped down to pick up her tie...before incinerating it in her grasp, letting the ash fall to the ground. ”I only have SIX of those!” Charlotte said, fitfully stamping her foot on the ground. ”What barn were you raised in where its proper to shred a princess’ clothes!?”

You are brave,” Tamara says. “Useless Princess. Hrm...” Tamara shifted her posture, and her mask appeared in her hand. “[ Henshin!]” she pressed the mask to her face, and the armor seemed to pour out of it, and formed around her. Tamara shifted her stand to draw without warning.

Naturally, Charlotte did the only natural thing, and that was to punch Tamara in the face. I mean, she did start it. The unnatural part would be that she sent Tamara physically flying through the tavern’s wall and rolling out into the street. ”Oh no, I am NOT letting you strip me down more!” Charlotte said, pointing at Tamara from the hole in the wall. ”Seriously, what kind of pervert has swords that cut clothes off and nothing else! Samurai!”

Tamara sailed through the air without a bit of reaction, and landed with a deep skid. Her armor should have be crushed without fail from Charlotte dumb strength, but it was perfectly fine. “Was that all, useless princess,” she asks, “It'll take ages for someone of your strength to even ripple my armor.” Tamara shifted her posture, and stepped forward; covering several in a single stride. “A Gentle Spring Breeze!

Her katana came sweeping out of nowhere.

Charlotte blinked, and that was all the time it took for Tamara to step forward, inches from her as her vaguely body shampoo named attack came towards her.

Naturally, Charlotte as a high level monk and super princess extraordinaire was definitely capable of deflecting the attack...but really, she had a feeling that special clothes cutting sword would just pass through her attempts to deflect it anyways. As such, Charlotte would lift her right leg up as high as possible over her head, in the process Tamara ALSO got to see her panties, which, might have been payment for the axe kick that impacted against the back of her head. ”Exceed Maiden’s Axe!” she would cry out, the air itself igniting from her kick as she sent Tamara slamming into the ground, letting her bounce once before being kicked away again with her other foot. The second was much weaker, more just to get her the hell away. ”Seriously, not looking for a fight right now. Just a cutie patootie slime. So buzz off, lady!”

Tamara couldn't help her nosebleed, before she was bounced, and repelled. As she landed, she tilted her head. “A slime...” she sniffed the air; tilting her head upwards, before lowering it. “That smell... Demon Royalty... the stench of sulfuric brimstone... No wonder you reek of shampoo...

Charlotte beamed proudly, pudding a hand over here heart and the other on her hip as she proudly proclaimed: ”That’s right, you smelt it here first, pervert. You stand in the presence of Charlotte Andromalius Nix Iscaron herself! Tremble in awe at my princesslyness!” she said, practically radiating confidence as she pulled her top’s torn front up to the point where it was cut, a superheated tail tip gliding across it to melt the fabric together. It still looked messed up, but at least it wasn’t falling on itself now.

Tamara removed her mask, and set it to her hip, as her armor was absorbed into it. Her eyes narrowed, and her horns grew larger, as a thin, spade-tipped tail unwrapped from her hip. A hand slipped to her back, as she drew her wakizashi... blood-red and black-stained mist hissed from within. “If I bring Daddy your head...” she says, “Kybinae Village will become famous. Please, die for the sake for mine and theirs.”

I'll have your head, Pettanko Princess!” Tamara shouted, nearly warping forward.

Only to be, suddenly, stopped by C-3; arms stretched to both sides, as she stood, full body blocking Tamara. “Enough!” she barked.

Charlotte lowered her stance, prepared to catch Tamara’s blade as she felt the air pressure around her change, before suddenly that little drow girl burst between them. Stumbling a bit, Charlotte said: ”H-Hey! Don’t just go running between two people standing off! You’re gonna get hurt little lady. Also why do you sound like my bestie?” she said.

God save, you are dense,” C-3 says, as she kept her attention on Tamara. “What's going on here!?” she was so confused. “Trust me, that's long explanation that will confuse her more than you,” C-3 says. “Gimme yummy, now!

Charlotte recognized that whiny voice, and immediately tossed the flint at the drow girl. ”Ohhhh, I get it now. You were bumming food off of her by pretending to be an orphan.” she said, smiling at her. ”Pretty clever, C-3. Though, make sure you never tell any Drow about this. They get mad about people impersonating them. Something about ‘Underdark face’ or something.”

C-3 literally didn't care. She was munching on the flint. Tamara was at a loss, but sheathed her wakizashi; the mist being corked. Charlotte got a whiff of it, and could tell it was a helluva legacy being controlled. Not royalty or anything close, but something she'd heard off. Stalking over, she started sniffing at C-3; she could smell her ambition, hopes, dreams, and precociousness. “Ahhh!! I wanna keep you!” Tamara squealed, hugging C-3 tightly.

Charlotte got a whiff of the legacy, but merely swatted it away with her hand. What she REALLY cared about was someone sniffing and cuddling C-3. She was, quite literally, the only one legally permitted to do that. She had her father make it a law, for crying out loud! Going over, Charlotte hugged C-3 as well. ”Hands off my bestie!”

Refuse!” Tamara says, hugging persistently. “So preciously... So delicious... Such a wonderful smell,” she looked at Charlotte, “...unlike some, Pettanko Princess, and that rancid shampoo.

Charlotte pushed Tamara’s face away with her hand, trying to wrench her off of C-3. ”At least I don’t reek of sweat, incense, and poorly thought out oaths!” she snapped back.

Tamara growled. “It's called pheromones!” she says, pushing on Charlotte's face, the same. “Learn your scents! And, my oath is well-thought-out!

The sound of footsteps echoed across the cobblestone road as a plethora of guards had assembled while the twosome had fought over their squishy focus. The rather burly captain of the guard was just staring at the three, before reaching into his pocket, pulling out a picture of himself and his daughter before sniffling once. ”Take them to prison. Pedophilia is DOUBLE illegal here.”

Now stuck in a cell, Tamara and Charlotte could bicker all they liked...while the captain of the guard gave C-3 his coat and bought her another salad.

”Heroooooooooooo~!” Charlotte wailed, rattling the bars of her and Tamara’s cell with a metal mug. She was...definitely crying. Princesses didn’t get jailed!

Hey, my swords! My mask!” Tamara whined, huddled on the cot. “My Squishy!

C-3 was okay with this. Free salad was the best kind of salad. “Mine thanks to thee,” she hugged the Captain of the Guard, “This is delicious!

I shouldn't...” C-3 says. “Meat... isn't good for me...” Standing up, C-3 gathered herself, Loli-size again, started for the cave mouth. “I'll go see what herbs and rocks are scattered around here. Surely, something is edible,” she says, leaving the bulk of the meat to Tristan and Charlotte.

There was no universe in which she wanted to admit that meat made her gassy. That didn't happen to someone of her caliber... as long as she shied away from meat. Red; White; Dark; All in-between; It didn't matter, if it was once living flesh and blood, it couldn't enter her perilously delicate stomach. Shuddering, as she scoured the ground for basic herbs, she was unimpressed by the growth. It seemed anywhere that populated by primarily Human or Elven species would only host the most basic needs.

Sighing, C-3 inhaled slowly, and exhaled slowly, gathering up the magic she'd siphoned off Charlotte, and solidified her form into a smooth, flesh-like texture, as pushed her torch oil into her skin, and mixed powdered chalk into her obsidian-hued skin; adding the white powder to the black, and tinting her skin more of dark chestnut. Rubbing her cheeks, she raised her cheekbones; Rubbing her nose, she pressed it inwards like a squat button; Rubbing her temples, she formed pointed ears that jutted outwards pronouncedly; Rubbing her eyes, she shaped them with a fair slant, yet childishly a wide gaze.

Looking into a small stream, C-3 looked at her face. “A little too Drow,” she chastised herself, “It will do, though. Now, my voice,” she cleared her throat, and rubbing it, “How's this,” her pitch was too low, “Let's try this,” and ended up way too high. Frowning, C-3 tried once more. “This outta be nice,” and she hit the sweet spot. “Perfect,” C-3 says, “Now, just to add the Elven accent. Ahem,” she poked at her throat, “Mine name is Cecilia Camilla Charr,” she curtsied, “A pleasure to meet thee.” C-3 made a face, but sucked it up. People weren't all that friendly to Slimes, and Obsidian Slime, less-so; turned out, people don't like things with an explosive penchant.

Standing, C-3 crushed a pill in her mouth, “[Syrup of the Wizard]”, and extended her hands, “[Create Rags]”, before creating a pile of rags, and snapping her fingers, “[Fae-weave]”. Spells cast, C-3 donned the rags that were could be called clothing with GREAT consideration, and rubbed her gooey hair. “Last bit,” she says, as she shaped slime into short, curly hair; added firmness with powdered flint, and smoothness to the touch with her torch oil.

I look like an orphan,” C-3 says, as she wrapped rags around her like bandages, “...but, I can use that to mine advantage.” Smirking, Cecilia Camilla Charr the Orphaned Draw slowly made her way towards the near township.

Tamara wasn’t concerned about the aggravated assault by the random demoness; her full-blooded kin were stupid like that, untempered like a half-breed. Sure, full-bloodedness allowed for a significant margin of power, but, a lack of temper begat nothing more than a wild animal. It was easy to turn the supposed block to her advantage, as Tamara shifted her katana, and the Material Severing Sword slid down the sword that parried it... an enchanted edge cutting through the foreign metal without slowing.

If not for having to dodge from the sudden kick -- either lashed out of instinct or a simple follow-up -- the demoness would have found her sword nearly cleaved in two, instead of simply hanging on by a mere inch of steel. Normally, Tamara would not be bothered by a kick -- her armor would have devoured the impact -- of any sort, however, she was concerned for Regalia, and didn’t want her caught by a stray inch.

Fortunately, that didn’t seem like it would be a problem, henceforth, as Nimoa stood before her -- passage obfuscated by a small, but tangible stream of water -- and was made helpless. Sheathing her katana, Tamara shifted Regalia into both arms. “Stand even, Vampire,” she ordered, “There is no honor in attacking the helpless.

Suddenly, there was a tug at Tamara's sheathed wakizashi...

C-3 sighed, as she made her way through the village. It was... for lack of a better adjective: BORING. Sure, she was there to try and steal something greener than the meager selection along its perimeter... but, still, SOMETHING had to happen.

Fortunately, it was the shout out of two demons and the clash of swords that brought her hopes up, as Valkira flung herself at Tamara, and was counterattacked. C-3 could practically smell the ironworks, the smoke, and powders; such finery in masonry and metallurgy. Her stomach rumbled, and she tottered over to Tamara. 'Wait?! What!? A Dark Paladin!? Here!? But, they only exist around Kybinae Village...!’ she thought, as she recognized the infamous armor. 'Relax. Cambion are friendly with Drow. I'll be okay...

Reaching up, as Tamara declared her intention to face her prey honorably, C-3 pulled at the sheathed weapon she could reach, and drew the Samurai's attention. Turning, Tamara looked down from behind her mask, and set Regalia on C-3's head... before giddly squealing and hugging the hell out of C-3. “You are so cutest! So PRECIOUS!” she'd abandoned dignity for wonton enjoyment. “What do you desire of me, precious demi-blood? I will procure the very Heavens, if so needed!

Mine needs are --" C-3's stomach burbled, cutting her short. “Food!” Tamara says, “So shall it be!

C-3 had no chance to fight, as Tamara carried her and the chimeral infant to the nearest place to eat. Nimoa and Valkira utterly forgotten for the time being. In the short distance, Charlotte would feel a challenge issued and rival born...

Wait upon,” C-3 corrected. “The idiom is, “to wait upon, hand and foot,” which implies absolute subservience. That's what you meant, you vainglorious simpleton.” From inside her lute-keeping bedding, C-3 forged a single eye open, an eye closed, and a toothless mouth, “Don’t speak so brazenly, when the situation is your fault to begin with -- to speak of conquest with such grandeur, yet act with such foolish short-sightedness. It infuriates that you fail to learn, timelessly.” Soundlessly, C-3 sighed, before forming her upper half, and wrapped her arms around Charlotte's neck and across her back; pressing talon-tipped fingers into silk-swaddled flesh, as she pulled the fool of a Demon Princess to her knees. “What am I to do with you, my delusional mate?

A faint hint of a smile crest her lips, as C-3 fully defined the features she borrowed from Charlotte; knowing, full well, the demoness loved nothing more than herself with such a well-groomed Ego. “You are lucky, Dragon's treasure,” she says, pressing her forehead to Charlotte’s; glass-enshrouded of sapphire meeting those of brilliant, supernova crimson, horns of flash power and flint stone grinding gently against horns of shelled bone and infernal heritage, “but, only so, as I'm hungry...

I need magic,” C-3 says, able to speak as her tongue drifted down Charlotte's neck, and she sent her to the ground with a sudden push. C-3 crawled forward, on hand and knee; an obsidian version of Charlotte with eyes of blue. Looming over the royal, she whispered, “You'll part with some,” she grinned brightly, mouth aligned with fangs, “won't you?

Charlotte was taken completely off guard as she basked in being a whatever-glorious whatever that C-3 called her, pulled to her knees and then pushed onto her back as C-3 loomed over her. Blinking a few times, Charlotte smiled. ”Sure!” she’d say, not at all understanding that C-3 didn’t, in fact, learn what “mate” was from an Australian. To say that Charlotte was dense was offensive to her 2 Intelligence. The girl was a black hole of stupid. ”By the way, ‘me’ is a great look for you. But, I kinda like your own style a little more,” the demon princess would say, pulling C-3 into a hug. ”After all, C-3’s at her cutest when she’s her usual explody self.”

C-3 gurgled, as she was yanked down. Her Magic Pool was a net worth of goddamn zero, and Charlotte was brimming with it like a spoiled, million-billion-gatrillionaire... with the power to snap her unsnappable back. “Lemme breathe, you insipid... gaaahh...” C-3 groaned, as Charlotte's hug exerted force enough to solidify were her arms rested. “Temper your strength, you airhe -- ooooww...” C-3 groaned, as she struggled to be free of the vapidness that held her. It was not working, as she flailed. “And, what style, even!? I'm a slime pretending to be anything but -- ack!

Charlotte gingerly let go of C-3, now just kind of resting her hands on her back. ”Woops.” she would say as she just started softly petting C-3’s head, where her hair would be if it wasn’t just shaped slime. ”What’s wrong with saying you have a style? You like to look, act, and explode things in a certain way, right?” Charlotte would question, tilting her head.

”After all, you’re a dragon-styled slime, right?”

No, I'm an Obsidian Slime,” C-3 says, “Being a dragon... a pathetic dream.” C-3 huffed. “I'm not closer to it than I was years ago; I'm no stronger, no cleverer, no more threatening. I'm a pathetic rock eater, and little else,” she says, losing refinements, as she shifted back to herself, “My talents all stolen for people or books. A slime is nothing. A beast, barely. No matter what you say.” C-3 looked at her, eyes wobbling and leaking oil, “After all, your word may salve a moment's wound, but you know nothing of struggle and failure; of being the lowest-given tier. Alive, at, literal, rock bottom.

”What’s wrong with being a beast?” Charlotte asked, not once losing her smile as she looked at C-3. ”I mean, I’m a demon, after all. The entire WORLD wants me dead for existing, pretty much. And, don’t say that you’re on the bottom. I bet that in a little while, you could kill a dragon all on your own if you wanted.” Charlotte would say as she wiped the oil from C-3’s eyes.

”Like I said before C-3...we’re going to the top of the world together. After’re my personally picked retainer. If you really were the lowest tier of monsters, do you think I would hold you close like this?” she asked, deftly plucking C-3 into her arms once more and standing, supporting the back of C-3’s “knees” with one arm, and her neck with the other.

I don't know what you would do, you unpredictable showboat!” C-3 yelped. “Wh-What are you doing!?” Futilely, she squirmed against Charlotte; exhausting her already trounced Stamina, “...why did you use my name? You never do.

Charlotte looked bewildered for a moment. ”I don’t?” she would ask, looking up and poising her tail behind herself in the shape of a “?”. ”...Hrm...aaahh...nnnn...Nah. Must be your imagination.” Charlotte said, nodding confidently. ”Anyways, you need some of my blood to refuel, right? Mr. Hero’s gonna take foreeeeeever, so I might as well let you lick some now,” she would say as she gently set C-3 down, removed one of her gloves, and pricked the tip of her index finger on one of her horns, before sticking it right into her mouth.

Thiff fift murfifying...” C-3 says, as she was thrust into the situation. “Thiff fift fluw...” she grumbled, as she was getting the most paltry magic return for her effort. “Aun, yuu di...” C-3 knew she would get a faster response from an actual blood vessels, but, Charlotte was the Empress of Dunderhead Island, so, here she was... this would take forever, too.

73. 51. ...” Awkwardly, enter, Tristan.

”S’up?” Charlotte asked, waving to Tristan as he entered, then dumped the bounty of his hunt on the floor. That thing was huuuuuuge. ”Oh, nice! Chimera meat is gamey, but otherwise the texture’s top notch. I can cook it in a jiff!” she would say before lifting her hand, heat starting to generate within her palm AGAIN.

The two in the cave with her would be getting a sense of eerie deja vu…

C-3 shoved her freakout to the side, and slithered up Charlotte’s arm, and clamped into her neck -- pulling as much magic as she possibly could without blowing up. It wouldn’t even dent the moron’s active supply, much less her unfathomable stores, but, at the very least, it would stop her from nuking the cave.

Charlotte yelped as C-3 crawled up her arm, trying to shake her off as her magic was absorbed. ”H-Hey, what’s the big idea? I was gonna use my special Barbeque Style Fireball...” she would complain, as the pitiful fireball, drained of its essence slowly curled forward, before falling to the ground, leaving the barest of scorch marks on the ground. C-3 would also be able to taste how little Charlotte actually put into her Barbeque Fireball. Seems she really DIDN’T mean to go full power for once.

I’ll cook it,” C-3 says, “I’m an Alchemist, after all. Barest a step removed from Chefficer.” C-3 hopped down, and pulled her slime apart in bits and pieces; shaping them into pots and pans, utensils and knives, and bags which were full of herbs. “Find something to do, I suppose,” she says, “I got this.

Charlotte smiled, excitedly clapping. ”Awesome! I don’t know how slime forks work, but awesome! I’ll leave it to you then, C-3.” she would say, hugging her slime retainer once more from behind, before flopping onto her back and letting her stomach loudly proclaim just how hungry she was.

Little time had transpired between the birth of Regalia IV and the abandonment of Regalia III, and the Samurai had entered the town where he target had hidden herself. Nimoa, Scourge of the Sun. Her name was know through Kybinae Village, and her mission to enshroud this God-blessed world in darkness was better known. Her slinking through the shadows and her cowardly penchant had make it so few saw her truly, but there was no Paladin or Samurai of Kybinae Village that hadn't heard of her villainy, as stated.

The fourth in her family, the Samurai, armed with the Blades of Eros, as passed down in her family, and the Chimera Mount infamous to her clan, would do her village proud by ensuring that there was a sun to have good relations under forward. For that, Nimoa had to die.

And, anyone else with her.

~ ~ ~

It wasn't hard to track down a vampire. They were unusual, easy to notice in the daylight hours, as the shunned the sunshine, and favoured the nightshade. People spoke of Nimoa, as if nothing more than an innocent child, beggaring herself to beseech anyone to aid her in snuffing the glorious sunlight in favor of unending moonlight. However, no-one seem in league with her -- a fortune to them. Of course, they may, also, have been enthralled to lie to her; such was the vampire craft.

However, as she was about to switch tactics, she heard it: “I'm gonna ask the hero to put out the sun!

Nimoa!” Tamara swapped Regalia from one arm to another, and drew her katana without issue. The blade slipped through the air before her, and it cleaved through the generic town water fountain (you know, that one that is ALWAYS in a Town Square, because of an unspoken rule) that stood between her and her like rice paper. “My name is Tamara Gozolla of Kybinae Village! I challenge you to mortal combat for the honor of the Sun everlasting! Prepare to die!” she shouted, as she stepped through the fountain of water, as the stone halves that once contained it fell to either side with a crash.

Rawr!” Regalia offered, swiping a tiny paw.

As Charlotte carried Mallory to town like some reverse Prince Charming, they were past by a figure layered head to foot in plated mail of white, pure as the driven snow, that was expertly bolted together with bindings and rivets of black, like a corporealized craftings of space. Upon their head, a horned helm that fronted an faceless mask with but two silted voids where eyes could be approximated on a standard human face.

A Samurai, by immediate design, their weapons were obvious against their ethereal design; a katana resting in an ivory scabbard, inlain with an intricate, swirling pattern of onyx, and a wakizashi seated within a scabbard of what smelt of coal, designed with scales of bone. However, most triumphant of their armaments was their mount; no mere, meager thoroughbred, but a beast of true might in in triplicate, harnessed and reigned by magicked, dragon-scale gilding.

A Chimera.

Untameable lion. Insatiable goat. Deceiving snake. Beasts of might, hardiness, and guile, fused to a singular form and blessed by their bestial knowings. And, it was their mount. Royalty of Beasts, reduced to a mere riding horse. As the beast stepped by with footfalls like thunderclaps, the Samurai looked down at their traveling companions-in-passing, and then carried on. Ahead of them, and beyond, on towards the forest in which hid the twosome would take residence in...

In her restlessness, C-3 surged with emotion; her home lost to fire, anew, and irreparable. Her body was still weak, Stamina still lower then she could function with, and yet, she forged herself a hand that slapped the cave floor; fingers ended by three-inch long claws, and, in spite of the goo, scaled by her flash powder spines from base to shoulder, as she formed as entire arm. It was difficult, remembering what a human form consisted of... arms, ended by hands, by fingers, by nails, but end at an elbow, no... a shoulder... It ends at the shoulder...

A wing, large, spanning, ripped free of the thick surface, as C-3 struggled to remember. So much magic was wasted. She was just a slime. Talented, but still a beast -- one unable to do more than pretend. A slime had their station in life, didn't they? Recycling; all matter, no matter what, could be busted down by their form, and the worst places could be make habitable within time with smart application of her mindless kin

That's all Charlotte needs me for...

Her thoughts were dour, and her form rippled; firmity sapped, suddenly. C-3 didn't feel like leaving her lute; her prison that Charlotte thought so cute for her. Would that she have never seen that Carbon Dragon, and never seen a beast of such caliber. Would that she'd perish in the Carbon Dragon's World-shaping Ability, Carbonflagration, and become Carbonite with her old world. Would that she never been inspired with the thought, 'I, too, could be such a beast,’ and never gained sapience.

Carmella Celina Charr, a name cobbled together from snippets and snatches of conversation. C-3, a nickname given by those with tongues too lazy, and a skill that only Archwizards could lay claim to. Not a beast. Not a slime. Not someone like her, so foolish to dream she could be more. As if simmering, her slime bubbled with a cacophonous mixture of oils, herbal and wooden, which scattered as bursts of bubbles and leaked down the sides of her prison.

Even a mere slime knew sadness... and, a broken dream could bring anyone tears...

A keening cry escaped the mewling, bleating, and hissing mouths of a newborn Chimeras, as blind eyes probed the world for desperation of attention. Bound to a nearby tree, an old oak, and muzzled against all mouths, the mother struggled to meet the needs of her child, but found her leash incomparably shorter than ever before. “Rest yourself,” says the Samurai, as they looked up. “This is, but, another in the cycle that befalls your kind. A beast without a host of care for humanity must be tamed by that which they care for not, 'lest they misstep and vanish beneath an unseen heel.

Jerking forward, the mother Chimera tried to sweep a claw out at the Samurai whom she had entrusted her life to, and fought as one with. Unwavering, the Samurai simply held the infant beast up, and fed the lion head with a bottle of milk passed down through generations. “Your mother struggled, as did hers, and, in time, this one, too, will struggle, as is her fate,” says the Samurai, “A beast is to be tamed and learned. This is our last time together. Hate me, if you will, it trials me not. Goodbye, Regalia, your daughter succeeds you. And, shall never know you.

Turning, the Samurai smiled beneath their mask, as they Chimera struggled to free herself, instinctively driven to give chase, and emotionally driven to right this betrayal. “We've much to accomplish, Regalia,” they say, petting the goat head, “That vampire must die, after all to keep the sun shining on this God-blessed World.” Infantilely ignorant, the newest to the line known as Regalia, made a happy series of sound. She was needed, and loved, by the figure she knew as mother.

That was perfect.

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