Enkryption

Overlord: Momento Mori

‘Enderall City Corpse. It’s not just a name for show. This rotten city, festering from wounds inflicted by careless apocalypse. This crumbling city, decaying away minute by minute, moment by moment. This goddamned city, my city. She is beautiful. This cit -- ’

“Excuse me, madame. If I could -- ” An enormous bang shattered the silence, as a six-shot revolver was fired at the skull of an “intruding” firgure; the head of the Skeleton Butler was blasted off, and ricocheted around the room. Chuunitrixx holstered the Engraved Revolver Ariamis, as she leaned against a destroyed window frame; forlornly looking out into the city that was, as an impeccably dresser body chased its head down.

‘This city. Age worn well into her design. Fractures like wrinkles, betray her truth. Sewers run with stagnant water, like blood running fat with time. Streets run grey and overtaken by moss, like -- ’

“Honestly, madame. If you could only -- ” Another tremendous explosion. Chuunitrixx traced the bounces with her eyes, as she bit into a HUGE sandwich. Looking down, she noticed that Ariamas was empty, but that was fine, as the Skeleton Butler wasn’t moving yet. Looking back to the city, she sighed, before taking a HUGE chomp of her sandwich.

‘She speaks to me, my city. An old voice; mature, complete. Her husk, metaphysical, shakes me to the core. I know her; every wrinkle; every line; every corner. I know her. My city. My -- ’

“Madame, it would be just a moment -- ”

Out of bullets.

Out of patience.

Out of sanity.

“WHAT!? WHAT!? WHAT CAN YOU NEED FROM ME!? A LADY CAN’T MONOLOGUE IN PEACE ANY MORE!? WHY DO YOU BOTHER ME!? DO YOU HATE ME!? DO YOU WISH ME DEAD FROM ANNOYANCE!? LEAVE ME BEEEEE~!” Chuunitrix screeched at the top of her lungs, shockingly well with a mouthful of big sandwich; throttling the Skeleton Butler.

As composed as ever, for he was one hell of a boney butler, the skeletal man, simply retorted, “Lord Rodias wishes to see you. Alongside the others -- ”

Chuunitrix gasped, sandwich dropping out her mouth, launching into the elevator that would take her straight to the top. “I’M COMING, BESTIE!” she shouted, as she rode out of her Chapter, a trial of noxious green smoke filling the elevator cart.

---

As she entered, she took notice of her Lord and Bestie, Rodias. Half of her wanted to bow in supreme reverence ; the other half wanted to plunge into his lap, and stay there forever. However, neither half could be indulged, as she scurried up to the throne, and opened her jacket. From it, she dropped several small cubes that formed into much large sentry turrets that surrounded the thrones; two of which, she threw her Silver Knight Anor and Black Knight Londo onto, which replicated the guns on them all.

“Activate Defense Protocol: Encirclement,” Chuunitrixx says, as she opened a flip phone; in truth, a grimoire with an expensive cosmetic applied. “Neuro-magical Link: established. Threat Filter: Built. Launching,” she says, as her honey-gold eyes turned electric-blue.

“Chuunitrixx, the Shepherd of Mimics, ready to fire!” she announced, using her original epitet, which was never programmed out of it.

....unfortunately, she would never fire a single round, as Graft entered the room, kneeling before her encirclement (even though, it was to Rodias), followed by Mamoru’s explosive entrance (which almost knocked over a poor turret), then Kaldorna and someone (they both bowed oddly), and lastly by Salem (who neither bowed nor knelt nor exploded into the room, but walked). All Chuunitrixx could do was wait for everyone to gather, while she sat on the arm of The Sable Throne; aiming the Engraved Revolver Ariamis at them with a bored expression and a huff of green smoke.

It wasn’t an act of betrayal, or a request on Rodias’s behalf... Chuunitrixx was just ever bit the overzealous guard dog that her Creator was. For anyone in Bandersnatch, at least, when it was active, Ariamis in your face while Rodias was around was equal to a quaint, “Hello!” from Traptrixx or Chuunitrixx, and the NPC just as big a smoker as the neurotic bundle of stress that was her Creator was, if the half-pack of discarded cigarettes were any indication.

Overlord: Momento Mori

@Rockin Strings

That's needed a tad more clarity, tbh. But, since his character sheet states that he lives in Chapter V, realistically, he should start in his quarters in Chapter V. However, he could be anywhere; the Gardens, the Temple/Church/Hospital, in another Chapter (except mine, as Chuunitrixx will gun down any intruding force that isn't the Butler), or on the rooftop.

The choices are fairly limitless, and ultimately yours.

Overlord: Momento Mori

So, everyone's in the Throne Room?

@Rockin Strings

...how are you asking this, with, literally, only SIX IC posts up? I am, overwhelmingly, curious.

Overlord: Momento Mori

Big changes have occurred to bring about a whole new world.

Overlord: Momento Mori

She Who Is She Who Isn’t

Name: Chuunitrixx

Gender: Female

Age: Indeterminate (Approximated at 25)

Appearance (as Chuunitrixx)

Appearance (as Eris)

Occupation: Floor Guardian / Long Range Specialist / Field Doctor / Police Office / Goddess of Discord / Mother of Four / Future Mayor of Necropolis Gothika

Residence: Chapter VI: Apocalypse Now

Character Focus: Chuunitrixx serves a single Role in Chateau Gothika: Intervention.

To pass her, players are forced to navigate a massive cityscape, laden with Mimics posing as a multitude of traps; overturned cars that suddenly burst open into monsters, mailboxes that open with gun turrets, doorknobs and handles that explode on contact, and more.

Personality: “All your life, you've been, naught but a pale reflection; an imitation. Today, I free you of those shackles, and gift you autonomy. All I ask is use it wisely; become the hero the weak deserve; embody the villain the strong desire; defend your existence, as I have. Today, you are Traptrixx, the Heroic Sniper, the Villainous Reaper, the Mimic Reborn, and I... am no more.”

Chuunitrixx holds the mantle of her Creator, not in full, yet not in vain. Very much the silent, lone gun(wo)man, she comes alive in the presence of Rhodias; little a cactus flower after a long rain. Logical to a fault, and even-tempered, Chuunitrixx can, and will, stand on vantage for days, until her target is dead.

Such, is her gifted role.

Notable Equipment:

Silver Knight Anor: The younger in a pair of long-range, musket-style, sniper rifles, Anor is the “kinder” of the pair; put to task when Chuunitrixx is offering supporting fire over assault fire. It is able to load multiple types of bullets, as generated by Chuunitrixx’s Guncaster Class Level.

Black Knight Londo: The younger in a pair of long-range, musket-style, sniper rifles, Londo is the “crueler” of the pair; unable to load as multiple types of bullets like its younger twin, those that Londo does load tend to annihilate things in an explosive, and definitive, fashion.

Engraved Revolver Ariamis: Rarely does Chuunitrix find herself in close-ranged combat, but this fancily engraved revolver can hold up as well as its elder, twin siblings in its range, as they do in theirs. Unlike Anor and Londo, Ariamas can only load generic bullets, however, each bullet violently robs its victim of MP.

Toxic Haze: Not a weapon, but an item. This pack of smoke is not your average leaf, but an incredibly toxic plant found in an old murky swamp by a Day 1 Player and Crafting Merchant known as “TheGreatSwamper”. By inhaling, Chuunitrixx can exhale a poisonous cloud.

Soapstone Grimoire: An item that Traptrixx commissioned Lord Kiss My Axe to have made, this Grimoire is the collective magical knowledge of Kath's Library, and Chuunitrixx's most underestimated, and invaluable tool. Cosmetically designed to look like an early-era flip phone, this Grimoire is the cornerstone of all of Chuunitrixx's Guncasting.

Although, she can only access a sum total of 70 spells at a time, as her spellcasting prowess and capabilities are nowhere near Traptrixx's own.

Mimicked Teleport: A Racial Ability of the Mimic Species, which functions as the [Teleport] Spells, however, it has no Casting Time nor Cooldown. As a trade-off, Mimics cannot teleport to a place they've never been, so this spell has an understandably limited range.

Chuunitrixx uses her Mimics are signposts, and can go wherever they have been, as well.

Reproductive Capability:

An accidental discovery by Traptrixx, while creating Chuunitrixx, to find the Hivequeen Racial given the functional to lay eggs that could become sentient Pets, if the NPC or PC possessed the Mimic, Doppleganger and/or Greater Doppleganger, and Automoton Racials, as well, in varying capacities.

By consuming "DNA", either foreign or one's own, the Hivequeen can lay an eggs that shared the "DNA" surrounded by Mimicry Paneling from Mimic and Doppleflesh from Doppelganger, and is given Artificial Intelligence from Automaton. These eggs require near constant attention, like a normal Pet Eggs, and can require a week to mature into Hatching, depending on the Pet produced. Multiple Eggs can be lain in a sitting, but each Eggs individual requirements must be met.

If Egg 1 requires Dragon DNA and 1,000 Units of Food, and Egg 2 requires Rat DNA and 400 Units of Food, then the Hivequeen must consume 1 Dragon DNA, 1 Rat DNA, and 1,400 Units of Food, in order to simultaneously lay both.

No matter the number lain, this Innate Skill has a 7 Day Cooldown before it can be attempted again.

Creator Information: Traptrixx, was, and probably still is, a child in the form of an adult; never able to truly past her childish delusions of heroism and villainy. Traptrixx created her first NPC under the name of Chuunithulu to serve as both Hero and Villain; to be the one that she could indulge in fully, as the one that saved the world and the one that threatened it.

However, upon joining Bandersnatch, this rampant unhinged nature carried into her creation; upon whom she relied, whenever she was unable to interact with her Guildmates. As her mental state worsened, so, too, did her her self-preservation instinct ramp up, and for a week, Bandersnatch was without its healer and ranged attacker.

Suddenly, Traptrixx logged in, and Chuunithulu revitalized, as well. However, the NPC was completely changed, renamed -- now, a one-to-one recreation of her Creator, and imbued with her personality. In this moment, no-one was sure what was going on; only that Traptrixx was smiling, and hanging over her weapons to Chuunithulu, now named, Chuunitrixx, before asking Rodias to speak in private...

To this day, only Rodias knows the truth of the matter, and why everything was changed so dramatically with such finality.

Total Level: 60

Class Levels:

(B) Gunner Lv10
(B) Alchemist Lv10
(B) Assassin Lv10
(H) Stalker Lv5
(R) Sniper Lv5
(R) Guncaster Lv1

Race Levels:

(B) Doppelganger Lv10
(H) Greater Doppelganger Lv5
(H) Automaton Lv1
(H) Mimic (Slime) Lv1
(R) Homunculus Lv1
(R) Hivequeen Lv1

Alignment: 0 (Enigma)

Stats:

• HP: 95
• MP: 100
• PHY. ATK: 10
• PHY. DEF: 10
• AGI: 90
• MAG. ATK: 100
• MAG. DEF: 95
• RESIST: 50
• SPECIAL: 100

Stat Total: 650

Dominion: Enderall City Corpse

A ruined city that truly tests the limits of the Chateau Gothika, stretching several miles in all directions -- up and down. A corpse of a city; buildings, dilapidated, crumbling, and rotting away, lamely stretch to an overcast heavens. Underneath, a system of sewers and bloody slime spidering without aim, but usage as the roads of an unseen hells. Here, Chuunitrixx is in complete control; all entrances blocked, all routes trapped, all chance of survival accounted for, and her sight trained to pick up on motion.

All that moves: dies.

Oh, and, side note: everything, Everything, EVERYTHING, in her Dominion is a Mimic. It's a city made of Mimics. Isn't that something!?

Mimics of Chuunitrixx

Enderall

Personality: The Origin; of Her are all others Mimics under Chuunitrixx's control are born. Her mind is linked to Chuunitrixx, after the shift from Yggdrasil, and she is emphatically tuned to her Hivequeen and acts upon her every desire. However, she's fully capable of autonomy, and will do what she thinks is best for Chuunitrixx, if not overruled.

In spite of her mass -- a cityscape of roughly five blocks, square -- Enderall's lost all method of physical and metaphysical attack to support Racial Levels in "Alexander" and "Broodmother".

Due to her Racial Levels in "Psionic Beast", Enderall speaks fluently in any language spoken within her, despite being inhuman via telepathy.

Total Level: 45

Class Levels:

(B) Psion Lv15
(H) High Psion Lv10
(R) Grand Psion Lv5

Race Levels:

(H) Psionic Beast Lv10
(R) Broodmother Lv4
(R) Alexander Lv1

Alignment: +500 (Hivequeen Loyal)

Stats:

• HP: 300
• MP: 300
• PHY. ATK: 0
• PHY. DEF: 300
• AGI: 0
• MAG. ATK: 0
• MAG. DEF: 300
• RESIST: 300
• SPECIAL: 300

Mimics of Enderall

Survivor of the Apocalypse (Standard)

Personality: An expensive purchase, these Mimics have several levels in Doppelganger, and appear a human men and women wearing unwashed clothing and surgical masks; the stereotypical apocalypse survivor fashion. They display a semi-literal autonomy, as they will act fairly human whenever functioning as a noncombatant, and will do whatever is best for Enderall. They can be found sleeping, largely, and displaying misery befitting their environment.

Survivors, unlike their Hivequeen, are general melee specialists, and attack savagely with simple construction tools, farming implements, and, of course, the vore fetish mouths that Mimics are best known for.

Thanks to their Racial Levels of Doppelganger, Survivors can speak fluently in any language, and their vocal mimicry of sound is impeccable.

Total Level: 40

Class Levels:

(B) Labourer Lv10
(B) Assassin Lv5
(B) Barbarian Lv5

Race Levels:

(B) Mimic Lv15
(B) Doppelganger Lv5

Alignment: +500 (Hivequeen Loyal)

Stats:

• HP: 100
• MP: 0
• PHY. ATK: 75
• PHY. DEF: 75
• AGI: 50
• MAG. ATK: 0
• MAG. DEF: 50
• RESIST: 75
• SPECIAL: 100

Survivor of the Apocalypse (Upgraded)

Personality: These Mimics can be considered, for all intents and purposes, as upgraded variants to the standard Survivor Unit, acting with a semi-limited autonomy unwarranted to their standard Unit A.I.; they are freer of thought, but still unable to do more than whatever Chuunitrixx explicitly commands. However, they are better able to achieve those results, and therefore, can rally Survivors into a smarter unit or a deadlier swarm.

Unfortunately, with this upgrade to their subroutines, they are able to feel pain and understand emotions, instead of simply working as beasts of task and burden.

Total Level: 40

Class Levels:

(B) Labourer Lv10
(B) Adventurer Lv5
(B) Organizer Lv5

Race Levels:

(B) Mimic Lv15
(B) Doppelganger Lv5

Alignment: +500 (Hivequeen Loyal)

Stats:

• HP: 115
• MP: 0
• PHY. ATK: 90
• PHY. DEF: 90
• AGI: 65
• MAG. ATK: 0
• MAG. DEF: 65
• RESIST: 90
• SPECIAL: 100

Survivor of the Apocalypse (Overseer)

Personality: These Mimics are the pinnacle of the standard Survivor Unit, acting with a complete autonomy of their actions. They have been completely removed from their [Laborer] Class, in favor of the [Leader] Class, and they have been given the [Greater Doppelganger] Racial to denote their superiority. As such, they have been given the freedom to operate as they will with complete oversight of all other Survivors; working at the Vice Presidential step of a hierarchical system. However, they cannot go against Chuunitrixx’s explicit commands; at least, not directly.

There are currently Five of them:

Soctrates

of Alpha. He serves as the Lead Overseer, and Chuunitrixx’s right hand man. He is one to speak in circles, on purpose, or to amuse himself, and tempt others into making mistakes or lashing out. He does not ally with anyone without reason nor act without reason; always possessing a scheme in mind to benefit Chuunitrixx and Enderall, who he sees as his Grandmother and Mother, respectively.

Karynn Trapmaine

as secondary female form of Socrates, which is used for more nefarious means. Socrates seems more... tempered in this form, however. Why, is yet unknown.

Socrates will often be seen with a Mimicry of Black Knight Londo in his possession.

---

Leonidas

of Delta. She serves as the Melee Overseer, and teaches her Survivors the Spartan Arts of Kicking Ass. Brute force. Raw strength. Muscles on muscles. The only thing feminine about this nuclear firecracker is her face and sexual characteristics, which are usually outshone by her fist and voice flying at you.

Leonadis, while not inclined to use it, carries a Mimicry of Engraved Revolver Ariamis.

---

Alexander

of Beta. She serves as the Range Overseer, and gracefully teaches her Survivors about the Art of the Bow and the Way of War. Beauty and grace, she does not concern herself with the violence of battle; preferring to keep her targets at the end of a bow or dinner table. Extremely confident in all she does, this regal lion has only one flaw, and that’s her very strong eyebrows, which can break her composure easily.

Alexander can always be seen with her Mimicry of Engraved Revolver Ariamis.

---

Plato (left) and Aristotle (right)

of Gamma and Epsilon, respectively. These two were created as twins, due to the close relation of Spellcasting and Alchemy, and often entertain each other over others; coming across as antisocial, despite their extremely refined manners and politeness. In conversation, Plato will usually start statements, and Aristotle will continue them, or finish them. However, these roles are reversed in explanation, with Aristotle doing the talking, while Plato supports with comically oversized guidecards.

Although, both believe it garish and impractical, both carry their Mimicry of Engraved Revolver Ariamis.

Total Level: 40

Class Levels:

(B) Adventurer Lv5
(B) Organizer Lv5
(H) Leader Lv10

Race Levels:

(B) Mimic Lv14
(B) Doppelganger Lv5
(H) Greater Doppelganger Lv1

Alignment: +500 (Hivequeen Loyal)

Stats:

• HP: 125
• MP: 0
• PHY. ATK: 100
• PHY. DEF: 100
• AGI: 75
• MAG. ATK: 0
• MAG. DEF: 75
• RESIST: 100
• SPECIAL: 100

Concreep Mixer

Personality: A specialized Mimic that generates a special slime that is incredibly vicious and hardens into a solid concrete-like material when cooled below its body temperature by eating foreign material within Enderall. This slime serves, since the shift to The New World, as a means to support Enderall outside of the Chateau Gothika, and not just a patching material.

Not explicitly made for combat, but crowd control, these little, drooling Mimics barf up Concreep to lock their opponents in place or obstruct pathways; in addition to being able to patch up the more complex Mimics, and heal them.

Concreep Mixers have no Racial or Class Levels that allow for speech more sophisticated than guttural grunts, wet belches, and gargling shrieks.

Total Level: 20

Class Levels:

(B) Archer Lv5

Race Levels:

(B) Mimic Lv10
(B) Slime Lv5

Alignment: 0 (Drone)

Stats:

• HP: 25
• MP: 100
• PHY. ATK: 0
• PHY. DEF: 0
• AGI: 100
• MAG. ATK: 100
• MAG. DEF: 0
• RESIST: 0
• SPECIAL: 100

Sentry

Personality: The most common, and most numerous, of Mimics, these take the form of any placeable object that a city is commonly known form; a mailbox, a lamppost, streetlights, and more. Stationary by nature, these Mimics rely on overwhelming force to carry the day or suppressing fire to give Survivors time to move and gain advantage.

Strictly oriented for ranged combat, Sentries utilize guns to attack. Chuunitrixx's Armory consists of a Desert Eagle, an AK-47, Dragunov, a Barrett M82, a Mossberg, an RPG-7, and a Howitzer Cannon.

Sentries utilize their Racial Levels in "Symphonic Instrument" to mimic music, and speak a musical language that is comprised of high notes and low notes that function as dots and dashes with midnotes acting as tonality. Fluency in Morse Code allows for rudimentary translation.

Total Level: 30

Class Levels:

(B) Gunner Lv5
(H) Stalker Lv5

Race Levels:

(B) Mimic Lv15
(B) Symphonic Instrument Lv5

Alignment: 0 (Drone)

Stats:

• HP: 50
• MP: 50
• PHY. ATK: 100
• PHY. DEF: 75
• AGI: 0
• MAG. ATK: 0
• MAG. DEF: 0
• RESIST: 50
• SPECIAL: 100

Proxy

Personality: Akin to Sentries, but designed for indoor combat... in a sense. Masquerading as things as innocuous as a doorknob, or as complex as a typewriter, Proxies are armed explosives that await interaction or proximity breaches to detonate and annihilate their intruding targets.

Designed solely for exploding, Proxies share a similar weakness to Sentries, but trade their lack of ranged and melee combat for extreme lethal in a large area.

As with Sentries, Proxies host Racial Levels in "Symphonic Instrument", and speak the same language; interestingly enough, Proxies seem to have reverse the function of high notes and low notes, but kept the midnotes for tonality. This creates a sort of Northern accent for Proxies, versus the Sentries' more Southern accent -- the reason for this is wholly unknown.

Total Level: 30

Class Levels:

(B) Elementalist: Earth Lv4
(B) Elementalist: Fire Lv4
(B) Stalker Lv2

Race Levels:

(B) Mimic Lv15
(B) Symphonic Instrument Lv5

Alignment: 0 (Drone)

Stats:

• HP: 50
• MP: 100
• PHY. ATK: 0
• PHY. DEF: 0
• AGI: 0
• MAG. ATK: 100
• MAG. DEF: 0
• RESIST: 0
• SPECIAL: 100

Draft Horse

Personality: Simple. Strong. Working. These horses are designed after those of the village that is overlooked by Expedition Team Beta and serve to carry members of Expedition Team Alpha back and forth on supply retrieval, or Expedition Team Members to other locations.

Despite their inner workings, these Draft Horses are accurate from top to bottom; looking no more out of place than any other horse would.

Total Level: 10

Class Levels:

Race Levels:

(B) Mimic Lv5
(B) Hivebreed Lv4
(B) Beast (Horse) Lv1

Alignment: +500 (Hivequeen Loyal)

Stats:

• HP: 100
• MP: 0
• PHY. ATK: 80
• PHY. DEF: 50
• AGI: 75
• MAG. ATK: 0
• MAG. DEF: 0
• RESIST: 0
• SPECIAL: 0

Dog

Personality: Friendly as all heck, these puppers are based on Wolf Dogs seen within the areas inhabited, and serve the purpose of alarm systems before Sentries activate and, in the case of Location Gamma, a sled-team of Huskies to meet with the Draft Horses to transport material and units in and out when the snow thickens.

When not in Guard Mode, these dogs are seriously friendly and display typical dog-like curiosities.

Total Level: 10

Class Levels:

Race Levels:

(B) Mimic Lv5
(B) Hivebreed Lv4
(B) Beast (Dog) Lv1

Alignment: +500 (Hivequeen Loyal)

Stats:

• HP: 100
• MP: 0
• PHY. ATK: 75
• PHY. DEF: 40
• AGI: 80
• MAG. ATK: 0
• MAG. DEF: 0
• RESIST: 0
• SPECIAL: 0

Overlord: Momento Mori

Name: Chuunithulu

Gender: Female

Age: Indeterminate (Approximated at 25)

Appearance

Bartender Form (Left) / Casino Owner Form (Right)

Occupation: Floor Guardian and Bartender/Casino Manager

Residence: Chapter VI: Grimlight Bar and Casino

Character Focus: Chuunithulu serves many roles, as all heroes and villains do -- seated atop them all, she spies upon the entirety of the Guild, watching them and over them; in addition to her Support Unit role as Summoner with a host of Aberrant Minions.

Personality: A personality born in a swig of vodka, a splash of tequila, dash of wine, a liberal gulp of beer, and a puff of smoke, Chunithulu is a spirit unlike any other -- as one would have to be, as a Human Tribute to the First Unknown. It is hard to predict her mood, at any given moment, as she can be:

Spiritedly tending to her bar; aimless cleaning at some part of her bar, while smoking a seemingly neverending cigarette.

Sensually working her casino; flaunting her generous assets at every turn, while keeping an eye on every toss of the dice.

Bleeding from her eyes and ritualistic wounds from a ritual to contact the First Unknowns; uncaring of the beings ripping free of her very flesh and blood, because that’s what it takes to be a hero and that's what makes a villain.

Or, sound asleep somewhere in the Chateau -- indulging her laziness.

Notable Equipment:

Santyir’s Flute: Taking full advantage of her Valkyrie: Lancer class, this weapon is a simple glass, wine flute at first glance; however, it’s true nature is revealed, once broken. Shattered, this flute is reborn -- a seal, undone, and transparent, near-invisible, lance of unbreakable diamond is formed and made deadly in her hand.

Toxic Haze Brand Cigarette: Not a generic weapon, but a supportive item turned so, this pack of smoke is not your average leaf, but an incredibly toxic plant found in an old murky swamp by a man known as “Large Hood Logann”. By inhaling, Chuunithulu can create a poisonous cloud.

Creator Information: Chuunithulu’s Creator, Traptrixx, was, and probably still is, a child in the form of an adult. Never truly past her childish delusions of heroism and villainy, Traptrixx created Chuunithulu to serve as both Hero and Villain; to be the one that she could indulge in fully, as the one that saved the world and the one that threatened it.

This rampant unhinged nature carried into her creation, after she was committed into a mental hospital, and Chuunithulu remains in a unpredictable limbo for it; her body and backstory a tragedy of pain, blood, sacrifice, and alcohol.

Total Level: 60

Class Levels:

(B) Summoner Lv9
(H) Grand Summoner Lv7
(R) Elder Summoner Lv5
(R) Abyssal Beacon Lv3
(R) Apocalypse Gate Lv1
(B) Lancer Lv2
(H) Fallen Valkyrie: Lancer Lv1
(B) Bartender Lv1
(B) Casino Owner Lv1

Race Levels:

(B) Doppelganger Lv15
(H) Greater Doppelganger Lv10
(R) Skinwalker Lv5

Alignment: 0 (Enigma)

Stats:

• HP: 75
• MP: 75
• PHY. ATK: 50
• PHY. DEF: 45
• AGI: 30
• MAG. ATK: 80
• MAG. DEF: 90
• RESIST: 95
• SPECIAL: 100

Dominion: The Grimlight Bar and Casino...

...where the lost come to lose themselves further in drinks and cards. “Take a seat! cries out the bartender, as she slides a fine wine on the counter with on hand, and a pair of cool beers down the counter with the other. Her brilliantly smug grin, thin lips hugging a cigarette, almost blind you -- much like the sheer radiance of her skin that glowed like the moon outside the window -- and draws you the bar. A hulking man takes your order, while you watch her snuff her cigarette, and walk towards the stairs; her body metaphorizing into an ebony goddess in a bunny suit and eye-catching sweater. Looking back, her onyx hair falls clean out her ponytail into a cascade of silver, and her matching eyes motion upstairs to the casino above the bar. “Whenever you’re ready...” she all but purrs, before sauntering up.

Oh, and, side note: everything, Everything, EVERYTHING, in her Dominion is a Mimic. It's a room made of Mimics. Isn't that something!

---

I stopped being lazy, and posted. Pokemon Sword is too good...

Menagerie Parade, A Fantasy World of Long Titles and Dumb Plots and Exclamatory Questions!? [Private]

C-3 huffed, as Charlotte left; she didn't care if she was angry. The stupid she-demon was always so up her own rump, she couldn't be bothered to concern herself. Whatever the Demon Lord's daughter intended to do was her business, and hers alone. Besides, if she couldn't see why she was bothered, then she didn't deserve to have it explained to her by the source. As such, C-3 turned and headed off.. catching wind of some serious explosions.

Curious, she hurried to the source of it all; just catching the small Chimera melt into a purple puddle, and reform into a Refined Human Form. "Such control..." she says, enviously, before really looking, "Wait... That color... An Amethyst Slime!? This is the worst!"

---

Tamara hummed, spiritedly, as Charlotte marched over. Her muscles were already bulking up in response. God's, it did feel good; that cloying hatred, that choking malice; it was such a turn-on, and Charlotte wasn't charging a dime. Even better, she meant it. Tamara wasn't an idiot. A knock-down drag-out between herself and Charlotte could go for days and nights; her stamina reaching the depth of a demon on par with Charlotte -- as if she was born to antagonize the girl.

Honestly, that's all she wanted to do: antagonize the unflappable daughter of the undefeatable Demon Lord. It was a fun little pastime, in the master plan of BREAKING her heart and soul. Sure, Tamara was a Paladin, but she was a Dark Paladin, and didn't have to play by all the rules so strictly. As such, so freed, she sought to cull the wonderful, little Dragon-named Slime to her side, and destroy the world of the infinitely confident world of the one that stood by her side.

"Five minutes," Tamara says, holding up five fingers, "I got you for five minutes of playtime..."

---

Regalia flew into the air, weighing so very little, and smacked into the ground with a sickening thump. For a moment, she twitched and writhed, before her breathing and self stilled.

However, under Ariette's sudden application of healing, Regalia's flesh, fur, and scales turned a poisonous shade of purple, and her body sloughed into a pool -- a massive chaotic surge of energy crackled around the pool, suddenly, and a hand burst free of it. It was the same technique that C-3 used to go from Slime to Human, whenever she emerged from her lute bed.

Slamming into the ground, the hand dragged forward the entirety of a lithe body; the purple slime took on skin tones, hair color, the solid mass of twin horns, sharp fangs, and clothing. Eyes opening, Regalia sniffled and groaned, and seemed on the edge of emotional collapse; tears of irritation streaming down her cheeks, as she glared at Mallory. Behind her, a snake rose and hissed; her tail didn’t seem as sentient, however.

“Grrr... Nnn...” Regalia growled, as she rubbed her belly with a heavily-gloved hand; the mitt was thick, and probably existed to hide and/or protect her growing claws. “Grrr.... Rrrr... Rrrr... Nrrrr... RAAAHHH!!!” Regalia suddenly screamed, as tears streamed down her face. Suddenly, she whipped her tail forward; the snake’s eyes glowing, and its mouth opened wide, as her goat horns started glowing. “Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah!” Regalia repeatedly screamed, each cry punctuated by a bolt of lightning cannon-fired from the snake's mouth.

Each bolt dead-aimed for Mallory.

Menagerie Parade, A Fantasy World of Long Titles and Dumb Plots and Exclamatory Questions!? [Private]

C-3 was happy.

It was such an ethereal feeling, as she munched with the happiest expression, and couldn't be spoiled by any force in the world.

Then, she spoke.

Normally, C-3 filtered it out through a mesh of attraction, but Charlotte was smug. Normally, this was absent from her thoughts -- the undeserved air of command, the unearned look of superiority, and that unwarranted smugness in her voice. Normally, it was made tolerable by her own personal draconic pride, and couldn't do more than be mildly annoying; if, even noticed.

And yet, here, now, it was unrelenting in its assail of her senses; grinding her from tip to toe, and bringing a rotting miasma to her moment. All of a sudden, her happiness evaporated, and her gift spoiled. Metals, beyond precious, suddenly tasted like cheap imitations; copper, tin, and aluminum, masquerading as something they could never wish to be. They slid down her throat like castor oil would a sick child's throat, and threatened to reverse course, much the same.

Between trembling fingers, C-3 held a half-eaten rose, and threw it to the, before swiping the basket, in its entirety, to the ground.

"Shut up."

C-3 looked back, "Can you ever just shut up?"

For the first time in years, C-3 had a standard to place Charlotte against, and it was plain to see:

Charlotte didn't meet it.

---

Tamara grinned, as she watched from a tree branch; petting Regalia's trio of heads in turn, before setting her loose. "Like the foolish demoness, you don't understand your role in this world as mere bait," she says, as Regalia scampered around; a child free to roam in the big, wide world. Sniffing the ground, the lion decided where to go, while the goat and snake watched for anything fun. That was the most interesting way to see the world, after all. At least, that's what her Mommy told her.

As Regalia scampered, childishly thoughtless, out of sight, Tamara continued to watch as Charlotte was tersely told off for spoiling her gift, and wondered what defense the Demon Lord's daughter could mount for herself. If Charlotte looked in her general direction, she would be easily seen by her victim, and that would just add to her current victory. The Obsidian Slime named by a Dragon had never had standards to compare her demonic benefactor to, and now, she did; and, Tamara wanted Charlotte to know where those standards came from.

Slimes, after all, were simple creatures, at the core, in need of a helpful push in the right direction.

---

Scampering into a yard, Regalia busied herself with strange creatures that were running through old, musty grass. In spite of not knowing what a fish or a raccoon was, she knew they both smelled yummy; although, she wasn't out of milk-drinking age. Still, she was a young lioness in 33% of her body, so she, instinctively, needed to hunt; the 33% of her that was snake liked to strike that things that were hot and moving -- the 33% that was a goat could really care less, but it could sense the magic incoming, and took over to make them dip and dodge between beams and explosions.

Annoyed, the 1% of Regalia that was a dragon, like most Chimera, didn't like being kaboomed at, and took over to find what blasted her. Spying the party, Regalia recognized a familiar butt, and bum-rushed it... sinking her teeth into Nimoa's right buttcheek, before her fur sparked, and she simultaneously became a bolt of lightning and ball of fire against the rear she clung to.


Menagerie Parade, A Fantasy World of Long Titles and Dumb Plots and Exclamatory Questions!? [Private]

Tamara

"Amongst other things," Tamara replies, as she hefted a large bucket that was glowing with heat from the molten metal within. Her ridiculously attractive body on full display, as she worked to the metal in naught but her smallclothes. Behind her, with Regalia keeping guard, were the unfortunate Dwarven metalsmiths that Tamara was utterly robbing; bound several lengths of created [Braided Giant's Hair] and the Camibon's lewd existence -- even a proud Dwarf could be made to fall. It didn't help that, on top of her lewd nature, she was one of the finest outsider metalsmiths they'd seen since the famous Elvin metalsmith, Kali Brimmore.

Her timings were unnatural, as if a timer was always within sight. Her mixtures were impeccable, as if she'd been born with a measuring cup. Her pours were beyond graceful; wasting not a single drop among the moulding plates. It was basically hentai for Dwarves; watching her work the shaft in the mix, stoke the kiln with some hard iron, and pour her hot, gooey load into some virgin moulds. "Harder! Oh, harder!" cried one of the Dwarf females cried out, as Tamara struck a mould, and freed the most precious bars of silver. "Again! Again!" Tamara obliged, as the bars tumbled free without a single flaw.

"Oh, yes~!" one of the male Dwarves groaned, legs shifting suspiciously. "Show her who's in charge, lass!" he shuddered. Tamara rapped the moulding for some gold bars, and the Dwarves hit their collective climax, as the bars hit the table with a serene force. Tamara grinned, barring the full brunt of her dagger-like teeth, as she trained her eyes on the panting Dwarves; irises as crimson as the Inferno Lands and sclera as inky as the depths of space, studying them. "There's more to come," she purred, "I can go for hours..." she says, hefting a ringsmith's hammer, "I've so much stamina."

A pitiful groan escaped the Dwarves, as she struck a ring mould that was shown to be a mixture of pure platinum. It was with a gentle, yet powerful tap that she broke the Dwarves...

---

Tamara held a collection of precious metals finery in a small basket; an undersized bouquet of twenty-one silver roses with gold trimmed edged, a trio of seven-link chains of platinum rings, two bars of pure silver, two bars of pure gold, and a bar of pure platinum. It was a basket with some clever subtext that would impress a Mathemagician, but would mean nothing to the intended recipient. As Tamara untied the Dwarves, she stood over them; hypersensitive nose taking in the delightful scent of her handiwork. "I do apologise for the rough foreplay," she says, as she collected Regalia from her guardpost -- the infant creature sound asleep.

"I just get so kinky when I'm working. I'm sure that you'll be able to forgive me," she says, as she dropped a bag of diamonds; as shown when it tipped a bit, and flashed the goods like naughty minx it was. "I'm sure you'll spend this wisely," Tamara says, as she walked off, "Enjoy."

It would take a few hours to escape the Dwarven Mines, before Tamara stood, barefoot, upon grass, and let the sun bathe her. "Ugh... I hate the come down," she sighed, before her skin stretched across her back, and a pair of long, thin, and leathery wings spread up -- they'd an oddly dinosaur-like nature to them. "Now, I should head off," she says, taking off with a powerful beat of her wings, "I hope I don't run into Grandma and Grandpa..."

C-3

Elsewhere, C-3 was growing more and more discontented with the situation at hand. She'd already no fondness for the Human that referred to her nothing more than a number, and she didn't like the third-place demoness that was trying to upstage get second-place demoness -- and, now, they were following some dinky little vampiress brat to find some crusty, old Alchemist, to do what? Bolt out the sun? Plant hypoallergenic garlic? C-3 had, honestly, tuned out the annoying brat and all her inane chatter. Did she really thing anyone cared? Well, the Human cared, actively, and the Bronze Medal cared, in her own tsundere way.

Charlotte cared, because the Human cared, and she had to look good, because he was a so-called Hero. But, who cares!? Charlotte was SUPPOSED to be HERS. Her treasure. Her possession. She was a Dragon, and that was how it worked. Everything was wrong...

Suddenly, her nose (internally located) twitched, as she smelled something beyond the scent of sulfuric sweat that Charlotte and Bronze Medal gave off, the sodium chloride-ridden sweat that the Human released, and the scent of singeing flesh the Brat was constantly emitting. It was a delicious smell, like a five-course meal in Heaven, blessed by 1,000 virgin nuns, or some equivalent hyperbole for something that smells really freaking good. All sense of duty, as fleeting as it was, escape C-3, as she abandoned the group, and chased down the smell. It was minutes away, tucked upon a gravestone, and in a covered basket.

C-3's heart, or rather, her Slime Core, shrank in sadness, as she assumed it was a gift to the dead.. before she saw a note upon the basket. It was penned in the loveliest that she'd probably seen in her life, and was addressed to: <Camellia Celia Charr>

"Me!?"

C-3 was stunned by the address. Surely, there were no others with her name. It was her King's gift to her, her right to her inheritance; a one-of-a-kind and powerful name.

This was, assuredly, for her, but... from who?

<Dearest Daughter of Carnelian Constellus Charr,

I long to deliver such a gift in your presence, but, alas, my heart is not ready to face such a beauty as yours, and my soul is not ready to stand before a force of will like you again. I can only hope -- no, pray -- that you accept my affection from afar, for now. This basket is yours; handcrafted of the finest metals by my own hands. I, sincerely, hope you enjoy what I've prepared. I know you stand beside the Demon Lord's daughter, but mayhaps, someday, you'll stand by my side, instead.

Yours lovingly,

Tamara Gozolla>

C-3 was immensely curious about the contents of the basket, and trying to remember who Tamara Gozolla was. She'd spent a lot of time being angry since they left, so she didn't remember anything she wasn't explicitly mad about. However, all her anger evaporated, as she uncovered the basket, and saw the precious metal finery and bars.

"This was done for me..." she shuddered, feeling her first true hint of ecstasy. "Charlotte's never..." C-3 shook her head, but it was much too late.

It was there.

A Seed of Doubt.

From her perch in the near-distance, Tamara smirked, as C-3 took a small nibble of a rose, before eating the rest; her Slime Core shining bright as the sun.

A sun that shined upon the rooted Seed of Doubt, and gave it life...



Menagerie Parade, A Fantasy World of Long Titles and Dumb Plots and Exclamatory Questions!? [Private]

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...

...sorta.

---

"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.