Mirchell: HP =60/67, PP = 44/44, EP = 47/47, Status = Starvation Collar, Lactating, Prone, Armor at 45/50 TP
Maebev - Arch Traitor and Loyal Lieutenant
Aleida - Succubus Torturer
Malkeinith - Captain of the Lowest Guard
Garkus Ironbender - Elderly goblin forge master, commander of the tribe, sounds sort of like Keith David Thick Goblin Girl - Orb shaped.
Rolls
While Mirchell retreats to the the choke point, the crawlers will follow. They will attempt to get past her in order to flank and surround her.
The first attempts to Overrun her; 67 vs 75, fails.
The second attempts to Overrun her; 73 vs 72, success.
One will try to Tumble past her; 18 vs 34, failure.
Another will try to Overrun her; 94 vs 50, success and Mirchell is knocked prone.
One just runs up and attacks: 48 vs 32, hits.
Damage: 30 - 41, min'd to 3 damage. Armor takes 5 damage.
The path she'd just squeezed through was her only available avenue of retreat, and this time the rush through it left her bouncing across the walls and scraping against the rubble dotting the walls. The crawlers, following predatory instinct, promptly gave chase, the bestial mutants moving with similar speed and far greater agility than she. Mirchell made it back to the main hallway before they could catch up to her, but only just, and was left to turn at the entrance she'd passed through, forming a choke point at the narrow hallway entrance, and the bounding, skittering creatures attempted to rush past her in order to take advantage of their numbers.
The first to reach her tried to force its way past her, slamming into her midsection in a rush, but the much heavier demoness didn't budge, leaving it momentarily trapped between her and the wall before it scrambled free and back, hissing at her. The next leaped over its compatriot to do the same, bounding off of its back, then up to Mirchell's shoulder, then it leaped off with its tail nearly catching her on the ear, landing behind her and spinning to face the now outflanked demoness. As she was trying to respond to that, another tried to dart between her legs, though she was able to kick it back into its compatriot, leaving them scrambling back to their own feet. Unfortunately, before that leg was back down on the ground to give her a solid stance, the next one coming threw itself from wall to wall and then directly at her shoulders, shrieking, and Mirchell tumbled backwards and fell onto her back, in the middle of the pack.
The last of them came forth and crawled along the wall, and reached out to slash at her thigh. Its claws scraped against her armor, doing only minor harm, but damaging the straps keeping the armor together...
Savage she might have been in combat at one point, but it did not mean the fallen princess was without tactical acumen. That served to get her out of the open and towards a location she could actually defend - squeezing and scraping through the rock and rubble, pulling her wings in tightly but still feeling the lean musculature scraping through. Dust swirled around her face as her breathing spiked, glowing eyes dilating and fangs baring as her thundering footfalls were accompanied by the frantic scurrying of claws against hard surfaces.
She could not panic. Must not panic. Don't think of the memories, the memories of suspension and helplessness, torn and clawed in the midst of a mad scrabble to make use of her body. She could fight now. Defend herself. Use what advantages she had.
It would have to matter, even if she didn't have enough room to evade them entirely. Mirchell stumbled as she pulled free from the passage and turned, heels scraping, tail whipping through the air with a thin whine. Her wings flared out - expanses of bone and flesh, blotting out the light and increasing the muscular woman's apparent size. If nothing else, it would make her harder to get by, in theory, as ragged fingers reached for her sword once more.
The weight of the Crawler as it leapt from the gap grashed into her chest, and Mirchell grunted in discomfort as her other arm came up to bear, shoving backwards. She was larger and heavier than the mutated creatures, but she hadn't enough time to take advantage of it, as the rest squirmed and piled through with no thought to safety. One leapt clean over her head, using the trapped creature as a launch pad, and as its tail whipped by her head, she had the wherewithal to duck, the venomous barbs catching ashen hair as they went. By the sounds of it, the creature had landed awkwardly, giving her a moment to force some of the others back.
A growl echoed in her throat as heavy boots kicked a yelping Crawler back into the tangled pile of beasts, though it turned into a cry of her own soon enough as the sheer weight of oncoming monsters overwhelmed her stance. To the floor she went, crashing noisily into dust and debris, pain flaring along her limbs, but far from out of the fight just yet. Confusion reigned in the mad scuffle of limbs and snapping jaws on both sides of the engagement, as the albino demoness lashed out at the nearby creatures. Her wings added to the chaos, beating frantically to whip up a storm of dust, and make it harder for the Crawlers to get close enough to capitalise on their initial success as she clambered upright.
Nascent panic and rage brought everything into sharp focus, as Mirchell assessed her situation. Ignored the nagging, goading suggestion that there was only one way for this to end. There were fewer crawlers back the way she had come, and so that seemed the obvious solution. These lesser, swarming creatures were not individually much threat to her, but there were only so many defensive options at her disposal. The most important thing was to avoid them quite literally dogpiling her. Flaring wings and lashing tail would present at least some difficulty in getting to her back, as she tried to clear the front.
Darksteel glinted as it swept free of its scabbard with the iconic ring of steel and leather, echoing amidst the snarling jaws of her predators, large ears pricking attentively. Patience. Patience... There! As the Crawler who had bowled her over made a move to follow up, it became the target of the albino's ire, as she attempted to catch the creature on the blade's edge, and force it to the side - akin to a sliding door slamming shut on exposed flesh.
(Heavy Metal attack - Delays attack until the end of the round, gains +10 AV that round. Any foe hit when active must win a Reflexes check against the user or be Stunned. Any attack made against the user that round - hit or miss - adds a cumulative +1d10 bonus to attack and +5 damage)
Mirchell: HP =51/67, PP = 44/44, EP = 47/47, Status = Starvation Collar, Lactating, Prone, Armor at 37/50 TP
Maebev - Arch Traitor and Loyal Lieutenant
Aleida - Succubus Torturer
Malkeinith - Captain of the Lowest Guard
Garkus Ironbender - Elderly goblin forge master, commander of the tribe, sounds sort of like Keith David Thick Goblin Girl - Orb shaped.
Rolls
Mirchell must withstand a whole round of attacks!
Attack 1 with claws: 48 vs 58, miss.
Attack 2 with claws: 60 vs 44, hit.
Damage: 23, so min to 3 damage, so 4 damage to the armor.
Attack 3 with claws: 47 vs 57, miss.
Attack 4 with tail: 47 vs 33, hit.
Damage: 17, still min 3 damage, and 3 damage to the armor.
Resistance: 22 vs 40, no poison on that hit.
Attack 5 with tail: 47 vs 45, hit.
Damage: 22, 3 damage, 4 damage to the armor.
Resistance: 30 vs 31, still no poison!
Mirchell attacks back! The stun is kind of redundant most likely...
Attack: 124 vs 35, yeah that hits.
Damage: 95, splat.
Attack: 128 vs 29, hits.
Damage: 88
Attack: 87 vs 39, hits.
Damage: 106
She kills three outright. They're only tier one enemies, but at that point the last two will retreat.
The thrashing demoness stood amidst the small swarm of crawlers, towering over the lesser demons in the dilapidated hallway. Those that she turned to face slashed at her with their claws, darting back and forth, and once more their claws scraped across her armor without finding real purchase. The blows that struck true took the most minor of tolls all the same, even through her plating and natural toughness. The two behind her proved more insidious, jabbing into her calf and thigh with their tails, sending numbing venom rushing into her bloodstream, but their piercing was shallow through her armor and the defensing waving of her tail, ensuring that their weakening poison failed to overcome her natural resilience.
Mirchell's counterattack proved far more effective. Her sword wove through the air, having taken the time to predict where they would be and how they would move, and her blade caught the first at its midsection. The crawler was bisected, and fell to the floor in two lumps of briefly thrashing flesh. The arc of her blade needed only a slight correction to carry through the head and shoulders of the next, splitting through flesh and sinew with the force of the strike. The momentum of her strike continued, allowing Mirchell to turn with it, her sword slamming into the wall of the doorway where the first to scrape at her still clung to the wall... And it was promptly split mostly in half, the lower part slumping to the floor and the other resting momentarily on her sword before it slid off to join its other half.
The other two crawlers, finding their numerical advantage rapidly dwindling, gave a hiss and backed away, moving ten or so feet back into their tunnel before turning and scurrying away, back to their lair. Whether or not Mirchell would permit their retreat, however, was up to her.... The three dead creatures would have no darksteel scraps, but the corrupted creatures were known to carry lumps of crystalized magic that could have their own value.
Brief the melee might have been, but it was savage and brutal. Fangs and barbed tails lashed at the armoured demoness, her thick skin warding off lesser blows and dented but sturdy armour caught assaults that might have been more severe as the demoness wove between them. There was something calming to her in those few seconds, as Mirchell's wings flared out to bat away a creature leaping for her back, as the whipping coil of her tail angled away an opposing tail jab. No room for panic, no room for the terror of what would happen if she couldn't fend them off, only the frenzied bloodletting as fancy footwork carried her through the carnage, instilled by decades of practise.
As her blade slammed into - and straight through - a Crawler, Mirchell let out a roar of triumph. Gore splattered across the dusty floor, and her own features, leaving crimson streaks across ashen flesh, and a clawed hand gripped the mangy monster's head - whipping its entire upper body free to hurl against another monster, stunning it just long enough for the backswing of her sword to decapitate it in turn. This was what she had been bred for in the first place.
The final blow clove down from above, bone splintering but not quite giving as it found its mark, even as the Crawlers backed away - some primitive survival instinct surviving even through their horrific mutation. Loot was far from her mind at this very moment though; the savage thrill of victory had her hackles up, the sweet release of soulstuff as the demoness' wings beat savagely downwards, launching her after the creatures. Their lair was exactly what was vulnerable now - if only she had her magic to burn the place to the ground. After two centuries of abuse and vulnerability, she could finally, finally exert her will, and remember a glimmer of what had come before.
So for a third time, it was for the bloody demoness to squeeze back through in pursuit of her would-be-hunters, determined to run them down before they could summon help.
Mirchell: HP =51/67, PP = 44/44, EP = 47/47, Status = Starvation Collar, Lactating, Prone, Armor at 37/50 TP
Maebev - Arch Traitor and Loyal Lieutenant
Aleida - Succubus Torturer
Malkeinith - Captain of the Lowest Guard
Garkus Ironbender - Elderly goblin forge master, commander of the tribe, sounds sort of like Keith David Thick Goblin Girl - Orb shaped.
Crawler 1: Prone, taken 16 damage
Crawler 2: Fine
Rolls
Overrun; 150 vs 106 and 105 vs 88, both succeed. The first is knocked prone and takes 16 damage.
Creature attempts to claw Mirchell.
Attack: 46 vs 62, miss.
The crawlers scurried away ahead of Mirchell as she turned to pursue them, bouncing between the walls. In a straight up run, the more agile creatures would certainly have outrun her, and they were more agile along the narrow corridors than she... But she didn't need to catch them on a long run, she needed to catch up to them down a short corridor, and her great mass picked up momentum far faster. She reached the first one just a few paces before the entrance back into their lair, tangling the thing in her legs before stomping past it, leaving it in a wounded, crumpled heap as it tried to recover. The other she rushed past with a bit less effect, the creature managing to hurl itself into a wall to avoid her, but leaving its escape blocked off. As Mirchell turned, it lashed out with its claws, but she drew her shin out of its reach before the blow could land, leaving the demoness unharmed and now in reach to finish the lesser mutants off entirely...
Fear was still there, as Mirchell flinched - even as her armoured boot crushed a Crawler beneath its weight, but subsumed, engulfed by the thrill of victory. It felt so good, being able to unleash herself, to be in command of her own will. To take vengeance, and remind herself that once - so very long ago - she had been a force to be feared. Powerful muscle and billowing wings gave the demoness a terrifying acceleration, a sprinting power that enabled her to trample these foes in a billow of dust and blood, just short of the nest entrance. The momentum was arrested with a sharp crack of a wingbeat, causing the fallen princess to tilt sideways, skidding to a halt, and snarling viciously as the other crawler desperately leapt from her path, lashing out in frantic defence.
There was a degree of contempt in her ashen features now, as dirty hair whipped behind her ears. On their own, these things were pathetic. Less than even the most insignificant of Hell's twisted mockery of life. Mirchell's tail whipped out to correct her balance instinctually, turning the drifting sprint into a lunge, as her greatsword sang through the ancient, dusty air. Right now, the most important thing was a clean, quick kill. The nagging notion in the back of her mind knew that speed was of the essence now, before the commotion drew even more attention, so the dark tip of her blade glanced off the floor in a sweeping uppercut, keeping her blade free to keep up a relentless offence against the brutalised crawlers.
[Attack, Aggressive Fighting, trading 2d10 from dodge to attack!]
Mirchell: HP =51/67, PP = 44/44, EP = 47/47, Status = Starvation Collar, Lactating, Prone, Armor at 37/50 TP
Maebev - Arch Traitor and Loyal Lieutenant
Aleida - Succubus Torturer
Malkeinith - Captain of the Lowest Guard
Garkus Ironbender - Elderly goblin forge master, commander of the tribe, sounds sort of like Keith David Thick Goblin Girl - Orb shaped.
Crawler 1: Prone, taken 16 damage
Crawler 2: Fine
Rolls
Attack: 99 vs 56, hits.
Damage: 77, lethal hit.
Cleave Attack: 120 vs 40, hits.
Damage: 64, still a lethal hit.
Victory! Gain 4 xp.
The lesser demons were hardly a threat in such small numbers, and even with her spirit in chains, Mirchell's body was enough to overwhelm the lower beings now that they no longer outnumbered her so heavily. Her sword caught on the creature's body, the blade slicing through flesh and then bone, aided in part by gravity but the bulk of its cutting power coming from Mirchell's own muscle. The beast was split in half, the two portions of the bisected crawler falling to the floor, dead before either had even hit the floor. Her arm's momentum played out, but it was easy as it did to step forward and bring it back down. The second crawler hadn't even had time to claw its way back to its feet before Mirchell's sword came down on top of it, and it let out a shocked bark as the sword came down onto its back, twitching thrice before going still.
With that, the brief skirmish was over, and the crawlers - at least locally - driven back to extinction. The still silence of the ruins settled upon her once again, the brief bout of furious activity having created a fair bit of noise that now echoed down the halls of the abandoned underground structure. As the thrill of combat settled to make way for the tomb-like peace of the abandoned foundry that it had once more briefly disturbed, Mirchell - once more victorious - was left with the choice of what she wished to do next. She could pick through the carcasses of the crawlers, searching for the small crystallizations of raw magic present in their bodies - called darkhearts by mortals - if she didn't mind getting her hands dirty... Or dirtier, perhaps. Their lair might have something of value, though that would take much more time. Besides that, she could return to the main hallway, either going further along it or back the way she had come, or try to investigate the doorway on the opposite side of the crawlers' former lair.
As gore spread across the floor and walls of the corridor, Mirchell swept herself back to an upright position, flowing once more into a guarded stance as flickering eyes surveyed her surroundings. Her heart was pounding, harshly enough that she was certain another predator would hear it, the rush in her ears. But a few moments later, when her mind caught up to her senses, and clarified that all was - temporarily - well, the demoness' shoulders slumped. Her bloody blade dipped, and a harsh bark of laughter rasped from ashen lips. The giddy rush of victory swept through her senses, and for a moment, Mirchell could be truly euphoric - she had overcome and slaughtered these creatures that tormented her nightmares, and an impulse made her grip tighten for a moment; the bloody-minded urge to once more take up her blade.
That, at least, could be reigned back in after a moment, as a deep, shuddering breath blew past the fallen princess' lips. Freedom. So close, so tantalising. She had a task to do, but realistically, she needed a plan for what to do next, as well. Trusting the goblins was one thing, but-...
There could be something worth gleaning for herself here, and a twang of disgust curled Mirchell's features as she looked down upon her fallen foes, some still twitching pieces fluttering her fight-or-flight instinct, with all the tension that came with it. Maybe satiating her darker desires could be useful, here. Darkhearts could be traded. Perhaps, without this damnable collar, they might even alleviate the crippling hunger tearing at her soul - just the notion brought the temptation to salivate.
So sure, what was a little more gore? Already, she was covered in the unsavoury fluids of her foes, so bringing her blade down upon the fallen Crawlers once more would hardly make it worse - so that was exactly what Mirchell did, a savage sneer carving her features even as her blade did the same below, relying on her senses to find the way through to the valuables that might be hidden inside. But even as the sweet, bloody relief soothed her frightened mind, the other voice of reason could not help but remind her - time was finite, so this could not be a lengthy endeavour. The closest thing Mirchell had to a lead was the door within the Crawler's lair, so that would have to be the next port of call once her bloody search had been concluded.
Perception: 2 successes vs 0 successes and 6 successes. Dun dun dun....
Butchering the creatures in search of the crystallized corruption nascent in their bodies was a quick chore, but as expected, also a messy one. One could never be sure exactly where the magic would coalesce into a solid physical form within a body, and though the part-demon crawlers were more naturally comfortable with it than the mortals they had descended from, their bodies were still not even as able to diffuse the corruption as lesser demons like stalkers or goblins. Fortunately, many of them were already fairly hacked up, leaving the demoness able to pick through their remains without much work, digging out a shard of violet crystal from each of them in turn. They ranged from just a bit bigger than her thumb to nearly the size of Mirchell's fist, though their size was often irrelevant; a collection of darkhearts that she could barter for items of more immediate value, if she found someone to trade with...
For now, however, the wayward demoness still hadn't found the darksteel she would owe the goblin smiths if she wanted the damnable collar off from around her neck - and her soul - any time soon, and so moved from the warren that the crawlers had turned into their nest. The doorway funneled into a narrow corridor, scarcely large enough for her to walk down with her intact horn not scraping against the ceiling, or scrape either shoulder against the wall, much less spread her wings. It went for about thirty feet before widening out again, the narrow walls making way for a huge chamber that was deeper than it was long, leaving most of it on the demon's left.
The chamber itself was rectangular, with numerous counters distributed in rows across it. Whatever work had once been done here was hard to say, but it was relatively intact save for a collapse near the back of the room. A brief search turned up some rusted scrap and rotting leather, not much of value scattered among the rubble covering much of the floor, but when she neared the crevice in the back Mirchell would notice a dark glint through the narrow stone passage. The crevice led into some kind of natural chamber cavernous chamber, and looking into it she would see the first hints that her prize wasn't beyond her reach; a handaxe, its handle rusted away but head nigh immaculate, the midnight black of it marking it as crafted from darksteel.
Mirchell had to squeeze through the narrow gap to reach for it, and the demoness found herself having to wriggle forward, the narrow passage partially crumbling as she tried to grab for her prize. She touched the handle after a moment's effort, but it crumbled as she tried to pull her prize free, leaving the head behind and forcing Mirchell to struggle further to get the damn thing. Her progress was by inches, the narrow gap almost too small for her to fit through at all, much less in her heavy armor, and Mirchell found herself grinding against the passage walls, effectively almost stuck in the crack, bent over.... And by chance, glanced up and looked deeper into the small chamber as movement caught her eye and realized that there was light coming from a narrow opening above, which cast a ray of wan light down into the room... Onto a figure seemingly stuck into the wall, a feminine figure, naked, green skinned, small, her belly almost absurdly engorged and breasts swollen and visibly leaking.... The goblin was alive but unconscious, her red hair dirty and clinging to her body, and her arms and legs were practically embedded in the walls, encased in some kind of chitinous substance up to halfway. Taking in that sight, unfortunately, left the very stuck demoness oblivious to the tentacles silently moving into position to strike from above...
What a horrifying sight Mirchell might have been, were she not in literal Hell and surrounded by even greater abominations - splattered with multiple different kinds of gore, eyes glowing and fangs bared as she inspected the workshop. Ichor clung to her hands, even after wiping her palms mostly clear on the corpses left behind, but she was richer for it. And in the end, that was what mattered. How long had it been since she last had a bath?
A flash of memory made the fallen princess cringe, of lush greenery and tumbling water, the clear and cold waterfall and basin she had once shared with an angel. Everything was worse because of her blinding lust for revenge, and incomprehensible arrogance in thinking she could really change Hell itself. Now here she was, filthy and traumatised, poking through the decaying ruins of a sweatshop for scraps of metal, begging strangers to free her shackled soul, her breasts swollen and aching, chafing wetly behind her breastplate as they squeezed against the fur-lined metal.
Shameful didn't even begin to cover it.
Frustrated with her fruitless search, the albino stamped an armoured boot straight through a decaying workbench, designed for creatures half her size. Plumes of dust and splintered wood blew outwards, the sound echoing through the empty chamber, but it was as Mirchell stepped from that musty, deeply unpleasant stench, that she finally noticed something. A glint through a crack. And closer inspection revealed a ray of hope - a decaying, rotting handle... attached to a glimmering axehead - so juxtaposed to its surroundings in being the only thing resilient to aging. Hells, it looked like it might even still be sharp.
Whether or not the goblins would consider it equivalent to a full ingot by itself was irrelevant - she had to have it. A darksteel weapon would be a great symbol of status, if it weren't for the fact that this goblin tribe probably already had a few. She certainly wouldn't be surprised if the chieftain Garkus already had one. More importantly though, she had to get the damn thing. It looked so close, so nearly within reach that the shattered demoness felt reaching in would be worth a try at first - the steel of her breastplate and bone of her horns scraping against stone as she stretched into the gap. Claustrophobia made her skin crawl, but outwards reached a gore-streaked ashen hand. Inch by inch... Only for the handle to crumble uselessly as a claw scraped against it, finally giving way to the passage of time.
Swearing in frustration, it was at this point Mirchell realised she would have to take her armour off to reach in - flesh was so much more malleable, after all, and her breastplate and pauldrons were catching awkwardly on the uneven surfaces, but as she began to pull backwards, her blood ran cold.
She couldn't.
Even worse, as the albino began to squirm and tug at herself, armoured boots bracing against the walls outside the hole, her glowing eyes picked up a glint of light from what lay beyond this crevice - the lair of another creature. With its captive breeder pinned insensate to the wall, bloated and leaking. Panic flared as bones creaked, as Mirchell yanked backwards fruitlessly, trying with increasing desperation to think of a plan. She hadn't noticed any movement yet, so her main hope was simply that she hadn't been noticed yet - unlikely given how noisy she had been in frustration.
What could she do? She could barely turn, much less fight - stuck halfway through a wall as she was, with her tailed ass jutting out into the open air, armoured faulds shaking against bare, muscular thighs. Think think think. Her breastplate was the problem, rigid and clasped about her squirming frame. Or rather, her arm's inability to rotate from this position. So...
Oh, this would hurt.
A goblin here might be fully stuck, but a full blooded demon had one advantage, at least. Her collar inhibited her powers, but the demon princess could still shapeshift - and right now, that seemed the best option - pain rippled through her core as Mirchell stretched, feeling her skin turn chafed and red as it was pulled to its limits - her guts churning as they were pushed just a few millimeters out of position. Movement began, but it wasn't enough. Her grasping arm was still stuck, unable to twist far enough to slip free of her stuck breastplate. Only one thing for it.
Mirchell let out a whimpering cry as a jolt ran through her system, and a wrench of muscle accompanied the rippling, shapeshifting magic as her right arm dislocated - the pain turned her vision red for a moment, but the now-limp limb could finally begin to slip free of its prison.
Mirchell: HP =51/67, PP = 44/44, EP = 47/47, Status = Starvation Collar, Lactating, Armor at 37/50 TP, Grappled, Pinned, arm disloacted
Maebev - Arch Traitor and Loyal Lieutenant
Aleida - Succubus Torturer
Malkeinith - Captain of the Lowest Guard
Garkus Ironbender - Elderly goblin forge master, commander of the tribe, sounds sort of like Keith David Thick Goblin Girl - Orb shaped.
Rolls
Cruelty Percentage: 99, well rollem has decided it.
Attack: Autohit from stealth, leaving Mirchell grappled, and it'll use Leap Glomp.
Grapple: 68 vs 68, but factoring in that she's down the use of an arm... She is now Pinned.
Though her essence might have been sealed, preventing Mirchell from calling upon her more directly potent supernatural powers, the demoness's control over her own form remained. That did not, however, allow her to turn one part of her body into another; muscle, skin, and fat could be converted back and forth to an extent, but her organs must remain as they were for her body to function, and bone would ever remain bone even if it could be rearranged somewhat, leaving her with little in the way of options... But not none. With a wrench, she dislocated her arm, and while her shapeshifting might have let her repair that damage - mostly - far more quickly than those ligaments could be restored by mortal healing, her malignant "host" had no intention of letting such a piece of prey escape. Even as Mirchell pulled herself back, managing to make enough of a difference to finally free herself from the crevice that she'd been trying to push through, tentacles surged towards her as the insect-like horror gave chase.
It surged through the hole, its own bulk clearing the crevice with shocking ease as its shell rippled to permit it passage, the thing using many of its tendrils - gathered in clusters - like extra limbs to allow it to twist itself out of the hole and, in essence, launch itself on top of her. The thing crashed into her, and the two tumbled briefly, but its myriad limbs were smother Mirchell before they'd even fully rolled to a stop. By the end of it, Mirchell was face down, ass raised, multiple tendrils coiled around every limb to limit her movement, and the creature deliberately twisted and pressed the dislocated appendage to the floor, weakening Mirchell further with deliberate applications of pain, A thick, muscular tentacle began to coil around her neck, the creature's mandibles clicking rapidly over her as it sought to render her helpless.... That she might be its next egg-host.
The pain was searing, but came with a shot of adrenaline as the demoness' shapeshifting prowess made dislocating her shoulder a simple process. Muscle and sinew screamed in protest, but Mirchell kept her audible complaints to a minimum as needling numbness tracked up her arm. It felt so... Cold. But the pain had provided a way she could get out, and that was more important - dragging her body back through the hole with the scraping of metal and bone, as her remaining horn scraped against stone.
Pain throbbed sharply though, as Mirchell approached the exit to her trap, and her numb arm jolted against the rock face - a small hiss streamed through clenched teeth as glowing eyes scrunched shut, fighting back the tear that sprang to them. But as she winced, a small, wet sound hit her pointed ears. And when her eyes opened again, what had been empty space just a moment ago was a squirming mass of tentacles. Pink and glistening flesh flailed as the insect-like creature pushed downwards in a chittering frenzy, and Mirchell recoiled sharply - yanking herself fully free from the hole as her good arm fumbled for her blade.
Too slow. Her guard had been down, and before the fallen princess could recover her posture, the ambushing monster had sprung - their bodies collided with a thud, as muscle and plate was crushed against by mass and chitin, and a loud clatter, followed by a splintering crash rang through the ancient workshop as Mirchell was knocked back, her sword clattering to the floor as the pair crashed through a rotted bench.
He was quiet now, surrendering control fully to the warrior, and Mirchell let out a frustrated, wordless scream as her remaining arm caught a tentacle, wrenching the slimy, flailing appendage away from her face. But the stagger had made the weight too much to bear, the constant shifting of mass and her own form strained from shapeshifting. The warrior-woman's knees buckled, even as her muscles strained and screamed to stay upright, and with a plume of dust, the pair collapsed into a pile, surrounded by the dusty detritus of demonic craftsmen.
If nothing else, at least the collapse freed up her legs to fight - long limbs desperately kicking at the crawler whilst her tail lashed and flicked, squirming to avoid being grabbed. But it was already a losing battle - the ambush advantage saw Mirchell entangled limb by limb. First her good arm, as two more veiny limbs wrapped repulsively around her forearm and shoulder, wrenching her grip away from where it had been fighting off another. Tendrils coiled around her thighs, slithering beneath the heavy fauld protecting her waist, though it took a few more moments for her lashing, kicking feet to be properly entangled. And finally her limp, useless arm, grasped as the albino was flipped onto her front with a cry of frustration.
That opening had taken only a few seconds, but already Mirchell was breathing heavily, frantically straining against her encroaching bondage, pupils dilating as panic bubbled beneath her ferocious resistance. Her knees pressed into the stone underfoot, feet pinned down and her lean derriere thrust up into the air - even as the slender, black tail continued to whip and writhe, proving elusive and difficult to pin down, but unable to do much more than some stinging slaps as it went.
That, too, could finally be grappled though, as the creature made a concerted effort to inflict suffering - pressing weight down upon her dislocated shoulder caused the fallen princess' tail to seize up, stiffening and straightening as her eyes went wide. The pain was overwhelming, and for a second, Mirchell whited out- a roar of agony slipping unbidden from her lips. Pain rippled through her entire body - from her aching chest, still laden with poisoned milk, to her screaming shoulder, to the burning strain of her legs pressing with all of their considerable might against her bondage. If she could just... Reach... Her sword. It was there, tantalisingly close, as ashen fingers stretched across the dusty floor to its burnished hilt. But even that was getting harder, with a tendril slithering around the albino's throat, even as her chin instinctively jabbed downwards, trying to deny the completion of a grapple, or find something to bite. She couldn't give in to despair.
Not yet. She could still get out of this. All she needed was an opening. A chance to grip her sword, to buck the creature long enough to try and aim a thrust upwards, even if it meant using her teeth or something else to balance the large weapon. Perhaps it would get frustrated enough, or complacent in its victory to get closer, and expose its throat to a jamming thrust of her last horn. Either way, she needed to wrench free whilst there was still time...
Mirchell: HP =0/67, PP = 44/44, EP = 47/47, Status = Starvation Collar, Lactating, Armor at 37/50 TP, Helpless, Bound
Maebev - Arch Traitor and Loyal Lieutenant
Aleida - Succubus Torturer
Malkeinith - Captain of the Lowest Guard
Garkus Ironbender - Elderly goblin forge master, commander of the tribe, sounds sort of like Keith David Thick Goblin Girl - Orb shaped.
Rolls
Grapple: 45 vs 84, Mirchell is now in a submission hold.
Gonna roll it out until she breaks out, or passes out. The tentacle beast will try to choke her out.
Grapple: 39 vs 74.
Choke damage: 10, putting her at 41. Cannot fail that Reflexes check, but it does go up by 4 next round.
Grapple: 39 vs 92, more choking.
Damage: 9, down to 32, and while still can't fail the resistance check to not pass out, the DC goes up by 8 for the next one.
Grapple: 42 vs 71
Damage: 16, down to 16 HP left, and a DC 24 reflexes check or pass out.
Resistance: 35, passes.
Grapple: 31 vs 85
Damage: 4, down to 12 HP, amusingly even with the +16 to the DC she can't pass out, but the next will be +20.
Grapple: 55 vs 79
Damage: 9, down to 3 HP
Resistance: 22 vs DC 29, Mirchell passes out...
She can gain 2 XP for the struggle though!
Where the first of the horrors that had tried to ambush Mirchell had tried to begin enjoying its prey before it had actually subdued her, this one proved much more cautious. Tentacles rapidly coiled further around her limbs and body, paining her dislocated arm intensely as it was twisted aside and squeezed the damaged limb. Worse still, the tentacle wrapped around her throat began to squeeze tightly, and suddenly Mirchell found herself unable to draw a breath.
Demons, particularly true demons like her, could withstand immense punishment and survive, given enough time to heal. They could sustain themselves largely upon energy taken from their partners rather than food, and their bodies hardly required sleep or water compared to a mortal so long as that need was upkept. The one thing that their inherent magic could not entirely account for, however, was the need for air, and that precious resource was precisely what the horror binding her was trying to deny her. It was not impatient nor overly ambitious with its tactics, as when it had its grip firmly upon her it simply held its main body far enough away that she couldn't get to it and simply waited, letting Mirchell's own struggles deplete her oxygen faster.
That left Mirchell to thrash, painfully so, in ever increasing desperation to free herself. She would, at times, managed to squirm enough to get the tiniest gulp of air, but it only delayed what became increasingly inevitable as her body began to struggle. Her muscles ached, her head lightened, her vision tunneled. Slowly but surely, weakness began to creep into her muscles, and every bit of progress that she made to get free of its grasp was undone by slight motions on the horror's part to re-solidify its hold. More and more Mirchell's vision tunneled, blackness creeping into the edges of her sight as her lack of oxygen began to reach a critical point... And then, ultimately, passed it, with Mirchell passing out in its grip.
.....
How long it actually was before Michell began to rouse back to consciousness, who could say, though she might find herself depressingly unsurprised at the state that she found herself in. The horror had stripped off her armor entirely, though where it had left it and her other equipment she couldn't tell. The only thing left on her, irritatingly, was the collar around her neck, ensuring that she wouldn't even be able to drain it when it impregnated her. She was suspended on the wall, not far from the goblin currently incubating its offspring. Her wings had been pinned above her, extended, and mostly encased in fresh, moist chitin, and any attempt to flex them resulted in finding them to be completely immobilized. Her knees were behind her shoulders, with her ankles and wrists side by side and also pressed into the wall, though at least the support of the hive material suspending her ensured that her shoulder was only dully throbbing rather than shrieking in pain. Her tail, likewise, was stuck to the wall, secured well out of the way.
What had forced her awake was quite evidently clear a moment after Mirchell awoke; her breasts ached, intensely so, and a glance down revealed that they were even more swollen with milk than before. Unnecessary though it might be, it had stung her again, several times by the feel of it, forcing her bust to prepare for feed offspring... Or, in this case, the creature that was going to sire them on her. That very thing had evidently done so mere moments ago, as Mirchell opened her eyes just in time to watch its sucker tentacles opening and approaching her breasts. A transparent reservoir capped each one, while the interrior was lined with thousands of tiny deft tendrils that Mirchell got to feel the effects of as they latched onto her breasts, engulfing not only her nipples but most of the curved cup of each breast, and briefly Mirchell might have thought she was in heaven for how intense the burst of pleasure and relief was.
The tendrils squirmed like an army of tongues, stimulating every nerve on the surface of her breasts, and the slightest sucking pressure it applied sucked a gulp of milk that flooded the two reservoirs instantly given how much her body had been forced to overproduce. The suction paused, the tentacles "swallowed" and a small bulge began to travel down each of them, destined to feed the parasitic monstrosity that had captured her, and then it sucked out another, all while her nipples and aureola were constantly bombarded with attention. Gradually, the pressure in Mirchell's breasts eased, but at the same rate a knot of pleasure grew in her core, twisting and twisting as stimulation built and built and built alongside the relief, and before she knew it Mirchell found herself shuddering in orgasm amidst her bindings.
The creature clacked its mandibles and tilted its head as she came down from her forced climax, but continued to feed from her bust through and after her orgasm, milking the demoness for a long while. As the pressure eased, it took firmer suction and more bouts of it to extract enough to fill the reservoirs, and it began to alternate which breast it was applying that suction to, one then the other. That left her under even more constant stimulation, and the second orgasm built rapidly as the creature feasted on her nourishing fluids. It didn't actually seem to care whether or not she enjoyed the act, her pleasure didn't allow it to feed more, but it didn't have to urge the thrumming tendrils to assail her sensitive nubs quite so enthusiastically... Regardless, Mirchell would have no choice but to suffer its feeding for a long while, forcing her through a string of minor orgasms as it milked her for all she had to offer. When the suction alone proved insufficient to harvest more than small spurts from her breasts, meaning more than a dozen were needed to fill the cups, other tentacles coiled around them from where they met her chest to where the sucker tendrils were attached, and began to squeeze in time with the sucking motions, and suddenly Mirchell's pleasure spiked and she was filling each cup in a single burst again for a long while before her production began to taper off again.
The greed of the creature was not without purpose. Such creatures required far more conventional nourishment than a demon to grow, but more importantly to reach the next stage of its lifecycle. At least one of the elder horrors was already surely present somewhere in this labyrinth, and while this one had already captured a goblin, Mirchell - as a true demon - would provide much, much more to it in terms of what it required to evolve in its next stage. Worse still, however, might be its intentions towards using her for propogating more of its ilk. Such demons were adaptable in their breeding methods, able to not only produce eggs that it could implant, either in a burrow or preferable a host, and there were even tales of a slain horror's own unlaid eggs hatching in its corpse to renew an infestation of the accursed things. They could also, however, breed with humanoid creatures in a more conventional method, with sperm able to override most of their victim's genetics even in the case of true demons. Such couplings took longer to grow but often produced much, much larger clutches than implanting its own eggs, allowing them to breed much more quickly in places with abundant availbel nourishment, and if the goblin beside Mirchell was carrying the eggs it'd had ready to lay, it might well not have more ready to put into Mirchell, which meant...
Regardless of those implications, when her breasts were starting to lessen their production again even with the forcible squeezing of its secondary tentacles, another narrow tipped tendril grasped her chin and forced Mirchell to look upwards. Another tentacle was hovering over her face, and as her gaze was drawn to it, it burst open like a flower, revealing a long, pale, slimy, phallic headed one. Her jaw was promptly pried open, a touch, leathery tendril shoving itself into her mouth to form a sort of ring gag to prevent her from biting down, and Mirchell promptly found herself subjected to the sickly sweet flavor of that slime as it shoved the phallic appendage into her mouth. It didn't bother with build up, shoving the tentacle straight down her throat until the lower split portions of that tendril met her lips, at which point it promptly started to fuck the demon's throat; this she knew from wretched experience would be how it fed her in turn, as it would force her to drink its cum - which was rife with hormones that would force her to ovulate in spite of her control over her own fertility - in vast quantities...
True to form, Mirchell refused to back down, to submit as pain ripped through her body - the fight was a desperate one, and as the patient, older monstrosity wrestled her down, the demoness clawed back with everything she could. Pointed teeth gnashed at anything that got too close, her broken horns sought to gouge and tear, and powerful, muscular limbs thrashed wildly against the increasingly restrictive embrace, especially as a tendril began to coil its way around her throat.
Amidst the dust and debris, chaos ensues throughout that prolonged, if forgone, battle - surrounded by the splinters of broken workbenches, the desperate, panicking demoness fought with unremittent savagery. Her mighty wings beat ferociously, kicking up plumes of dust in their desperate struggle, like a bat caught in a web. The horror was overwhelming, the knowledge of what would come if she ever stopped fighting, the experience of it she already had firsthand knowledge of. But she couldn't even scream, as hues of red and purple spread across the fallen princess' face - to do so would waste increasingly precious air as her throat began to burn. Her collar began to glow, its inscriptions pulsing with power as Mirchell instinctively reached for her magicks, keener by far to immolate both of them rather than submit, and instead just added the spine-searing discomfort of soul magicks being choked off before they could even begin to form. Another source of pain.
But no matter how hard she tried, it couldn't be maintained forever. Gradually, strength began to fade from the albino's muscles, overwhelmed by pain and asphyxiation, and ferocious biting, kicking, bucking began to fade more into twitches and jerks. Her purpled face of rage began to soften. And eventually the patient, insistent, cautious grip of the abomination won out.
Not... Like this. I won't... No... The thoughts were distorted, even her mind's dialogue weakened, and the fear beginning to melt away as her limbs and lungs burned. Darkness encroached on her vision, the sight of ruined furniture and dust. In the end, the other voice mused drunkenly, it was almost a fitting end... Ruined grandeur and lost dreams...
...
But it was not the end. Mirchell's horned head jerked upwards as a sharp inhale ripped past chapped lips - her lungs swelled with a conscious breath, until her last horn bumped up against a firm, chitinous surface. Vision did not come back immediately, taking a few rapid blinks as pain throbbed through her battered frame. Everything felt blurry. Her limbs were completely immobilised, even her wings and tail. The walls were a dull, fleshy pink, though the shift in perspective took a moment to connect with her new location. And cold dread clutched at her heart to see the goblin nearby - dazed and heavily pregnant.
But by gods alive and dead, her chest hurt. Injection sights stung across the warrior's ashen body, marked by the tensing definition of muscle beneath ashen flesh. Her powerful belly tensed into a washboard, and broad, womanly hips jerked back and forth a little, throwing a little weight around to test her bondage, whilst long, powerful legs were... Well, completely helpless. At least she was flexible enough that the strain of having her knees pulled so high up was not debilitating.
Her hair, already an unkempt mass in need of a wash, was truly a mop after the dusty struggle - bedraggled tresses of off-white hair hung forwards into the abyss, a shroud that partially obscured one glowing, hateful, terrified eye as Mirchell's vision began to refocus, whilst the juicy curve of her backside tensed up in the open air, to say nothing of that demonic pussy - over the centuries of imprisonment, Mirchell had frankly lost count of her children, but the regenerative, shapeshifting powers of her god-mutated species left that pink slit tight between her legs, tremors rolling up her spine to see what was coming, even if repeated pregnancies had left a bit of fatty padding to cushion her uterus - only odd in how low her overall body fat was.
A prize, in short, that any hellforged monstrosity would be giddy at the prospect of claiming. The perfect mare. And as cups sealed themselves around her breasts, Mirchell cringed in horror. This couldn't be happening again...
But a gasp barked from her lips as a thousand points of pleasure erupted across her flesh - translucent flesh squeezed warmly around her swollen, aching bust, and engorged areolae, and the immediate rush of ecstatic pleasure made Mirchell's head buck backwards, a tongue-biting whimper accompanying the world spinning. She hadn't even realised how intense the internal pressure was, and the gentle, insistent, coaxing caress of a thousand flexing tendrils brought it all to the fore - a rush of pink pleasure overwhelmed her aching body, and warm, sweet, helltouched milk squeezed through overactive mammaries - nourishing the predator she had fought so desperately against in a sensation so horrifyingly familiar.
But no matter the hate and fear that engulfed her thoughts, Mirchell's body reacted on its own. As she strained and tugged uselessly against her chitinous bindings, and milk flowed like a river, heat rushed through her belly. The promise of relief, and the abundant drugs flowing through her system eased the demoness' resistance, as her womanhood began to shiver in forbidden desire - glistening with moisture as she was milked.
She could see it, the rush of milk pulsing against translucent flesh as her shadowed breasts gushed their induced loads. The nourishment of motherhood and the sweet, sweet relief that was promised overwhelmed her resistance, and a cry of pleasure - choked back by a clenching of the jaw and a hair-whipping shaking of the head - accompanied a spasm of white-hot pleasure that ripped through the bound warrior. Hot, silvery pleasure stained quivering thighs as an unbidden climax tore through her, dripping and then gushing into the air, and falling, falling to the hive floor below. It was intoxicating - she had been trained over years to grow addicted to that tiny relief amidst the suffering, and her breath steamed as it gushed past pale lips, losing herself in the cycle of flowing milk and nectar.
And for a while, that continued. But realistically, there was a greater purpose for her presence. And with tentacles crawling around her chin, and a flowering, fleshy appendage arching almost curiously before her eyes, a trickle of fear ran down Mirchell's spine. She resisted - of course - the increasingly insistent pressure, but in the end there was no leverage. No way to stop it. And eventually the horror was able to pry the demoness' jaws open with a puff of steamy breath - tendons visibly straining as she desperately tried to bite back down, only for what felt like a rod of pure muscle to curl between them - a tough, combat-orientated tentacle too thickly fleshed for her to bite through coiled between the demoness' jaws, forcing them to strain from the stretch, and exposing the dark, wet maw behind - an unnaturally long tongue, a drooling mouth, tensing tonsils leading deeper into the dark... All immediately obscured as a fleshy, phallic tendril pushed into the exposed gap.
Mirchell spasmed at the first penetration - the taste was somewhere between rot and cum, sickly sweet yet intoxicatingly good - as her tongue was flattened by the vicious thrust, removing the last obstacle to the creature's wishes. Tears sprang to her eyes as her throat was immediately violated, the hot wetness of tongue and tonsils dragging across the phallus, forcing her to taste that slimy musk as her gag reflex kicked in - the demoness' throat clenched around the thrusting, remorseless tentacle to little avail as a sloppy, gurgling gagging sound filled the hive.
Spit rushed up, sloppily coating the tendril even as the 'petals' of its sheath began to wrap around Mirchell's jaw and cheeks, essentially locking that 'feeding tube' into place as her throat began to bulge, stretching against the heavy collar still glowing faintly around her throat, and long, long conditioning sent a rush of heat through her straining, futilely struggling body - a rush of sweet, demonic milk for the suckling cups from her increasingly well-drained breasts, as stiffly-erect nipples were forced to give up more of their own nourishment, and slick nectars drooled helplessly down tensing, twitching thighs now thoroughly coated in the stuff.
She was helpless. And she was going to bear the creature's young. And there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn't even scream or protest, only able to gurgle sloppily as her throat was noisily ravaged, and a trickle of drool and slime began to ooze down Mirchell's ashen chin, down to where her throat rhythmically bulged and stretched around the thrusting tendril...
