In another life, at another time, the small vampire girl would have melted Tristan's cold heart. Her adorable demeanor, the naive request for help, the cute way she seemed so shy about asking for his help. Even the the almost funny way she seemed to completely disregard her own self-preservation by standing under the burning sun as she waited for his response. In fact, he recalled in some previous lives having his own children that acted as so.
That was just it though. Like everything else, he'd seen it all before.
Looking over to the demon woman that seemed to be little Nimoa's friend, he lifted up his hand to point to the parasol that the child-like vampire had left behind. Valkira, after all, was still standing next to the rubble that had been a fountain where the umbrella had been left, so it would be more convenient if she brought it over. In the mean time, he would get down on his knees, bringing him at just about eye level with the girl.
Placing a hand on the girl's shoulder to pat out the embers that were transforming into burning flesh, he would begin his disappointing speech. "Listen 32, I know firsthand that the Sun can be detrimental to you and your race, but I've got bad news for you. You see, while standing too long out in it's direct light might kill you over time as it's doing right now," Tristan said, watching as her other shoulder began to ignite as well and switching to patting that fire out before it grew further. "The opposite is true for other species like myself. If the Sun goes out, over time it will have negative effects on the world. Things like plants and trees will die out, species will go extinct. A really bad time for most people involved. Not to mention that the Sun is larger than this world, only appearing small because it's so far away, so there would be no possible way to put the thing out without some serious magic."
When Valkira arrived with the parasol, Tristan would take it and hold it above the girl's head to help prevent further damage from the Sun. "It may suck to hear it, but it's best that you give up on your dreams. Think smaller so you can achieve something more possible and avoid living with years of regret over wasted effort," he finished, blunt and to the point.
It would take maybe an hour or so of their imprisonment before the two girls soon began to understand the true hell of incarceration: It was boring. Tremendously boring. Dull gray cobblestone walls and cold metal bars, and two simple piles of hay were all they had, aside from their hatred of one another’s guts. Charlotte wouldn’t stop running her mug against the bars, pouting as she held her knees against her chest with her free hand. "Just so you know, this is all YOUR fault."
“My fault, Pettanko Princess!?” Tamara pretty much screeched, as if struck by a sword. Standing, in merely her smallclothes, Tamara took up a loose stance; her tail unfurled from her hips, as her horns set flame, and her nails sharpened. “I'll take whatever barb you can dream to hurl, but, I won't take the blame for this!”
"You’re the one that was going around suspiciously hugging little girls! And I heard from one of the guards you broke a fountain out there too. I was just trying to defend myself, because you’re a slash happy maniac!" Charlotte fired back, standing and pointing at Tamara as she walked towards her. Her free fist was balled with the mug in hand, crushing the handle.
“Heh,” the Cambion grinned; of all Demon-kind, they stood as the most insufferable, for they'd the unbridled confidence and drive of the Human race, mixed seamlessly with the untamed power and thirst of the Demon race. They were insatiable as a demon, “Are you just jealous, your cutie pie left you? Pretended not to even know you? Are you mad, latched right on to me,” and cruel as a human, “Told me, her so-called friend burned down her forest garden; ruining her favorite greens.”
Charlotte clenched her teeth, visibly infuriated by that statement. "That wasn’t...C-3 Isn’t like that! You were just a meal ticket to her, you Sag Hag!" Charlotte said as she poked her finger right into Tamara’s bosom, before rapid-fire poking it with both her hands. "Stop acting all high and mighty just because you’re more developed! Breasts are overrated!"
“Meal ticket? According to her, you don't even feed her; just yourself,” Tamara smirked, “A vegetarian, and you offer her chimeral meal? No wonder, she pretended to be a stranger,” she looked down, and grinned with shark's teeth, “She's just a slave around you.”
"Take that back. Now." Charlotte said, eyes narrowing as her pupils turned to slits. "Take it back now, or I’m painting this cell in your mudded blood," she said, probably serious for the first time since Tamara had seen her. She was radiating animosity, and her hands were now engulfed in fire.
Tamara's tongue extended from her mouth, the end actually splitting into a fork, as her horns grew larger and curled thicker, and her tail grew plumper. “Delicious,” she hissed, “The taste of hypocrisy, denial, and delusion. All blending together...” Tamara stood taller, “Feel more for me, Pettanko Slave Master. Try.”
As serious as Charlotte was, Tamara didn't seem rightly phased. In fact, she was clearly getting off on this in multiple senses of the word.
Charlotte suddenly paused, blinking a few times as she looked to the cell door. "...Wait, why don’t I just..." she said, before letting Tamara go, cutting off her feed on her emotions as she simply went over and yanked a bar out of place with her bare hands. "....Y’know, I forgot human prisons were weaker than demon ones." she said, seeming to have lost any and all animosity. In other words…
Tamara just got her climax denied. Hard.
Tamara's eyes narrowed, as her form reverted to its suppressed “Human” state; all emotion suddenly quelled. It was pure denial, and her teeth grit tight; now, flat and human. “Move, or be moved,” she ordered, as she moved to the gated door.
"You’re not the boss of me." Charlotte said, plain and simple as she stuck her tongue out cheekily. "Good luck moving me though." she said, tauntingly. Now, she wanted to make Tamara mad.
Tamara inhaled, and suddenly threw her head back; screaming, shrieking, wailing, and purging all emotions. As she did, her body grew uncomfortably, uncontrollably, as her muscles grew and tore her skin and smallclothes, before suddenly compressing, and her head tipped forward; eyes black and white, empty and infinite. “[Compulsion of Nature: Emotional Reversion.]” she ushered the collapse of emotion into existence, “Move.”
Charlotte just kinda looked at her funny. "...Y’know, that’s kind of a dumb thing to do. That technique hurts your soul. I could have just taken all the bars out myself, y’know." Charlotte said, not budging an inch. "C’mon, you may be a weirdo halfblood, but killing your emotions isn’t a good way to bust out of here."
Tamara didn't care about that. She didn't like to be challenged. Dark Paladins were egotistical like that. However, that didn't matter, at the moment. Her honor was besmirched, and that needed fixing. Charlotte's indignant refusal to move was fuel to the fire that was her full-body tackle into Charlotte...
Which, Charlotte would recieve with open arms, wincing as she felt her body strain as she scarcely managed to stop the tackle, before flinging Tamara against the cell wall. "Phew...you’re really heavy when you don’t have emotions, y’know?" she said, catching her breath. "Anyways, just turn off that skill and I’ll get us out of here. Much as I think you’re a creep, you uh...you’re a demon too. We gotta look out for each other, I guess is all I’m saying."
Tamara kicked off the wall, and rocketed at Charlotte -- and, right by her. “Seeya, Pettanko Princess!” she caught herself against the opposite wall, and threw herself down the hall. Charlotte's might have just gotten tricked by the world's biggest Asshole for Justice and Softcore [Redacted] Material.
Charlotte was left staring as Tamara bounced down the hall, before grabbing an iron bar so hard that it crumpled. "SAG HAAAAAAAAAG!" she bellowed, before storming down the halls, summarily dropkicking every guard she saw as a way of venting.
Now, every guard in town was en route back to the prison...given that they weren’t very sneaky about it.
Tamara cackled to herself, as she skidded into a room. Looking up, C-3 looked at her, and waved lazily; resting on the table, in a sleepy curl, Regalia was napping. “There you are, cuties,” she says, gathering up the hybrid creature. “Time for your nappies with Mommy.” Momentarily, Regalia arose to consciousness, before snuggling into Tamara's hold, butting her breasts, and nodding back off.
C-3 yanked her view away, as her cheeks were light grey, “Cuter than me...”
Charlotte burst through the door too, looking around frantically before she tackled C-3 into a hug. "C-3!" she squealed in delight, rolling around on the ground with her slimy companion. "I was so worried! And also I was in jail, but its fine, I know you don’t have enough coin to pay bail and were just waiting for an opportunity to spring me and all-But now we can bust outta here!" she said, never once doubting that C-3 would come for her...even if she had no plan to.
“I wasn't. Didn't have a thought to do so. I was gunna eat, until they let you out,” C-3 says. “I figured, five years, public indecency, that's a few hundred restocked potions. Maybe, even a nice garden to replace the one you burned down.
She was really hung up on that.
Charlotte froze as C-3 spoke, before literally falling onto her side and openly weeping. She’d given C-3 a speech about how she’d do all those nice things for her, even find her a better place, but...was she still that upset about a town she’d lived in for a day? Regardless, Charlotte was just kind of crying, making the whole room’s mood really awkward...especially with the captain of the guard standing in the doorway.
“I was kidding!” C-3 sighed. Tamara snickered, tail wagging, “Oh, please, keep kidding. This taste delicious!”
Charlotte just kept on wailing, before the captain of the guard cleared his throat. "It seems you’ve all forgotten what being imprisoned means." he said, drawing his sword. "What luck. You’re both committing felonies. And I’m a guard. And I love my job." he would say.
C-3 sighed, and rubbed Charlotte's cheek with her left hand; a hand missing all her fingers, and more of a cartoon ball-hand. It would confuse anyone that didn't know how C-3 worked... “Cease your wailing, my treasure. Even you can't sabotage what we have,” she kissed Charlotte's ear, “That's my job.”
Suddenly, there was a massive explosion and a fair chunk of the jail was missing, followed by several others in the distance through the town. C-3 was no hero, nor villain, but a dragon, and a dragon hoarded their treasure with a violence.
Charlotte perked up a little bit, hugging C-3 as soon as the earth shattering kaboom rocked the jail. "C-3’s the best at Sabotaging!" she said, while the guard captain was left dazed. ”What in blazes...that’s no drow!” he said, feeling utterly betrayed by C-3. He thought she was just a normal, for some reason very gelatinous drow child. That was illegal! Gritting his teeth, the guard captain lowered his stance. ”I’ll not let you three make a mockery of this town’s justice system!” he bellowed.
Tamara could tell more than anybody how experienced he was, being a swordfighter herself. There was no doubt about why he was in charge; Wheras the average guard was only as strong as the average human, this man was far and beyond that. If anything, it was shocking to find that he WAS a town guard.
“I do apologize, sir, but, a dragon’s treasure is hers, and hers alone,” C-3 yanked Charlotte up, and a magic circle formed underneath them; the floor taken out with a controlled, shaped charge. Tamara looked back, as they dropped into the darkness below -- impressed by how fast the slime worked. All this in an hour. Regardless, she was more focused on the so-called Guard. “Rest upstairs, Regalia,” she says, placing Regalia on her horned head, “I didn’t think I would meet a swordsman with your obvious skill level,” she says, holding out her hands, “I’d be remiss not to challenge you for my honor and because you just seem like a hype fight.”
Well, Tristan most certainly knew how to break a little girl's heart. Wheras she had once looked at him with eyes of adoration, the crimson saucers that were her eyes started to well up a bit as she wasn't just told, but was explained to why her dream could never happen. It was frustrating; Infuriating, even. But, even she could tell that here was what nobody had told her before. He was...honest. More honest than anybody had ever been to her. Clenching ehr fists as she held onto the hem of her dress, tears streaked down Nimoa's face. "O-Okay..." Nimoa said, having to do her best not to let her voice become a pained wail.
Wiping her tears on her arm, Nimoa ran back over to Valkira and her parasol, now thankfully not on fire as she said: "...But I'm not giving up," she would say as she turned back to Tristan, tears dripping to the floor. "E-Even if the sun's important, I have other ways to do what I really want." she said, before bowing to Tristan, trembling a little.
"T-Thank you for...for being honest!" she said, before grabbing Valkira's hand, and pointing up to the sky. "The sun gets to stay up there! B-But now, we move onto Plan D! W-W-We're gonna go and find an alchemist, and-and..." she said, before sitting on the bench and full on wailing.
Sure, she understood that the sun was needed...but she was still a child.
Valkira smiled the harshest of realities often dash children's dreams. Though with that said Valkira knew she would bounce back stronger than ever. "Fear not child the greatest of plans never survive first contact with the enemy" You failed this time but you will come back with a new one that will wow them all." She said with a smile wiping the tears from her eyes. She had a soft spot for children and she knew a few times where she purposely let heroes pass due to children by faking defeat.
As the small vampire girl began to break into tears, Tristan couldn't help but scowl at the sound, even replying to it with an irritated low growl. He hated hearing children cry. Who didn't? Just watching her wail before him made the hero want to walk away as far as he could from Nimoa and find a much quieter place to wait for his companions' return.
However, despite the countless years transforming the hero into a jaded asshole, there was a reason that fate had chosen him of all people to be said hero. Despite the hardships and cruelty he had faced, he still did the right thing when destiny called upon him. "Alright 32, let's hear this new plan of yours. Maybe I can help with this one. Especially if it involves punching a bad guy or fetching some magical artifact. I've gotten quite good at those." Even if I've gotten tired of them showing up so often.
Nimoa was surprised at the encouragement she recieved, sniffling as she choked down sadness to wipe her tears away. She would pump her arms up and down to psyche herself up, looking raring to go once more as Mr. Hero asked what her new plan was. With renewed confidence, Nimoa wiped the last of the tears from her eyes, proudly declaring: "If we can't kill the sun, then the only answer is that we make vampires able to survive in sunlight!" she would say, proudly nodding at her newfound plan, which, was admittedly significantly more feasible than fighting the sun with a pail of water. But only a little bit.
The little vampire would beam, spirits completely rekindled. "That's right! This should have been my Plan A to start with! After all, even if I kill the sun and plant peppercorns, humans still sleep at night, and vampires during the day. But if Vampires can go to the beach, tan, and enjoy a picnic, then we'll be liked just like humans are!" she said, clearly exuberant at the idea of being able to stay up during the day. "It took me months of training just to stay awake. I missed so many midnight breakfasts...but if I can do it, anyone can!" she said, crouching down and then jumping up, tiny bat wings flapping as she hovered for a moment. "Let's go let's go! Let's go find an alchemist! And a bad guy for Mr. Hero to punch!" she said, before floating back down.
"...Erm...let's see...what's an alchemisty place for an Alchemist to be..." Nimoa would say, sitting back down on the fountain and rummaging through her batpack. Finding a rather aged worn map, she would furrow her brow as she looked it over. "Um...I don't think this town is named this anymore...a-and I could have sworn this forest was a city on the way here..." she said, nervously glancing over the clearly aged and weathered map. She was getting nowhere with that antique that was clearly older than her. In fact, it looked older than the brickwork on some of the houses. Folding it up in frustration, she would say: "W-Well, its fine! We can ask around. I promise that we'll find you someone to punch, Mister Hero! Oh, um, its a little weird if I keep calling you Mister Hero...do you mind if I ask your name?" she said, going from very excited to timid and dignified as she bowed in asking for Tristan's name. She didn't want a real hero to think she was a country batkin, after all.
Falling deep into the hole created by C-3’s blast, Charlotte clung to her slimy companion for dear life. Once they landed in water, Charlotte would light up the area around them with a flame extending from her finger, revealing them to have been dunked right into the aqueducts running through the underside of the town. "Ohh thank goodness...I thought we were going to land in the sewer..." the demoness said, leaning against C-3. "I’d have died if we just landed in...human filth. You even more, since you’d probably taste it just by touching it."
"I have told you before, it doesn't, and will never, work like that," C-3 sighed, "Blessed be I, for that, as I would probably die of sodium intoxication from how much you sweat in your sleep."
Charlotte pouted, poking C-3’s cheek with her un-lit finger. "I only sweat in my sleep because you’re always insisting on sleeping in my bed! Where do you think these tunnels lead, anyways?" Charlotte asked, tossing a bit of fire further down to see what was there, the scurry of rats audible to their ears. "Ew..."
"Maybe, if you didn't beg me to, like I'm some kind of toy to cuddle," C-3 sniped back. "Huh, rats. I wonder, if there are any Dire Rats..."
"There better not be any!" Charlotte said, skin already crawling from the presence of regular rats. "Guh...you’d think the humans would do something about this. Rats in their water? Really?" Charlotte would say before a figure significantly larger than a rat darted around a corner, only visible from the shadow they cast.
"Hrm..." C-3's eyes were too sharp to be eluded, even on the poor lighting. Her cheeks puffed up, as she was seemingly chewing on what sounded like glass. Across her body, her flint and flash powder horns and spines glowed; explosions lighting underneath her skin. "Mhm..."
Charlotte hurriedly extinguished the fire present on her finger, not wanting to blow C-3 up as her flint and flash became active. "What’s wrong? Did you see something?" Charlotte would ask as the pitter patter of bare feet against wet ground grew more distant.
C-3 opened her mouth; an ornate vial that contained a thick syrup, and second one, though larger. "Drink 'em," she says, before reaching into herself, and retrieving a slimy shortbow. "Hurry! Drink! Shoot! I want that Dire Rat!"
Charlotte was confused, but, trusting C-3, she would down the syrups with gusto, tossing the bottles over her shoulder as she took the shortbow. "You know I can’t shoot a bow to save my life, right? I hit things, I don’t shoot them," Charlotte complained, wondering just what those vials were full of anyways.
Charlotte's suddenly filled with a Novice's talent at archery, as the Syrup of the Archer took hold, and bestowed five temporary levels of Archer; at the same time, she found her Monk levels drop by five, and her Archer Class increased to 10 -- thanks to a Nip of Level Exchange. Suddenly, the shot wasn't in the realm of impossible.
Charlotte felt her head swim a bit, feeling like now maybe, just maybe, she could hit the broad side of a barn. Taking aim, Charlotte stuck her tongue out in concentration, before loosing an arrow and nailing the target. "Y’know, you should really tell me what those do...I kind of like staying good at punching things."
C-3 took off, as her spines drew back in, and her slime solidified; hands to her sides, she fashioned twin flint stone dagger that dripped with slime, and were edged with flash powder. "Symphonic Dance: Fortissimo!" she says, as she danced around the rat, fluid and musical, in her slashes that didn't cut, but ingrained slime were they landed. "[Crescendo]!" she says, clapping the sticky blades overhead in an "X" -- setting off the earlier made cuts.
C-3 would come to notice several things. One was that there was in fact no rat, it was in fact a skeleton that was extremely alarmed at all the hacking, slashing, fluid flopping and powder popping. Second was that Charlotte from all that swishing around and spinning had been dunked into the water, and was now clinging to the edge of the stone border of the waterway. And third, the skeleton was completely unharmed. "What the hey, you scared the skin off of me!" the skeleton would complain, pointing an accusing finger at C-3. "Who just barges into an aqueduct and starts getting slash happy at anything they see? A-Are you some kind of murderer? Or pervert? Or a perverted murderer?"
C-3 looked back at Charlotte. She'd be fine. After all, there was an Alchemist's dream standing before her: clearly magicked bones. "I am a dragon of science, murder is beneath me. I am no pervert, either; that is a station all to my drowning treasure," she says, flipping her blades forward. "In the fair interest of all sciences, I, humbly, request you allow yourself to be dissected and studied in excruciating details forthwith."
The skeleton’s lifeless hollowed out eye holes would stare unblinkingly at C-3. "...No." He would say simply before picking up the rucksack he was carrying and walking away.
C-3 spit [Firecrackers] at his feet; science was hella unimpressed.
The skeleton would tapdance to avoid the firecrackers popping, leaping back and pointing at her once again. "I knew it! You are just a pervert! A weird pervert that likes taking apart skeletons!" he said, lifting up a piece of driftwood as if it were a weapon. "Well, I won’t suffer this disgrace any longer! If you intend to cross bones, then know that the mighty DEAN stands before you!"
"...Who?" Charlotte asked, fire-drying herself.
C-3 walked over, grabbed the driftwood, and started eating it. It didn’t prove a point, really, but, it was filling; fiber tended to be.
The Skeleton would flap his driftwood around, trying to shake C-3 off as he screamed: "H-Hey, don’t go eating other people’s weapons! Have you no honor, you custardy cur!?" he asked, pointing accusingly at C-3 as he tried to shove her off.
There was a bone-chilling CRUNCH, as C-3 bit through the wood -- far more force put to task than necessary, when you’re primary method of eating was liquification of material. C-3 didn’t say anything, however, as she chewed -- she was a ladylike dragon, if anything.
"...You know what, you can have that." Dean would say, dropping the driftwood, picking up his rucksack, and going while the getting to get gone was good.
“Charlotte, if you get that for me, I’ll do “that” for you,” C-3 offered. In spite of her combat levels, capabilities, and prowess at on-the-fly adaptability... at the end of the day, she was a Alchemist, an elixir-based Caster. Her usage was best done in calculated and well-timed bursts of efficacy, not extended combat situations.
Charlotte looked completely confused, tilting her head as she dried her hair, using her flaming hand as a blow dryer. "Do what?" she asked, unsure of what C-3 was talking about.
C-3 face-faulted into a puddle of herself. Charlotte was so stupid. How did anyone misunderstand a blank check when offered?
Given that Charlotte didn’t really ask all that much of C-3, she was still waiting for an answer, confused on why C-3 just fell over. "A-Are you alright?" she asked, going to help her friend up, before slipping and falling into C-3’s puddle as well.
C-3 grumbled, and decided to take matters into her own hands; purging her flint and flash power, leaving only her torch oil, the Obsidian Slime left herself without attack power, but allowed herself the ability to press against Charlotte’s skin, and prick the hell out of her. ‘Get him! I want!’ she ordered, pins and needling Charlotte all over.
"OW! OUCH! STOP!" Charlotte yelped as she was pricked, sprinting after Dean as tears welled in her eyes. "Why do you have to pinch EVERYWHERE?" she asked, gaining on the aqueduct’s skeleton, who had thought to have lost the terrifying twosome.
C-3 was just pushing her forward. She was single-minded in her desire for magical bones. That was, like, a must in better potions.
Charlotte shivered as she kept being pushed and pricked, before grumbling and grabbing C-3, balling her up, and fastballing her at Dean. "STOP POKING ME!" she yelled, clearly irate as she threw C-3 with enough force to send her and Dean hurtling into the water.
C-3 yelped, as her slime seperated in the water. “Gaaahh!” she shouted, as she floated apart. Obsidian Slimes were water-soluble, as they were based around fire and earth magicks.
Charlotte was confused on why C-3 wasn’t moving, before the slime would suddenly find herself being scooped up into a rucksack, the skeleton jumping free of the water with her safely held inside before he dumped her out, along with a good portion of his belongings. "You okay?" he’d ask, seeming intimately knowledgable on monster types, looking down at the half-melted slime. She’d enough mass from his dumped out underwear and clubs to pull herself back together, at least.
“Wh’ w’uld y’u thr’ me in th’ wa’er!?” C-3 raged, missing bits and pieces of her words, and tongue. “Y’u kn’ ’m w’ak t’ wa’er, y’u ‘erk!”
Charlotte stamped her foot on the ground, clearly irate herself. "I was trying to throw you at HIM! And why are we wasting time down here hunting for stupid rats and stupider skeletons!?" she questioned, while Dean just kind of watched, slowly backing away. "How am I the idiot here?" he questioned in his hollowed out head, taking his leave.
“You blockhead! You never care about my alchemy needs!” C-3 says. “All you care about is what you can punch and burn! I have needs to!” she says. “I hate you!
Charlotte faltered at C-3 saying that she hated her, before the scarlet haired demoness said: "And all you care about is alchemy, eating, and calling me dumb! I’ve had it!" she said, before storming off...only to find herself at a dead end, walk back, and say: "I’M STILL MAD" as she went the correct way.
C-3, put together, snarled back, and stormed off in the direction of the dead end; pausing only to scream back, “DON’T CARE!”
Dean awkwardly scratched the back of his head before he slowly approached C-3, saying: "Hey, um, I know its none of my business, especially since you’re trying to kill me and all, but...you and her shouldn’t fight. You both seemed close."
“HA!” C-3 laughed, as she was eating the dead end into a path of travel; it was her race’s speciality, after all. “She doesn’t care about anything but showing up her stupid father,” she huffed out in-between mouthfuls, “I’m a proud dragon! I shouldn’t be ignored when I want something!”
"...C’mon, you know that much isn’t true," Dean would say as he walked over, patting her on the shoulder. This was incredibly awkward, but...he’d parted with someone once on similar terms. Turning C-3 around, he would pull her into a hug and softly stroke the back of her head. His bones were uncomfortable and cold, but C-3 could tell that his soul was warm, one full of compassion. "Friends fight. It happens. But don’t let it make you not friends."
C-3 whined. But, Dean wasn’t being eaten into material, so that meant he must has done... something... right, at least. “...I desire to make decisions and have my way, too...” she murmured, sadly.
Dean chuckled softly, reassuring C-3 with gentle strokes of her “hair”. "There’s nothing wrong with that. But you and her need to communicate better. Be kind to each other, even when you both make mistakes, you know?" he said, looking up at the ceiling, an air of nostalgia to his gaze. "...Don’t let go of friends. No matter what. After all, even dragons value friendship, right? There’s nothing more precious than a true friend."
"Of course, they do! They are treasures, and dragons love treasure!" C-3 says.
"Attagirl." Dean would say, gently clapping her on the back. "Don’t give up. I bet she’s torn up inside about all that too. She looked like she was about to cry." he said, releasing the slime from his hug as he pointed to the way she went. "I can hear her footsteps still. She’s probably pacing the entrance, worried that you got lost. She seems the type to worry."
"That's all she does," C-3 says, "I should go to her. Thanks!" she says, running off. "Seeya~!!!"
Dean smiled as well as a skeleton could, running a thin bony finger across the hole where his nose would go, a sign that he was proud of doing that. "No problem. See you around, Little Miss Dragon!" he’d say as a farewell, before gathering his belongings and chuckling to himself. "...Reminds me of the good old days." he said, before heading deeper into the aqueduct, a newfound piece of wood in his hands as he reached the deepest, darkest crevices present, the maddeningly long corridors growing longer still as he descended deep below the town, a shambling amalgamation of flesh given form writhing, and screaming as he approached. His hollow eyes glowed with the faintest of white light as he said: "A hero’s work is never done, huh?"
At the same time, Charlotte was nervously pacing by the entrance, gripping her arm as she wondered whether she should go after C-3, wait for her to come back, or just...try and pretend nothing happened. Maybe get Mr. hero to work things out between them. As she heard shuffling steps approach though, her back snapped straight, completely unprepared to get yelled at again.
"It would take some effort to put a knife through that tension," C-3 says. "Relax, you dork."
Charlotte awkwardly scratched the back of her head. "I um...I-I’m sorry…" she said, hanging her head.
“Forget it,” C-3 says. "I'm hungry, and I don't have a source of free food, anymore. Wanna blow this broke town, and find some place to eat? Just me and you. Like always."
"Y’know...that sounds great right about now. But we still have to come back for Mr. Hero." Charlotte said, before leading C-3 off to find some place to eat.
Tamara spoke confidently, but, she was missing her armaments and armor; as thick as her half-demon hide was, it was still half-human, so a good hit could end it all. Still, she was a Dark Paladin, and that made her armed without fail; as such, she drove her spiked heel through the leg of the chair, and snatched the wooden leg out the air. "I don't like this skill, but... [Berserker Influence: Night of Owning]..." she chanted, along the intonation, "Set the sun, on saniest day, until it rises, from maddest night. Known now all weapons, string and strike; owning unstoppable, berserker might..."
Tamara sighed, before, suddenly, explosively, charging forward, and bringing down the leg of the chair with the finesse of a short sword and the weight of a maul.
The captain of the guard didn’t flinch. Rather than attempting to parry her strike, he stamped his foot upon the ground, one of the loosened floorboards from the explosion springing up and throwing off Tamara’s balance before his gauntlet-covered hand crashed down on the back of her neck, sending her flying into the table. He wasn’t someone to be triffled with. ”Are parlor tricks and long incantations all you adventurers good for?” he would ask, unsheathing a dirk on his belt and throwing it on the ground before Tamara. ”Die with steel in hand, cur.” he said, in a way respecting her bravery by giving her a weapon rather than a chair leg to use.
Tamara growled; her once melodic voice tearing in her own throat, as she slammed her arm into the table. From the point of contact, magic scripture spread out, and the wood crackled to wind around her arm, as she yanked it up like a tower shield. Her tail lash out, and she snatched a nearby lampstand into her hands; in her grip, the same scripture twisted along it, and drew the legs into a spearhead formation -- turning the whole of it into a lance.
Stabbing forward, the Cambion aimed straight at the nameless guard without hesitation to skewer him.
Unflinching, the Guard would spit to the side, his sword squarely poised betwixt the legs of the makeshift lance as he twisted, bending the metal from sheer force before his palm slammed into Tamara’s stomach. ”You can’t beat me like that.” he said, casting his gaze down at her as he forced the air to flush from her lungs, throwing her once more.
Unphased, Tamara bounced off the ground, and let her weapons of no import lie as they were, as she dove at him; beyond him; hands lying squarely around jail bars. As the spell took other their being, Tamara was unchallenged to wrench them free of their caging, and held them like twinned longswords.
”All of it is just gimmicks with you, isn’t it?” the guard would ask, before stooping over to retrieve his dirk, holding it in the opposite hand in a reverse grip. Lowering his stance, Tamara would see how...posed he was. As if this was how her normally fought, with a sword and a dagger in hand.Stepping forward, he would keep his eyes trained upon her, smirking. ”How long do you expect to try and use trash to fight me? Or are you really that desperate to trick me into cutting through a way to your swords?” he would ask.
Tamara didn't reply, as she launched a testing thrust with her left bar; the metal fashioned by some kind of magic into a bladed weapon. It was as sharp as any sword in the area, undoubtedly, and her movement allowed no margin of error. It was a easy to read feint, and anyone without practiced knowledge wouldn't know to read her eyes to see where she was intending to led him... the only problem:
The sun was set behind Tamara's eyes, and her entire eye was a pitch of black without means to determine where she was looking. It was a battle of skill, speed, and luck to determine if the feint was a fake as intended or a reality masked to skewer him truly.
The guard would keep his eyes trained upon Tamara’s blade, his gaze one of a veteran of combat as his moved to block the feint, before he would cry out: [“Warrior’s Art: Iron Fortress”] before he would simply let the blade slip through, his own dagger and sword instead going for her other hand, twinned fangs gnashing against the singular blade as it snapped in twain, while her makeshift sword did find purchase, she found a supernatural force was preventing it from going beyond skin deep. His defense was bolstered to the point that it was as if his whole body was made of iron, his gaze falling to Tamara as his knee slammed into her stomach, lifting her a good foot off the ground before he would take a step back, plucking the blade from his abdomen. ”You’re relying so much on me just being some rank and file soldier that you didn’t think about whether I’d have tricks up my sleeve too.” he said, casting his disappointed gaze down on Tamara. ”...You know, you might make a half decent guard. Why don’t we call this off, before you really get hurt?” he asked, giving her a way out.
Tamara groaned, as her sun was made to rise. It wasn't quite the time, however, she'd made enough progress. "I hate this..." she groaned, as she stood, "I hate this...I hate it..." Her horns started to grow, curl, fork, and fan out like demons antlers with a longhorn's base. "I don't like it... I don't like this..." Her tail grew and fell with weight, as her musculature thickened and expanded. "Imprisonment... Belittlement... Judgement..." Her eyes opened, filled with hatreds unspoken. "I hate myself. I hate..."
"[Emotional Inversion.]"
Brimming with self-destructive, self-defeatist, and self-loathing, Tamara tapped into the emotional attachment that all Succubus had by nature of being such a sexually persuasive species that fed off the lusts and vitality of men and women; she'd done the same to Charlotte, until her stupid kicked in, and the demoness washed out her emotions. However, the guard was going to show none at all, so she'd have to create her own that she could trust not to be washed out.
That meant, her own...
"Don't judge me!" Tamara shouted, lunging at the guard.
”Believe it or not, I don’t have all day to play around with moody brats.” the guardsman would say, throwing his dirk away to grab Tamara by her hair and slam her into the ground head-first. His strength was beyond monstrous as he kept her pressed down against the ground, glowering at her with that same steely glare. His arms visibly swelled as he said: [“Adrenaline Overdrive”]. All of a sudden though, the sound of the entrance door rang, the little bell atop it signaling someone had entered.
”Papa? I brought lunch!” a little girl called out. The guardsman visibly froze for a moment, before sighing, letting go of Tamara. ”Get out of here.” he said, taking a step away from her. ”I guess I’ll clear your charges, since that slime wasn’t a little girl anyways. Hell of a brawl.” he said, sheathing his sword.
Tamara growled, "Hate... Hate... HATE... HATE..." before she set up to continue, and her eyes landed on fresh meat. Nothing more. Nothing less.
The Guard would look back at Tamara as she stood up, before he walked over and patted her on the back, steadying her with his other hand. ”You did good Kid. Not many people make me use a Martial Art.” he said, complimenting her. Another person would enter the guard house, the sound of bones clacking audible. ”Oh! Hello Mister Dean!” the little girl would say, before a hearty chuckle escaped the skeletal warrior, awash in monster bits and absolutely soaked. "Oho, your papa’s one lucky man Dalia. Your lunches always smell good." he said, complimenting her.
Harumphing, the girl turned away. ”You’re just saying that, you don’t even have a nose.” she said, to which the skeleton chuckled. "Got me there."
Tamara zeroed in on the skeleton, and threw herself forward at him. There was no technique, no spell, no art -- just raw strength of emotion made power and rage.
Raw strength that wouldn’t budge the skeleton as he just turned his attention her, grabbing her by the shoulders and saying: "Oh wow, I didn’t expect to see a Cambrion here. Aww...she’s mad." Dean would say, gently scratching behind Tamara’s horns, as if she weighed nothing and her blows weighed even less than nothing.
Being in a place with overleveled people was no fun.
Tamara growled, as her fists were making impact and yet no impact... eyes welling with tears and she was pissily pouting at Dean. This was supposed to be working!
Dean would gently pat her head. "Aww...poor thing. Is nobody giving you attention?" he would ask, before giving her a big old hug, rubbing her back. "Its okay. Sometimes, everybody feels like rampaging, purging all emotions, and causing a ruckus. But that doesn’t make you a bad person."
...It was then that Dean would once again use his rapidly leveling [Therapist] Class to help Tamara feel better.
"Nyah....~!" Tamara whined, pounding his back, until she slumped in lame defeat, and her emotions purged into the air in a swirl of dark reds and darker purples; screaming profanities and curses into the void. Her form shrank back into her perfectly smoking hot self.
Dean sighed, softly patting her back as he set her down onto a nearby chair, getting her a glass of water. "Feel better?" he would ask, trying his best not to be distracted by the half-succubus’ half-succubus bits.
Tamara was still pouting, as her smallclothes shrank back to their normal, and nodded. She was loath to admit it, but, she did.
Dean smiled as best a skeleton could, before stretching his arms up, bones crackling as he did so. "Funny, you’re the second demon with issues that I’ve seen today. Met another one, down in the aqueducts with firey hair and a little slime companion. Don’t know when I went from being a Town Guard to a councilor, but it feels good to help." he said, before asking: "So, what are you going to do now? I can ask Morgaf to give you back your weapons." he said, suspiciously already aware of what kind of weapons she used.
“My mission is to exterminate the Sunstalker,” Tamara says, deciding that was a cooler villain name that her prior exclamation in the town square.
"Well, that’s a fancy name. Is it some kind of monster?" he would ask, netting his bony fingers together. "Believe it or not, I’m a pretty good Monster Hunter. I could help you out."
"I see..." Dean said, before standing up. "Well, I’ve had to fight more than my share of vampires. In my lifetime, and a couple others. But, if you need a bag of bones to help you out, I’d be happy too." he said, offering her his hand. "Name’s Dean. What’s your’s?"
“Most call me Tamara Gozolla,” she says, “Very few can properly pronounce the name I was given,” she says, “And, I must do this alone. This is the mission I was given. That is the Samurai Code of Honor.”
"I see. Well, good luck then! Morgaf, give her her gear back." Dean would say, before the gruff guardsman from before brought out Tamara’s swords, as well as the armor confiscated form her. ”Don’t cause any trouble. Got it?” he would say, before resuming lunch with his daughter.
“I will just go and kill the Sunstalker,” Tamara says, “no, Sunstaver,” she frowned, “Man, hmmm...” she donned her mask, “Whatever. Let's go, Regalia, a vampire doesn't slay itself."
Sleepily, the chimeral infant made a strangled series of child noises, as she stretched out, and on Tamara's masked head; somehow, she'd never fall off.
And so, Tamara would find herself cleared of criminal charges of pedophilia and property destruction...well, at least for the guard house. That was mostly falling on Morgaf to pay for. The fountain funds had been deducted from her coin pouch, leaving its jingles fewer and less decadent to the ears. And so she would once again resume her quest of great import and honor:
Already, Tristan was beginning to have second thoughts. Vampires were dangerous creatures, capable of spreading death and destruction where ever one went, let alone an army. He had defeated enough Vampire Lords and would-be undead conquerors to know that giving them free reign on this world's surface could cause an untold number of problems for this world's inhabitants without the checks and balances already set in place. Still, he had already given his word that he would help, and pulling out now would only make him look as foolish to these two as he knew he was. He hoped that the existence of girls like Nimoa meant that the majority of her kind would be more like this rather than the Nosferatu and Dracula-kind. With his luck though, he was sure that wasn't the case.
"You can all me Tristan." It's the only thing I seem to remember clearly at this point. "Now, why don't we try looking for a cartographer or such somewhere in town for a more updated map. Going into some place dangerous with outdated information is likely to get us ki- in a lot of trouble." Even if she was a vampire, the hero thought it best to avoid putting such morbid thoughts as death into her head. He'd gotten away with mentioning death a few moments before, but he had enough experience with kids to know that reminding them that life on Earth was limited and one day they all would find themselves breathing their last was bound to cause more tears. Except him of course. He was going to outlive them all, much to his chagrin.
Tamara stalked through the town, as she moved with purpose; from store to store, shop to shop, she ghosted through the explosion-based chaos, and snipped and snapped items off ranks, shelves, and hooks. It would seem, normal people (note: those without demon blood) didn't take all that to kind to random, distressing explosive interruptions. "Noobs," scoffed the Samurai, as a woman sprawled past her. "Let's see..." Tamara pulled a twenty-foot length of rope off a shelf, and tossed it into an oaken barrel filled with sunflower petals on a wheelbarrow. "Now, I need to find a kitchen," she says, dragging the barrel behind her toward the inn.
Upon reaching the inn, Tamara wheeled the barrel into the kitchen, and rolled through the herb cabinet. "Ah, good ol' garlic," she says, taking the whole stock, and tossing them into the air. A kitchen knife in hand, she did a flurry of slashes, and chopped pieces of garlic fell into the barrel; settling upon the rope and sunflowers. "And, now, we cook..." Tamara put the barrel onto a pot shelf, above a rolling fire, and filled it with water. "O' Lord, Keeper of Us All, here my plea," she placed her hands on the barrel and closed her eyes.
"For a shepherd shall I be, for thee, my Lord, for thee. Thine power descending forth from Thy hand to me, so upon mine feet I may swift carry out Thine command. Ferrying a river flowing merrily, and teeming with sinful souls shall it ever be, for thee, my Lord, for thee. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I create this, blessed it be..."
Suddenly, the barrel, water, garlic, sunflower petals, and the rope were pulling into a blinding light, and burst into a synthesized item:
[Sunshine-blessed Rope of Vampiric Restraint]
Held in her hands, the rope infused with the oak wood of the barrel, the herbal essence of the garlic, the symbolic presence of the sun(flower petals), and the blessing of the Holy One above, pulled taut between her fingers, as she tired a noose for a lasso. Readying her tool, Tamara found herself a stable, and commandeered herself a horse while nobody was fit enough to really pay attention. Spurring the horse on, she rode for the town square, and launched the lasso out, as she came across Nimoa.
"Hiyah!" Tamara commanded, urging the horse on with it's new payload, as Nimoa was yanked, and all but cartoonishly flailing through the air. Broadly, the Cambion grinned, as she raced to the town gates.
@Enkryption,@Guess Who,@Suku Nimoa would nod, smiling as she came to know Tristan's name, saying: "Okay! Let's go find a cartographer then, Tristan! Valkira!" She would practically skip along as she walked, smile carrying her all the way to the local Cartographers' Guild-
Or, all the way into literally being roped back into danger. Confusion swept through her mind as she was yanked back at an incredible speed. Nearly throwing up her lunch from the whiplash, Nimoa would see herself literally sailing past Trist and Valkira. Feabily, she attempted to reach out, arm restrained by the rope. The more she struggled, the weaker she felt. Whatever that rope was, it shone with the brilliance of the sun, and weakened her just as much. Thankfully, her parasol was poised above her head, locked in place by the lasso. Less thankfully though, Nimoa found herself cycling through each of her racial skills that might be able to help her out of this pinch, only to find that the rope completely nullified her vampire powers. As she realized that she was well and truly trapped, tears began to pour from her eyes, sailing back as she was dragged. A single word choked out from her throat as she bounced against the ground, doing her best to not just get dragged along the ground.
A single word that stung at the heart-strings of hero and demon alike:
No, this was not the first time that Tristan had ever seen a kidnapping. Perhaps most people could not claim to have experience in such matters, but living countless lifetimes in a diverse set of bodies made it difficult for one to ever not live through a rare occurrence like this at least once. Despite this though, the hero stood flabbergasted, yes flabbergasted, that anyone would have the audacity to try and kidnap his newly acquired companion right in front of him.
For a decisecond that is. Long enough for him to blink his eyes once, take in the situation, and quickly evaluate the best course of action before he jumped into action. "Nimoa, keep that parasol above your head! I'm on my way!" he shouted as the vampiric young girl was dragged away. Racing after her at faster than normal human speeds, he would watch as the horse continued to put distance between him and the kidnapping victim, though catching up on his own two feet was not his intention.
Upon reaching the town gates, Tristan unsheated his sword and brought it down on the restraints that kept a horse tied to an incoming wagon. "What do you think you're doing?" the driver called out, shocked that anyone would be stupid enough to steal a horse not only in front of its owner, but in front of the town guard as well.
"Hero business. I need her now much more than you do," Tristan said, climbing into the saddle and giving chase. He was sure that Nimoa would scold him for doing something so unheroic as stealing, but he was confident he could use the excuse that he was borrowing the horse to quell her ire. For now, he was more concerned in making sure that she would have the opportunity to be mad at him.
Valkira sighed no rest for the wicked in the end. She chased after the vampire girl with speed that wasn't human which was ok she wasn't human so it was all legal ok! Her blade brandished in a flourish this was the kind of heroics she dreamed of long ago before the the fire burned everything away. This was what her dreams was about to be the hero to be the great knight of shining armor but there was no time to think about that as she ran after the hero and the vampire girl. She refused to let her once chance to be a hero to someone waste away no she wanted to taste victory just once. @Guess Who@The Irish Tree
Tamara focused her attention, as she raced down the road, "Go!" Spurred, the horse charged ahead and they came charging on a river. "Whoa!" Tamara urged, pulling back on the reins, bringing the horse to stop on the shore. "Alright, vampire, welcome to your grave." Tamara drew Jacqueline, and faced the water. "Striking..." she says, shifting her stance, "Crane..." she stepped forward, swinging the cursed katana, "Jumping..." she turned on her heels, and drew back her hand. "Karp!" Tamara thrust her blade forward, and several bladed of wind created a wind tunnel that parted the river.
"In you go," she says, throwing Nimoa onto a towhead covered with grass, and surrounded by rushing water on all sides. "Enjoy -- not!" Tamara turned back to her borrowed horse, and started to cool him down. "Not a bad run," she says, "You're a sturdy one. Like a bug, or a roach," Tamara chuckled, "I'll call you Roche."
Over the sound of galloping hooves, a voice would give its own thoughts on the name Roche. “Never heard that one before,” Tristan sarcastically said, lunging off his “borrowed” horse and letting it charge toward Tamara. Nimoa seemed safe enough on her own little island in the middle of the raging river, so his priority was set to her kidnapper so he could keep her from interfering in their escape.
Whether she cut down his steed or dodged out of the way, she would soon hear the all too familiar sound of a rasping blade leaving its sheath as Tristan pulled his weapon free. Afterward, she would only have a fraction of a second to block an overhead swing from the hero. He was determined to give her as little time to recover as possible.
Tamara turned an eye to the horse that charged her, and, beneath her mask, the nature of a demon seeped; a scream like metal boiling in a tea kettle issued from her, and the horse withered away -- its body falling down at her feet. "You would challenge a Hero," Tamara asked, her armor creaking, as it failed to properly hold her expanding musculature; Tristan's sword buried through her palm, which was gripped around the blade. The Hero could almost feel the metal crumple, as Tamara crushed it. "The human condition to challenge anything clearly greater than themselves... Such a savory bravery,"
Suddenly, Tamara's arm burst out of her armor; sending rivets and plating flying. "Come, Villain, show me your bravery," she says.
As the fighting began, Nimoa furiously banged her tiny fists against the barrier the natural world erected, completely preventing her from crossing the waters. She wanted to help too! After all, Tristan had said that they would go find that alchemist together. She didn’t want to be a burden so early on...especially when he and Valkira were the first people to offer her help. As she saw Tamara start bursting out of her armor, her heart sank. Tristan may be a hero, but everyone knew that if a Cambion got serious, things could turn ugly fast. Thinking as quickly as she could, Nimoa grabbed a clump of dirt and hurled it at Tamara’s head, nailing her on the right side of her head. The wet mud clung to her hair, intermixed with a tiny, almost invisible traces of blood from Nimoa’s juice pouch.
Taking a deep breath, she would shout: ”YOU’RE NO HERO! You’re mean! And you kidnap children, and throw them onto toe-heads, and then beat up real heroes like Mister Tristan! AND YOU DIDN’T EVEN LET ME PLAY WITH YOUR PUPPY!” at the top of her lungs, cheeks red as she picked up more balls of mud, slinging them, as well as the many insults as she had in her tiny child brain. Including…
”Garlic breath!”
”Stinky PalaDUMB!”
”Bad-At-Making-Islands-Lady!”
”POOPYHEAD!”
Truly, nothing could withstand her verbal onslaught of G-rated insults. [/color=slategray] Tamara tilted her head, back, and grinned, like a sick predator, "Are you gunna cry, Little Monster? Ineffectual as you are, your emotions are delicious," she looked back to Tristan, "Awaken, Regalia," she roused the Chimera baby, "You have a friend to meet."
Regalia groaned, as she awoke, and looked for her friend. It couldn't have been the huge blob in front of her Mommy, since her Mommy told her, "Friends are smaller than me," which ruled out the horses, too -- especially the one on the ground all sprawled out. As such, it must have been the one in the water. Bleating in triumph of its own thought, the goat head, typically the smartest of the three, directed the snake and the lion to look at Nimoa. In charge of the body, the lion head agreed to go and play with their intended friend.
Easily, in spite of her infantile form, Regalia crossed to the towhead, and shook herself dry. Now, how to play? Nimoa was throwing stuff at her Mommy. So, she should throw stuff at her? Not her Mommy; never, no. But... what could she throw? Confused, the lion head asked the snake head, who looked to the goat head, as they held a discussion, before getting an idea.
In the middle of a throw, Nimoa would find herself struck squarely in the hind by a bolt of micro-lightning.
“Some hero you are. Kidnapping children, feeding them to your pets,” Tristan said as he watched his powerful attack prove to be as ineffectual as a teddy bear-wielding child at a gunfight. Seeing as how he wanted to get his weapon back and she wasn’t willing to be so courteous, the reluctant hero decided to be gracious enough to let Tamara keep half. Striking the already cracking blade with the shield he wielded on his left arm, the sword shattered just below where the hulking woman held it, giving Tristan the opportunity to get some room and reevaluate his poor life decisions.
“I’m no saint either, but at least I have the decency to recognize how terrible a person I am. You though? There’s no worse villain than the kind who thinks they’re doing the right thing. You can justify any act as long as it leads to what you think is good.” Challenge her hero complex and get her to make a mistake. It could be more poor decision making or it could be a brilliant strategy, only the number of his ribs she was about to break would tell, but Tristan was trying to get her mad. “Take it from me though, all it leads to are more scars than you can count, usually upon the people you were trying to protect. A constant reminder of when you were young and stupid, thinking anything you’d save the world from whatever evil you thought you saw.”
As he considered what to do next, thinking of what this woman turned berserker would break or tear off first, Tristan realized something. A flimsy piece of steel wasn’t going to do any good against someone who breaks swords like toothpicks. “Nimoa! Catch!” he called out, tossing his shield to the vampire girl. She could probably put it to better use than he could at the moment.
Nimoa would gasp as Regalia emerged, eyes shining, turning into shimmering stars as the beastial cub-kid-snek in awe, letting loose one last mudball at Tamara, before promptly getting struck in the butt by lightning. Yelping, the vampiress would rub her scorched behind, sniffling. "Owieeeee..." she would groan, before hearing Tristan. Paying the chimera no mind for the moment, she would listen in awe of his super cool table-turning dialogue. He was just like a real hero! Calling the baddie a baddie, and taunting them to get them to do something stupid. She heard this was a common tactic amongst humans.
Regardless, she was caught off guard as Tristan yelled for her to catch. Fumbling with the shield as it landed in her hands, she nearly dropped it in the river before getting an idea. Spinning her pink hammer around in her hand, Nimoa would lay the battered shield in her lap, before starting to beat the crud out of it with her hammer, the whole thing started to grow a vibrant pink as she poured blood on the edges, then the center. ["Bloodforge! Dracula Aegis!"] she would cry out, a brilliant vermillion light staining the shield, newfound spikes adorning the front, as well as the rim, made entirely out of crystalized blood that inhabited and strengthened the iron. Reaching over, she would gently pet the goat head of Regalia. "Tristan! I made it better!" she would say, holding the shield aloft before throwing it like a frisbee…
A frisbee that if Tristan actually tried to catch it would lop off his hand from the spikes. Tamara too, as she could sense how much stronger the shield had become, being infused with vampire blood. It was like a buzzsaw of doom that, once no longer airborne, would prove a damn protective shield.
For Nimoa though, she would grin, gently holding her hand out. "Do you know how to shake?" she asked, wanting to feel a chimera’s squishy little baby paws.
Let the flames dance upon this land so it shall know true hellfire!” Valkira said calmly as she walked to the island as slammed her sword into the ground below fire spreading from her blade as ground beneath morphed into a hellscape. Causing a large path of the water to split. ”Know my torment and burn in the fires!” She stated soundly as she once more walked towards the fighting her steps burning the very land she walked on as fire spread across the island consuming it in flames.
Tamara bent backwards; letting the reforged shield sail over her, and straightened out, as Valkira approached with her bold and brave emotions. This was a perfect storm of events. Tristan's existence. Valkira's bravado. Nimoa's innocence. So many pure emotions. It was utterly delicious... and, maddeningly empowering. She almost didn't want to draw her swords; she didn't want to stop enjoying this.
However, there was a small mangle of sound that ripped her out of her high, and she looked back -- Regalia was panicking, as she was more than able to take on a vampire with no sense or combat potential, but a full-blown demon was another story. All heads were in a tailspin of emotion; panic, fear, need -- all aligned to escape, but unable to do little more than be trapped against a river of fire.
Tamara had little recourse.
Nimoa yelped in shock, not expecting Valkira to fight fire with fire...or rather, just fighting WITH fire. It was working however, as the river evaporated, clearing a path for Nimoa. Just as she was ready to make a break for the exit, she heard the bleats, roars, and hisses of Regalia behind her. Her hands trembled for a moment, before she made a dash through the flames, using her parasol to shield to keep herself from going up in flames herself. As soon as she was by Regalia, she would scoop the chimera into her arms and struggle against it. Its panic made it hard to really hold her proper, but Nimoa could live with a few scratches and bites. Once more using her parasol as cover, she would dash through the flames with Regalia under her arm, completely burning up the umbrella as she entered the riverbed.
Now without protection from the sun, Nimoa would catch fire as her unholy form struggled against the radiance of day. Shivering, her legs started to buckle, and her arms loosened on Regalia, letting the chimera loose as she fell forward. Resting for a moment amidst the grass, Nimoa curled up, now in pain from the sun’s rays beginning to consume her.
”...It hurts...it hurts so much…” she would say to herself, crawling as she attempted to get to the shade of a tree.
The sun was bad. It was horrible. It hated her existence when she hadn’t done anything to deserve it.
But that same horrible bad sun was what the humans she loved needed more than anything.
Tamara took in the situation, then drew Rippa to her hand in a fashion that almost appeared to be summoning magic, before running the blade through her arm; of all emotions, pain was the easiest to summon forth and the strongest after hatred. It swelled inside, the pain wrought by the accursed blade's unfathomable edge, and it seeped free. "[Emotional Purge]...
In a moment, all her pains, fears, guilts, and angers poured from her, and affected the area around them. Just like before, manifesting into a physical medium of a metaphysical ideal. Darkness shrouded the skies, and the sun was made to set for a time, as Tamara turned and walked across the burning river. Multiple paths crossed her mind, but, she selected a singular: save Regalia.
It wasn't for the selfless reason, nor affection, but emotionless requirement. A Chimera, tamed, was a rare element. Raised, even more so. Regalia was an investment of generations, and wouldn't be lost here over the misactions of others and the inaction of herself.
That was unbecoming of a Paladin.
As Tristan watched the frisbee of death fly overhead, letting it embed itself in a nearby boulder sitting at the water’s edge, the hero could not help but slap his hand against his face in a facepalm. He had given the shield to Nimoa to help her defend herself from the small chimera pup while he dealt with the real threat, and while he appreciated the upgrade, he was still much more worried for her safety over his own. Especially when her demoness friend appeared to turn the tiny island into glass.
“Am I going to get burn scars every day I’m in this world?” he asked no one in particular. Preparing to jump into the flames to save the young vampire girl, Tristan was stopped by the sight of her kidnapper using a special skill. He wasn’t sure what exactly it did, but anyone could recognize the menacing aura that surrounded her as she slowly approached the sandbank.
Perhaps it was his mistake for assuming the worst, but watching as all emotion drained from Tamara’s face along with the blood leaking from her arm, he mistook her objective to be Nimoa instead. That look in her eye was one of a killer, not a savior. “This is going to hurt.”
Lunging at the powerful woman from behind, Tristan attempted to stab his broken blade into her shoulder, before quickly untangling himself from her to return to Nimoa’s side. With her parasol gone, the hero scooped up the small girl in one arm and carried her to the nearest tree for cover from the deadly laser that was the Sun.
”Fire? I was born of this! Made of this and you shall be ended by it!” Valkira said smirking as she held up her hand the fire seemingly gathering around her as she smiled at her enemy. “Come you faux paladin it’s your holy duty to end my life isn’t it?” She asked as she stabbed her sword into the fiery orb causing the blade to ignite in flames as she charged forward.
"Aaaaahahahahaha~! You’re all so amusing! This is the best! I can see why Charlotte went on an adventure now." A voice called out from amidst the flames, apparently paying it absolutely no mind as their silhouette became visible through Valkira’s wall of flames. "Buuut, I kinda need the samurai alive. So...yeah." the woman would say, snapping her fingers before a beam of dark magic erupted from her, cleaving the path between Tamara and Valkira in twain, just short of Regalia’s snake tail and behind. The ground itself was gone, as if the beam just devoured it. Another snap, and Tamara suddenly sunk into the ground, a black hole with a violet border swallowing her up as the woman, now visible, waved at Valkira, not able to see Tristan over by Nimoa."Tootles!" she would shout, before vanishing herself.
...Now, the duo of Hero and Demon Lord were left with a slightly burnt vampire child, and a deep sense of unfulfillment. Like as if they were fighting a boss they weren’t meant to win against, still won, but the cutscene insinuated that you super didn’t win.
YOU ARE NOW ON THE TOP OF MY SHIT LIST YOU HEAR THIS IT WILL GO INTO MY REVENGE JOURNAL AND I WILL GET MY REVENGE! Valkira yelled she wasn’t able to enjoy herself or release the full extent of her flames this was utter bullcrap. She would find her later and exact her revenge along with that damn goat.
“Did she say Charlotte? Goddamnit, I haven’t seen that cursed demon girl for an hour and she’s still indirectly trying to blow me up,” Tristan grumbled under his breath. With a sigh, he pushed himself up so that his shadow still hung over the vulnerable Nimoa to avoid exposing her to the Sun, but he could now look over the small girl for injuries.
“You alright? Anything still hurting?” the hero asked, once he’s taken in as much information that his eyes alone could discern.
Nimoa’s eyes would flutter open as Tristan’s shadow covered her. The tiny vampire would lift her head. ”I-I’m okay...thank you…” she said, struggling to sit up. ”...Where did the mean lady go…?” she asked, falling back over after sitting up.
“No clue. People like her don’t stay hidden for long though. Give it enough time and I’m sure she’ll be back,” Tristan said. Turning his head to the left and then to the right, he searched their surroundings for something to use to replace the girl’s destroyed parasol. While certainly tall, he wasn’t looking to have Nimoa stand in his shadow all day.
Nimoa would rummage through her pack, before simply putting the pack over her head, which, funnily enough, made it look like a giant bat was eating her head. ”I should be fine like this...sorry if I look silly.” Nimoa said, looking absolutely stupid. It was literally as if a giant cartoon bat was eating her head, but it certainly helped to keep her out of the sunlight.
”L-Let’s just forget about it for now. We have an alchemist to find!”
Holding out his hand for Nimoa to take, making sure his fingers brushed by hers so she could know he was offering it, Tristan planned on acting as her guide. After all, he imagined having a small backpack over your head would be extremely impairing for one’s sense of vision. With a nod, he replied, “Sounds like a plan.”
Wordlessly, Nimoa would reach her hand out to hold Tristan’s, trotting along happily as they went off to go find a cartographer. Valkira was free to follow...or hold Nimoa’s other hand. She had two, after all.
Darkness swallowed Tamara’s sense as she plunged into the depths of the earth...or rather, what she could surmise as the earth. She couldn’t know if it was a hole or something else, but any walls that might exist lay far beyond her reach. Regalia was cradled in her arms, before she would find herself sitting on a rather luxuriously made couch upholstered with smooth and comfortable leather, the cushions being made of some sort of fur that was soft to the touch. Numerous stuffed animals surrounded the edge of the couch, many of which were actually moving, carrying trays of crumpets and teacups in an effort to set up the room. Tamara would see an empty chair before her be suddenly filled as the scent of a powerful demon flooded the room.
Sitting cross-legged with a closed hand poised at her chin, the woman smiled. ”Welcome to my little sanctuary.”
Madness Enhanced, Tamara's hands closed around Ariette's throat; putting her personal shielding to the ultimate stress test. Her emotion-based strength was on Overkill, because of the Demon King's youngest's foolish haughtiness. As long as she felt superior to Tamara, her strength would mount and mount until it tore her apart – however, that would take a long time, and Ariette would probably be strangled before it reached that point.
"Aren't you just so much like her," she asks, as her grip strengthened, voice distortion, as her vocal cords were strained.
Completely caught off guard, Ariette screamed as Tamara grasped at her neck, the barrier more than holding before it suddenly burst, sending Tamara’s hands flying out, giving Ariette time to dive behind her chair. ”WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!? Gah, this is why no one likes Cambions...always doing that emotion eater thing...”
Tamara was smirking. “I like seeing a girl break , shatter that false sense of bravado ... unfortunately, that lesser emotion isn’t as delicious,” she says, as her strength dissipated. “So, what are you? The loner sister? The jealous sister? Both?”
”I-I’m not a loner or jealous! Scarlette and Charlotte are just mean and won’t take me anywhere with them!” she cried out, before sighing. ”So...um...sorry about the whole, dropping you in here thing. It looked like you could use a get away card.”
“Me? No. You saved their lives, to be honest,” Tamara says. “They were going to die...”
An awkward silence filled the room, before Ariette slumped to the ground, pathetically curling up. ”I screwed uuuuuup...well, wait, actually, I guess those guys owe me now.” she said, pondering for a moment. ”Sorry about the mix up!” Ariette would say, getting up and offering her hand to Tamara. ”I was trying to do that thing my daddy does, where he rescues demons being beaten up by humans and takes them in, makes them incredibly loyal to him, and then becomes besties with them.”
“I could punch a hole through your chest, and deliver your heart to your Daddy. I don’t need rescue, little girl,” Tamara says, before offering a smile, “However, you did save Regalia from my unbridled wrath, so... appreciated.”
”Uh...thaaaanks. I guess. Not for the punching part. That’s just a weird threat that makes me feel like I really, really should just let you out now...speaking of...want a portal outta here? I kinda...set all this up for nothing, I guess.” Ariette said, feeling very unsafe and very awkward.
“There was a point to this? And, here, I thought it was an extravagant tea party,” Tamara says, before crashing back onto a table, and bouncing a cup of tea into her hands. “A lonely girl like you, in need of a friend, puts on a grand display, and hopes that flashing money and status will win the day, but, here’s a thought...”
Tamara crushed the cup, “Stop being so fake.” Sighing, Tamara laid across the table. “You needn’t kidnap people to make friends. So, I’mma be nice, and give you a second chance? Fair? Fair. Annnnnddd.... Take two!”
Ariette floundered, crashing back into her chair to try and once again have a poised look, clearing her throat. ”A-Ahem! I uh...a-are you okay?” Ariette asked, looking to Tamara and Regalia. ”And um...would you like some tea? Maybe a biscuit?”
“I’m rather well. Annoyed. I’m going to punch that flame demoness in her ear. I mean, right in her ear. A nice cold cock. That’s going to feel great. Then, I’m going to kick that human in the shin. Humans always assume the crotch, but, no, I’m going to snap his shin.” Tamara says. “After that, I don’t know. As for the offer, if you’ve something like Earl Grey and a nice, crisp biscuit, I’m all for it.”
”We do have Earl Grey.” Ariette said, pouring tea for Tamara, before running off to fetch the biscuits, which, strangely, were in what could be considered the fantasy equivalent of an easy bake oven.
“Good girl,” Tamara says, sipping her tea; the imagine of sophistication and grace, the stunning muse of masculine majesty and feminine elegance. It almost made you forget (or perhaps appreciate all the more) that she was as naked as legally allowed by most civilized societies.
Ariette would return with a piping hot plate of crispy biscuits, taking one herself and crunching on it, washing it down with some tea. Looking over to Tamara, she asked: ”Do you need any clothes, by the way? You’re kinda...almost in your birthday suit.”
“Everyone has a problem with my state of dress. It’s rather irritating,” Tamara says, looking down the bridge of her nose, and over her cup. “Besides, you are in little position to talk.”
”H-Huh!? But...Charlotte said this was fine…” Ariette would say, covering her cleavage with a hand.
“Her sense of dress is no better. My smallclothes are more modest that you’re, while very delightful, and very, very, very delicious, window to the soul... I lost my point...” Tamara says, before sipping her tea.
Ariette now felt very insecure as she curled up, pouting heavily. ”S-She said it’d help me do magic better…”
Tamara nodded, “That’s reasonable. The lighter clothing is, the less restrictive movement is. Casting all about motion; the finery of it is important.” Tamara tilted her head, and licked her lips, “However, you move too far to one side, and, suddenly, your eyes aren’t up there any more, are they?”
”...But...my eyes ARE up here.” Ariette said, somehow completely misunderstanding what Tamara meant. She was THAT naive.
“Grrr....” Tamara growled. Ariette was giving her flashbacks of Charlotte. “Haaaaaaaaaaa.... Oi...”
”...I-Is everything alright?”
“I have to remember that children are incredibly foolish...” Tamara says, before crunching her biscuit. “THIS IS SO*******GOOD!!! HOLY****!!! THIS IS DELICIOUS!!!”
”Hmhm! I’m the best at biscuits. I’m the bestcuit!” Ariette declared, puffing her chest out proudly. Now, the family resemblance was getting clearer.
“Do you have any water, cold; ice, if available,” Tamara asks, in spite of her tea being topped off.
”Mhm! Here.” Ariette would say, conjuring a glass and using magic to fill it, freezing solid cubes into it.
Tamara, without a word or warning, pulled the back of Ariette's pants wide, and dumped the glass against her rear end. "No." she was very against puns and lowbrows comedy; it was unbecoming a lady of her sophistication.
”AHHHH! WHY! WHY WHY WHY!?” Ariette said, shivering before she lit herself on fire for a moment, to heat herself up and to dry off her pants.
Tamara heaved a sigh, "A classy lady does not pun," she smacked Ariette's rear, "Hm... nice downstairs and upstairs..."
Ariette pouted heavily, covering her rear with her hands. ”No touchie.” she would say, sitting down once more, back as pressed against the chair as could be.
“You wound me,” Tamara says.
”I did…? Do you need healing? I have potions.” Ariette said, dashing over to a nearby cupboard to try and find something for Tamara’s emotional boo boos.
Tamara facepalmed. “Park your rear. It’s too nice to stare at,” she says. “Anything else to this tea party of yours?”
Ariette looked confused. ”What do you mean? What else does a tea party need?” she would ask, taking a seat across from Tamara, and resumed drinking her tea.
“You don’t simply kidnap someone without a fair reason; justified, unjustified, righteous, or sinful,” Tamara says. “And, I don’t entertain spoiled children, between the of the common class the noble class or daughter of the Divine Being or daughter of the Demon King. So, why am I here?”
Ariette froze, timidly sinking back in her chair. ”I-I um...just...you looked like you needed help, but...you didn’t. So I guess it was just a mistake?”
She really didn’t have a reason. She’d done it because she wanted to.
“How rare? An innocent act. How unbecoming of a demoness, much less one of your standing,” Tamatsa says. “Daddy’s little princess, more mortal than eyes allow. I’m intrigued,” she says, “I like it. Such rampant cachaphony of the set standard. A silly girl like you... you can go places in a stringent world like this...” Tamara’s eyes glowed, “If properly given good guidance by a friend.”
Ariette shuddered. ”I can go places…? Also I really don’t like how your text suddenly got red.”
Tamara beamed, “Oh, the places you may go...”
Ariette just continued to be a smidge weirded out. ”Places like…?”
“Higher than your sisters,” Tamara says.
Ariette looked interested. ”How? I mean...I’m last in line for the throne…”
“There are always means to challenge such notions. Such as, destroying The Hero and his Party,” Tamara says. “Such a display of strength would put you above the rest. After all, only the strongest can break The Hero,” she says, “And, your father would simple love you more than your sisters... and, you’d be number one in line...”
Ariette was deep in thought about that idea, before she netted her fingers together. ”Do you...really think I’m strong enough to break a hero? T-That I’m Demon Lord material?”
Tamara smiled pleasantly, “I know it...”
Ariette gave it some more thought before she smiled, nodding. ”Y’know...Scarlette is a real big blowhard...and Charlotte’s a dummy. If I DON’T become Demon Lord, they’ll just ruin the whole realm! I didn’t even think about that!” she would say, smacking her fist into her palm at her realization. ”Mm! I’ll smash that hero, and then Daddy can retire in peace. Then I’LL be the new Demon Lord! And the humans will get tea breaks so that they stop revolting! Its genius!” Ariette said, letting out a cheerful, delighted laughter. Her evil laugh sucked. It was too...not evil. But she at least had the idea in her head now.
Tamara grinned, and stood up; clapping her powerful hand against Ariette’s shoulder. “And, I’ll be there with you... every step of the way... she purred pleasantly.
Ariette smiled happily. This was gonna be fun!
Tamara was pleased as punch. The fall of the Demon Lord... by the hand of his own daughter. That would be a happy ending. Especially, as she would have the new Demon Lordess in her control; so long as she kept her card well dealt and clasped to her bounteous chest. And, how knew, maybe, Ariette would be a decent Demon Lordess – surely, a sight better than Charlotte.
”Thanks for opening my eyes to that. ...Actually, thinking about it...we never introduced ourselves. I’m Ariette Alloces Nul Iscaron. Third daughter to the Demon Lord.”
“Tamara of Kybinae, but, you can call me, you’re best friend,” is the returned answer.
Ariette squealed delightedly, before hugging Tamara. ”Okay Bestie! Let’s go nab us a hero!”
Valkira scoffed at the result but decided that maybe going off on her own wouldn't be ideal all things considered if that person was after the child than following them would give her better access to her in the future. With a grumble she followed behind keeping her distance but making sure that they remained in sight. It wasnt like she wanted to make sure the kid was safe or anything. Yah she was just following them to make sure she got her revenge in the end yes that was it.
"Wow, I can't believe anywhere outside of the Demon's Realm has Double-Deviled Eggs," Charlotte would say as she carried C-3 in a bucket, letting her slimy companion take a short nap after that meal. They'd had a nice little distraction after their argument in the aqueducts, so now was the time to relax. In fact, she had actually forgotten about Tristan's dumb dull fish eyes for just a moment. of course, seeing his red-head again would remind her that she was still (technically) number two of the party, and seeing two figures move with him peeved her a smidge. She got a say in who could join and hog glory from herself and her glorious displays of...being glorious. While maintaining a firm, yet balanced grip on the bucket, she would approach and peek behind a building, only to see Tristan holding hands with a small girl...who seemed to be in the process of being devoured by a large bat.
"Thank you for agreeing to help me, Mister Tristan. I promise that once we find that alchemist, I won't bother you ever again. U-Unless you want me to. Or if it would cause you bodily harm if I were to not bother you." Nimoa would say, finally taking off her backpack once they were in the shade, allowing Tristan to see all the junk fall free from her backpack. While Nimoa scrambled to pick it all up as she made a sound akin to an embarrassed squeak, he would see the contents were several pouches of blood, presumably animal blood since they all had a label proudly stating: "100% Non-Human! For the last bit of humanity in you!". In addition, a small blacksmith's hammer that was made of some strange pink metal clanged, smashing the cobbled stone that it fell upon. A bundled change of clothes was also present, and beside it was a book titled: "How to Make Friends: An Undead Monstrosity's Guide to Small Talk and Friendship".
Nimoa would scramble it all into her bag, stuffing it in without care as her face got a tinge pink from embarrassment. "Y-You um...didn't see anything." she said, scrambling into the shop before Tristan could get a word in.
Charlotte would hum, smirking as she suddenly appeared behind Tristan. Smugly, she would place her chin above his shoulder and ask: "So, the hero's into little girls? Or maybe its your secret incredibly adorable love child? Either way, vampires are a-okay with me. How's your day been, by the by?" she would ask, taking a step back and bumping into Valkira. "Hey, watch it you...hey wait..." she would say, pointing at Valkira. "You're from that...town...that C-3 is still mad I burnt down. Midboss, right? You look like a midboss."
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.
As Nimoa accidentally began to empty her backpack of belongings and the somber hero helped her collect the fallen items, a sudden pain began to intensify behind his brow. Idiot senses tingling. A singularity of stupidity is approaching. Really it was the slight stench of brimstone and scorched cloth that he detected on the air as Charlotte approached, a smell that caused mysterious migraines every now and then for whatever reason. He knew it was probably just a placebo effect and that the demon princess didn't actually set off any sort of sixth sense he had, but there did seem to be a correlation between intense pain and Charlotte's meddling so he didn't yet rule out that leveling up had gained him a new passive ability to sense danger.
"I only just got here yesterday. I know heroes often have the ability to lure attractive women, but not even I would have had time to make a child with a vampire woman in that little time. And I don't think being a lolicon would allow me to keep my hero status, let alone all the moral lines it would cross," Tristan said, letting Charlotte rest her head on his shoulder without complaint. He was too preoccupied with making sure Nimoa had left one of her belongings. With a sigh, he replied back to the princess' last question. "Fine. Just fought a bloodthirsty monster hunter. Got a new shield. Nothing spectacular."
"I AM NOT A MIDBOSS YOU SPOILED PRINCESS!" Valkira yelled at the princess wait wait wait. PRINCESS! This was bad very bad she would be in trouble if the little brat tattled to daddy that she was outside her set area this was bad very bad! "I-I-I mean what are you doing here dear princess?" She asked as she bit on her tongue shit things went from bad to worse! She couldn't let the princess now she was on her way to help a little vampire girl or that she was trying to tough her way onto her turf. This was bad she didn't file the paperwork to even try to make a move against the princess! Sure she started on it once upon a time but it was denied for not being filed in triplicate.
Charlotte shrugged at Valkira's question, saying: "I'm just trying to overthrow my dad. Nothing big," as if that was, actually, one hundred percent a totally normal reason to be traipsing through the countryside and burning villages down by accident. Smiling, she would wrap her arm around Valkira's shoulder, leaning in close and saying: "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone back home. In faaaact...if you help me out, I'll get you TONS of promotions. How does being captain of the royal guard sound?"
Nimoa would return after several minutes, proudly holding up a map as her tiny bat wings flapped away behind her. "I found a map to the alchemist's house! And pepper spray in case that mean lady tries to grab me again," the pale vampire would say proudly, using the map to shield herself from the sun. Looking at Charlotte acting all chummy with Valkira, and seeing the nervous expression on her friends' face made her realize what was going on...this lady was another vampire hunter! Wasting no time, Nimoa would run forward, swinging her bat-pack and slamming it into Charlotte's face, knocking her flat on her behind.
"W-What the!?" Charlotte questioned, bewildered as the bag was pulled away, only for the tiny, adorable little vampire girl to be looming over Charlotte, a red canister in her hand. "Oh, wow, you really are cut-AHHHHHHHHH" Charlotte would say, then scream out as she was peppersprayed in the face. Multiple times. Trying to roll away, she would try to get as far away from the girl as possible while Nimoa chased her, shaking the can. "DON'T BULLY MY FRIENDS! GET BACK HERE! I'M GONNA MAKE YOU REGRET EVER EXISTING!"
After some time, and someone eventually clarifying that Charlotte was NOT in fact someone trying to kill her and her friends, Nimoa would begrudgingly apologize. "...Sorry..." she said, pouting intensely. She thought she was helping.
Practically blinded from pepper spray, Charlotte would give a thumbs up. "Ish'okay..." she said, face stained a bit red from the constant spray. She couldn't stay mad at Nimoa for being cute.
After a series of introductions, each member of the party got formally introduced to one another. More awkward silence would pass as they reached the town's exit, while Charlotte looked like she was moping. Since when did some random child's quest overwrite her big important main story quest!? This was an outrage! But...she was so dang cute. Just imagining her big red eyes soaked over with tears made Charlotte want to die. Just a little. Regardless, with a new parasol in hand Nimoa would find the sun nothing more than a slight inconvenience as she checked the map. Pointing at it as she showed Tristan and the others, she would set them off on their journey to Grinsgy's Hollow, home of one of the most renowned alchemists in all the land.
As well as the largest lichyard on the continent.
Literally.
Like, old retired liches lived here, apparently.
Watching from the bushes with sticks tied to her head, Ariette would giggle to herself, watching the party from behind. "Mmmhmhm...Charlotte won't know what hit her," she whispered, before casting a long range Message spell.
"Tamara? They're going to the big lichyard. Time to spook them."
"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..."
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...
