- [Vampire Lord Inkume] -
The air is frigid — theoretically biting into any exposed skin with sharp intensity. But the Vampire Lord Inkume strides through the cavernous cistern with an air of unconcerned grace — he’s trying his best to look cool and collected, and besides, it's not like the cold bothers him anyway. Snatch is here, after all. Shadows cling to the arched stone ceiling, their fingers stretching down to meet the icy surface of the water that mirrors the darkness of this odd pit somewhere below the castle. Snatch clings to his back, her ectoplasmic form shivering despite lacking any corporeal substance. The chill seems to seep into her essence. She’s like a vibrating backpack.
“Is it that cold in here?” he asks, not really feeling much of anything. Inkume lifts his cloak.
Immediately, she slides over his shoulders like ooze, slithering below the black fabric and clinging to his shirt as she tries to stay warm. “Yes, Master,” replies Snatch, her googly eyes looking out from the gap like a snail’s. “The air here… it’s a special kind of cold,” she explains. “Very cold. I don’t like it.”
“What’s so different about it?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
Snatch, panting and heaving, looks around the area and then shrugs.
Inkume's steps echo softly, each sound swallowed by the oppressive silence. He pauses, his gaze catching on an object resting incongruously against the damp wall next to a flow of water — a tattered, old book. Its cover is worn, the leather cracked and flaking, yet it radiates an inexplicable allure. He reaches for it, his fingers brushing aside the dust of forgotten ages. It looks like it has washed ashore.
He lifts his gaze for a moment, staring at a small fall of water that rushes out from the top of the distant wall. “Are the water channels above us?” he asks, and Snatch nods.
This must have washed down here from that floor of his dungeon that is below his castle but above wherever he is now. He’s never been there yet, but maybe he should invest a night into paying a visit there as well. Water seems like an important feature to the castle’s mechanisms, he’s noticed.
He flips through the soaked pages. “What the…?” The book is a peculiar find, seemingly impossible in its nature. Inkume's eyes narrow in confusion as he discovers that the pages contain a detailed map of his very own castle — each hallway and hidden passage sketched with meticulous precision. The discovery is obviously unsettling, especially when he notices one circled chamber that is marked with an arrow — his very own crypt. “‘It sleeps here,” he reads.
Shit. What the hell is this?
Snatch’s googly eyes look at the book and then up his way. “This is a map of the old castle, Master,” she explains, perhaps seeing the narrowing of his suspicious gaze. A long, stretchy hand reaches out from below his cloak and lands on the page. “You can tell by the way it is. It’s different from how it looks now.”
The old castle?
Inkume studies the map a moment longer, realizing that she’s right.
He sighs in relief and closes the book back shut before tucking it away into his treasury.
1x [Old Tome of Ancient Dungeons] has been added to your castle’s treasury!
It looks like some clever adventurer was trying to take advantage of the old maps to dig right into the heart of the castle. It looks like, for whatever reason, it didn’t work out for them, though. Perhaps it was a fool’s errand; after all, the castle has a way of shifting and changing its layout on people as they traverse it.
Inkume looks around the cistern. The icy air mingles with the dampness that clings to every surface. Crooked pillars of ice rise from the water; their frozen surfaces are slick with moisture and, strangely enough, some kind of glowing, blue mold that grows on it. Inkume recalls seeing this exact mold once before, in the basement on a mirror, on the day he fixed the boiler room.
Snatch's voice breaks the stillness, a whisper that trembles on the edge of audibility. "This place gives me the creeps. Can we go back soon?"
“You’re a ghost, Snatch,” he replies markedly.
“I know, but… you know,” she says. “— How about we go back and read a book together again, Master?” she asks, sounding increasingly nervous as he treads deeper through the underground. “Or a bath! You can bite me again?” she asks, wheezing into him.
“Nonsense,” replies the Vampire Lord, walking toward what looks like a massive, frozen lake. “This is my castle, Snatch,” he explains. “What could possibly be here that you’re scared of?” asks the Vampire Lord, but receives no response other than a damp, sluggy thing crawling deeper into his cloak and wrapping itself around his back.
“...Lot’s of things, Master,” replies the ghost.
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- [Azalea] -
Azalea steps cautiously into the torture chamber, her delicate elven features drawn tight with uncertainty. This is rather sinful, speaking with demons. But she doesn’t have a choice. If she’s going to save Inkume’s soul from eternal torment, then she needs some insight from people who know more on the matter.
She glances around, her heart racing as she calls out, “Is anyone here?” Her voice trembles, swallowed almost completely by the darkness that surrounds her. The room is empty, old chains and empty tables with shackles being its only content, yet her instincts scream that she is not alone. There’s a buzz in the air — a tingle — it’s the sensation of magic.
They’re here. She can feel them.
“I know you’re there. Come out,” warns Azalea, lifting a hand that starts glowing at its edges with radiant holy magic. “Or I’ll turn this place into a chandelier,” threatens the priestess.
No response.
She purses her lips, her glowing spell aiming around at the shadows as she concedes her pride. “I need your help,” asks the priestess, clearly getting something’s curiosity at least now, as the chains lightly rattle — as if in a slight breeze. “...With… man… stuff,” she finishes, not really knowing how to ask the question.
The silence is immediately shattered as two succubi materialize from the shadows, their forms shimmering with a sultry allure. Four flashingly vibrant pink eyes of a deeply unnatural hue regard Azalea with a mix of confusion and amusement, their narrowed, slit pupils glinting with mischief. The air grows warmer, thick with an almost head-numbing waft of overly applied perfume that causes her to feel a slight nausea.
~ [Succubus] ~
A succubus.
Succubi are low-medium-ranking demons that primarily feed off of the essential life forces of the living in a parasitic manner. While exceptionally dangerous killers if allowed to engage in their antics, Succubi will almost never engage in direct combat with its prey, as they are poor fighters. Instead, Succubi will rely on the character weaknesses of their targets, attacking and manipulating them in their dreams in order to safely extract their essences without putting themselves at great harm.
By seducing their prey, they will engage in a draining feeding process that taps directly into the spiritual vitality of their mark.
Should this safe feeding mechanism fail, for whatever reason, a hungry succubus might risk attacking its prey in waking reality in order to engage there. However, this is exceptionally dangerous for both parties, as the feeding process will drain physical vitality rather than magical energy, resulting in a fight for life and death.
Type: Demon {Corruptor} Rank: C+ Common Drop: Alluring Strand Rare Drop: Lace Whip
“Did we hear you right?” one succubus purrs, her voice dripping with honeyed charm. “You seek advice on matters of the heart?”
Azalea fidgets, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she slowly, and only very cautiously, extinguishes her magic as she looks at the demons that float around her, circling the priestess. The succubi look almost like people, but they’re different in many subtle ways that cause the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end and in many ways less so — their ruby and purple skin, for example. But their eyes are bigger, their features smoother, and their posture more exaggerated. They look like an artist’s overrepresentation of a feminine construct rather than a person. How anyone could ever fall for such an obvious trick is beyond Azalea, but she’s minding her manners and not saying that. Besides, she’s here to ask them for help. “Um, yes. I’m not sure who else to ask. I need some... womanly advice on how to win a man over,” admits the priestess.
The succubi exchange glances, their initial intentions shifting as their expressions change to one of bewilderment. The two of them shrug and then look back at her. “Aren’t you a priestess?”
“She is. I can smell it,” replies the other one, grabbing Azalea’s arm and smelling along it up to her shoulder. Azalea pushes it away.
“Look, can you help me or not?” asks Azalea.
The two succubi, their feet never touching the ground, float back and away and lean over into each other, whispering for a moment to themselves. They stop, glancing back at Azalea for a moment, before nodding in quiet agreement to whatever they just came up with in secret.
With frightening speed, they shoot back and lean closer straight toward her, their expressions softening as their faces smudge together her way, cheek pressing into cheek. “We can,” says one of them.
“For a price,” replies the other, lifting a finger.
Azalea braces herself for their demand, her heart and mind racing at the horrific things these creatures could want from her. The priestess’ eyes dance around the torture chamber and then back toward the demons who carry a reputation, put mildly.
Their smooth, dewy faces come closer to Azalea as she gulps, her hand clutching her heart.
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The purple succubus pokes a finger into the air, holding it there sideways, touching nothing. “We want a soft rug, three chairs, a small table that doesn’t have metal nailed to it, and a big shelf with swingy doors,” explains the first one, her free hand grabbing her partner. She points to the wall. “And a big hearth there, with a pretty metal grate.”
Azalea blinks.
The red one lifts her finger, touching the tip of the purple one’s digit. “— And a bed with ducky bedsheets!” she adds on.
The purple one gasps, as if she hadn’t heard of something so profound in her life and then nods. “And a ducky bedsheet bed!” she agrees fervently to what is clearly an add-on to their original list of demands.
The priestess Azalea stares, her expression diminishing by the second as that flame in her heart is doused out with icy water.
Almost let down, Azalea sighs. “...Okay, I’ll…” she rubs the back of her head, thinking. Maybe she can ask Inkume about it? “I’ll see what I can do. But… why?” she asks, more than confused. “Don’t you want to… I don’t know, you know?” she asks, lifting up her hands. But, not knowing what else to do, she just sort of awkwardly weaves her fingers together and then shrugs. “Do succubus things?”
“We are!” explains the purple, crossing her arms with a smug smile. The red one plants her hands on her hips, nodding with a smugly content smile as if they were being quite profoundly clever. “The castle is full of adventurers, but nobody ever comes into here; it’s a torture room,” she explains. “The old Master was quite uncreative.”
The red one holds her arms out to the side, as if presenting the space to Azalea as she frames it. “But if we decorate it up nicely, they’ll think it’s a safe room and sleep here all night!”
The purple one smiles. “It was a simply brilliant idea.”
“I’m glad I had it!” agrees the red one, the purple one shooting her a cold glare.
“Excuse me? I believe that it was my idea,” she insists.
The red one’s arms droop down, the same as her content smile that turns into an unimpressed, toothy frown. “The last idea you had involved me having to cut my hair off because I couldn’t wash that gunk out anymore, you tramp!” she yells, jabbing her associate in the gut.
The purple one swipes her arm away. “If only we took off a little more!” she snaps. “My life would’ve been easier!” she barks, grabbing for her throat. The two of them snarl, grabbing each other as they start to fight.
“Excuse me…” starts Azalea timidly, lifting a finger as the two succubi roll across the room, biting and scratching each other as they tumble past her boots like a pair of dogs in a territorial dispute. “Ex… excuse me…” mumbles Azalea as they begin yanking on each other’s faces and joints, as if trying to tear them off. A leathery, sharp tail with a bulb at the end whips past the priestess’ face after a pair of legs as the red one pins the purple one with her arms from behind below her shoulders and then drops backward, crashing her opponents head into the ground.
“Excuse me…” tries Azalea again, watching as the purple one flips over backward from where she is, sinking her teeth into the neck of the red one who screams and kicks out around herself.
“You bit me!” she yells, throwing the other one off. She flips over onto all fours, her tail stiff in the air like an angry alley cat’s.
“I’ll do it again too!” yells the purple one, also on the ground.
The two of them hiss at each other.
Azalea stares, dying inside a little more. “...Can you help me or not?” she asks quietly, looking at the two of them.
A pair of faces turn her way from down on the ground. They look at her, then at each other, and then back to her again.
It doesn’t take a second before the two succubi pop back up onto their legs in front of her, holding each other as if nothing had ever happened. “Of course!” says the red one, stemming the bite wound on her neck with a hand.
“We’re relationship professionals!” replies the purple one, a trick of blood running down the side of her mouth. “If you need a man to see you, then it’s all about self-confidence, dear,” the succubus advises, her tone turning surprisingly sincere. “Show him who you are and let him really see you,” she explains, smiling kindly. “You need to appear in front of him in reality and not as a dream manifestation while trying to drain his soul’s essence.”
“Yeah. You need to drain the life from his eyes in real life. That’s how good relationships work!” The red one nods in agreement. “Lots of girls like to wait for the guy to come after them, but if you wait too long, he might go for somebody else first,” explains the red one. “Be yourself, get your best whip out, and go right up to him and say, ‘Hey Juicy, you and I are going to go to move in together right now. I know this great castle that has a vacancy!’” she recites and then lashes out her arm as if striking a whip. “Crack!”
The purple one looks at her. “Aww… that’s what you said to me,” she replies quietly, grabbing the red one’s hand. With her other hand, she touches an old whip scar on her face. “I’m sorry that I bit you.”
“I’m sorry that I cracked your skull,” replies the red one, and the two of them grab each other and start crying.
Azalea stares, watching them howl, snot running down the red one’s nose and into the purple one’s hair as they squish themselves together.
This isn’t working.
The warmth of the chamber contrasts sharply with the chill that clings to her skin. “I’m sure that makes sense for your kind,” she murmurs. “But... what if the man I’m trying to win is... well, the Vampire Lord, Inkume?” asks Azalea.
Four eyes snap back open, the wet tears inside of them vanishing immediately as the heat inside of their glowing pupils boils them away.
The atmosphere shifts dramatically. The succubi freeze, their expressions morphing from playful to hostile in an instant. A flicker of jealousy ignites in their eyes, and the air crackles with tension.
“Him? You’re just an elf,” one snarls, her voice low and dangerous. “The Master is ours.”
“I’ll kill you before you take the Master from us!” threatens the purple one, pointing at Azalea.
Before Azalea can respond, the succubi lunge at her, their claws glinting in the half-light. Panic jolts through her body, and she spins on her heels, heart pounding fiercely as she races for the door. The cold stone beneath her feet feels like ice, a stark contrast to the heat of the succubi's wrath as magic spews out of the open door to the torture chamber as the priestess bolts out through it and races down a corridor. The hallway shifts and changes as she runs along it, guiding her back to the safety of her own bedroom.
Panting for breath, she grabs the door to her safe space and then stands back upright.
“Well, that didn’t help at all…” mutters Azalea quietly, somewhat annoyed.
She opens the door, looking inside at the room and at the boy who sits back upright in the bed, dizzily holding his head. “Cvet!” says Azalea excitedly, seeing her brother awake. “Hey, big sister has a question,” she starts. “What do boys like?” asks Azalea, closing the door behind herself as her younger brother looks up at her way in a daze.
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- [Vampire Lord Inkume] -
They enter a strange chamber, and the sight before them halts him in his tracks. A vast pool of icy, frozen water stretches across the room, glistening like a sheet of glass beneath the pale light filtering through cracks in the ceiling from a magical residue above. Within the depths of the frozen underground lake lie the bodies of hundreds of people and things, suspended in terrifying positions — faces frozen in expressions of horror, mouths agape as if to scream.
A mixture of dread and fascination courses through him. “What happened here?” murmurs Inkume, stepping closer to the edge of the pool. The Vampire Lord scratches his chin. “Snatch. Why was I not informed above the lake of frozen corpses below my property?” he asks, looking at Snatch.
Snatch worms her way higher up his back, resting just below his neck as she tries to get away from the ice. “It didn’t seem like a pressing matter, Master,” replies Snatch. “They’re frozen, after all.”
Inkume opens his mouth for a moment but then says nothing.
He leans over, bending down to look at a man below the ice he’s standing on. He’s middle-aged, bald — a human. His eyes are open wide in terror and stare up through the ice. There’s something in his hands.
Inkume narrows his eyes, trying to see the object.
It’s a piece of paper — a page. It’s covered in a familiar series of scribbles. After a moment of study, Inkume realises that it’s a page from the book he picked up before.
“How did that get there…?” he mutters to himself, realizing that this frozen person must be the adventurer in question. He looks around the area.
Then he looks back, and the eyes of the frozen man have turned his way and stare straight at him through the ice.
Inkume jumps back in surprise. The body below the ice slides away with an unnatural smoothness, as if it were a hooked worm pulled away by a string. The frozen man’s face smears against the bottom of the frozen lake as he’s pulled across it toward its center, and then the other bodies — people, animals, monsters — all follow suit as they vanish. Below the ice is nothing but deep, thick, black water.
“So, you’ve finally come,” says a voice from all around them at once. The ice cracks, splintering apart on the edges as the sheet of frozen mass covering the lake begins to give way. The cavern rumbles, causing shards and icicles to fall all around them.
A hand shatters through the ice, coming from the water below. It’s coldly blue, thick, and scaled with long, sharp, black claws. “— After all these years.”
The bodies below the water scratch at the ice from below, shooting around with unnatural speed, as if they were bound by a different time. He’d think they were trying to claw their way out, if not for the intricate, woven patterns they scratch into the glassy surface with their nails and teeth — sigils and runes.
“— Demon!” howls a deep, guttural voice as a shape breaks free from the ice — a giant. It has the body of a snake, with the face of one to match. Yet six arms span from its scaled body, shards of jagged ice hanging from them like its own hiss-passed fangs. In each of them it holds a chunk of black, frozen ice from below the water — shaped into swords, axes, and staves.
{BOSS} ~ [Black Ice Naga] ~
A Naga.
Guardian denizens to the underworld, naga are serpentine monsters of cunning intelligence who reside deeply below the waters of the dead. Said to guard the doorways in between the world of the living and those of the spirit world, Naga are exceptionally brutal in their beliefs — that is to kill anyone and everything who would try and cross over before their time.
It is said that no god had ever entrusted them to do this and that they have chosen to do so out of their own personal convictions.
This particular, corrupted example has fed on the magical energies of the water between the prime point of death in the world — the Vampire Lord’s castle — and the gate to the underworld below it, where the dark master had begun trying to weaken the fabric of reality for his dark ritual. This aeon of swimming in such dark essences seems to have poisoned it and changed it into a hyperviolent, indescriminate monstrosity.
Type: Serpent {Lamia} Rank: A Common Drop: Black Ice Chunk Rare Drop: Key to the Underworld
Inkume points to himself, confused as he looks at the giant that towers up to the cavern ceiling.
But then he dives out of the way as the ice shatters, a massive hammer smashing down where he was just standing a second ago.
----------------------------------------
- [An Adventurer inside the Castle Library] -
The library is cloaked in an eerie silence, the kind that presses against the eardrums and amplifies the creak of every wooden shelf around him. Dust motes dance lazily in the beams of starlight slicing through the narrow windows, illuminating countless volumes that line the towering shelves. The air is cool, carrying the scent of aged paper and leather — a comforting aroma for those who seek knowledge within these ancient walls.
An adventurer steps hesitantly forward, clutching a damaged book in his hands. His creaking leather boots thud softly against the polished floor, the noise swallowed almost instantly by the library's vastness. “Sorry I’m late,” says the man.
He stops in the center of the tower’s inner balcony, glancing around as if expecting reprimand. “I... I didn’t mean to damage it,” he admits to the emptiness, his voice barely above a whisper. “It just... happened.”
He holds out the book he had borrowed the other day. Unfortunately, there was an accident involving a slimegirl, and now its been ruined. The cover is burnt away and half detached, and most of the pages are wrinkled and stained.
A sense of foreboding ripples through the air, the library's atmosphere shifting subtly, as if responding to his confession. The shadows seem to deepen, stretching across the marble floor.
His eyes widen as a black shadow — an entity of pure darkness — begins to rise up from the base of the tower, its form amorphous. Panic clutches at his chest, squeezing the breath from his lungs as he stumbles backward straight into the long, boneless pair of hands that have reached around the full length of the tower behind him while he wasn’t looking.
They close.
The man vanishes.
All that’s left is a piece of paper that drifts through the air for a moment.
• No talking in the library.
• Do not return books late.
• Do not damage the books.
Everyone gets three chances.
~Hush, the Librarian
A shadowy hand shoots out from the darkness and pins it back onto the wall before picking up the damaged book between two fingers and pulling it back away into the void.