Inspired by characters and setting of marvelous video game Darkest Dungeon. It's a dungeon crawling and party management game that draws it's inspiration from gothic and lovecraftian horror, and I like it quite a lot - enough to write fetish story about it at least.
I wish the story makes at least somewhat sense to readers not familiar with it, and if not, well, at least there is tickle torture. Also, my heartfelt apologies to Red Hook Studios
*
In attempt of the heir and the brave enlisted heroes to push back eldritch abominations brought to this world by the heir's arrogant, power hungry ancestor, there have been triumphs and defeats. In triumphs, the quests have yielded treasure and riches to the Hamlet, as victorious heroes return home with spoils of battle and tale to tell, growing stronger with each victory. In defeat... The fortunate ones die quickly, or lose their mind in face of unimaginable horrors, embracing the sweet oblivion of mindlessness. The less fortunate ones however... Their fates are often better left unconsidered. But perhaps, if you can bear to witness it, knowing of destinies of the vanquished will give you wisdom to avoid their mistakes, maybe to have you on your toes in darkest places of the world. Let me tell you of doomed heroines from doomed expeditions...
Vestal - https://media-mercury.cursecdn.com/attachments/4/795/wallpaper_vestal1.png
Plague Doctor - https://media-mercury.cursecdn.com/attachments/4/792/wallpaper_plaguedoc.png
The Ruins of the fallen household house many horrors. Undead, vile cultists, terrifying beings controlling them... In such place with ruined hallways and long stone tunnels one might expect grunts of the dead and screams of the living, but laughter might come as a surprise - chilling one, considering the tone of it. As if it was tormented. Forced. Agonized. If one was to follow the screaming laughter echoing in corridors, they could find it's source - and wish they never had.
Vestal, sister of battle, holy warrior against the unholy, had been taken alive by the vile undead abominations. She failed in keeping her party alive, her comrades falling and her mace being no match for skeletal enemies coming for her. She was ready to die fighting, but it was not to be so. She was knocked unconscious by shield of a skeleton warrior, and dragged away. They have stripped her of her habit, torn it off violently, to have their way with body of their poor captive. Torture chambers were not uncommon in the estate before it's fall, and the damn things have made good use of one. The Vestal was stretched on a torture rack, surrounded by the foul skeletons. Who knows where they have gotten giant feathers of the fearsome bird, the Shrieker, but they were using the black plumes to make Vestal suffer. The the eight dark feathers her skeletal torturers hold were tickling her armpits, breasts, belly and soles of her feet, and the Vestal was reacting like searing knives were cutting her in pieces. Her face was contorted in expression of pure agony, her coarse screams barely recognizable as laughter. The eyes in her wildly shaking head were looking around the room, desperately scouting for anything to to call out to for rescue from this torture, but there is no aid in sight. She has been left behind, taken by these evil beings to be violated until she's beyond broken - and it will be only beginning. Her undead torturers will not get tired, won't know mercy and won't be distracted from their terribly work. The Vestal is a militant of the faith, trained for combat and ascetic lifestyle. She is strong. Her body will stand this torture for a long time. Her mind, however... Insanity deep enough will be her only hope, her only escape. If even that is granted to her by divine powers that have abandoned her to suffer.
The skeletal fiends are not the only things lurking the halls of the Ruins. Evil cultists move about, their blasphemous ritual chanting echoing in the halls, but it's not the only sound on their altar. They too had claimed a captive, a Plague Doctor, who was investigating foul vapors in the cellars. A mistake to come alone, but she had always counted on her fortunes. That woman of science and reason is now part of their sadistic ceremonies, chained on a stone table without a smallest chance of escape. Her arsenal of poisons and tools have been taken away along with her robe and mask, leaving the small woman with short dark hair naked and hapless as the female cultist acolytes are defiling her body. The robes she used to wear would protect her sensitive skin from anything, but without it, she's become a tickle and sex slave to dark zealots. Both her suffering and forced pleasure inflicted upon her please the dark God her torturers worship, and with every involuntary orgasm the skillful fingers of women tormenting her force her to have, her sensitivity to relentless tickle torture grows. They had discovered bottoms of her feet and her sides the most ticklish spots on her body, and kept her laughing for hours after hours for each ritual, Plague Doctor being certain that they weren't doing it all for worship. They were doing it for their deranged pleasure. When they are done with her, she's taken aside to a cage, waiting for the torturous rites to repeat next night. She knows not to resist them, as otherwise she's closed inside a narrow coffin, only her feet protruding out, and feather wheels animated by malevolent magic spin against her soles for entire night. The will of this once ambitious woman has been broken, and she only wishes that the cult would go ahead with it and sacrifice her to end this all. Little does she know that it is far from their intentions. When her ticklish agony and sexual energy has given enough power for the cult to summon forth beings they worship, the Plague Doctor will realize that she never knew a thing about true tickle torture. She will, once those beings get their tendrils and tentacles on her.
Antiquarian - https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/darkestdungeon/images/a/af/WallPaper_Antiquarian_sml.jpg/
Grave Robber - https://media-mercury.cursecdn.com/attachments/4/789/wallpaper_graverobber.png
The Weald is a dangerous forestry place, filled with overgrown pathways and run down houses, abandoned for bandits, monsters and wild beasts as the Mother Nature is reclaiming her own. It has costs lives - and mental stability - of many adventurers and scroungers.
Antiquarian and the Graverobber had shared interest. To claim trinkets and relics, stealing from long dead owners of valuables left behind. However, as they were seeking for graves to unearth, they discovered others in same work. Villainous brigands, who were not willing to share the spoils. Quite contrary, the brutes decided to claim two women as spoils of their own. They fought back before being subdued. Especially the Grave Robber managed to wound one bandit seriously, something that she would be punished for. They were taken to a bandit camp, where the captors begun enjoying their living loot right away.
The Antiquarian was someone they were interested in for both business and pleasure. She has knowledge of treasures, merchants, valuable secrets of the world, and the band of robbers were very interested in her help in getting rich. Of course, she would have to be persuaded. She was buried in a shallow pit, leaving only her feet out in the open. The bandits removed her footwear, and poured honey on her soles, before unleashing two of their dogs to lick it. It had truly destructive effect on the treasure seeker, she looked like she would jump out of her skin but could not even get up from her makeshift torture pit. Once the dogs were almost finished, more honey was added, and the Antiquarian thought she would die laughing any second now. Unfortunately for her, it would not happen, as excruciating seconds turned into minutes and hours of unbearable torture. Eventually, she tried to give up, tried to tell them she would do anything if they just stop this torment, but instead of respite, this earned her a gag to her mouth. Her interrogators would get all they want out of her, and much more. But not yet. They would have time.
While the Antiquarian was suffering the ticklish interrogator, the Grave Robber's ordeal was one of sheer agony, as she was now just a tickle slave to these sadistic bandits. She was stripped topless, and tied to a tree, her arms up. The entire camp took turns in tickle torturing her, finding out that her perky breasts were her most sensitive spot. Unbearably so, touches of fingers and feathers on them sent her straight into a ticklish panic and took away all the resolve and resistance she had left. She would wiggle and squirm, scream and beg, but no mercy would come to her. She promised to do anything, serve her ticklers any way they want, anything for them to leave her breasts alone. It was for naught, as the only break she got was for more rope to be bound around her for the bandits to better tickle torture her hypersensitive nipples with minimal jiggling to prevent it. When they begun it, her ear piercing, desperate scream could be heard far away. They would teach the Grave Digger a very ticklish lesson for harming one of their own, and knowing how ticklish she is, she will probably never leave their company. After all, thugs living in a forest filled with horrors sure are happy to have some female laughter in their lives - even if the said female is very unhappy about it.
Arbalest - https://media-mercury.cursecdn.com/attachments/4/797/wallpaper_arbalest.jpg
Hellion - https://media-mercury.cursecdn.com/attachments/4/794/wallpaper_hellion.png
The hideous swine creatures and other abominations stalk tunnels of the Warrens, underground network of caverns and dark holes. Results of Ancestor's dabbling in blood magic and other taboos of occult, those travesties must be eradicated. One of the worst of his creations is Formless Flesh, terrible mass of unstable Flesh, tentacles, tendrils and organs that should not be. It has devoured many adventurers and swinefolk alike, but what it does to human women it captures... If the two women from a vanquished party who lost their struggle against it had known, they would have stayed in the Hamlet.
The Arbalest, ebony markswoman with her trusty crossbow, and Hellion, fierce barbarian warrior from distant land, thought that their last moments had come when the ever expanding beast swarmed over them with it's mass, but they were not so fortunate. The wobbling fleshy tendrils grabbed them, destroying their weapons and tearing off their clothes, and taking hold of the poor women. They felt it's tentacles and tendrils wiggling against their bare skin, held firmly against the constantly shifting form of the Flesh monster, sometimes partially absorbed inside it's body - which was by far the worst thing it could do to them. The Flesh wasn't hurting them. It was tickling them. Tickling beyond anything they could they could stand. Both soldiers were writhing maniacally, twisting their restrained torsos and uselessly kicking, howling in hopeless laughter as the creature slithered to darkness, taking them deep to the Warrens to feed on it's victim's despair, reveling on their pain and suffering as it kept growing powered by their torture.
The accursed thing quickly found their most sensitive spots to extract most laughter from the women. Arbalest could not stand her thighs being even caressed, and now they were ruthlessly tickle tortured by uncountable horrible tendrils pressing and wiggling against them. Hellion on the other hand was suffering similar torment all over her ribs and muscular belly, screeching like a banshee and even attempting to bite her disgusting captor to escape - something answered with even worse ticklish sensations.
Deep underground, the only hope of the women is that another party of heroes could vanquish the thing and set them free, but in these hopeless times, it's not really something they can trust. The Formless Flesh intends to keep them alive. It can feed them and the strong women will last for a long time, even when pushed beyond the extreme limits of their sanity. Their laughter will keep echoing in the warrens. It's abominations are incapable of showing mercy.
Musketeer - https://media.alienwarearena.com/media/55393278e02fccfce16abc431f81811f.png
The Cove, a series of caverns where aquatic beasts and humanoids roam is home to many horrifying creatures, and perils from drowning to getting spear in your lung. Traversing this area is always dangerous, and many heroes have fallen in it - some less expected perils.
Musketeer, armed lady who always preferred to stay back and deal with her foes from long distance could not avoid embrace of medusa-like giant Deep Stinger, and was dragged away. Her party, certain of her demise in some watery pit, pushed on without her. Their abducted comrade would not die though, as she was dragged to the Siren, queen of the Pelagic fishmen, a terrible and hideous creature whose enchanting song could hypnotize anyone and make them feel like they're in hands of a beautiful lover - helpless state to be killed in. Getting rid of the pretty Musketeer brought to her in full strength of body and soul wasn't the intention of the Siren however - the gun wielding lady would be her plaything. Through her song, she would make the Musketeer her loyal tickle slave, always conscious of her terrible condition but unable to resist. She would surrender herself to be tickle tortured by tentacles of Deep Stingers, voluntarily suffer under Siren's scaly fingers, submit herself to each and every ticklish terror the Siren willed. She would be tortured with appearance of perfect lover whose touch brought her only ticklish insanity and lose her understanding of what is real and what is not - the whole world around her, everyone around her - all of them out to get her and tickle her to edge of her sanity and there was nothing she could do about it. Not until a fateful day when she was somehow able to regain her musket and unleashed her spiteful revenge upon the fishes and Siren, until she snapped out - or actually was allowed to snap out - of the hypnosis and understood she had just worked under Siren's brainwashing, gunning down a band of adventurers to protect her torturer. It was the last straw. She had just split second of time to understand what she had done, and to think if she would have time to turn her gun either against the Siren or herself, but the song of the seducing monster lulled her into controlled state again - back to her body and mind obeying it's will, while the last shred of her own mind was silently screaming at the back of her head.
Shieldbreaker - http://yesofcorsa.com/wp-content/up...The-Shieldbreaker-Best-Wallpaper-1024x576.jpg
Shieldbreaker - escaped slave, who got away from blackest of fates through her own conviction and sacrifice, paying dearly for her freedom and suffering for it, met perhaps the most unexpected of dark destinies. Her ticklish demise didn't come from horrors conjured from the Darkest Dungeon. It came from within, and her own past. Having to relive the traumatic escape from captivity, she's forced to fight eldritch giant snakes again and again as her nightmares cross the border of dream and reality. She's been triumphant - until she was not. The snakes entangled her, the Shieldbreaker screaming in panic as she thought they would devour her, but instead, she felt their tongues on her bare skin - tickling her, attacking her most hidden weakness. In this state, reality between wakefulness and sleep, there was nothing the poor former dancer could do, but to squirm and writhe helplessly as the soft but persisting tickles focusing on her belly drove her out of her mind - half crazy from terror alone already, it didn't take much. The horrors of her past won, breaking her after she had tried to run away from them so such a long time. She was committed to the Hamlet's sanitarium, having suddenly lost her mind. Shieldbreaker would sit still, occasionally giggling, whispering in frail voice and begging for mercy from nonexistent tormentors. The nurses of sanitarium are doing their best, but it would take a miracle to fix her twisted brain at this point.
In her mind, the Shieldbreaker never escaped slavery. It's like his fight and flight to freedom was just a distant dream. In new reality within her head, she was brought to the vizier's palace as a slave, handed over to the cruel man who would have her tortured for his pleasure - through tickling of course. The Shieldbreaker's thoughts are full of very real sensations of her strapped in sophisticated and cruel torture devices, trapped in torture chambers only sick mind could imagine. Every single stroke of the feather on her fit body, all the fingers exploring her muscular weak spots, every slow hour that she suffered with no way out, it all was imaginary but felt very real for her. She's trapped inside her madness, victim to her own insanity, and what is more harrowing than being a ruthlessly tortured tickle slave within your own thoughts?
She might very well be the first lost cause for the diligent nurses...
I wish the story makes at least somewhat sense to readers not familiar with it, and if not, well, at least there is tickle torture. Also, my heartfelt apologies to Red Hook Studios
*
In attempt of the heir and the brave enlisted heroes to push back eldritch abominations brought to this world by the heir's arrogant, power hungry ancestor, there have been triumphs and defeats. In triumphs, the quests have yielded treasure and riches to the Hamlet, as victorious heroes return home with spoils of battle and tale to tell, growing stronger with each victory. In defeat... The fortunate ones die quickly, or lose their mind in face of unimaginable horrors, embracing the sweet oblivion of mindlessness. The less fortunate ones however... Their fates are often better left unconsidered. But perhaps, if you can bear to witness it, knowing of destinies of the vanquished will give you wisdom to avoid their mistakes, maybe to have you on your toes in darkest places of the world. Let me tell you of doomed heroines from doomed expeditions...
Vestal - https://media-mercury.cursecdn.com/attachments/4/795/wallpaper_vestal1.png
Plague Doctor - https://media-mercury.cursecdn.com/attachments/4/792/wallpaper_plaguedoc.png
The Ruins of the fallen household house many horrors. Undead, vile cultists, terrifying beings controlling them... In such place with ruined hallways and long stone tunnels one might expect grunts of the dead and screams of the living, but laughter might come as a surprise - chilling one, considering the tone of it. As if it was tormented. Forced. Agonized. If one was to follow the screaming laughter echoing in corridors, they could find it's source - and wish they never had.
Vestal, sister of battle, holy warrior against the unholy, had been taken alive by the vile undead abominations. She failed in keeping her party alive, her comrades falling and her mace being no match for skeletal enemies coming for her. She was ready to die fighting, but it was not to be so. She was knocked unconscious by shield of a skeleton warrior, and dragged away. They have stripped her of her habit, torn it off violently, to have their way with body of their poor captive. Torture chambers were not uncommon in the estate before it's fall, and the damn things have made good use of one. The Vestal was stretched on a torture rack, surrounded by the foul skeletons. Who knows where they have gotten giant feathers of the fearsome bird, the Shrieker, but they were using the black plumes to make Vestal suffer. The the eight dark feathers her skeletal torturers hold were tickling her armpits, breasts, belly and soles of her feet, and the Vestal was reacting like searing knives were cutting her in pieces. Her face was contorted in expression of pure agony, her coarse screams barely recognizable as laughter. The eyes in her wildly shaking head were looking around the room, desperately scouting for anything to to call out to for rescue from this torture, but there is no aid in sight. She has been left behind, taken by these evil beings to be violated until she's beyond broken - and it will be only beginning. Her undead torturers will not get tired, won't know mercy and won't be distracted from their terribly work. The Vestal is a militant of the faith, trained for combat and ascetic lifestyle. She is strong. Her body will stand this torture for a long time. Her mind, however... Insanity deep enough will be her only hope, her only escape. If even that is granted to her by divine powers that have abandoned her to suffer.
The skeletal fiends are not the only things lurking the halls of the Ruins. Evil cultists move about, their blasphemous ritual chanting echoing in the halls, but it's not the only sound on their altar. They too had claimed a captive, a Plague Doctor, who was investigating foul vapors in the cellars. A mistake to come alone, but she had always counted on her fortunes. That woman of science and reason is now part of their sadistic ceremonies, chained on a stone table without a smallest chance of escape. Her arsenal of poisons and tools have been taken away along with her robe and mask, leaving the small woman with short dark hair naked and hapless as the female cultist acolytes are defiling her body. The robes she used to wear would protect her sensitive skin from anything, but without it, she's become a tickle and sex slave to dark zealots. Both her suffering and forced pleasure inflicted upon her please the dark God her torturers worship, and with every involuntary orgasm the skillful fingers of women tormenting her force her to have, her sensitivity to relentless tickle torture grows. They had discovered bottoms of her feet and her sides the most ticklish spots on her body, and kept her laughing for hours after hours for each ritual, Plague Doctor being certain that they weren't doing it all for worship. They were doing it for their deranged pleasure. When they are done with her, she's taken aside to a cage, waiting for the torturous rites to repeat next night. She knows not to resist them, as otherwise she's closed inside a narrow coffin, only her feet protruding out, and feather wheels animated by malevolent magic spin against her soles for entire night. The will of this once ambitious woman has been broken, and she only wishes that the cult would go ahead with it and sacrifice her to end this all. Little does she know that it is far from their intentions. When her ticklish agony and sexual energy has given enough power for the cult to summon forth beings they worship, the Plague Doctor will realize that she never knew a thing about true tickle torture. She will, once those beings get their tendrils and tentacles on her.
Antiquarian - https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/darkestdungeon/images/a/af/WallPaper_Antiquarian_sml.jpg/
Grave Robber - https://media-mercury.cursecdn.com/attachments/4/789/wallpaper_graverobber.png
The Weald is a dangerous forestry place, filled with overgrown pathways and run down houses, abandoned for bandits, monsters and wild beasts as the Mother Nature is reclaiming her own. It has costs lives - and mental stability - of many adventurers and scroungers.
Antiquarian and the Graverobber had shared interest. To claim trinkets and relics, stealing from long dead owners of valuables left behind. However, as they were seeking for graves to unearth, they discovered others in same work. Villainous brigands, who were not willing to share the spoils. Quite contrary, the brutes decided to claim two women as spoils of their own. They fought back before being subdued. Especially the Grave Robber managed to wound one bandit seriously, something that she would be punished for. They were taken to a bandit camp, where the captors begun enjoying their living loot right away.
The Antiquarian was someone they were interested in for both business and pleasure. She has knowledge of treasures, merchants, valuable secrets of the world, and the band of robbers were very interested in her help in getting rich. Of course, she would have to be persuaded. She was buried in a shallow pit, leaving only her feet out in the open. The bandits removed her footwear, and poured honey on her soles, before unleashing two of their dogs to lick it. It had truly destructive effect on the treasure seeker, she looked like she would jump out of her skin but could not even get up from her makeshift torture pit. Once the dogs were almost finished, more honey was added, and the Antiquarian thought she would die laughing any second now. Unfortunately for her, it would not happen, as excruciating seconds turned into minutes and hours of unbearable torture. Eventually, she tried to give up, tried to tell them she would do anything if they just stop this torment, but instead of respite, this earned her a gag to her mouth. Her interrogators would get all they want out of her, and much more. But not yet. They would have time.
While the Antiquarian was suffering the ticklish interrogator, the Grave Robber's ordeal was one of sheer agony, as she was now just a tickle slave to these sadistic bandits. She was stripped topless, and tied to a tree, her arms up. The entire camp took turns in tickle torturing her, finding out that her perky breasts were her most sensitive spot. Unbearably so, touches of fingers and feathers on them sent her straight into a ticklish panic and took away all the resolve and resistance she had left. She would wiggle and squirm, scream and beg, but no mercy would come to her. She promised to do anything, serve her ticklers any way they want, anything for them to leave her breasts alone. It was for naught, as the only break she got was for more rope to be bound around her for the bandits to better tickle torture her hypersensitive nipples with minimal jiggling to prevent it. When they begun it, her ear piercing, desperate scream could be heard far away. They would teach the Grave Digger a very ticklish lesson for harming one of their own, and knowing how ticklish she is, she will probably never leave their company. After all, thugs living in a forest filled with horrors sure are happy to have some female laughter in their lives - even if the said female is very unhappy about it.
Arbalest - https://media-mercury.cursecdn.com/attachments/4/797/wallpaper_arbalest.jpg
Hellion - https://media-mercury.cursecdn.com/attachments/4/794/wallpaper_hellion.png
The hideous swine creatures and other abominations stalk tunnels of the Warrens, underground network of caverns and dark holes. Results of Ancestor's dabbling in blood magic and other taboos of occult, those travesties must be eradicated. One of the worst of his creations is Formless Flesh, terrible mass of unstable Flesh, tentacles, tendrils and organs that should not be. It has devoured many adventurers and swinefolk alike, but what it does to human women it captures... If the two women from a vanquished party who lost their struggle against it had known, they would have stayed in the Hamlet.
The Arbalest, ebony markswoman with her trusty crossbow, and Hellion, fierce barbarian warrior from distant land, thought that their last moments had come when the ever expanding beast swarmed over them with it's mass, but they were not so fortunate. The wobbling fleshy tendrils grabbed them, destroying their weapons and tearing off their clothes, and taking hold of the poor women. They felt it's tentacles and tendrils wiggling against their bare skin, held firmly against the constantly shifting form of the Flesh monster, sometimes partially absorbed inside it's body - which was by far the worst thing it could do to them. The Flesh wasn't hurting them. It was tickling them. Tickling beyond anything they could they could stand. Both soldiers were writhing maniacally, twisting their restrained torsos and uselessly kicking, howling in hopeless laughter as the creature slithered to darkness, taking them deep to the Warrens to feed on it's victim's despair, reveling on their pain and suffering as it kept growing powered by their torture.
The accursed thing quickly found their most sensitive spots to extract most laughter from the women. Arbalest could not stand her thighs being even caressed, and now they were ruthlessly tickle tortured by uncountable horrible tendrils pressing and wiggling against them. Hellion on the other hand was suffering similar torment all over her ribs and muscular belly, screeching like a banshee and even attempting to bite her disgusting captor to escape - something answered with even worse ticklish sensations.
Deep underground, the only hope of the women is that another party of heroes could vanquish the thing and set them free, but in these hopeless times, it's not really something they can trust. The Formless Flesh intends to keep them alive. It can feed them and the strong women will last for a long time, even when pushed beyond the extreme limits of their sanity. Their laughter will keep echoing in the warrens. It's abominations are incapable of showing mercy.
Musketeer - https://media.alienwarearena.com/media/55393278e02fccfce16abc431f81811f.png
The Cove, a series of caverns where aquatic beasts and humanoids roam is home to many horrifying creatures, and perils from drowning to getting spear in your lung. Traversing this area is always dangerous, and many heroes have fallen in it - some less expected perils.
Musketeer, armed lady who always preferred to stay back and deal with her foes from long distance could not avoid embrace of medusa-like giant Deep Stinger, and was dragged away. Her party, certain of her demise in some watery pit, pushed on without her. Their abducted comrade would not die though, as she was dragged to the Siren, queen of the Pelagic fishmen, a terrible and hideous creature whose enchanting song could hypnotize anyone and make them feel like they're in hands of a beautiful lover - helpless state to be killed in. Getting rid of the pretty Musketeer brought to her in full strength of body and soul wasn't the intention of the Siren however - the gun wielding lady would be her plaything. Through her song, she would make the Musketeer her loyal tickle slave, always conscious of her terrible condition but unable to resist. She would surrender herself to be tickle tortured by tentacles of Deep Stingers, voluntarily suffer under Siren's scaly fingers, submit herself to each and every ticklish terror the Siren willed. She would be tortured with appearance of perfect lover whose touch brought her only ticklish insanity and lose her understanding of what is real and what is not - the whole world around her, everyone around her - all of them out to get her and tickle her to edge of her sanity and there was nothing she could do about it. Not until a fateful day when she was somehow able to regain her musket and unleashed her spiteful revenge upon the fishes and Siren, until she snapped out - or actually was allowed to snap out - of the hypnosis and understood she had just worked under Siren's brainwashing, gunning down a band of adventurers to protect her torturer. It was the last straw. She had just split second of time to understand what she had done, and to think if she would have time to turn her gun either against the Siren or herself, but the song of the seducing monster lulled her into controlled state again - back to her body and mind obeying it's will, while the last shred of her own mind was silently screaming at the back of her head.
Shieldbreaker - http://yesofcorsa.com/wp-content/up...The-Shieldbreaker-Best-Wallpaper-1024x576.jpg
Shieldbreaker - escaped slave, who got away from blackest of fates through her own conviction and sacrifice, paying dearly for her freedom and suffering for it, met perhaps the most unexpected of dark destinies. Her ticklish demise didn't come from horrors conjured from the Darkest Dungeon. It came from within, and her own past. Having to relive the traumatic escape from captivity, she's forced to fight eldritch giant snakes again and again as her nightmares cross the border of dream and reality. She's been triumphant - until she was not. The snakes entangled her, the Shieldbreaker screaming in panic as she thought they would devour her, but instead, she felt their tongues on her bare skin - tickling her, attacking her most hidden weakness. In this state, reality between wakefulness and sleep, there was nothing the poor former dancer could do, but to squirm and writhe helplessly as the soft but persisting tickles focusing on her belly drove her out of her mind - half crazy from terror alone already, it didn't take much. The horrors of her past won, breaking her after she had tried to run away from them so such a long time. She was committed to the Hamlet's sanitarium, having suddenly lost her mind. Shieldbreaker would sit still, occasionally giggling, whispering in frail voice and begging for mercy from nonexistent tormentors. The nurses of sanitarium are doing their best, but it would take a miracle to fix her twisted brain at this point.
In her mind, the Shieldbreaker never escaped slavery. It's like his fight and flight to freedom was just a distant dream. In new reality within her head, she was brought to the vizier's palace as a slave, handed over to the cruel man who would have her tortured for his pleasure - through tickling of course. The Shieldbreaker's thoughts are full of very real sensations of her strapped in sophisticated and cruel torture devices, trapped in torture chambers only sick mind could imagine. Every single stroke of the feather on her fit body, all the fingers exploring her muscular weak spots, every slow hour that she suffered with no way out, it all was imaginary but felt very real for her. She's trapped inside her madness, victim to her own insanity, and what is more harrowing than being a ruthlessly tortured tickle slave within your own thoughts?
She might very well be the first lost cause for the diligent nurses...
