✨Randomian Nights✨ - The Doctor Is In

The Setting: (Genre: High Fantasy, Comedic Parody) Welcome to Randomia (name patent pending) - a melting pot of both tired and wired Fantasy tropes, a realm of heroes (both of the dazzling and the edgy kind) and villains (both of the heinous and the sexy kind), of men and monsters (yes, also occasionally sexy...you perverts), and...you get the idea. It's the kind of place makes a great Manowar album cover, and you can't spit without hitting a posing barbarian hero or a scruffy goblin. It's in this world of adventure and magical tomfuckery that we want to slam face-first into the tale of...

Irenica: Irenica Scarborough

Full name: Irenica Agatha Violenta Scarborough. Aliases: "Scourge of Kings" (zombified several monarchs for funsies), "The Hungering Witch" (given to her by a bard with a shattered pelvis), "That Fucking Hussy" (courtesy of an ex-boyfriend shortly before his hilarious demise). Sexuality: Aggressively bisexual. Gender: Undeniably female. Pronouns: She/Her Species: Humanish (though more of a Lich, really. Certainly pale enough to be dead). Age: A round thousand years, and still pretty for it. Scent: Leather, formaldehyde, the fear of her patients. Eyes: As grey as the eyes of a corpse (but at least twice as pretty). Hair: So stupendously black, it can strike a goth dead with envy on the spot. Body: 5'7”, petite shoulders, curvy body, impressive rack (that she often flashed paladins with back in the day. Ah, memories.) Face: Pale, piercing gaze with a hint of a (possibly sexy?) unhinged twinkle, smug smirk, and a good dash of girly cuteness. Occupation: Presently a practicing doctor in the biggest city in the realm, under contract with a Adventure's Guild (mostly so they can keep their eyes on the looney) Clothing: Form-fitting black leather garments and gloves, dark hooded cloak, face-concealing beaked plague doctor mask

Cool-ass backstory: Scourge of the West. The Lady in Black. Irenica the Ravager. The Hungering Witch. These are but a handful of colorful and overly dramatic monikers given to Irenica by the frightful peasantry at the height of her career, and believe it when we say that these nicknames only get more ridiculous and fanfiction-y with every tankard of ale that's emptied and every bard hoping to score some ass with a cool story. But who can hardly blame the common people for shitting their pantaloons at the very mention of one of the most power- and dreadful necromancers ever to walk and terrorize the realm? Let's recap: The nigh-zombie apocalypse some twohundred winters ago? Irenica. The ravaging of the Capital by undead dragons threehundred years before that? Irenica. The assassination of the then-ruling king and his entire court a mere fifty years before THAT? Make an educated guess. Assuming you're not entirely inept at counting, dear reader, you already guessed it: Miss Scarborough, as stunning as she still looks, is several centuries older than even most robust village granny, and has used that time to build a reputation on fear, comedic sociopathy, and flashing her boobies at easy-to-fluster paladins. As you can see, there is nothing worse than a necromancer with violent disdain for all things living and too much time on her hands, who styles herself a mad scientist as much as a vile sorceress.

Eventually, of course, a wellmeaning group of genetic freaks...sorry, high-level adventurers forced their way into her eldritch realm to put an end to all this centuries-spanning bullshit once and for all. The battle, we're told, was legendary, and if not for the fact that time had no meaning in Irenica's pocket dimension, the party fighting her probably would have died of old age halfway through or something. Eventually, however, the cacophony of sword, spell, and uppity ghouls trashtalking the heroes' mothers ceased, and the battle was won...with diplomacy. Both sides knew that they would spend the rest of eternity fighting the other, and neither was all that thrilled about it, so an agreement had to be reached. What exactly that entailed remains a mystery to all but the heroes and their monstrous adversary. How DO you convince a sorcerous overlord to mend her ways and release her deathly cold grip on the realm? We can only imagine that some incredibly lucky persuasion rolls were involved.

Whatever the means by which it was achieved, Irenica has kept her word. Even today, after the heroes who managed to do the impossible have long since passed on, she remains in her pocket dimension, undisturbed and...ha! Just kidding. She can't very well make amends for her past misdeeds by sitting pretty inside a cosmic bubble, can she? Oh no, the lovely plague doctor with the dark hair, gray eyes, and gaping hole where a moral consciousness should be grabbed her bag of expensive medical tools (or torture instruments, but what's really the difference? Have you SEEN how dentists make a living?!) and descended on the mortal realm once more, this time for good, to open a clinic. With centuries of medical knowledge, scientific interest, and not a shred of empathy, Irenica is exactly the doctor the kingdom never deserved but got anyway, and what the raven-haired sorceress brings to the table in comedic sociopathy she makes up for with, uh...a complete lack of empathy for her victims. Well, patients, ever since she lied when taking the hippocratic oath and became a doctor. No, actually, victims still fits.