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Description

It seemed to go on and on. At first Jenn had yelled protests, then shrieked outrage, then panted she would get her for this, then whimpered imprecations, and finally just groaned in between bouts of stomach-shaking laughter as her tormentor’s fingers tickled all over her defenseless body. The panda had no idea how long it had been since she had first been chained to this rack, arms and legs stretched out, let alone the time that had passed since her tribulations had begun. At a guess, eons.

Clad in only her stiff clamshell brassiere and narrow silk skirt, her body was completely unprotected as the meerkat –‘Mistress Meek’, she had introduced herself as, with entirely too much wicked cheer- had tickled her. First she had run her fingers down the dark fur of Jenn’s taut and wide-open underarms above her bra-strap, had gone on and on while the panda had laughed uncontrollably at the awful tingling racing through her and had fought to throw her off. But whatever she had screamed, she just wouldn’t stop.

Until she had. Had done so, and moved south, first tickling through the bright white fur over Jenn’s ribs until they felt like they must surely bruise, and then, oh, god no, she had moved down to her belly. Jenn’s curvy midriff was frightfully ticklish and utterly defenseless under the circumstances, something the wicked creature had used to the utmost, tickling and squeezing everything she could reach, even tonguing her navel. It was revolting.

Then she had moved down Jenn’s legs, squeezing at her hips and thighs, kneading her knees, finishing off with her paws. Those weren’t very ticklish, and Jenn had had a little break. She had tried to fake that this was the worst, that she couldn’t stand to be tickled there, try to throw this maniac off the scent, but she had been so exhausted by then that Trace had seen through it and corrected her sternly. And at great length, back on her torso.

So Jenn had laughed until her sides ached and then kept laughing, straining every muscle until even the fuzzy bondage cuffs snugged against her wrists and ankles had begun to feel sore and every muscle felt pumped full of hot lead. The pale lamplight in the cavernous dungeon around her had begun to blur and spin, until all she could see was that disarmingly cute face smirking down at her, mouth and eyes bright and shiny in a dark silhouette.

“Plehhehehease… Nohoho no mohohoree...” Jenn panted, big green eyes mostly lidded, great tresses of thick dark red hair tangled behind her.

Meek was tracing one finger around her midriff idly, watching the muscles work as Jenn flinched reflexively. Her other hand was back to tapping at her ribs idly, hardly even counting them anymore.

“You know what, I think you’re right,” mused Trace. Jenn didn’t look up; she knew better than to look at her with anything resembling hope. “Now that we’ve established you’re going to be a good fit for around here, I think it’s time you met the Boss.”

Jenn kept staring vacantly down her snout at the darkness overhead, but her mind kicked it up a notch, struggling back towards something that resembled lucidity. The Boss? What Boss? Oh, right, there was more to the world than being chained down and tickled while being made to wear a scandalous harem-outfit. For instance, there was that part of it that had broken into her apartment the other day shortly after she had gotten home from work, chloroformed her, and dragged her to wherever this place was. No idea, and she had only seen a few of the inhabitants, and that included both the imps and ‘Mistress Meek’ here.

“So cheer up. If you agree to behave, I’ll consider this conversation as having been seen through to the end. Otherwise, we might have to return to this topic at length. Which frankly I would rather enjoy, but which I think you might be less enthused about. Teehee.”

The fuzzy cuffs on her wrists and ankles had been held on by heavy carabiners; apparently Trace and friends had decided to consider the bondage gear to be something of a permanent part of Jenn’s outfit. Trace quickly unlocked them, and Jenn slowly sat up- almost falling off the far side of the table when Trace reached out and gave her bare side one last goosing.

Jenn stepped back, arms crossed over her midriff, but all the various curses, pleas, and promises for revenge she had intended to say she had said a long time ago. She was irritated and a little concerned to note that even with her prisoner unrestrained, Meek didn’t seem to have lost any of her revolting self-confidence. Lying on the rack and at her mercy, Jenn had pictured the meerkat to be towering, almost statuesque, but the brunette was actually shorter and slighter than Jenn was. She was prettier then she had thought, too, though that said little since Jenn had spent the past hour staring up her nose.

“So, let’s go over a few rules when talking to the Boss,” said Trace, leaning forwards, arms dimpling the padded surface of the table. “Follow them, and we’ll be the best of friends. ‘Forget’ them, and it’s right back here to have another long talk on the subject. First of all, speak when spoken to. Also, ‘cause some of the ladies I’ve worked with seem to forget this, people talking about you is not the same as people talking to you. Third, listen to me. I won’t ask you to do anything hard now, but I might ask you to model that outfit a bit, or something of the like. Fourth, you don’t show your back to him, unless he asks to see your rump, which I can’t blame him for. When you’re off-duty that might be relaxed, but for now you walk in, you back out. There are a number of other things we’ll go over later, like poses, nothing too hard, it’s just like yoga. Remember this, and we’ll get along fine. Got it?”

Jenn grit her ursine teeth to keep from telling the smug little meerkat exactly where to stick it. Her smarmy tone felt like someone was pouring oil down Jenn’s ears. And if she hadn’t literally been leaning over the rack where she had just spent hours getting worked to exhaustion, she might have.

“Here, have some of this,” Trace added, handing her a tall glass with condensation on the sides. “It’s got electrolytes, it’s what harem-girls craaave,” she added, snickering. Jenn glowered at her, but took the drink, waiting until the moment after it had started gushing down her throat (she was definitely suffering a case of laughter-burn) to wonder what kind of drugs might be in it.

“I’ll need to cuff you, too. Nothing personnel. Just standard security procedures. Just plee-ease don’t violate them, or, well, actually I suppose I’d be just thrilled, and I am sure you don’t want that.”

Jenn glared, but reluctantly put her hands out, still in their outlandish cuffs.

“Guess again.”

She stared, but eventually turned and let Trace happily click her wrists together behind her back with yet another shiny industrial-strength carabineer. Jenn breathed out, feeling the tight stretch in her shoulder blades and the unpleasant sensation of renewed vulnerability. Having her arms pinioned almost straight back also thrust out her chest in a way she didn’t particularly like. As if this stupid top hadn’t been doing enough to accentuate her cleavage already. It was mortifying.

“Oh, and I’m going to need you to wear this. It’s so you don’t get lost,” simpered Trace. Jenn’s eyes widened, appalled as she regarded the leash Trace was dangling between two fingers. “After all, this place is like home to me but I know it can take the new girls a while to figure things out.” Her big blues eyes narrowed to mischievous slits. “Some of them never find the exit.”

“There’s no way I’m ever wearing that!” spluttered Jenn in outrage.

---

At least it doesn’t chafe, said the voice of optimism in the back of Jenn’s mind. Mentally, she growled back at it, trying to ignore the snug way her fuzzy pink bondage collar hugged against her neck. As if the way the rest of things were going wasn’t bad enough.

Humming insufferably, Trace walked her (she was holding the leash, but at least she wasn’t dragging her by it) down a route she obviously knew well. Whoever built this place had had a thing for big, dark, echoing spaces made of hefty stone blocks, with tall ornate lamps that seemed to enhance the shadows instead of dispelling them despite their size. Elaborate friezes of abstract shapes lined the walls between decorative pillars. Corridors vanished into misty shadows in every direction, but nowhere was there a sign reading ‘exit’. Also a painful dearth of windows, which made it hard to tell the location or time of day. Jenn found it all perfectly gloomy.

Happily there was practically no one around to see here like this.

They emerged into a wide antechamber with yet another towering vaulted ceiling, which Jenn was rapidly growing tired of. Instead of the guards she had secretly been completely expecting, there was a receptionist Imp at a 2’ tall lectern. The fuzzy little creature gave a comical double-take as the duo approached.

“Play the announcer, I’m here to see the Boss,” said Trace, hardly slowing as the imp actually saluted and struck a button. The great ornate hardwood doors beyond opened silently, and Jenn was cut off in the middle of a steadying breath as Trace happily jerked her forward, bare feet rubbing minor sparks of static on the rich carpet.

The long room was full of more imps, masses of them, beady little eyes reflecting the omnipresent lamp-light from the depths of the deeply piled shadows. They rustled and whispered and tittered as the duo passed. Jenn could see the reflected glow of their eyes widening as they noticed them, or see the outlines of their tassel-tipped tails abruptly standing up stiffly, whatever that meant. The carpet made a long run-way, comparatively more brightly illuminated, all the way down to the dais on the end. And on the throne…

Alright, thought Jenn. Let’s see what kind of fat, greasy pervert think its okay to kidnap people to service his dehumanizing adolescent fantasies, I bet the triple-chinned monster won’t even look me in the eye. Probably somebody old and hardly able to walk and… and… Oh.

Abruptly, Jenn found herself blushing. Maybe it was the outfit and the leash, the vaguely and indefinable oriental theme of the palace, or the darkness, but Jenn had rather been expecting to learn she was now the personal possession of someone resembling Jabba the Hutt more than anything else. Not… This.

You know, maybe this won’t be so bad, the Voice of Optimism rang out again before she could choke it off. Jenn felt her face heating up, shrugging her shoulders as she wished again that she could cover herself. Instead, she hunched forward, hair falling over one eye, as Trace pulled to a stop.

“Good evening, Master,” said Trace, giving a brief curtsy of her leather skirt. “I would like to present to you your newest acquisition, Panda Jenn. Isn’t she just lovely? Just look at those big green eyes, ah, and that hair, you could see it from orbit.”

Jenn jerked as Trace thrust a few fingers through her collar, pivoting it until it was backwards. Her other hand coiled the leach and pulled it behind and across her back, forcing Jenn to arch backwards as it pressured her throat.

“Stand up straight, I want him to get a good look at you,” the meerkat hissed out of the edge of her mouth.

“The lads in tailoring have done a great job with all those reference photos we found. She normally loves showing off her tummy, but we found her something a little more revealing and fitting than her usual jeans and stifling crop-top. I think it flatters her figure much more nicely. Certainly breathes better. There’s a few photos around of her wearing skimpier get-ups than this, so she can’t complain on that front.

Don’t say anything don’t say anything don’t say anything Jenn swore to herself that she would just look straight ahead, she wasn’t about to let this pervert get to her.

‘More importantly, she’s even more ticklish than promised! Foot-paws aren’t all that exciting, I checked, but I didn’t even use any tools, I just poked the rest of her and she went wild. Underarms, ribs, thighs, hips, and of course, right here!”

Jenn almost fell over as Trace suddenly darted a hand in and poked at the base of her navel.

“Hey! Get off me you freak!”

Trace glared at her for a split second, but pulled back.

“Er, still hasn’t been fully broken in yet, Master, but I know you like them with a bit of spunk.”

Jenn tried not to shiver at the look that Trace had given her. She bet that she’d be hearing more about that in the future. If only the skinny little monster would keep her hands to herself.

Not long afterwards, they were dismissed, the great hardwood doors closing again behind them just as silently.

-Start Notes and Complaints and Stuff-

Decided to try and draw one of my all-time-favourite character designs again (which isn't saying much for my originality of taste- there's a reason she's wildly popular), Panda Jenn, in one of my favourite outfits of any she's made an appearance in. And to make sure she doesn't get lonely, here she is with Caroo's character, Trace. For Jenn I'm a little happier with how her face turned out this time, and this angle gives me a better excuse to draw all that beautiful hair she's got. That said, it appears that some pervert snuck over to my desk when my guard slipped and added a few pounds and somewhere between 5 and 50 cup-sizes to her body type, whoops. As for Trace, I took the doubtful liberty of dramatically simplifying her design, giving her a pretty simple skirt and corset and removing pretty much all of her usual jewelry. I even briefly considered trying to draw Caroo, looking on pleased as punch, but instead all I got for my trouble was a sudden visceral appreciation for why Muslims never depict God. The background I tried to borrow pretty heavily from Caroo's "Harem" piece, with lamps taken from some pictures with Trace, though the wall shapes are less elaborate and more abstract, and I had a devil of a time trying to match the colour palette. The imps are supposed to be about a metre tall with mischievous but painfully friendly personalities, so the only way to make them look intimidating was to show them as a silhouetted mass with only their eyes showing.

I'd also say I am tentatively a little happier with character proportions, whenever one character ends up physically interacting with another I'd say it suddenly feels exponentially harder to keep everything remotely the right size. On the other hand, the shading didn't turn out anything like what I wanted and I'm stumped on how to fix it. Next time, I think I'm going to make myself use a 'hard' brush, try to get into proper cell-shading.

Thanks for stopping by, feel free to leave a comment, and have a great day!

JD

Panda Jenn (C) Jennifer Morton

Trace Meek (C) CaroosDungeon

Description

It seemed to go on and on. At first Jenn had yelled protests, then shrieked outrage, then panted she would get her for this, then whimpered imprecations, and finally just groaned in between bouts of stomach-shaking laughter as her tormentor’s fingers tickled all over her defenseless body. The panda had no idea how long it had been since she had first been chained to this rack, arms and legs stretched out, let alone the time that had passed since her tribulations had begun. At a guess, eons.

Clad in only her stiff clamshell brassiere and narrow silk skirt, her body was completely unprotected as the meerkat –‘Mistress Meek’, she had introduced herself as, with entirely too much wicked cheer- had tickled her. First she had run her fingers down the dark fur of Jenn’s taut and wide-open underarms above her bra-strap, had gone on and on while the panda had laughed uncontrollably at the awful tingling racing through her and had fought to throw her off. But whatever she had screamed, she just wouldn’t stop.

Until she had. Had done so, and moved south, first tickling through the bright white fur over Jenn’s ribs until they felt like they must surely bruise, and then, oh, god no, she had moved down to her belly. Jenn’s curvy midriff was frightfully ticklish and utterly defenseless under the circumstances, something the wicked creature had used to the utmost, tickling and squeezing everything she could reach, even tonguing her navel. It was revolting.

Then she had moved down Jenn’s legs, squeezing at her hips and thighs, kneading her knees, finishing off with her paws. Those weren’t very ticklish, and Jenn had had a little break. She had tried to fake that this was the worst, that she couldn’t stand to be tickled there, try to throw this maniac off the scent, but she had been so exhausted by then that Trace had seen through it and corrected her sternly. And at great length, back on her torso.

So Jenn had laughed until her sides ached and then kept laughing, straining every muscle until even the fuzzy bondage cuffs snugged against her wrists and ankles had begun to feel sore and every muscle felt pumped full of hot lead. The pale lamplight in the cavernous dungeon around her had begun to blur and spin, until all she could see was that disarmingly cute face smirking down at her, mouth and eyes bright and shiny in a dark silhouette.

“Plehhehehease… Nohoho no mohohoree...” Jenn panted, big green eyes mostly lidded, great tresses of thick dark red hair tangled behind her.

Meek was tracing one finger around her midriff idly, watching the muscles work as Jenn flinched reflexively. Her other hand was back to tapping at her ribs idly, hardly even counting them anymore.

“You know what, I think you’re right,” mused Trace. Jenn didn’t look up; she knew better than to look at her with anything resembling hope. “Now that we’ve established you’re going to be a good fit for around here, I think it’s time you met the Boss.”

Jenn kept staring vacantly down her snout at the darkness overhead, but her mind kicked it up a notch, struggling back towards something that resembled lucidity. The Boss? What Boss? Oh, right, there was more to the world than being chained down and tickled while being made to wear a scandalous harem-outfit. For instance, there was that part of it that had broken into her apartment the other day shortly after she had gotten home from work, chloroformed her, and dragged her to wherever this place was. No idea, and she had only seen a few of the inhabitants, and that included both the imps and ‘Mistress Meek’ here.

“So cheer up. If you agree to behave, I’ll consider this conversation as having been seen through to the end. Otherwise, we might have to return to this topic at length. Which frankly I would rather enjoy, but which I think you might be less enthused about. Teehee.”

The fuzzy cuffs on her wrists and ankles had been held on by heavy carabiners; apparently Trace and friends had decided to consider the bondage gear to be something of a permanent part of Jenn’s outfit. Trace quickly unlocked them, and Jenn slowly sat up- almost falling off the far side of the table when Trace reached out and gave her bare side one last goosing.

Jenn stepped back, arms crossed over her midriff, but all the various curses, pleas, and promises for revenge she had intended to say she had said a long time ago. She was irritated and a little concerned to note that even with her prisoner unrestrained, Meek didn’t seem to have lost any of her revolting self-confidence. Lying on the rack and at her mercy, Jenn had pictured the meerkat to be towering, almost statuesque, but the brunette was actually shorter and slighter than Jenn was. She was prettier then she had thought, too, though that said little since Jenn had spent the past hour staring up her nose.

“So, let’s go over a few rules when talking to the Boss,” said Trace, leaning forwards, arms dimpling the padded surface of the table. “Follow them, and we’ll be the best of friends. ‘Forget’ them, and it’s right back here to have another long talk on the subject. First of all, speak when spoken to. Also, ‘cause some of the ladies I’ve worked with seem to forget this, people talking about you is not the same as people talking to you. Third, listen to me. I won’t ask you to do anything hard now, but I might ask you to model that outfit a bit, or something of the like. Fourth, you don’t show your back to him, unless he asks to see your rump, which I can’t blame him for. When you’re off-duty that might be relaxed, but for now you walk in, you back out. There are a number of other things we’ll go over later, like poses, nothing too hard, it’s just like yoga. Remember this, and we’ll get along fine. Got it?”

Jenn grit her ursine teeth to keep from telling the smug little meerkat exactly where to stick it. Her smarmy tone felt like someone was pouring oil down Jenn’s ears. And if she hadn’t literally been leaning over the rack where she had just spent hours getting worked to exhaustion, she might have.

“Here, have some of this,” Trace added, handing her a tall glass with condensation on the sides. “It’s got electrolytes, it’s what harem-girls craaave,” she added, snickering. Jenn glowered at her, but took the drink, waiting until the moment after it had started gushing down her throat (she was definitely suffering a case of laughter-burn) to wonder what kind of drugs might be in it.

“I’ll need to cuff you, too. Nothing personnel. Just standard security procedures. Just plee-ease don’t violate them, or, well, actually I suppose I’d be just thrilled, and I am sure you don’t want that.”

Jenn glared, but reluctantly put her hands out, still in their outlandish cuffs.

“Guess again.”

She stared, but eventually turned and let Trace happily click her wrists together behind her back with yet another shiny industrial-strength carabineer. Jenn breathed out, feeling the tight stretch in her shoulder blades and the unpleasant sensation of renewed vulnerability. Having her arms pinioned almost straight back also thrust out her chest in a way she didn’t particularly like. As if this stupid top hadn’t been doing enough to accentuate her cleavage already. It was mortifying.

“Oh, and I’m going to need you to wear this. It’s so you don’t get lost,” simpered Trace. Jenn’s eyes widened, appalled as she regarded the leash Trace was dangling between two fingers. “After all, this place is like home to me but I know it can take the new girls a while to figure things out.” Her big blues eyes narrowed to mischievous slits. “Some of them never find the exit.”

“There’s no way I’m ever wearing that!” spluttered Jenn in outrage.

---

At least it doesn’t chafe, said the voice of optimism in the back of Jenn’s mind. Mentally, she growled back at it, trying to ignore the snug way her fuzzy pink bondage collar hugged against her neck. As if the way the rest of things were going wasn’t bad enough.

Humming insufferably, Trace walked her (she was holding the leash, but at least she wasn’t dragging her by it) down a route she obviously knew well. Whoever built this place had had a thing for big, dark, echoing spaces made of hefty stone blocks, with tall ornate lamps that seemed to enhance the shadows instead of dispelling them despite their size. Elaborate friezes of abstract shapes lined the walls between decorative pillars. Corridors vanished into misty shadows in every direction, but nowhere was there a sign reading ‘exit’. Also a painful dearth of windows, which made it hard to tell the location or time of day. Jenn found it all perfectly gloomy.

Happily there was practically no one around to see here like this.

They emerged into a wide antechamber with yet another towering vaulted ceiling, which Jenn was rapidly growing tired of. Instead of the guards she had secretly been completely expecting, there was a receptionist Imp at a 2’ tall lectern. The fuzzy little creature gave a comical double-take as the duo approached.

“Play the announcer, I’m here to see the Boss,” said Trace, hardly slowing as the imp actually saluted and struck a button. The great ornate hardwood doors beyond opened silently, and Jenn was cut off in the middle of a steadying breath as Trace happily jerked her forward, bare feet rubbing minor sparks of static on the rich carpet.

The long room was full of more imps, masses of them, beady little eyes reflecting the omnipresent lamp-light from the depths of the deeply piled shadows. They rustled and whispered and tittered as the duo passed. Jenn could see the reflected glow of their eyes widening as they noticed them, or see the outlines of their tassel-tipped tails abruptly standing up stiffly, whatever that meant. The carpet made a long run-way, comparatively more brightly illuminated, all the way down to the dais on the end. And on the throne…

Alright, thought Jenn. Let’s see what kind of fat, greasy pervert think its okay to kidnap people to service his dehumanizing adolescent fantasies, I bet the triple-chinned monster won’t even look me in the eye. Probably somebody old and hardly able to walk and… and… Oh.

Abruptly, Jenn found herself blushing. Maybe it was the outfit and the leash, the vaguely and indefinable oriental theme of the palace, or the darkness, but Jenn had rather been expecting to learn she was now the personal possession of someone resembling Jabba the Hutt more than anything else. Not… This.

You know, maybe this won’t be so bad, the Voice of Optimism rang out again before she could choke it off. Jenn felt her face heating up, shrugging her shoulders as she wished again that she could cover herself. Instead, she hunched forward, hair falling over one eye, as Trace pulled to a stop.

“Good evening, Master,” said Trace, giving a brief curtsy of her leather skirt. “I would like to present to you your newest acquisition, Panda Jenn. Isn’t she just lovely? Just look at those big green eyes, ah, and that hair, you could see it from orbit.”

Jenn jerked as Trace thrust a few fingers through her collar, pivoting it until it was backwards. Her other hand coiled the leach and pulled it behind and across her back, forcing Jenn to arch backwards as it pressured her throat.

“Stand up straight, I want him to get a good look at you,” the meerkat hissed out of the edge of her mouth.

“The lads in tailoring have done a great job with all those reference photos we found. She normally loves showing off her tummy, but we found her something a little more revealing and fitting than her usual jeans and stifling crop-top. I think it flatters her figure much more nicely. Certainly breathes better. There’s a few photos around of her wearing skimpier get-ups than this, so she can’t complain on that front.

Don’t say anything don’t say anything don’t say anything Jenn swore to herself that she would just look straight ahead, she wasn’t about to let this pervert get to her.

‘More importantly, she’s even more ticklish than promised! Foot-paws aren’t all that exciting, I checked, but I didn’t even use any tools, I just poked the rest of her and she went wild. Underarms, ribs, thighs, hips, and of course, right here!”

Jenn almost fell over as Trace suddenly darted a hand in and poked at the base of her navel.

“Hey! Get off me you freak!”

Trace glared at her for a split second, but pulled back.

“Er, still hasn’t been fully broken in yet, Master, but I know you like them with a bit of spunk.”

Jenn tried not to shiver at the look that Trace had given her. She bet that she’d be hearing more about that in the future. If only the skinny little monster would keep her hands to herself.

Not long afterwards, they were dismissed, the great hardwood doors closing again behind them just as silently.

-Start Notes and Complaints and Stuff-

Decided to try and draw one of my all-time-favourite character designs again (which isn't saying much for my originality of taste- there's a reason she's wildly popular), Panda Jenn, in one of my favourite outfits of any she's made an appearance in. And to make sure she doesn't get lonely, here she is with Caroo's character, Trace. For Jenn I'm a little happier with how her face turned out this time, and this angle gives me a better excuse to draw all that beautiful hair she's got. That said, it appears that some pervert snuck over to my desk when my guard slipped and added a few pounds and somewhere between 5 and 50 cup-sizes to her body type, whoops. As for Trace, I took the doubtful liberty of dramatically simplifying her design, giving her a pretty simple skirt and corset and removing pretty much all of her usual jewelry. I even briefly considered trying to draw Caroo, looking on pleased as punch, but instead all I got for my trouble was a sudden visceral appreciation for why Muslims never depict God. The background I tried to borrow pretty heavily from Caroo's "Harem" piece, with lamps taken from some pictures with Trace, though the wall shapes are less elaborate and more abstract, and I had a devil of a time trying to match the colour palette. The imps are supposed to be about a metre tall with mischievous but painfully friendly personalities, so the only way to make them look intimidating was to show them as a silhouetted mass with only their eyes showing.

I'd also say I am tentatively a little happier with character proportions, whenever one character ends up physically interacting with another I'd say it suddenly feels exponentially harder to keep everything remotely the right size. On the other hand, the shading didn't turn out anything like what I wanted and I'm stumped on how to fix it. Next time, I think I'm going to make myself use a 'hard' brush, try to get into proper cell-shading.

Thanks for stopping by, feel free to leave a comment, and have a great day!

JD

Panda Jenn (C) Jennifer Morton

Trace Meek (C) CaroosDungeon