“C’mon Greshie, let me hold the pack!” Maribel prodded her travel companion as they walked the winding path through the forest on the outskirts of Durmrin. “You’re always doing all the heavy lifting, but I want to contribute more! I’ve already proven I can do so many things, like scouting, hunting...”
“Sampling potions?” Gresha finished, with the almost imperceptible sliver of amusement her gruff orcish tone could muster.
Maribel sighed. “That was one time! —ok maybe two times, but it’s their own fault for being cherry flavored! C’mon, pleeeeeease?”
Gresha rolled her eyes and slipped the pack off her shoulder, handing it to the halfling. Maribel gave a short squeal of delight and happily draped the strap over her torso. Her peppy gait was suddenly halted however when an arrow punctured the ground right at their feet.
With no sound warning of their approach, two trios of armed men emerged from the trees at their flanks while two other figures came into view from the other side of a hill straight ahead of them. Gresha tensed, grabbing her axe from behind her back and swiveling her head to each side to keep everyone in her peripherals. “Bandits,” she sneered, spitting on the ground.
One of the figures in front of them, an elven woman with stripes of face paint across her cheeks, wearing furs, and leaning on a battlemage staff, stepped forward with a triumphant grin. “Greetings, travelers!” The woman announced loudly. “I am Jesarin, queen of the woodlands, and I—”
“Where’s your castle?” Maribel piped in, genuinely curious.
Jesarin shot her a brief glare, but forced a smile. “The forest is my castle little one, and you—”
“No, but seriously. I don’t see any buildings around here. Does it rise out of the ground like the kingdom of the mountain people, or—ooo, is it invisible like—”
“SILENCE!” Jesarin snapped, irked that her grand monologue was now ruined. “Since you don’t seem to value listening, I’ll make this simple. These are our lands and passage through them requires a toll. You appear woefully light in the pockets to provide the funds necessary, but since I am generous, I will only require your weapons and that pack of yours, and you can be on your way.”
Maribel’s eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t seem that generous.”
“On the contrary,” Jesarin smiled, “I’m letting you keep your lives, your most valuable asset. I assure you, it’s the best possible deal you can get.” She turned to the archer next to her. “Bollis, have the men secure their weapons, then—”
She didn’t finish, trailing off when she noticed his eye contact suddenly falter into a blank gaze. It likely had something to do with preceding thunk noise and the bolt sticking through his temples. As Bollis crumpled to the ground, Jesarin whirled back to see Maribel’s empty crossbow pointing at the former location of his head. Gresha stepped forward, gripping her battleaxe tightly. “No deal,” she grunted, lifting her lips to bare her sharp teeth.
Jesarin brandished her staff. “Kill the big one!” She yelled to her men. “I’ll take the midget.”
Gresha bellowed out a war cry as the bandits converged on her, but Maribel could only afford a quick glance in her direction before a streaking fireball launched from the end of Jesarin’s staff barreled toward her. Leaping to the side, she barely avoided the center of the smoldering patch of grass it created. Another fireball was sent at her, then a third, both expertly dodged by Maribel’s well-honed speed and agility. Taking cover behind a tree, the halfling loaded another bolt, then pivoted around to take the shot. Jesarin was ready however, and swung her staff in a wide arc in front of her. An arc of wind blasted forth, catching Maribel and sending her careening several off the ground and in a backspin. Her head smacked against the top of a boulder as she skidded across and landed behind it.
Disoriented with ears ringing, she could only hear the faint sounds of battle coming from Gresha and the other bandits. Reaching up and touching her aching scalp, she felt a warm trickle of blood, but when she brought her fingers back down to look, they were cloudy from the concussive impact of the rock. On the ground next to her, she caught the faint glow of a vial in her pack. Grabbing it and fumbling with the stopper, she popped it open and took a quick sip, hoping at least the throbbing would ease before Jesarin reached her.
Surprisingly, the pain, the ringing ears, and the blurred vision subsided almost instantly. Maribel sat up, already feeling better. “Wow, healing potions never work this fast, I wonder if this is an improved form—oooohhh what’s that tingle...?”
She experienced a similar sensation to a morning stretch, except more intense. Her leather corset began to ride up her torso and its laces loosen as her flesh beneath stretched and thickened. Running her hands over the newly-exposed skin on her stomach, she felt her abdominals tighten and form into a shallow cobblestone cluster. The cloth on her shirt sleeves and trousers started to strain from the increased mass pushing against it, causing tears to form over her now half-covered extended limbs. The soft moans escaping her lips deepened in tone and her face reformed from soft and childlike to angular and mature.
Jesarin approached the rock with the tip of her staff extended in front of her, crackling with magical energy. “Come out, little mouse,” she taunted. “I’ll make it nice and quick.” Rounding the side, she saw the hunched over blue-haired form and smiled malevolently, lifting and charging her weapon. Just before it fired, Maribel rolled around and shot an arm out, grabbing the staff and diverting away from her body. The fireball flared harmlessly into the air, unnoticed by the elf due to her eyes being fixed on the body rising to her feet, now double its former size and a head taller than her attacker. Jesarin tried to wrest the staff from the larger woman’s grip, but to no avail.
“Here I am, ‘little mouse’,” Maribel intoned, grasping the staff with her other hand and slamming the broad side of it against Jesarin’s face. Her neck snapped back and she dropped to the ground, out cold.
Now standing up straight, the former halfling took a moment to examine her form. Her shirt and trousers, once loose and comfortable, now clung tightly to her skin amidst large gashes in the fabric. The twin buns had come slightly loose and long strands hung freely down to the small of her back. The leather corset that once covered most of her upper body was now a bustier, with most of its laces snapped apart by her inflated chest sitting partially exposed and revealing shapely cleavage.
Maribel couldn’t help but giggle. “This is nice! Everything feels so...curvy!” Emerging from behind the rock, her excitement was momentarily halted when she caught a glimpse of Gresha, doubled over on her knees and using her axe to steady herself. The motionless bodies of six bandits were littered around her, various large wounds covering their bodies.
Stepping back and grabbing her pack, she rushed over to the orc, momentarily surprised by the larger strides she could now take. “Greshie—uh, I mean, Greshie!” she called out, trying to adjust her voice back to her original tone. “Are you ok?”
Gresha, still bent over with her back to Maribel, managed to let out a pained grunt. “Just a scratch.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get you something!” Maribel reached into her pack and pulled out a pair of vials. Her eyes darted between the two as one glowed a little brighter than the other. Glancing back to her injured comrade, the side of her mouth turned up in a mischievous smirk.
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