#augts

[cloud-kaiju]

A gorgeous pic of a freshly summoned Vivian, discovering her new… everything for the first time! She might've gotten shorter, but she probably has more mass. Drawn by the fantastic ContraryAudball, over at https://www.deviantart.com/contraryaudball

[cloud-kaiju]

Augts 7: Diary of a Big Time Hunter

Vivian Buggane-Slayer. As epithets went, it wasn’t really what I’d hoped for. Starslinger, or Nightscale sounded more epic in my head, but I could strive towards them and for the moment it was accurate. 

Morning light revealed the bone-crunching mole monster to be a Buggane, apparently an earth Troll skilled at burrowing and mining. It didn’t petrify in the sunlight, like some myths of earth, but it decomposed quickly, with flies and birds stripping away all the flesh to leave a skeleton of cracked mineralized bones. 

Meanwhile I was in slightly better condition, if far more exposed than I’d like. Lutetia found me in the morning light, bleeding over a stream as I struggled to watch my massive figure. There was a lull then, an opportunity perhaps to conclude my contract there and then, but I was in no mood to shrink down. They had signed me on for two weeks, and so they would have to deal with a thirty foot guardian for another eight nights by my count. 

Lutetia didn’t consider me a burden at least. She gasped and hurried closer, examining the slashes and puncture marks across my leg and foot with warm little hands. “Ah my, ah my, it scraped you up good- we do need to wash and bind the wounds, don’t want you getting infected. I’m sorry, Vivian.”

“Not your fault. It wanted your herd- and then my bones. Freak.” I whinged, tail thudding behind me as she poked and prodded, “They’re my bones. Mine. I’m not sharing them.”  

“A fair approach. You did well, my hero, more than I hoped! Oooh, my husband shall be quite frazzled about the cost, but you’ve earned it.” 

I flopped back, basking in the dawn rays and her rightful gratitude. Lutetia ordered a milkmaid to fetch warm water and herbs, and washed out the injuries thoroughly. The sensation burned at my flesh, and I kept my hair messy enough to hide the occasional tear escaping my eye. Then she asked for a needle and thread and I balked. 

“You’re going to stitch me?!” I sputtered. 

“Yes- but only you, Vivan, no grafting, promise.” 

“That wasn’t my issue.” I peered down at her, cheeks reddening, “Can you do that?”

“Not to you- not to someone so bound by the Pontifex’s seals. But I have stitched wounds before, on people and beasts both, and this should be easier than them. You are my largest patient by far.” 

“Well, duh. Does grafting… did you stitch those onto yourself?” I wasn’t sure where to look, so my gaze inevitably considered her generous bosom. 

“Only small parts. Some fur in my hair, some hide on my arms, a shard of horn. And plenty of milk.” She looked up as the girl returned with a lantern, finger sized needle and length of twine, rags and bandages. “You should probably find something to put your claws to, Vivian, maybe bite a stick… branch… tree.” 

I grumbled and snarled, draconic noises burbling deep in my chest, but did my best to endure the treatment. I crunched through a tree, carved furrows with my claws, and nearly redirected the stream with my tails manic motions, but managed to never hit anyone. Lutetia endured my tantrum and worked along nine wounds, stitching and binding the worst injuries to my foot, calf and thigh. Then frowned up at me.

As if expecting thanks for torturing me? I looked away, folding my arms across my bust. “Outgrew my outfit. The bounty empowered me.” 

“Oh, wasn’t thinking that. Well, not entirely. Do you favor men or women, Vivian?” 

“Uh… women. Mainly.” I shifted my tail. “Why?” 

“Curiousity of a mother with a foolish boy. Lucas is quite interested, and you are a fine girl, but I will let him down. But we should try to give you a skirt at least, or the men will get less than nothing done all day.” 

It took some bartering to convince her to help me get a top as well, even if it was just a triangle top. So much of their thread and twine that in my wounds that the piecemeal garment amounted to a couple of sheets with old rope holding them together, while calling my lower half a miniskirt was downright generous. It was basically a bikini, strung around my neck, hips and tail and one knot away from exposing me. 

My first purchase with the Buggane’s bounty money was a roll of old cloth fabric. I marched down to Dyrebank with Lucas’ usual urns of milk, and sent the boy on a little shopping spree while the local guards kept watch on my monstrous figure, ogling me like a creepy phalanx. It was good advertising, if nothing else, so I made sure to mention my slaying of the Buggane, and open window for mercenary contracts in the near future. Then Lucas returned with a smaller set of clothes, and a roasted duck that went down in a single bite. 

That was the issue with living large, I rapidly realized. Simply feeding my towering frame was a costly endeavour. Lutetia had promised me a meal each day, but even if I ate as much as the rest of the workers put together, I’d still be hungry. I had to burn into my meager savings to buy loaves, cheese and the occasional tiny ale, and woke up more than once to my gut growling voraciously. 

By the fourth night after slaying the Buggane, I’d had enough. I wandered off into the woods, still favoring one foot slightly, intent on trying to hunt game. My nose was keen and my eyes sharp even in the dark, so it wasn’t too difficult to find the scent of deer or boars. Catching them was another problem however. I was anything but stealthy, and once they bolted my attempts to pursue saw me demolishing trees and tripping on my sore foot. I ended up mud splattered, hair full of twigs, tired and hungry. 

But I found a lake. From the rough geography in the pine woods, it likely fed the stream near Lutetia’s farm, and I stripped and sank into it with a purr of pleasure. Even without gills and blubber, a vital part of me loved swimming. Floating, almost weightless, my chest, tail and belly poking up like islands in the blue. 

Then something brushed my butt and I panicked, grossed out, and flailed hard enough to throw the offending fish fifty feet. 

“Oh… yeah. I’m the whale eater.” I muttered, watching the trout land and splat on the shore. 

Fishing was more my speed than hunting. I accidentally swallowed a few whole while trying to grab and throw the critters, but that was basically sushi, right? I chucked and battered a few dozen, impaled them on some branches, and returned to the farm with a veritable fishy feast to share. 

I think Lutetia found it amusing that I’d gone off hunting and come back with fish, but she didn’t say it aloud. She got some bonfires and roasted them up, sure to give me the lion's share with even a little salt. 

“Thankyou,” I said, sincerely, lying on my front so my face was near human height. 

“Thankyou.” She returned it, smiling that big doleful grin, fluffy ears shifting, “It’s quite the treat, we don’t venture far into the woods. Don’t want to anger the Woads.” 

“They didn’t bother me.” I think. I wasn’t sure what a Woad was, Knelvin had made them sound like barbarians, or orcs? “Though, I’d be interested in asking you of some stories, if you’re willing?” 

“I’ll try.”

“Your god rivals the Pontifex. Does the Chimera have any ways to remove its Seals? Either in rumor, or… yknow. Myth, story?” 

“Yes, actually, indeed!” Lutetia beamed, then winced, “Admittedly, the story is of amputation, and grafting a new limb. I do not think that aids you.” 

I facepalmed, tail flopping heavily far behind, “No. Not really. Any other tales?” 

“Many of the great Nymphs, heroes of my path, but not of Pontiff bonds.” She looked pensive.

“Alright, no worries. What about clothes? Are there any legends of, say, armor that always fits its wielder? Magic clothes or stuff?”

“If you want Artefacts, your best hope is to seek the Nihilic Union. Old Ceirean, cursed be that wyrm, hunted and hoarded all those with an Art towards smithing or making, to make him new treasures and vaults.” Lutetia spat into the fire, voice full of venom, “Now they’re free, so they say, but they still stick to his old stomping grounds… or…”

“...or?” I grudgingly asked. 

“Supposedly Jotun- mountain Trolls- are big like you. Meant to be smarter than that bone cruncher, but I don’t know much except they’re huge, cunning and hard as nails- and none of them follow Mother Chimera. But there’s mention of armor in the stories of Ignacio fighting them, or Nephranda’s final flight, so they must wear something.” 

It wasn’t much, but it was good information for a random ranch in the hills, so I settled to listen to her and other farmhands trade tales. The Chimera herself didn’t feature in many- instead most stories followed a Hero gathering essence to themselves, gaining aspects of beasts until they could face an element or concept and attempt to graft that. Deaths were few, the Greater Nymphs treated like spirits or saints in their minds, ancestors who had completed their pilgrimage. 

—--------------------------------------

Lutetia’s husband, Donald Durwell, turned out to be a Nymph of Grass. His skin was craggy and earthen, his hair long golden stalks, with short emerald flecks across sturdy arms and a sculpted chest. I could immediately see why they’d been confident he could defend the farm, and his arrival with a new herd of thirty cows was treated like a momentous occasion. I shrank back to my petite shortstack figure almost as soon as he came, and for once enjoyed it. Donald’s utter confusion that my tiny ass was a mercenary was as much fun as getting to drink ale that lasted more than one swallow! 

The highlight was maybe three of the farmhands proposing to me over the night, and each encouraging me to put down their rivals in increasingly brutal fashion. I lied and claimed I would’ve accepted them if they’d proposed as one harem- I was a lot of woman after all- and savored the looks of confused awe and horror. 

Then the next morning, I trundled back into town to see what fruits my visits to advertise had sprouted. 

[cloud-kaiju]

Augts 5: Diary of a Big Time Carter

Geography was never one of my strong subjects. We crossed some kind of border over my weeks with the Traders caravan, but I wasn’t sure on what duchies or marches meant, beyond the villages getting a little bigger, and folk getting a little meaner. We were met with more suspicious gazes, more guards demanding tolls, and more lecherous looks in my case. That was to be somewhat expected, I’d started offering favours to different traders each day, just a few coins to get me somewhere between five and six feet, and spent it on a nicer green kirtle with a flared skirt. I’d have liked to have bought a dagger or weapon, but someone had stolen back her pay from my cleavage when I fell asleep.

Knelvin and I squabbled a lot. It was weird to think I’d slept with a woman I didn’t fancy as a girlfriend, let alone a partner, but that was part of her argument. 

“You’re young, gorgeous, exotic, and a living legend,” She listed, “That’s plenty of assets, without even getting into how big your assets can go. Smart thing to do is split off once we hit a city, join a brothel and build up your reputation.”

“As a prostitute!” I snapped, “I know I look like a bimbo, but I’ve got higher standards than that.”

“As a courtesan.” Knelvin emphasised, “Don’t focus on the sex- you could still make bank just snuggling and playing cute with folk, let the stories go out and soon you’ll probably have a prince fall into your lap- literally! What’s the issu- are you a virgin?”

My cheeks went bright pink, “That doesn’t matter- I don’t want to rent myself out to the highest bidder. It’s not like I’m chaste, but I just want… like… intimacy to be my choice, not my business.”

“Is there really a difference with you?” 

“Yes! Knelvi, I left the Temple because I was practically their pet. Joining someone’s harem is the exact same thing.” 

“Except it’d pay you and let you be massive- which you love.” She rolled her eyes, ears twitching behind blonde hair. “As opposed to- what’s your master plan again?” 

“Mercenary work.” 

“Have you ever swung a sword before? No, you’re a virgin at that too.” 

“I can learn- and besides, if taking bounty contracts pay well then I don’t need weapons, I’ll be big enough to just handle them.” I flexed playfully, arms raised, straining my sleeves more through chubbiness than muscle. 

“So you’ll be an attack dog instead of a pet?” Knelvi frowned, “Have you ever killed anyone before, Vivi?”

“No. But I won’t be like, going after gnomes. There’s monsters too- you sang about an army of trolls and woads the other night?” 

That question didn’t satisfy her, and her probing only irritated me. Who cared if I took fortunes from rich folk? They needed to spend it, and I would need to be earning it if I wanted to reach a decent size. I couldn’t imagine being paid thousands of coins for some mundane job or cushy fake romance, but to field me in place of an army? Or to slay some dragon? That idea held water. 

The water we were to cross later didn’t hold a bridge however.

The bridge across the Englemire must have been grand once, a long construction of stone and timber that sprawled the three hundred metres of flowing water, but age had finally done it in. Jagged timbers rose up like ribs of some great serpent, pillars tumbled and broken, most of it washed away downriver entirely. I spied a beaver gnawing at the remains and glowered at it, then hustled to the front of the caravan. 

Most of the traders had gathered with the ‘Chief’, a sturdy man with a fine collection of maps, an old sword and decades experience on the road. Already the argument was bubbling like a pot on the hob- should we wait for a barge? Travel upriver to the next village and pay the toll? Break back to try a whole different route, and risk burning bridges with Dyrebank across the way? Groans echoed at the foul pun as I scooted my way between the merchants, and almost knocked over their table with my knockers. 

“Uh, ‘scuse me!” 

“Nothing for now lass, drinks can come later,” The Chief waved me off, “Bartimaeus, wrangle your girl.” 

“Not mine, Vi’s a hanger on.” Bart scoffed. 

“I’m with Todd today- and watch this! Hey Todd, I quit!” I shouted, pointing dramatically at an older bald fellow. He gasped, always having a soft spot for me, then watched as my figure shrank, losing half a foot of height before their very eyes. That got a few more gasps. 

“I told you ta stop stooping, dear!” Old Elma snapped. 

“I’m not- it’s my Art, my sorcery.” I declared, seizing the chance for attention, the chance to spin the story my way. “The more I’m paid for a job, the bigger I can get. If you pay me, I can get the whole caravan across the river, today.”

Scattered laughter resounded, more from those who didn’t know me than people like Bart who were realizing the truth now. 

The Chief however stroked his salt-and-pepper beard, eyes lingering on my shape, “That’s a bold claim. What would you call your price?” 

“Uuuh…” My mind span. I gained around nine inches per silver, and I’d need to be big enough to treat the wagons like crates, so… “Seventy silver. For the whole caravan, sir.” 

“Starting high.”

“I wish- only Knelvin’s shorter than me.” 

A couple laughed at my quip, but the Chief pursed his lips, one finger tracing maths in the air. “And if only one or two want to risk dealing with you first?”

“They’d need to pay the whole sum. I can’t transport them if I’m only seven foot tall.” 

“Forty silver. For the lot.” 

What was that? Thirty five feet? It might work, but I wanted more. So much more. I folded my arms, emphasizing my bust a little, “Sixty.”

“Are we really entertaining this nonse-”

“Fifty. Paid in full once we cross.” The Chief cut off the complainer, one hand on his shiny estoc blade. “Does that work with your Art… Vi?” 

“Vivian, sir. And it does. I accept.” I breathed, gasped with anticipation, then cursed. “Shit.” 

“Something wrong, young lady?” His voice rose an octave as I sprouted in front of him, climbing past six feet in seconds, outfit hugging my frame. 

“I should’ve gotten out of the way first- coming through!” I charged, each step covering a larger distance. I bowled over Bart and Todd- at least Todd probably enjoyed it- spooked a horse, and side stepped it as my figure began to rip my clothes apart, my head above the height of the carts. But I was just getting started. 

I kept my back to the crowd as my dress shredded entirely around swelling curves, and dropped to sit hard enough that it shook the earth. My heart was hammering, nerves shot with excitement and exultation, mind digesting each seconds explosive growth like a gourmet meal. Bigger. My jaw clenched, teeth sharpening to fierce fangs. Bigger. New appendages flared at my hips, little fleshy wings shoving grass and dirt aside with ease. Bigg-

No, I wanted my tail! I wouldn’t forget this time! 

With a grimace, I leaned forward, trying to clench muscles that didn’t really exist, to push against the bars of my cage with sheer momentum. My fingers tore deep gouges in the riverbank, my toes flexed, my wings stretched- and then my spine burst downwards. A tidal wave of dark scales erupted behind me, sprawling back ten, thirty, fifty feet in seconds. The midnight scales swept over my legs, reshaped toes into talons, and pushed my ankles down for stability. 

Then it was done. I breathed in deep, breasts heaving, neck flicking, flanks shifting, and considered my surroundings. The world was a bit flatter, the river less intimidating- while I was anything but. Somehow my boobs seemed heftier, my arms heavier, my belly layered with thicker chub, and with three slices in either side- gills? I barely was able to consider them before twisting to look at my tail- which was apparently most of me?

My longer body, hips downwards, was a dragon. Another body, all dark scales and golden symbols, sprawled across the field, with four stocky legs like a crocodile, tipped in black talons. Beyond my… hind legs, my tail wagged in confused delirium, almost colliding with a pair of horses which shied away. 

“Awwww…” A low gasp escaped my lips, even as my belly- or bellies?- rumbled. The horses looked like chihuahuas, the wagons almost like cardboard boxes on little rickety wheels, and the people… To a forty foot half-dragon, the humans might as well be figurines, maybe ankle height? But with wide eyes, nervous fearful looks, and drawn steel glittering in the Chiefs grasp. 

“Aaaaaargh,” I tried to cover my chest, the effort even harsher than normal- why had I gained so much weight this time?! The gills and body might be useful, but why’d I get fatter? “Can I borrow some canvas?! For modesty?” 

The men turned and discussed this for a minute. Then the Chief braved a few steps forwards. 

“It may be better for morale not to.”

“What the fuck?! It’s better for my morale to contain these girls- come on, I’m practically your employee right now… sir!” I blushed, voice pulling on that sultry growl. 

He rolled his eyes, or maybe was just following my busts motions, “You can buy ropes and canvas. You will pay for them after this matter is concluded, agreed?”

“Deal!”

Thankfully that didn’t deduct from my height, although it took an hour to get myself and the caravan ready for the crossing. Elma and Knelvin helped to tie together a tight little bikini out of some hammocks, while I struggled with the sensation of four new limbs. The hind legs were a surprise, and the little wings seemed more like flippers now, as if my body had moulded itself for swimming and river work. The only oddities were my sharp maw of teeth, and my new weight, but once I tried the river and felt the water easy and fresh, that made sense. I’d gotten blubber, to protect against the cold. 

With a giggle, I twisted and waddled through the current, both sets of hips swaying, tail whipping behind me. Further in the river dove deep enough for me to swim, and I ducked to enjoy a wriggling splash through, before flailing to find the bottom- there! If I strained myself, I could walk my back legs and tail across the deep riverbed, paddle with my forelegs, and hold stuff with my arms? That did look a bit lame though, so I rushed to swim again, finishing my first experimental crossing to peek up on the other side. 

Two peasant fishermen stared at the enormous buxom creature who rose out of the Englemere. One turned and ran for his life. The other frowned, and threw a fish my way. I decided to splash him with my tail as I turned around, and crossed back to the caravan with a giddy smile. 

“All aboard, all aboard, who’s coming first?” I leaned over the riverbank, claws on the mud, hands on my hips. 

Todd volunteered. I could respect that. He hunkered inside his wagon, keeping everything stacked as I lifted the wooden vehicle, fixed my grip, then carefully and deliberately began to paddle. The wood creaked and strained under my fingers- it wasn’t made for this, it wasn’t meant to be off the ground- but it managed to stay intact. Holding it tight to the vast airbags of my bust definitely helped cushion any jolts as I waddled through the water, and then delicately set it down on the far side. Todd got out, and slipped an extra few coins to me with a wink. 

If I was bigger by the time I returned, noone really noticed. They were eager to get moving- and more eager to capitalize on a limited opportunity. I hucked Elma’s cart over, then Bartimaeus’, and then spent a few tricky crossings carrying horses under my arms as the beasts whinnied and my stomachs rumbled. Back and forth, back and forth, the afternoon wore into evening as five, then eight, then ten wagons made their way over.

Last was the Chief, and his cart, the sturdiest and most well painted of the caravan. I slipped my fingers under the axels, hefted, and blinked as the old man settled on the roof rather than inside. 

“Mind if I take a shoulder?” He rasped, voice low. 

“You’re the boss.” I shrugged, but leaned to let him grab the rope of my top and clamber up. My torso was still human, if massive, tan skinned with the symbols sealing me emblazoned upon it. “Hey, does my neck have gills?” 

“Yeah. Quite unusual, like a Nymph. But you’re not one, are you?” 

“No.” I rotated carefully, checking the bank for any forgotten items, then began to sink into the river. “I’m unique. I think.” 

“Everyone is.” 

“I think I’m more unique than most people.” I shifted, hugging the wagon to my chest as I slipped into deeper waters. 

“Maybe. Knelvin said you were arguing. About how to use this gift.” 

A gust escaped my nose as I snorted. “Yeah. I want money. I like this. She thinks I ought to settle for just being a harlot!”

“It would be safer. But risk and reward often go hand in hand.” The Chief mused, “And opportunity is fickler prey still, but worth chasing for all that.”

I sank, my stomach, my bust sinking as I reached the deepest part, hind legs scrabbling, forelegs paddling, “That doesn’t sound like a vote for her thoughts.” 

“It is not. But keeping options open is wiser still. Don’t pigeonhole yourself, Vivian.” He cocked his head, “You’ve been getting tips.” 

“You noticed?” 

“Not in height, no, you’re bigger than a troll. But I know my traders. I know they reward people. When they want to.” He shifted, “Here, my humble contribution.” 

The estoc, sheathed and with scabbard, fell from his grasp down into my chest. By the time I reached shore, my top was busted again, my taur body able to just walk on all fours through the great river. The Chief demanded I return back to the centre to check for something, even after I dropped off his wagon. He delayed us, but he was the boss, but I wasn’t about to complain for getting to swim for another half hour. 

[cloud-kaiju]

Augts 2: Diary of a Big Time Guest

The bath was divine, but drying my new body took forever. I was smaller, but my excessive curves had more surface area and toweling them was an incredible new experience. Not to mention the logistics of six feet of hair dragging behind me like some brunette squid. I did what I could and admired myself in the mirrors provided, equal parts curious, disappointed and overwhelmed. 

This form was a bombshell. My boobs were nearly as big as my head, and my figure was chunky but appealing. My tan skin was unblemished- I guess I’d only been made today- but tattooed by those golden markings all over. Most were starlike, with some spirals, crescents and circles, that only contained writing on the closest inspection. They sprawled to my palms and feet, from my brow and cheeks to my belly and other cheeks, even onto my squishy chest. I blushed and gave a suspicious glance to the door, confirming my privacy before another indulgent squeeze. 

The symbols felt like skin. Like the one barcode tattoo Mike had tricked me into getting on my shoulder. There was no mystical quality, beyond my new body, but they were apparently the bars confining me to this prison. If I broke them, wouldn’t I be free? 

I traced a black fingernail over the swirl down my arm, pinching at the fattest part. It hurt. I slipped my index finger in my mouth, biting gently. My teeth were human. I could break skin if I wanted, but it would be painful, and… would Gwyndolin really work for twelve years on a prison I could gnaw my way out of? 

A double knock at the artful doors provoked a squeak from me. 

“Lady Vivian. I have your clothes and implements. May I come in?”

“No!” My face went beet red, arms covering myself ineffectually as I tip-toed over. “Leave them outside. And turn around- or better yet, go away for a while.” 

“Very well.” The feminine voice sounded amused, but I heard a clink of something being set down, then retreating footsteps. I still tried to tie a towel around myself before peaking out, grabbing the bundle, and locking the door once more. 

Clothes was a generous term. There was a skirt, a loincloth, and a top, but they exposed more skin than my towel did. I had to wrestle my bust into the cups of a pale tube top, and doing a loincloth was a puzzle in and of itself. At least the skirt was simple, but it didn’t even reach my knees. They had to be my bedclothes, right? Noone would go out like this. 

My other request was met with more success. A roll of parchment, tough and leathery, with a thin quill and glass bottle of ink. A book accompanied it, decorated with a drawing of a beaver building a dam, but the text on it was illegible. I glanced in a mirror, leafed through a few pages, and groaned. The symbols of the book's writing were wholly different from my markings- yet another language I couldn’t read. 

Another knock came, “Lady Vivian, are you well?”

“I’m dressed. Who’re you?” I opened the door to see a red haired young woman, a head taller than me with a freckly face and golden symbols on her hands. 

“Pontiff Sara. Honored to meet you- more properly at least.” She bobbed her head, the motion exposing another smaller symbol on the side of her neck. “Would you like anything?”

“You don’t have any magic to dry all this hair, do you?” I huffed at looking up at her.

“You won’t find any magic at the temple, I’m afraid. But I can help you dry off?” She slipped past me to pick up a comb and a towel, gesturing to the divan.

Might as well. I sat, letting her perch behind me, straightening out my mane with gentle, precise movements. “You can lie, can’t you?”

“Yes? What do you mean?”

“Can you tell me I’m taller than you, please?”

Sara gave a small scoff. “Missing it already? Oh yes, Lady Vivian, you’re positively looming over me. Why?” 

Despite myself, I blushed, leaning back a little more. “Gwyn says she can’t lie because she’s sealed that away. You’ve got different seals, so, yeah, you can lie- like aren’t the seals magic?”

“No. The Seals are the Miracle of the Pontifex. They are a Craft to learn, yes, but they are not an Art.”

“That… distinction doesn't exist in my… homeland. We’d consider any of this stuff magic- what are Arts and Crafts like, then?” I asked hungrily. 

“Truly? How strange.” Sara tutted, then reached forward, letting me see the soft looping symbols on her right hand. “The Craft of Seals let us follow the terms of the Pontifex to seal darkness. See these patterns? I wrote these symbols to forbid my hands from violence. I can’t harm anything- and my other Seal helps protect me from sickness.”

I shifted. The comb snagged a little, but nothing hurt. “Huh. What are other crafts then? Are there other… gods?” 

“Mmmhmm, let’s see… the Draught of Comprehension you drank earlier for language? The Grail equips its Alchemists with recipes for such wonders. The Mannequin teaches its brethren to escort the dead, the Chimera corrupts its followers into Nymphs, and the Silent does… something for its monks. I don’t know them all, there’s quite a few gods.” She giggled, a surprisingly endearing sound. 

“So Crafts include alchemy, necromancy, and stuff- what about Arts?” 

“The Arts of Sorcery are more… personal. They’re forged from Chronicles, so every mage or warlock uses different talents, and they’re much more unreliable. A greedy lord who turned his family to gold, a swordsman who amputated all his limbs, a painter who drew monsters to life-”

“A Hero who banished Kieran?” I twisted to look at her.

Sara smirked, marked fingers stroking my long locks. “Ceirean. You might want to learn the pronunciation, Lady Vivian. But yes, the Evictorious Hero is a warlock, so not all of them are tragic or wicked, but magic follows few rules. Did you really have no such powers in your land?” 

I bit my nail thoughtfully, “No. Magic in home means… deceiving, performing tricks with clever handwork. Showmanship. Though… we had some things I doubt you do- lightbulbs, cars, scre- uh… lanterns that don’t need fuel, wagons without horses, moving painting, and tools to speak across the world.” 

Her eyes widened, jaw opened softly. “You’re not lying?” 

“Nope. Not that I know how to build them- really kicking myself for not learning electronics or anything now.” I flopped on the divan. 

“It’s never too late to learn. Would you like help braiding your hair, or do you prefer it loose?” 

“Oh, absolutely braid it.” 

She showed me, talking as she wound long strands over and under, over and under. It was simple, if on a grand scale, and reassuring in the humanity of it. Perhaps Sara was lying about some things, but her hands didn’t hurt me. That much was welcome. 

“It’s dark out. Sorry you didn’t get much of a chance to explore,” She considered eventually, “Oh, Lady Vivian, would you like to see a beaver?” 

I blinked, hanging my hair over my shoulders like a thick ropey scarf. “Pardon?”

“Oh, you don’t have them? They’ve very cute creatures.” She grinned so wide I couldn’t say no.

Outside, the temple was a rare island of illumination in a deep night. Fireflies of vivid blue and pink swirled over swampy waters, a few huts had dim firelight glowing within, but the sky was darker than any I’d seen. Back home I’d grown up in the city, light pollution was a fact of life, an orange glare across the heavens. This sky was… different. 

“Here we go- here, Pommy!” Sara knelt at the waters edge, by logs and a mass of driftwood. I followed, my bare feet tickled by the grass, rock and mud. Braiding my hair kept it from dragging on the ground at least. 

“Pommy?”

“Oh, hey,” She whispered, as a small brown creature peeked from the warren, and scampered out. Buck toothed, brown furred and with a hardy webbed tail, it looked just like a beaver- not that I’d ever seen one in person. It half-stood at Sara, webbed paws outstretched, and she fished a few nuts out of a pouch on her belt. “Here, Lady Vivian, want to feed him?”

“Uh. Sure.” I squatted, tugged at my clothes, and held them out, “Like this? Pommy?”

The beaver sniffed, crawled a couple steps closer, then stood. Its nose twitched again, and then it grabbed the food, stuffed them in its cheeks, and retreated. 

“Yeah- well done, Lady Vivian! She’s nice, isn’t she Pommy?” Sara rubbed the creature's pelt, “The Beavers are wise, they know how to dam waters, and their lord taught us the miracle of sealing.” 

I processed that for a long moment.

“The… your temple worships the Pontifex which is… the fancy word… for beavers?” 

“Indeed!” 

I tipped backwards, glad my ass had enough padding to soften any landing. I laid back, partly out of shock, partly just… to see. The sky was so different. There was no moon, but some of the stars were much larger than the others- nearby planets? Others pulsed instead of twinkling, and the void past that was… shifting. Like waves on a black ocean, the night rolled and rippled, phantom colors occasionally visible in the farthest gloom. It wasn’t the sky of earth. I might not ever see that again. 

“Lady Vivian? Are you alright?”

“Uh. Not sure. Can you show me where to sleep?” 

At least I didn’t have to work tomorrow. Perhaps it was okay to enjoy this vacation for a while. To gather information until I could touch that sky myself. 

—------------------------

True to the High Pontiff’s promise, I was an honored guest of the Temple. My chambers were warm and airy, my bed vast and supple, my meals always blessed with second portions, salt and seasoning. The female Pontiffs were polite and kind, ever willing to help, serve or teach me. They plied me with stories of the Pontifex, their beaver god who dammed away evil spirits with golden seals, showed me maps of the realm ‘Iabris’, and taught me to play Balderchess.

Naturally I took everything I could and then some more. I cheated at their games, yawned during their stories, almost sickened myself wasting spices, and pilfered anything I could. Jewellery, foreign coins, and small vials were my main targets, because none of my outfits had pockets. My only good hiding place was my hair or cleavage, and Gwyndolin was shockingly good at spotting when I’d stuffed a little extra down there and threatened a topless massage to retrieve it. 

That was enough to curb my theft a little- along with the lack of any power from my meagre hoard. Even when I got enough jewellery to jingle when I walked, there was no magic, no potential, no might. I still kept the jewellery, of course- it might be worth selling- and it made me feel pretty, albeit exposed. My outfits tended to expose my stomach, thighs, back, or just a lot of bust. Sara eventually explained that most Pontiffs took pride in displaying their Seals to the world, and since my Seals were all over my body it was only proper to show myself off. She did get me a robe and more reasonable clothes when I asked, but they were too loose and too tight without proper tailoring. 

Being so honored, it wasn’t hard to glean knowledge of the Seals. Injury wouldn’t scar them, though horror stories of amputations removing them did linger. Covering didn’t stop them, but suitable makeup could hide my markings if need be. In fact most Pontiffs claimed there was no way to remove them- except Gwyndolin. The old truthteller directed me to others when I asked, which only led to one conclusion: she knew there was a way, and so couldn’t deny me herself. 

It took two months of mischief, adjustment and vanity for the realization to strike. I was in one of their preacher services for the village folk, obnoxiously clattering my jewellery to distract Pontiff Deliliah, but it didn’t matter.

I wasn’t their guest. I was their pet. Their trophy.

The greatest calamity of their world, imprisoned in a pretty squishy cage, reduced to pranks and preening. It didn’t matter if I was annoying- containing me to the temple at all was a victory for them, a testament to the power of the Pontifex. 

I cursed in english, the words known only to me, and surveyed the folk of the local village. Swampy peasants, with reed-hats and long wading boots. I needed perspectives outside the temple. I needed to get out of here. 

[cloud-kaiju]

Augts 1: Diary of a Big Time Summons

Job interviews have always been a struggle for me. At the last one they asked me where I could see myself in five years time. Apparently working elsewhere wasn’t the answer they wanted. They rejected me. They said I lacked vision. 

Well, I had the vision today. Midway through stacking shelves in the warehouse under the watch of those damn beeping cameras, I glimpsed where I could be. Where I should be. 

Coiled around stars, arranging vaults of endless glittering treasures as delicately as building a house of cards. Not for anyone else, but for me, for my majesty, for my power. 

My movements were languid, unhurried, my body sprawled across dimensions of shadow and flesh with a thousand eyes and a dozen hungry maws. Ant sized figures trembled at my slightest movement, humans smaller than the talons of my vast wings. A single flap of the sky spanning pinions would flatten forests and shift oceans, but I kept them aloft as firmaments of my own grandeur. 

Was this how bodies were meant to feel? Languid, familiar, comfortable? Was this why shaving and following fashion felt so constraining, because I was meant to encircle worlds? It was ridiculous that billionaires held so much power when they were just another little pink ape- it only made sense that the richest ought to be the greatest. The draconic dream pulled closer, and a shining, glittering golden light fluttered in my vision. The first foundations of my hoard? I stretched out with endless hunger to grab the light, pulled-

And was ensnared. 

Bands of light cinched around my soul. I struggled but the power was ever tightening, and I couldn’t let go, even as the bindings dragged me far away. 

In a grueling warehouse, a box tumbled off some shelves. 

I woke up.

Crystalline crust cracked and collapsed as I lurched into consciousness. Wiping my eyes dislodged icy dust, already melting and refracting the blinding brightness of some massive chamber. Voices, overlapping and melodious, reverberated through the space and a scent like ozone wrinkled my nose. 

It took several blinks to adjust my vision. I was in a cathedral, of sorts, with brutal grey stonework adorned by twisting organic wood. Branches bent around shining glass windows, the benches were great logs, and a hunched statue seemed carved of driftwood. Golden spidery script adorned it all, sigils stretching across the hall down to a hollow where I sat. 

Circled around me stood women in long robes of white and orange, chattering in some other language. Some had golden markings too, a couple held staves or censers or bells, but all were united by zealous joy, like fans celebrating a superball victory. Who were they? How’d I come here? I’d been working in the warehouse, then ascended to ungodly stature, then- or had that been a dream? 

My hands shifted in the crumbling ice, and I glanced at them, then recoiled. The hand wasn’t mine- the skin was darker, tanned, with black nails and golden symbols marking them. But they twitched as I moved, and then picked up the melting ice as I did so. What? My eyes traced up the tan arms, adorned with yet more golden symbols, and stumbled across a whole new set of priorities. Two impressively perky breasts adorned my chest, jostling with every movement like water balloons. 

“Oh. Those weren’t there before.” My cheeks flushed hot as I crossed my arms to cup them, groaning at the rush of new sensations. Some exploratory gropes discovered a chubby belly, wide hips and thick thighs, tan-skinned and golden-marked. Long dark wavy hair draped over me, the other body curvy and far more feminine than before. 

“Mefrel oh czeock?” 

A squeak escaped my lips as the twenty robed women turned their focus to me. Damn, was I short? They seemed tall and I was naked as the day I was born. My face burned as I wrapped my arms around my chest, crossed my legs and cried, “WHAT’D YOU DO TO ME?! Why am I so small? And a girl!?” 

“Dasno dasno dasno, octch nifra cierean tan ozme fowerick.” The eldest of them, a creaky voiced crone threw her arms up and pointed, her smile exposing eerily white teeth. 

“Do you understand me?!” I yearned to stand, rage and rant and ruin, but instead I was short, nude, and so stacked I worried for my own balance. 

“Fowerick.” A younger brunette cultist approached and offered me a shift- essentially a sheet with three holes at the top. I snatched it, scooched to face away from them, and pulled it on. Ideally the dress would fall to my knees, but it hung shorter on my front because of… my front. 

“Ceirean flemro werroginaoc vivian,” The eldest woman chattered, approaching with a chalice. It was huge, as big as a trophy, all glittering silver and full of…

“What is that?” I grimaced at the deep blue fluid within. It looked more like paint than water. 

“Dosna, dosna, tan ferpon sellich vivien cragfen,” The old woman chuckled, grunting a little as she knelt in front of me, “Warroginaoc itch tan neglomsic.” 

“That doesn’t explain it. I don’t understand you!” My new voice reached new high pitches, “Don’t you get me!? What is going on here!?”

She tapped her lips, her tongue, then her ears. She smiled, exposing those porcelain white teeth again, and reached for my lips before I recoiled. 

“Don’t touch me!” 

“Dohnt tahch meh,” She mimicked, then tapped her ear with a chuckle, and mimed drinking a cup. 

“This… will what, help the language barrier?” I was already adrift. Could magic be real? Was that why I was in this shortstack girl instead of sprawling across mountains, wings covering the sky? Could I manage to resist this if I wanted to?

With a groan, I heaved both handles and drank. The blue liquid was denser than yoghurt, than stew, than molasses. To drink it felt like drowning, my brain dancing with lessons I’d never learned. 

“Kerval, carful, careful, do not spill, this remedy is most expensive, so take the draught entirely, Vivian.” The woman was still speaking the other language, but I followed it this time, translating the second tongue to English in my head. I coughed, lowered the chalice and swallowed.

“Who-” I hesitated, consciously switching to employ their language, “Who is Vivian? Me?”

“Ah, blessings yes! We are bridged now!” The old crone clapped her hands and offered a bow, “Indeed. You are Lady Vivian, it is the name inscribed upon your soul.”

“On my sou- no, forget that, that doesn’t explain this- all of this!!” I threw one hand out to the vast hall, the other thumping my chest for emphasis. The new language fitted angry shouting quite well, the other cultists shied a step back from my tirade, “How did I get here?! Who are you!? And where’s all my stuff?!” 

The eldest, clearly the leader, wasn’t intimidated. She stood, and offered a bow to her fellows. “My sisters, you have served immaculately today. Go, celebrate, make merry and rest from your trial. I shall tend to Lady Vivian myself.”

With a few murmurs, they obeyed, filing off towards side doors. I wobbled to my feet, irritated to find I was shorter even than the remaining crone. “So?”

“I am High Pontiff Gwyndolin. High Pontiff is my title, Gwyndolin is my name.” 

“Great-  that doesn’t tell me much, Gwyn!” I kicked some of the water, and stepped up onto the floor of the cathedral, towards the far vast doors. “Why am I here?!” 

“Because there was a monster. Ceirean, the Whale Eater, the Ever Hunger, the Void Beast. A dragon, leviathan, demon, whatever you wish to call it. For centuries it plagued our kingdoms, reaved and plundered, for it gains power from its hoard of treasures.” She spoke like a story teller, the words well worn in this strange language, “Many have tried to slay it. Armies fell to its talons. Villains vanished into its maw. Some few heroes succeeded, ending it for a generation or two. Yet the Whale Eater ever endures, returns, rebuilds its wealth and plunders anew.”

“How big is it?” My question was eager, vision fresh in my mind. 

“Mountainous and more. It could change, but our temple of the Pontifex would be but a pebble to Ceirean the Whale Eater.” Gwyndolin breathed, then offered a dazzling smile. “But we may rejoice. The Evictorious Hero has slain the beast, twelve years ago now. The dominion of Ceirean has crumbled, its vaults have fallen, its soul extinguished, and its power cast far, far away.” 

I paused as I reached the door. It was over twenty feet high, all wooden with more symbols of gold, the style alien to my eyes. “Far away. To a new soul?” 

“Just so, just so. Banished thence, the power of Ceirean sought a new vessel in a distant realm I know little of, but you would be most familiar. Given time, that vessel would have hoarded spoils, gardened power, and risen as a new Whale Eater to devastate that land.” 

Gwyndolin huffed, and heaved at the door, letting warm sunset light flood through. Beyond it, beyond twisting stone stairs, a verdant swamp sprawled under amber skies and clouds of insects. Turquoise waters buffered marshy islands and rosy trees, where thatched huts perched on twisted log stilts. A few lily pads as large as boats drifted on the mere, past the skeletal ruins of some flooded city, lost in the marsh. 

I gawked. Words failed. 

“Many, including the Evictorious Hero, were content with banishing the Whale Eater. Out of sight, out of mind.” Gwyndolin murmured, “Yet I am more… responsible, than that. I have spent decades preparing the ritual, tracking the Whale Eater, to snare its next vessel with the grandest seal I have ever decided. A dam upon that infernal avarice.” 

“That was the… light, I saw? You planted this spell on me, this writing?” 

“Just so.” Gwyndolin grinned, and unwrapped a section of her robe, exposing her throat, neck, and a section of wrinkly shoulder. The tough leathery skin was emblazoned with more of the golden writing, dense but limited in scope. “The Pontifex’s Seals give us the gift of limits, of laws and bindings. I have restricted my voice and hands to never practice deception. Only the truth may be communicated by me.”

“You, Lady Vivian, are bound so that your hoard shall not grow from plunder, from theft, embezzling, fraudulence, swindling, charity, raiding, reaping, or any means of your predecessors. Without hoard, the Whale Eater’s power- your power- shall not increase, and you may live your days out, human and healthy.”

“So I don’t get to be an epic dragon? I don’t get to eat whales? That vision was all real, and you just… locked me out?!”

Insects buzzed as the old woman cocked her head, and examined me. “You’re quite the wicked person, aren’t you?”

“Don’t judge me, I’ve never kidnapped anyone to another dimension!” I shot back bitterly. 

Gwyndolin smiled, “Hm. Just so, just so. My actions are hardly reasonable from your perspective, I know. Therefore you are our honored guest and ward. The Temple of the Pontifex shall provide for your needs and seek to sate your desires.” 

“What if I said I needed to be an epic leviathan?” 

“I would doubt that.” 

Well, it was worth a shot. I sighed, crossed my arms, and blushed at the sensation. “Fine, another question- why did you make me so thick?” 

Gwyndolin frowned, “The Remedy of Comprehension is beyond my craft, I do not know why the alchemists make them so viscous.” 

“No, not the potion- me! Why’m I… buxom? Curvy? And short?! And what’s with my hair reaching my ankles?” 

“That is not how you were? Hmm. My Seal was intended to pull your form towards your truer self. And your form lived some twenty years in a moment, so we did not have time to groom your hair.” 

I scoffed at her nonsense. My true self ought to loom over this land, not pale beside an old lady. Though at least I could say goodbye to shaving my face, or boring men's fashion, or… okay, maybe this form did hold some appeal. 

“Is going home an option?” 

“No.”

I sighed, gazing skywards. The air was clear here, in a way I couldn’t recognize. 

“Well then. I need a bath, something to write with, and some actual clothes. You wouldn’t want to be a bad host, would you?” 

[cloud-kaiju]

Hey all, going to be doing a challenge through august to write a daily story: 'Diary of a Big Time SellSword!' Some art will come along the way, but not quite as often as these little chapters! Wish me luck!

[wordsinbooks]

Whoever was unlucky enough to be 13 in the mid-aughts has only a LaCie hard drive filled with mislabeled Limewire files to turn to.

Dave Holmes, Why the Forgotten Music of the 2003 to 2012 Era Should Be Celebrated (Esquire)