Remember, the Rito are big fellas, so if you're planning on doing a mask-transformation into one, make sure your clothes are already large and loose enough for your new form.
Can you make a story about a woman transforming into a busty tiger girl? Who's heart keeps increasing in strength!
(Furry TF aren't usually what I'm best writing about, and I've done a lot of hyper heart recently too, but I'll still do my best)
After putting on a strange amulet meant to give her strength, Leah hadn't been feeling all that different. It had been hours, and the only effect she felt was a slight pressure in her chest. Not like her heart was beating faster, but like it was beating harder, with more strength. It was a little worrying at first, but once the other side effects started coming along with it, such as increased pleasure sensitivity, she started enjoying this a lot more, and realizing it must have been the amulet's doing.
Her body was covered in a soft, light layer of mainly light orange fur, with some patterns of white and black hairs also mixed in. She thought that pattern looked like tiger stripes, and well, that'd make sense as the amulet did have the shape of a tiger.
Her head hair also grew out longer, meeting a new tail that basically sprouted from just above her bubble butt. She had paws and claws, though her hands still retained a lot of their human capabilities, like the ability to grab things with ease. She used those abilities to...grab her own swelling chest, feeling her boobs grow after her amulet's energy had fully turned her into a tiger girl, a very busty one at that. Handfuls couldn't describe her beachball sized boobs, and it didn't help that said tits kept bouncing due to the heavy, beating heart that swelled more with every passing minute!
Leah loved this change, and couldn't stop enjoying her body, as if the bigger her heart grew, the more love she felt for her curves and new form...
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.
