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Topics - LurkingWolf

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1
Writer's Guild / YCH Halloween Story
« on: October 01, 2021, 10:34:02 AM »
Hey everyone! I'm trying something new this October, trying to write a story with a bunch of characters being transformed together in an interesting setting. I could write out the details here again, but it's just easier to link you to the original post.

FA Journal about the project: https://www.furaffinity.net/journal/10004546

The introductory stories have also been posted to FA if you're interested and would like more details.

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Art Gallery / Coloring some of my Vir sketches!
« on: October 31, 2020, 02:57:55 AM »
Decided to try coloring some of my Vir sketches, and here's what I ended up with! Let me know what you think.

3
Writer's Guild / Feral Feasts: Seaside Snack
« on: January 30, 2020, 05:37:37 PM »
Feral Feasts is still around, but it's been on the back burner for a bit. However, a customer recently asked for a reservation, and the doors of this establishment are always open!

A story commission for Jake1805 and KieliIndustries!

---

Tucked away in a particular corner of the world there is a strange building. The rustic exterior of the aged wooden structure looks almost like something someone might expect to serve as a trading post in an old Western. Half-hidden among the reaching leaves of the ivy growing along its facade is a name in old-fashioned script, one many a passerby has noticed with curiosity and consternation.


Feral Feasts


Though nowhere is it specifically stated to be so, even people who have never before seen the establishment quickly divine that it is some sort of eatery. Precisely what sort, however, is known only to those few who have visited before.


"Almost two in the afternoon and we haven't gotten anything done!" Kieli, a white cat with bright green eyes walked down the sidewalk in the company of Jake, a yellow lab. Her bushy, black-and-grey ringed tail flicked in agitation behind her, enough to signal her annoyance even without her expression and frustrated words. She was dressed, as is often the case for people of the toonish sort, with little regard for pants. Instead she wore only a long, red cape, long enough to hang mere inches from the ground. Her fur covered her form with sufficient modesty, and a prominent white tuft stood out on her chest.


"Perhaps we should get something to eat before we go on?" Jake followed after the cat, keeping a safe distance in case the feline's frequent flare for the dramatic should manifest itself. The dog had a similarly cartoonish fashion sense to his friend, the only complement to his fur being the black bandanna he wore around his neck, blue crown outlines embroidered about the fashionable accessory.


The Labrador retriever had come along with his friend with very little idea of what the cat intended for their trip. Despite hours of wandering between stores of allegedly-magical artifacts, Jake still wasn't quite certain what she was looking for. Previous experience suggested that he might not ever find out.


"Eat?" Kieli scoffed in response to Jake's suggestion. "As though there is any time for food on a quest like this! This is a mission of utmost importance! Why there's nothing further from my mind…!"


Her stomach took the opportunity to make its opinion on the subject known, growling loudly and insistently before she could say another word. Jake raised an eyebrow, allowing himself a hopeful smile.


"As I was saying!" Kieli proclaimed. "There's no sense pressing on with an empty stomach! Quick! To food!"


Jake sped up his pace to keep up with Kieli as she took off with purposeful strides. Just as he got up to speed, however, she stopped dead and Jake had to stumble to one side to avoid running into her. He started to ask what was going on, but she raised her arm to point out the rustic structure on the far corner.


"There!"


The retriever didn't have any time to register what she had said before Kieli set off once again. He scrambled after her across the narrow road, almost having to jog to keep up as she strode forward.


"Are you even sure this place sells food?" Jake managed to ask as they reached the door.


"Of course they do! The word 'feast' is on their sign!"


Kieli didn't allow Jake to ask any further questions before she threw the door open and marched through. Jake followed, but at enough of a distance that anyone inside would know that it was his friend's idea to barge in.


The foyer beyond the door was quite a sight. Jake's mind quickly went from wondering whether it was a restaurant to worrying whether they could hope to afford anything they served. It had all the markings of a very serious establishment, with paintings that might have been old masterworks on either wall, a large chandelier shining a gentle orange glow from its place in the high ceiling, and well-used furniture on either side to accommodate longer waits. The room was empty as the two entered, but that did little to assuage Jake's concerns about what the prices might be.


Kieli, on the other hand, remained entirely undeterred by the fancy decor. She walked up to the hostess station and loudly announced her presence.


"I would like a table for two!" she declared. "Please?"


Behind the hostess station sat a brown-furred anthro rabbit lady, wearing a pair of casual slacks and a dark blouse. She glanced up from the page of the book she had been reading, hurriedly dogeared the page where she had stopped, then sat up straight to acknowledge the newly-arrived customers.


"Welcome to Feral Feasts!" She glanced between the two friends. "I assume by your introduction that you do not have a reservation?"


"I am certain I can get one if it's needed," Kieli declared.


Jake had wandered closer to the conversation, but his focus was elsewhere. He had noticed that there was no visible dining area, and leaned to look down the long hallway full of wooden doors that stretched to his right. There was another, similar hall to the right, and neither gave any sign of life. There was no commotion of talking people, no smell of cooking food, no waiters entering and exiting… What sort of strange, exclusive restaurant was this?


"Oh, it's quite alright if you don't have reservations," the rabbit was continuing. "We frequently have spots available for walk-ins. Right now…" She paused with a quiet hum to fill the silence as she picked up a small book from the nook beneath her station and flipped through a couple of pages. "Yes, we have places available in the Savannah, the Prairie, the Seaside…"


"Two for the Seaside, then!" Kieli cut in. "Not to rush you, either, but I think my friend might starve unless our orders are taken quickly."


Jake might have tried to apologize for his friend's bossy demeanor, but the rabbit lady just laughed. "That shouldn't be a problem," she assured the cat. "Our service is unmatched in speed and quality." She found the appropriate spot in her book of reservations and jotted down a note. "Your meal will be down that hallway, second door on the left."


 Kieli wasted no time venturing to the door that had been indicated by a gesture of the hostess's pen, and Jake followed along despite the many questions that swirled in his mind. Where were the rest of the staff? Where was the kitchen? Where were the customers?


And how much would this cost them, anyway?


His mind ground to a sudden stop as he stood behind Kieli, who had just opened the door to their dining accommodations. Impossibly, a pristine shoreline stretched out before them, rocks and crags of porous volcanic rock trimming the edges of a gentle waterfront. Scraggly brush stuck out in tufts from mounds of coarse sand just behind, and a lightly-used, unpaved road wound its way parallel to the shore.


"Hey, what's the big…?"


Kieli blinked her bright green eyes in surprise as she turned to see that the scenery behind her matched that in front. It was impossible! She had not moved since opening the door, yet neither the door nor even its frame stood anywhere in the area. Jake was still with her, looking very confused himself, but any sign of the enigmatic eatery or the cheery hostess was completely erased.


"But… I was just… in the hallway…?" Jake stammered out his thoughts as his mind slowly began to recover from his sudden change of setting. He looked around as he tried to get his bearings, noticing as he did a clamshell at his paws. He leaned over to pick it up, curiosity overwhelming confusion.


"There's only one thing it could be," Kieli declared, hands on her hips. "It's all a setup! One of my rivals must have put them up to this. Why, when I get my paws on them I'll… What do you think you're doing?"


Jake ignored Kieli's question. His earlier confusion had been replaced by a rapt fascination with the clam he now held in his hands. He muttered something to himself as he turned it over a few times, examining every nook and cranny in its surface. An attempt to pry it open with his claws found it stubbornly sealed shut, and the retriever gave an odd, angry chirping sound. He only calmed as he spotted a large, jagged rock nearby.


Kieli watched him in confusion for several moments, but a splash from the water's surface turned her head. She only caught a brief glimpse of something just under the gentle waves, flashing with scales of bright silver. Instantly, despite her confusion over her friend's obsession with the clam, her own attention was laser focused on that fish. Dropping down to all fours, she stalked over the edge of the rough rock and stared down through the blue-green of the tropical tides, watching as a large, fat fish swam languidly just under a ridge of jutting rock.


By now, the special magic of Feral Feasts hung heavy in the air around them. It danced through the air, brushed through their fur, tugged at the corners of their minds… Without them quite realizing it, their tastes were being shaped to enjoy their upcoming meal to the fullest.


Fully entranced, Jake brought the closed shell to the rock. He held it between both of his hands, almost out of necessity as his fingers were gradually becoming webbed and shortening as tendrils of gentle magic pressed around them. Despite weaker grip, he still hoisted the clam up above the rock and quickly brought it crashing down several times in a row. There was very little give in the shell, but the retriever was determined. After a few strikes, he raised the clam to his muzzle, which had shortened and grown more blunt, and pried at the little chip he had managed to make with his efforts.


Kieli's ringed tail lashed slowly behind her as she watched the fish in the water, but waves of caressing magic transformed its shape from base to tip, the slow lashing slowing as her tail changed to better resemble a rudder. Her fingers still gripped the rock as she watched the surface of the water, but her hands were little more than paws now: short, thick digits with webbing in between. Thick whiskers grew down around her muzzle, coaxed by the gentle motion of the magic as it, like a wave, swept down her form from nose to tail.


Jake had to reach a little further to crack the clam against the rock after a few futile attempts at prying it open. His legs had grown much shorter, causing his tail to stand out straight behind him. It changed much as Kieli's had, becoming a thick, tapering shape behind him with short, thick fur covering it all the way. His body was barely canine anymore, as a long torso now contrasted with short limbs. He cracked his prey against the rock several more times, and this time his work created a gap in the shell! Excited, he dug in with claws and teeth, pulling the stubborn halves of the shell in opposite directions, persisting even as the hinge held. Slowly but surely, the shell creaked open, until…


Just as the shell snapped on its hinge in Jake's paws, Kieli dove headfirst after the fish in front of her. Her red cape was left behind, the white otter's slender mustelid form slipping through its collar as she dove. Her ears sealed against the rush of water around her, and thick fur kept her skin completely dry even as she was submerged. The fish darted away, but with an elegant twist of her body, the former cat swam after him, her paws tucked close to her body as her tail drove her forward. The fish managed to put some distance on her at first, but the otter's body was built for this. She sped through the water like a torpedo, and the fish had no chance as her jaws snapped closed!


Not long after, two sea otters swam lazily together, floating on their backs in the gentle waves near the shore. The golden-furred otter still had an empty half of a clamshell resting on his chest, though the white otter beside him had already discarded the remnants of her own meal. They lay there, carefree, as though the sea were their own luxurious bed.


They remained unbothered even as the rabbit doe from the hostess station entered through an unseen door and walked towards the rocky seaside. She was now dressed in a monochrome one-piece swimsuit decorated in contrasting patterns of black and white to emulate the distinctive markings of a killer whale, and carried a pair of folded towels between her arms. She smiled as she saw the two of them swimming peacefully.


"All right, you two, time to pack it in!"


The friends were still otters, though now more anthro, as they emerged and toweled off. Only once the layer of water had been brushed out of their fur did they find themselves back in their more familiar forms. They seemed to be in a daze as they glanced at each other and back at the lady. She gave a curious smirk.


"Yes, that was real," she explained.


"No, I know it was real, I just…"


"Can we do it again?" Jake was cut off by Kieli's quick interruption.


The lady smiled. "Of course! Any time."


Though few people ever experience a meal at Feral Feasts, those lucky few find within an experience worth repeating. Regardless of what their tastes might have been when they enter, even the most particular of diners can enjoy a meal of fresh seafood when they find themselves changed to fit the scenery.

4
Game Room / Recording Let's Plays: Dishonored 2
« on: December 04, 2016, 11:26:26 PM »
Hey guys!  I'm taking a shot at recording Let's Play video for some games, and I'm kicking it off with a playthrough of Dishonored 2.  If anyone's interested, here's the link to the playlist.:

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgK5c2E9c-DSEWeRExtxmPI6Y4HjXiuEZ

Currently, there are four episodes (with episode 5 actually being uploaded as I type), and I have completed the first two missions of the game.  If you're interested in the game or just want to know what I sound like, or what I think of gaming things, give me a look!

5
Writer's Guild / Virmir Hatches the Egg (Trade)
« on: February 20, 2016, 07:43:01 PM »
Hey all!  This is my half of a trade with Virmir.  It's a little late, but hopefully it's good enough to make it worth it.  Please enjoy!

(Vir's half is here: http://art.by.virmir.com/art/bird_seed ... and has been for 3 months)

---

Virmir was busy.  This fact is not meant to come as a surprise to my readers but is instead intended to rob any of you of the misinformed idea that the grey fox mage might ever allow himself to not be busy.  At present he was hard at work examining a magic wand that he had managed to pick up for a bargain on eBay.  Like anything he purchased in such a risky fashion, however, it had to be inspected, and that was the task of the moment.  It was set on a stand in the middle of a work table, waiting for the grey fox’s first move.

Tail flicking, Virmir suspiciously prodded the wand with a long, thin stick that he had procured for just this purpose.  It rolled on the stand, turning where it was to let the fox inspect the wood grain of the old fashioned wand’s design.  His eyes roved the surface as he continued to spin it in place, narrowing as he noticed a chip showing conspicuously lighter wood within the enchanted artifact.

“Fake wood grain on a magic wand?” he observed triumphantly.  “Just as I expected.  No one would dare sell a wand for so cheap, no one but…”  He turned it more, grinning victoriously as the expected mark came into view, reading: Made in – “China!  You again think you can turn me into something unpleasant by cheaply selling your mass-produced magic!  Well, not today!”

He picked up a pair of magic-insulating mitts he had set on the table – which for no particular reason looked a lot like oven mitts – and carefully picked up the low-quality wand.  “In with the rest of them you go!”

He was about to follow through on his threat, dumping the wand in with a full container of other low quality or defective magic items, when there was a sudden, insistent knocking at the door.  Already on edge because he expected the wand to somehow come alive and curse him at any moment, Virmir momentarily panicked as he flinched and sent the wand flying.  Trapped between wanting to try to catch it before something went wrong and not wanting to touch it in case it randomly discharged, Virmir froze and watched as the wand spun through the air and clattered on top of the table.  It bounced and wobbled right on the edge of the table for a moment, but finally came to rest in what barely qualified as a safe position.

The grey fox mage glared at it for a moment, daring it to make a move.  He flinched again when the knocking repeated, but the wand remained stationary.  Virmir briefly considered taking a moment to put it away, but he knew that trying to do so while the sound of knocking was distracting him was probably a bad idea.  He stared at it for a few moments to let it know just how much he trusted it, but finally whirled, flicking his cape, and stalked to the door of his tower’s top floor.

“All right!  Trees, I’m coming!”

As he turned, however, his cape caught the tip of the wand and set it spinning, rolling closer to the edge of the table as it went, until it finally stalled, the magical gemstone – though it was likely a glass replica – pointed right at the door as Virmir stood in the doorway to answer the knock.  Virmir did not notice as he removed the mitts and opened the door to glare at the person beyond.

“What is it?”

The canine mailman who was standing outside was already panting heavily from the hike from the base of the tower, and he gave a nervous shift of his eyes at the greeting.  He gestured to the large box he held in his hands.  “Delivery for Mr. Virmir?”

“You found me.  What sort of delivery?”

The dog sighed in relief and set the box down on the doorstep before he replied.  “I’m not in the business of reading other people’s mail,” he replied.  “It’s heavy, though.”  Pulling out a clipboard with a delivery slip, he handed them to Virmir.  “I’ll need you to sign for it.”

The fox mage took the clipboard and glanced at the dog in confusion.  He tapped his paw impatiently, but the dog merely scratched the back of his neck nervously.

“Well?” Virmir demanded.

“What?”

“I need a pen to sign!”

“Oh!  Sorry, sir, the postal service just voted to close the pen budget.  It’s now company policy for the customer to provide their own.”

The grey fox sighed in exasperation and stalked away from the door, muttering about cheap companies’ cheap policies and a few other “cheaps” for good measure.  He had several dozen pens within a few steps of the door, of course (some of them repossessed from the cheap postal service, in fact), but the fact that he was being forced to use them annoyed him on principle.  He took a pen from a bin full of them and, sticking it in his muzzle, he signed effortlessly, leaving the dog blinking in surprise.

“Whu? Never surned yur nem wid yur mout?”

The dog shook his head and traded the fox mage the box for the signed delivery slip.  Virmir removed the pen from his muzzle and leaned down to pick up the package.  He grunted as he gave it his best effort and frowned at it darkly.

“Would you like a hand, sir?” the dog asked.

Virmir growled.  “You’ve done your job; I can handle this.”

The grey fox leaned over again to try to lift the package.  As he did, the precariously balanced magic rod on the table finally overbalanced itself and dropped to the floor, spinning a full revolution so that it hit the ground with the magic orb pointed directly for the door.  Of course it discharged, as cheaply made wands always do in such situations, and the beam shot straight and true, just over Virmir’s left ear to hit the dog in the chest.  He had just long enough to look dazed and confused before he magically disappeared in a shower of flying fur.  Virmir looked up, ear twitching, to see that the dog had been replaced by a small white rabbit, his uniform retailored into a tiny vest like a rich owner might buy for their pet.  The rabbit stayed where he was only long enough to make eye contact with Virmir, and then he bolted, the sight of a potential predator too much for his newly reformed instincts.

Virmir watched him run down the stairs in a flash, and then glanced accusingly back at the wand, which now rested peacefully on the floor, a thin trail of smoke the only indication that it had just doomed the poor postman to at least an hour of carrot-themed torment.  Virmir kept his glare fixed on it as he began to slowly slide the package outside of the arc of his door so that he could close it.  While the temptation to do so with himself on the far side of the door was strong, he had never let hazardous magic keep him down, and he didn’t mean to start now.

As soon as he managed to slide the door closed around the package, the grey fox put his mitts back on and again carefully lifted the wand towards the bin of potentially hazardous objects.  To his relief it went quietly, and he slammed the bin closed hurriedly and closed every one of the many dozens of latches that surrounded the rim.   Sighing in relief, he placed the mitts on top of the bin as well, satisfied that they had done their job for now.

His newest dangerous artifact so contained, Virmir went back to where the package was waiting, scratching his muzzle.  He didn’t recall having ordered anything nearly so heavy; there were a few odds and ends of the artistic or magical sort on their way, but nothing that would require such a weighty box.  Now that he had time to consider it, he realized that the brown paper that the box was wrapped in did not have any return address.  Virmir scowled and backed away to retrieve his antimagic prod and safety mitts.  If experience had taught him anything at all, someone had found something transformative that they thought would look amusing in grey and white.  Likely though sabotage was, however, he was not about to let it make a mockery of him.  He would discover the secrets of the box and prove that he was smarter than whatever prankster was trying to set him up.

Taking a breath and clearing his mind, Virmir tore away the paper in a swift motion.  He frowned as it revealed a thick wooden crate.  It took a quick application of an inexplicable nearby crowbar to pop it open, and Virmir was left to cock his head in confusion at what he found inside.  A rather large egg sat inside, kept safe by a nest of dried grass, twigs, downy feathers, and what appeared to be fur.  It didn’t look like any sort of egg he had ever seen before, which immediately made him suspicious.  Not only did he not know what sort of egg it was, but he couldn’t think of a good reason why anyone would send him an unmarked box containing a mysterious nest without any sort of note or reason why.  He poked around the materials in the nest with his prod, looking to see if some note had gotten lost in the tangled materials.  There was nothing visible, however, leaving him to wonder what sort of joke he was missing this time.

Tapping the end of his muzzle, he walked over to his shelf full of magical books and pulled one from its place, flipping it open to look for a specific spell that he wanted.  If the people who had sent him the package weren’t polite enough to provide a return address, he would have to figure it out on his own, the old fashioned way.  He traced a claw along the spell, making special note not to leave out or exchange any ingredients.  The egg itself concerned him enough without having to worry about potentially miscasting a spell to identify the location of the last person to touch it.

Before he could even gather everything he needed, however, he began to feel a dull pain right around his shoulder blades.  At first he was able to convince himself that the effort of sliding the heavy crate into his tower was the cause, but when he ended up having to lean over and put his paws on his knees to relieve the ache, he knew something was wrong.  He glared at the egg sharply.

“Whatever you’re doing, cut it out now!” he ordered, hoping that whatever magic the egg was working on him could somehow understand him and could be intimidated into leaving him alone.  No such luck; almost as soon as he had spoken, the pain in his shoulder blades grew worse, only relieving itself once a pair of wings erupted behind him, sending his cape flying high enough to brush the ceiling before it settled back down on top of them.

“GAH!  Trees, what was that?”  Virmir turned and looked back at the wings, flexing them slightly to bring them out from under his cape.  The main section of each wing was covered in small, white feathers, while the long flight feathers were striped with a mix of white, black, and luminescent red-orange.  He extended them behind him, marveling that they already responded easily to his mental commands, and that the tips of each nearly touched the opposite walls when they were fully extended.

Virmir panted a few breaths as he gathered himself.  Once the wings had grown the pain had stopped, but it was still quite the distracting surprise.  Looking down at his paws, he nodded to reassure himself.  “All right, I still have arms and fingers, so probably not a harpy.”  Virmir recalled the time that he had been forced to turn himself into a harpy to avoid the end of a particularly long fall.  He might not have been in danger of death as a toon, but hitting the ground at high speeds was still unpleasant – as was his experience of being without arms for longer than usual after that particular episode.  His talon-feet had been serviceable for art for a while, but casting a counterspell had proven more difficult without true paws and fingers.  It might prove even more problematic to undo this unknown spell if he didn’t act quickly.

With the luxury of paws still given to him for now, at least, he decided that it was time to hurry.  He gathered the last of the supplies and tossed them in a pile by the crate.  Working quickly, he tied a string around a specially crafted round gemstone and held it in the pad of one paw.  He reached towards the egg in the crate, hesitating for a moment as his new wings fluttered briefly behind him.  Touching it was likely a bad idea, yes, but it was pretty clear that he didn’t have to be touching the blasted thing for its magic to have an effect on his body, and at the moment he really had little choice.

He took a deep breath and readied himself, giving his paw an aside glance before he reached out.  “It’s been nice knowing you,” he commented sarcastically.  Bracing himself, he reached into the crate and touched the egg, establishing the necessary magical link to the stone as swiftly as he could manage.  He knew he had succeeded when the gemstone began to hover above his paw and pull the string along towards one of the walls of his tower.  He backed away quickly, looking at his paw for any signs of change.  The longer he stared, the more certain he was that the magic was just messing with him, but slowly some doubt crept in.

“Maybe it’s going to leave my arms alo – GAH!”

While the fox proved correct about his arms, at least for the moment, the magic decided to accelerate its influence elsewhere, which resulted in a high pitched yelp from Virmir as his chest suddenly developed into a modest pair of breasts, a change which rippled down his body, thinning his waist, widening his hips, giving the formerly male grey fox distinctive female curves.  For a few moments she looked herself over in shock, and then she threw her arms down in a huff.

“Really?” she demanded.

Now that they had her attention, the changes were ready to begin in earnest.  Virmir felt something tickling her neck and thought that the change had perhaps decided to include the hair that she sometimes sported while female, but reaching back she could feel that whatever it was felt all wrong for this to be the case.  Giving a sharp tug, she plucked one of the feathers that was now rapidly growing over her neck, head, and chest and looked at it, realizing as she did that it looked a lot like one of the feathers on her wings, even down to the strange, faintly smoldering tip.  In fact, as the feathers grew around her chest and down along her arms, the changes finally did decide to make do something about her paws.  Familiar digits and pads were rapidly replaced by strange, scaly texture and claws not so suited for grasping as they had been before.

“Talons?  Well, at least my claws are still where they should be…” She gasped, rolling her shoulders uncomfortably as something else changed.  “I’m not going to be on two legs much longer, am I?” she muttered.  Indeed, even as she spoke, her feathered chest barreled out into a more feral configuration, and her hips shifted, refusing to let her remain standing any longer.  She squawked indignantly as she dropped her talons to the floor, her wings spreading reflexively to help her balance in her new posture.

A few more small shifts made their changes to her body, until she began to feel something changing at her tail.  She turned and watched as feathers began to sprout from the tip.  “Oh no!” she angrily focused her willpower on the offending feathers.  “Do what you want to the rest of my body, but THIS time, I’M KEEPING MY TAIL!”  Surprisingly, her efforts were met with no small amount of success.  A smile spread on her muzzle as she watched the feathers disappear back into her perfect grey fox fur.

As though in reply to conceding her tail, however, the changes finally decided to finish her face.  The smile was wiped from her muzzle as the muzzle itself suddenly changed into a sharp, black beak.  She squawked at this new change, working her jaw in annoyance as she lost her lips.  Being a toon gave her beak a remarkable degree of expressiveness, but it was still foreign compared to her muzzle.  Concerned by how strange it felt, she tested her voice, and was pleased to at least discover that she could still speak.  She waited to see if anything else would happen, but it seemed that the magic had accomplished its purpose.

“So bird up top and fox down below…  I’m some strange sort of gryphon?”  Indeed, when she found a mirror to check, she did look very much like a gryphon.  She still had her ears, at least, but much of her head, including her antenna hair, was now covered in flaming orange feathers, while the rest of her feathers were a mixture of white and black.  She admired how the orange feathers glowed with inner power; it seemed that her fire magic had not been forgotten in this process at least.  She just managed to catch herself before she started to preen her new plumage, and cast one more glare back at the egg.

Doing so at least reminded her of something else important: the glowing gemstone she had created to track the whereabouts of the egg’s owners.  While her paws had changed significantly, the string that he had tied around the magic stone had tied itself around one of her talons in a loose knot as her posture had shifted.  She glanced at it and, giving a satisfied chirp, tightened the knot intentionally.  At least she could still go after whoever it was who thought that turning her into a female gryphon was funny.

She turned to leave, but was stopped by a sudden nagging sensation that she had never felt before.  Virmir could not identify the reason for the strange feeling, but it was so strong that she found herself unable to leave the tower while its mysterious influence had ahold of her.  She turned slowly, trying to sense if the strange influence had a particular origin, and her heart sank when she quickly realized that the egg was the source of her discomfort.

“What are you doing to me now?” she demanded.  “Stop that!”

Despite her demands, however, the sensation did not waver, and only lessened as she approached the crate.  Slowly she began to realize what was going on.  For whatever reason, the egg was not content to just change her.  No, it was also set on compelling her to take care of it as well.  The former grey fox growled to herself.  Now she was more determined than ever to figure out who had done this to her.  Whoever it was knew just how to rub her the wrong way.

Virmir found a nearby satchel and used her beak to empty it of the various magical odds and ends that she packed with her whenever she did go out.  She reached a talon into the makeshift nest in the crate and drew out the egg, throwing it another accusing glare before gently placing it in the pouch and finding a somewhat comfortable, though still awkward, way of slinging the pack over her shoulders that would not impede her wings.  With the egg safely in tow, she turned to leave… only to be stopped again.  Heaving a heavy sigh, she turned back to the crate and removed a few talons full of nesting material to pack into the satchel.  She grumbled to herself; this egg was pickier than even her most odious client.

Thankfully, it did not take her long to exit her tower once she had finished, and she had to admit that being able to simply jump from the top floor was far more convenient than having to walk down the stairs or risking a teleportation mishap (she winced as she recalled the last time she had become accidentally merged with Medik).  Perhaps if she had wings she could actually get out of her tower more than once or twice a month.  Then again, that was precisely the sort of physical activity that eBay was designed to make obsolete.  Putting the idea out of her mind, the newly minted gryphon banked to follow the glowing crystal that was tied to her talons and gave a swift stroke of her wings to speed her on her way.

The orb guided her towards distant mountains, and Virmir felt immensely grateful that she was able to fly now.  Her tower was already high enough that she could glide most of the way.  She also found it helpful that her eyes were evidently sharper in this form.  She was able to identify her likely destination before she got halfway, as looking in the direction of the mountains allowed her to see a small, but sharp, image of a large nest on one of the lower plateaus.  She could not see many details at first, but the closer she came, the clearer the image of a creature sitting in the nest became.  It was a gryphon, very similar in many ways to the one she had become, though lacking the striking splash of fire to its feathers that Virmir herself sported.  Virmir cracked her beak in a small smile at that.  At least she could take a small amount of pride in the influence her fire magic had on her plumage.

By the time she was close enough to make out the finer details, she could see that the gryphon on the nest was watching her with interest.  Its feathers seemed most similar to those of a hawk, and a lion’s tail flicked behind it as it rested on its nest.  The fox gryphon was certain that this was the culprit behind her current predicament.  Making good use of the instincts that had come with the transformation, Virmir dove down below the level of the plateau’s edge and used her wings to rise up and slow down at the same time so that her landing on the cliff edge was as smooth as possible.  She struck a pose as she landed, her cape flicking in the breezy air of the plateau as her wings opened wide in all their glory.  She would strike fear into…

“Took you long enough!” the other gryphon commented in a feminine voice

Virmir blinked incredulously.  That wasn’t how this worked, the other gryphon was supposed to be intimidated and immediately offer to change her back!  Huffing, Virmir tucked her wings in and marched towards the other gryphon.  Her flaming feathers increased in intensity, casting an orange glow all around her.

“Reverse this transformation at once!” she insisted.  She spread her wings wide again, rising up on her hind legs and willing balls of fiery magic to rise up into her talons.  No mortal would dare to cross a creature so fearsome!

The other gryphon, however, merely stood from where it had been lying on the nest and stepped aside.  Virmir felt her fiery rage being replaced immediately by concern as she saw several eggs in the nest.  Her fire magic died out and she fell back to all fours, surprised and confused by her abrupt, unintended change of mood.  She tried to gather her anger again, but her eyes just fell back on the eggs once more, and she found that she could not bear to harm them.

“Thank you for coming.  Ah, and for returning my last egg.”  Virmir looked down and saw the egg that had transformed her being pulled out of her pouch by some sort of telekinetic magic.  A spike of panic surprised her.

“Wait, that’s my…”  The fox gryphon stopped herself, but felt immediately appalled that she had nearly said that the egg was hers.  It wasn’t hers, blast it!  It was an insidious, cursed object that had absolutely wrecked her weekend schedule!

The other gryphon chuckled at Virmir’s predicament, telekinetically delivering the egg from Virmir’s satchel to the nest where the other eggs waited.  “Yes, you do get attached to them quite quickly, don’t you?  A mother’s instinct is extraordinarily strong, is it not?”

Virmir hissed through her beak.  “I am not a mother, blast it!”

The other gryphon just shrugged her wings.  “Not really, perhaps, but that won’t stop your instincts from making you behave as though you are.  Deny it all you like; I can tell that your body disagrees with you.”

Indeed, before the second gryphon had even finished speaking, Virmir was compelled to approach the nest, and she was unable to resist as she jumped up into the woven mass of sticks and straw, walked a circle around the eggs, and curled up gently around them.

“Trees!  What is this black magic?” she cried in panic.

The gryphon gave an infuriating, twittering laugh.  “It is exactly as I told you; merely a mother’s instinct to protect her eggs.  I needed someone to babysit for a while, and your tower was nearby.  Nesting is hard work, and I could really use a break…”

“Wait!  What about your motherly instinct?” Virmir was desperate to find a loophole of some sort now.

The other gryphon shook her head, and Virmir watched as she subtly changed.  At first Virmir could not identify exactly what had happened, but the male voice that emerged when the other gryphon spoke told her exactly what she had just done.  “I just happen to be a gryphon witch.  I can easily change a few things to get away for a little while.  I know you won’t mind.”

Virmir yelled after the gryphon as he dove off of the cliffside, but it was no use.  She tried to prepare a fireball, but by the time he saw the other gryphon again he was well beyond her range.  She released it anyway, but she could only watch helplessly as it spiraled off into the air well off target, eventually striking a pigeon and causing it to ignite in a feathery explosion.

Helpless to stop her captor, Virmir drooped.  She had been in cages before, trapped in dungeons, turned into every manner of horrifying creature and forced to cooperate with those that changed her as she looked for an escape, but this was the first time that someone had used a trick this sinister to rope her into such a situation.  She could only hope to puzzle out a solution before the gryphon with decided to take an entire tropical vacation at her expense.

*    *   *

A very annoyed fox gryphon sat on the nest a few hours later, continually grumbling to herself.  She wasn’t the sort of creature to sit around and do nothing for hours on end, yet this blasted “motherly instinct” business was making her do just that, and all that wasted time continued to add up, making her more and more restless.  Still, for all of her restlessness, she could not break the strange power that kept her on the nest, keeping watch over someone else’s eggs.

She had already tried to copy what her captor had done and shift back to her male form – or any male form for that matter.  She was able to make some progress, but not enough to make a difference before the same magic that had changed her originally returned to force her back into her female gryphon shape.  She hoped that what little progress she made would be enough to break the influence that her current shape had over her instincts, but moving more than a few steps away from the eggs was the best she could do before they drew her right back.  She had even tried to hard boil the egg that had originally changed her in a fit of rage, but the same instinct that kept her here also kept her fire magic from doing any damage.  Disgusted, she had spent the last few minutes staring far into the distance, hoping that some solution would appear out of nowhere.  It was a foolish, useless hope… Or so she thought.

Something began to drift across her field of vision, and she sat up and stared to once again see the magical bauble she had created to track the source of the egg.  Its glow had dimmed as had its magic, but it was still tracking the position of the gryphon that had shanghaied her into this situation.  Virmir stared at it for a few moments before realization hit her, and she quickly grasped it and recharged the quickly decaying spell.  The wheels began to turn in her head; she could just use this to send a revenge spell to the gryphon, but with Virmir currently unable to leave it would be easy for him to return the favor and leave her with no chance to reply.  No, she needed to find a way to escape from here while at the same time taking her revenge.  She began to think through her options, and finally settled on one that might actually work.  It wouldn’t be pleasant, but then again, neither was sitting alone doing nothing for hours on end.  She crafted a spell on the stone, taking her time to be sure there would be no misfires this time, and crafted another spell to keep with her in the nest.  Once preparations had finished, she gave the gemstone one final charge of magic and untied it from the string.

She tracked its progress across the sky, hoping that her tormentor had not gone far.  The sooner her spell found its mark, the sooner she would be able to escape from this nest.  Finally, the glimmering stone was too far for even her improved eyes to see, and she settled in close to the eggs.  She hoped that it would not be long now.  The longer she waited, the harder she would have to work to catch up on the work she was missing.

It was still quite a while before she could feel the spell under her in the nest begin to activate.  It had taken so long that she had almost fallen asleep, but she had made certain that she would have time to react.  Standing up, Virmir braced for the magic she knew would hit her any moment.

Despite her preparation, the dizzying warping of the teleportation spell still nauseated her as it seemed to twist, turn, and smash her at every opportunity.  They were sensations she was used to, being a toon, but they weren’t exactly feelings that she tried to experience, and the rough teleportation reminded her exactly why she avoided them.  As she tumbled through space, she could feel the compulsion to return to the eggs grow greater and greater.  If the teleportation spell just dropped her off, she knew that she would immediately fly off towards the plateau again.

That’s why she had made sure that it wouldn’t drop her just anywhere.

The process finally finished with the rough jerk of a sudden stop, and Virmir found herself at the far end of the teleportation.  She tried to move, but tripped over her own talons as another consciousness tried to go somewhere else.  They landed roughly on their beak, flopping and flailing on their side as the two of them struggled for control.  The body that Virmir now occupied was a mishmash of her own gryphon form and that of the villain that had been forcing her to watch her eggs.  Hawk feathers were lit by a dim glow, and a grey fox tail with a touch of golden fur running through it thrashed behind.

“What have you done?”  Her captor desperately tried to right their body as she screamed at Virmir in their strange, shared mind.  Virmir continued to struggle, keeping their body unable to do anything as she tried to make a few adjustments.  A horrible feeling settled in her gut, the knowledge that she had left her – no, that she had left the gryphon witch’s – eggs far behind.  It made her task that much more difficult as she tried to keep her presence of mind, but she had planned plenty long enough now, and knew exactly what she needed to do.

“Get out of my body!”  The gryphon wasn’t fighting so hard physically anymore, but Virmir could feel her power beginning to push him out of her body.

“No,” he replied mentally.  <Not yet,> he thought privately.  He still had a few things that he had to do.

The enraged gryphon pushed harder and harder.  It was getting harder for Virmir to work on his task with her constantly trying to push him out, but he was almost there.  Just a few more adjustments, and…

His task done, Virmir stopped resisting.  The witch’s powerful magic succeeded in throwing him free from their shared body, reclaiming her body for herself, only to realize that neither of them were as they had been when the grey fox mage had unexpectedly merged with her.  Virmir stood up victoriously, once again in his familiar grey fox form.  He flicked his cape back over his shoulder, posing once again, now sure of his victory.

“Enjoy your long hike,” he said.

“What…?”

Things were beginning to come to the gryphon in a rush – the former gryphon, that is, as she now found herself not only female again, but now a grey fox like the mage that stood across from her.  She looked at Virmir, not understanding, until a horrified expression crossed her face.

“Oh my – my eggs!”  She immediately turned and began to run back towards the now-distant plateau.  Virmir gave a victorious laugh.  Granting her the fine form of a fox would not have been his first choice, but it was easier to change them both into the same creature, and it accomplished his intended purpose of making her trip home unpleasant.  She should be able to get back in time to save her eggs from any real harm, but she would hopefully also be so exhausted that she would never try anything like this again.  He was sure that she would have no trouble changing back into a gryphon if she focused on it, but he expected that such focus would be difficult to come by while the instinct to return to her nest was so strong.

“Well, quite the interesting show.”

Virmir froze, realizing in a sudden epiphany that he had not checked where exactly he was.  He turned slowly, and was confronted by a bubbling cauldron that was almost as tall as he was.  Around it were several more gryphons, each with their predatory eyes staring him down.

“I knew that several of our coven’s members had likely left the care of the eyries to someone else in order to join us, but I did not expect any of them to be called back so suddenly.”

The gryphons waiting around the bubbling cauldron laughed together, and Virmir chuckled nervously.  The gryphon who had spoken stood, proving that even on all fours she was more than Virmir’s match in height.  She lowered her beak until her golden eyes stared right over the grey fox’s muzzle and deep into his eyes.  He was frozen in place.

“It’s not nice to interrupt a gryphon coven’s annual meeting,” she said.  Virmir suddenly felt very small.

“Heh… Sorry?”

The gryphon chuckled darkly.  “Oh, don’t worry.  I think you will be able to make amends.  Sisters, what shall we do with this unfortunate interloper?”

Virmir was on the run before any of the other gryphons could reply.  The large gryphon did not follow, but the shadows of gryphons flying over him told Virmir that they weren’t just going to let him go.  He could only hope that he would make it to his tower before…

A crash of lightning magic struck the ground behind him, just missing his tail.

“Blast.  Blast!  BLAST!”

6
Writer's Guild / The Wizard's Watchman
« on: September 05, 2015, 11:34:24 PM »
I mentioned this in chat a little while ago, and thought I would share it here.  This is a little piece of fluff that I wrote a little while ago.  I hope you enjoy!

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It had been a bad idea to try to infiltrate the wizard’s castle by himself; Brian had always been aware of this fact.  It was an inconvenient, nagging truth that tickled the back of his mind through every moment of planning, through every moment of his infiltration, even as he stood at the very doorway to his intended destination.  Still, the allure of possibly being able to retrieve some scrolls of power from the magician’s considerable stock of artifacts to sell for a pretty price was too great.  It was a great risk, but the reward of success would be even greater.

But, revived from the very far reaches of his mind was that original, nagging thought. <This was a bad idea,> he thought to himself as he was forced to his knees in front of the wizard in his deepest laboratory.  Brian thought he might perhaps try to run, but a quick glance at the guards who had escorted him reminded him why he had given up resistance long ago.  The hulking beasts looked like some monstrous combination of a bear and a wolf, and their eyes glinted with an intelligence that convinced him that outsmarting them would be unlikely.

The wizard seemed decidedly less threatening than lore would suggest and, in fact, seemed disinterested in the intruder that had been roughly brought before him.  The graying man spared Brian a few sharp glances, but mostly he continued busying himself with the various odd contraptions and pieces of equipment which surrounded him and filled the room.

“You lot in the city disappoint me,” he grumbled, more to himself than for Brian’s benefit.  “I leave you alone and purchase every bloody thing I use from your town, yet none of you ever trust me.  It always has to be legends of this strange wizard who lives in a castle outside of town and who probably has a plot to take over the world.  Assumptions, assumptions!  It has gotten so far that I cannot even trust the law in your town.  I turn you into the Guard, and the next thing I know you’re creeping back through my halls again.  Well, now you’ve all done it.  You’ve forced me to take things into my own hands.”

“You could just let me go?” Brian offered.

The old man snorted.  “Yes, and I suppose I can trust you not to come back in here looking for your two seconds of fame.  Not a chance, boy.  You’ll do your time, but I’ll be the one delivering the punishment this time.  Then, when I release you, you might actually have a reason to stay away!”

Brian chuckled nervously.  “Look, I know it looks bad, but I’m just here to reclaim the library books you never turned back in.”

“Oh, right, I keep forgetting…  Don’t think you’ve convinced me!  The librarian knows she can always come to me if she needs a book back.  I am a card-holding member in good standing!  Now, since you found it so easy to break into my property, it’s going to be your job to guard it from now on.”

Brian laughed outright.  “Look, I’m a peddler, not a watch dog, old man.  If you set me to guard our stuff, you might as well just kiss it goodbye.”

“Well, you have a few honest bones in your body at least.  No matter.  I was not planning on having you take your new task as you are now.  No, I have a much better plan for you.”

Brian was about to try to plead his case again, but the wizard began to chant and wave his arms in dramatic fashion.  Brian watched, entranced, for a few moments, until he finally realized that the wizard did not seem to actually be watching him.  He quickly glanced around, and saw a knife sitting on the desk that the wizard had been studying on before.  It was likely some sort of scalpel used in study, but all he needed was a sharp blade.  Brian carefully made sure that the beasts that were guarding him were not keeping a close eye on him, and then he shifted forward and reached for the blade.  He only needed a moment to kill the wizard, and then he could escape!

Unfortunately, even as he was about to take the knife in his hand, the wizard finished his spell and threw his hands towards Brian.  Surprised, Brian fell to the ground, head swimming as waves of arcane energy swept over him and flowed through him.  He felt as though he were going to burst from his skin and stretched, trying to relieve the pressure which was building throughout his body.  He could hear creaking and popping, and realized before long that the seams on his clothing were suddenly being stretched beyond acceptable limits.  He was growing!

“What… are you…?”

Brian stopped as he heard his own voice.  His speech was slow, and for some reason he could not speak more quickly even as he tried to concentrate on doing just that.  That was not the only noticeable change.  His voice was now much deeper, rumbling in his chest as he spoke.  It almost sounded like the growling of a beast.

“As I said, I aim to punish you by using you to deter further intruders.  You were no good to me as you were, so I am making alterations accordingly.  Do not fear; you will know how to use your new body as though it were your own.”

“New… body…”

Brian looked at himself and his mouth gaped at what he saw.  The first thing that was obvious was that he now seemed to been nearly seven feet tall instead of barely reaching six feet.  There was something even more curious, however.  He was, as he had said to the wizard previously, a mere peddler, and very much looked the part.  As he glanced at his arms expecting the familiar, thin limbs he had seen every day of his life for years, he instead saw a pair of thickly muscled arms, thickening still even as he looked at them, packing on more and more muscle.  He groaned, a rumbling sound deep in his throat, as his unfamiliar limbs finished expanding.  His fingers began to feel as though they were lit on fire, and he watched them in horror as they all began to thicken as well.  His smallest finger merged with the adjacent digit, and all four of his remaining fingers thickened and grew longer, and then from the tips of each, a long, sharp claw emerged, gleaming black and visibly sharp.

“My hands… what have you done to my hands?”

Even now as he panicked, Brian could not manage to raise his voice or speak quickly.  It was as though something was keeping his body calm, even as his mind continued to panic.  The wizard was not forthcoming with any sort of answer to the question, but that was just a well.  Even as he finished asking, Brian began to feel the change infecting his chest.  What next emerged from his throat was no ambiguous groan or grunt.  No, it began as a snarl and quickly grew, until a full, wild animal’s growl rumbled up from his chest.  Even as it did, his chest barreled forward, no longer looking like it belonged on a human’s body.  His shirt had started to rip before when he had grown suddenly, and now the strained seams had simply been pushed too far.  His chest virtually exploded from his clothing, leaving his upper body bare.  He reached up and touched his chest with one of his massive, clawed hands.  He could feel the tips of his claws on his chest, and he could also feel that his chest was now much more thickly muscled.  He was already well on his way to becoming some sort of powerful beast.

He rolled wide shoulders to try to release the tension that came with the change, but it brought no relief.  He growled again, this time voluntarily in his frustration.  He could feel the tension moving down along his body as the changes swept towards his hips.  His body seemed to stretch a bit more, now not uniformly across his entire body but specifically around his core.  When the changes finally reached his hips, he could feel them grinding, their structure reshaping with harsh, quick adjustments.  He growled again as they gave a few quick pops, and by the time it all was over he could tell that standing back up on two legs was definitely not going to be easy.

His legs began to change, altering in shape and structure even as they, like his arms before them, grew stronger.  Curiously, they remained shorter than his arms, leaving him in a somewhat lopsided stance.  He tried stretching his legs, individually at first, and then one at a time.  This resulted in several new tears along the seams of his trousers, but rather than stretch out further, his legs remained the same length.  It was slightly uncomfortable, and lent him an unnatural, beastlike appearance.

With his legs fully changed, his feet underwent their own change.  Where his trousers had remained largely intact, however, his feet had no mercy on his boots as they were changed.  Sharp claws tore through the fronts of his boots first; then his feet grew longer from ankle to toe, and tore apart what was left of his boots.  He kicked the scraps loose and stared at the strange, powerful paws that had replaced his feet.  Much like his hands, each digit bore a long, sharp claw at its end.

“What do you think?” the wizard asked.

Brian looked up at him.  From the neck down he was now some sort of monster.  Before he could think to answer the man, a new wave of changes rushed over him rapidly, and he had just time enough to watch as his skin discolored into a greyish hue, and a moment later a layer of dusty brown fur began to sprout.  From his hind paws all the way up towards his shoulders the wave swept, quickly spreading towards his head.

“I’m a monster.”

No indignation and barely any energy could be heard in those words.  Brian still felt strange – slow – and his words reflected that.  Before he had even finished speaking, the wave of fur reached his head, and he began to feel the changes rush up his neck.  He growled angrily now.  What did the wizard think he was doing?

He could feel his ears pulling out and growing longer and pointed at the sides of his head, and then even sliding towards the top of his head.  His face pulled out in front of him, mouth and nose combining and forcing forward, and he found himself looking down his own snout until his eyes began to slide to the side to give him a better perspective around that constant blind spot.  It looked like he had a wolf’s muzzle now, and appropriately he immediately began to feel his teeth growing longer and sharper in his mouth.  In no time at all, they were possibly even too long for his new muzzle, making it more comfortable to leave his mouth open in a vicious feral smile.  The fur followed the other changes along, and his muzzle was covered in dark brown fur immediately.

A moment of pain marked a change in his eyes, and suddenly the shadows were not so dark.  Unseen to him, his eyes now had feline slits.  His head was now completely changed in shape; mobile, oval ears sat at the top of his head, a wolf’s muzzle with vicious teeth protruded in front of him, ending in a damp, black nose, and bright, feline eyes stood at the sides of his head, giving him wide peripheral vision.  As he panted with his mouth open, another change became apparent, as he could see the forked tip of his long, thin tongue.

However, the changes to his head were not quite finished.  He growled in annoyance as pain came from around the top of his head, and a pair of horns began to grow.  They quickly gained their shape, spinning in the familiar spirals of ram’s horns.  They were out of place on the head of a predator, but somehow they combined with the other elements to create a truly intimidating visage.  He barely noticed their new weight on his head, as his strong neck easily bore them.

“Very good.” The wizard stepped around him, observing how all of the changes had finished.  Brian glanced himself over.  He was now a large beast, some strange hybrid of many shapes that somehow blended well together.  Almost comically, the scraps of his trousers still held together over his hindquarters.  As if responding to this realization, a new change produced a sudden pressure at the base of his spine.  Brian snarled, stretching his body out to its full length, and in response the new pressure was released, tearing his trousers apart and leaving him nude but for his fur.  Brian glanced back along the length of his back, and saw that now, extending behind him, was a long, tapering tail that ended in a spade.  Much like the other parts of his body, it seemed mismatched, looking closer to the tail of a great drake than any sort of furred creature.  It was covered in fur, but it still struck him as odd.  A moment of consideration did see one use for its unfamiliar length, however.  Though his hips were not suite for bipedal motion, he could likely still balance in a bipedal stance now, using his tail for counterbalance.

Brian tried to turn to the wizard and ask what he had become and why, but all that emerged from his mouth was a loud rumbling growl.  He could no longer speak.

“Now, my friend, you are very nearly done,” the wizard explained.  He brushed a hand down Brian’s furred side.  The former peddler wanted to strike at the man, but he found that he could not force himself to take action against the man.  Instead he stood there, obedient to let the wizard pet him.  “I needed some sort of scarecrow to keep others from entering these walls, and you should do perfectly.”

Brian gave a loud roar as a sudden pain, greater than all of the others, shocked him from his back.  In moments, a pair of new appendages began to spread behind him, barely able to fit within the walls of the relatively small room.  Brian looked back to try to see what it was, but he could feel it before he could see what they were.  He was growing wings!  They were designed much like a bat’s, a thin membrane of skin spread between a series of thin limbs.  As they reached their full span, Brian found that he was able to tuck them at his sides comfortably.

“Good; that is that, then.”

Brian gave a grunt, trying to communicate his confusion.  The wizard smiled to him.

“You are a gargoyle, my friend, or soon to be one.  Your role will be to provide a defense on my outer walls.  With you on guard there I feel that it should be easy to keep others from making their way into my archives.”

Brian began to growl at the wizard.  How dare he treat him in this way?  He poured his will into attacking the man, rearing up before him with full intent to destroy him.  Before he could even threaten the wizard, however, the man gave a dismissive wave of the hand and Brian fell back to all fours, blinking as he tried to remember what he had intended to do.

“I’m sorry, but I cannot abide insubordination.  You will find yourself compelled to obey my orders for as long as you remain here serving your punishment.  Trust me; things will go far more smoothly this way.”

Brian, compelled by an insistent voice in the back of his mind, sat in front of the wizard on his haunches.  It was not involuntary, per se, but he simply would not have considered doing so if his was the only will that moved him to action.  His tail calmly encircled his paws, leaving him sitting before his new master in silent patience.  Antagonistic thoughts fled, replaced by the knowledge of how to execute his new responsibilities.  As he thought of these thing, his mind slowly found peace with them.  As a human, waiting for hours as a sentinel would have been odious.  His new gargoyle body was more than suited for the task, however.  He knew that his body would become stone to wait out the long, lonely hours, and stone had more than enough patience to bide its time.

The wizard took a few moments to inspect his new creation, before finally giving Brian a pat on the side.  “Very good,” he muttered.  “Now, off to your post.  You never know when another misled adventurer will see fit to invade my home.”

Without even a growl in response, Brian departed, padding down the hallway with long strides on massive paws.  Powerful claws bit into the stone, pulling him along swiftly and leaving a trail in his wake.  Finally, reaching an open portcullis leading into a small courtyard, Brian spread his wings and gave a mighty leap, catching the air with his new appendages and climbing into the sky with powerful strokes.  He circled a few moments above the castle before guiding his flight to the western wall, a single beat of his wings arresting his momentum just above the crenellations.

His claws found purchase on a large granite sphere that decorated one of the parapets.  He rumbled in contentment for a moment, as he curiously found that this perch felt familiar somehow.  With all four of his paws gripping its surface, he allowed his tail to wrap down around it, trailing behind him almost to the walkway below.  Keen eyes began to search for invaders, even as one final change took place throughout his body.

Muscle, bone, and sinew were being replaced by speckled grey stone, granite like his new perch.  He knew that his flesh would return whenever he should need it, but for now he would be a deterrent as much as a guardian.  He bared his fangs in a terrifying snarl as stone fixed his face as it was.  As the last of his body was paralyzed, Brian found that he felt somehow excited.  He almost hoped that an adventurer would happen by soon and attempt to invade under the assumption that this gargoyle was a mere statue.  Perhaps then he would gain a companion in this task.

7
At last, a new story!  As suggested by the title, expect me to continue this story a little while later.

-LurkingWolf

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I often suspect that I am as much cat as I am wolf, as curiosity drives a great deal of my life.  The events of this story were very much caused by this same curiosity.  While curiosity killed the cat, it often finds more entertaining results for wolves.
 
My curiosity in this base brought me to an interesting scene.  A small local theater (the sort that puts on plays), which was habitually devoid of any life was tonight lit up brightly from within.  It was clearly not an event being put on by anyone rich or famous, but the presence of any sort of performer at all was enough to pique my interest.  As I observed the signs posted about, I discovered quickly that some sort of magic performance was to be held within the theater in just a few hours.
 
Magic had always been a favorite of mine.   Whether it was illusion, sleight of hand, or any other sort of parlor trick, it still managed to fascinate and intrigue.  I checked my phone; the wait would be inconvenient, but I decided that I had nothing else that afternoon that needed my more immediate attention.  I went and got something to eat, and was back in plenty of time for the show.
 
The crowd in the building was small, but perhaps a little larger than one would expect given the lack of apparent starpower expected in the show.  I arrived early enough that I was able to snag a seat in the fourth row: far enough back to see everything going on atop the stage, and close enough to see it in good detail.
 
The performance hall filled slowly, and at the beginning of the performance there was a respectable crowd numbering perhaps a little north of a hundred (although the abundance of empty seats made it seem like less).  There were some muffled words of anticipation, but a surprisingly large number seemed to have only discovered this performance earlier in the night.  Evidently, whoever it was that was putting on the show had not invested a large amount of time in announcing his event before the fact.
 
For his lack of planning, the man certainly had not skimped on the theatrics.  With a flash of pyrotechnics and a billowing cloud of dry ice fog, the magician himself took the stage.  He was a furry like me: a tall, wiry creature.  He looked like some sort of weasel, but I could not say what sort of weasel he might have been.  He was dressed in a tailored black suit, with coat tails that reached almost as far as his own, slowly swinging tail.
 
“Ladies and gentlemen!  Thank you for your attendance this lovely evening!” he called.  He did not seem to be wearing a microphone, and indeed I could hear no artificial amplification of his voice, but I had no doubt that even those sitting in the back of the room could hear him nonetheless.  “Tonight you will be thrilled with feats of illusion and magic, of enchantment and wonder!  You will thrill at the sight of wonders that mortals have never witnessed before!  Welcome to tonight’s performance of the Magnificent Mustelid Mystic!”
 
The name drew a brief chuckle from me, but I did not have much time to dwell on it.  As soon as he had finished his speech, the man whirled about with a swirl of his coattails, throwing his jacket to the side as he prepared to begin his work.
 
His acts were both quick and astounding.  First, he brought a mirror on stage, demonstrating to the audience that it was nothing but a simple mirror.  Then, out of nowhere, he reached through and stole the flower out of the vest pocket of his reflection!  Whatever trickery was used to accomplish the trick I could not say, but the applause continued even as the mirror was taken away, the reflection bowing to the audience while the magician joined in the applause.
 
For his next act, he selected a young, human volunteer to assist him.
 
“Introduce yourself to the audience,” the magician requested.
 
“My name is Peter Rogers.  I am nineteen years old, and I love magic!”
 
There were a few chuckles and a rippled of applause while the magician nodded enthusiastically.  “Tell me,” he continued presently, “what would you say is your favorite animal?”
 
The young man grinned.  “I’d say I am a big dog person,” he responded.
 
The magician quietly pulled out a pocket watch and began to play with it, allowing it to bob back and forth on its chain.  “A big dog person, you say?” he asked.
 
The man’s eyes were fixed on the watch.  “Yeah!  I’m a big dog – a big dog…” he trailed off, looking confused as he couldn’t find the words to finish the statement.  He followed the oscillation of the watch carefully, as though its path contained some clue as to what he was forgetting.
 
“You are a very skilled speaker for a big dog,” the magician prompted.
 
“I am!” the man confirmed, nodding happily.
 
“Has your master been teaching you to speak, boy?”
 
By this point the young man was visible entranced, and his shoulders seemed to be sagging as though he was ready at any moment to fall to all fours.  His eyes were fixed exclusively on the swinging watch, not even noticing any of the murmured reactions from the rest of the theater’s occupants.
 
“Yeah!  Master says speak, and I speak like this!”  He barked loudly and proudly, a sound that was so perfectly canine that it drew many awed gasps from around the auditorium.  The man began to pant, his tongue hanging out so far that it seemed unnatural.
 
“Has Master taught you to sit yet?”  The weasel magician accompanied his question with an appropriate hand signal.  The reaction was instant; the young man dropped to his haunches, his hands placed before him in a classic canine sitting position.  He didn’t say anything, but he nodded enthusiastically in response to the question.
 
“Good boy!”  He continued, going through a short list of dog commands.  The young man no longer responded with words, only giving an occasional bark of confirmation.  He even walked about the stage on all fours, his movement seeming amazingly natural for a bipedal creature moving on four limbs.  His imaginary tail wagged throughout the act, until finally it came to a close.
 
“Thank you, Peter!” the magician said, petting his hair with a smile.  He snapped his fingers, and the young man shook his head as the trance was broken.  He stood back to two feet, looking about himself with a little bit of confusion.  “You may return to your seat,” the well-dressed weasel directed.
 
The young man climbed down from the stage, and I could hear him talking with his friends for several minutes thereafter.  I couldn’t make out everything that was said, but the one thing I could make out from Peter himself was an enthusiastic “That was cool!”
 
It was the next act, however, that caught my attention, and wouldn’t let go.
 
The weasel pulled out a coin, silver in color and engraved with odd symbols and words in a language I cannot identify.  He waved it through the air dramatically, demanding the attention of the audience by his stage presence alone.  I was already lost to his performance; suddenly, the coin was the only thing that mattered to me.
 
“Behold!” he crowed.  “This coin is a rare artifact, dug from some of the world’s most ancient ruins only recently.  The inscriptions upon it speak clearly of an enchantment it calls ‘The Bandit’s Boon.’  It is said that this coin will choose a master, and will imbue him with powers that the greatest thief could only dream of!  Every time I put on a show, I pull out this coin in hope that it will find its master.  Will it be tonight?”
 
My tail bobbed in undisguised interest.  The coin’s silvery surface seemed to gleam in the magician’s fingers, the inscriptions on the surface almost visible from several rows back.  I certainly hoped that whatever master the coin expected would be found this evening.  I wanted to know what it would do!
 
“The master will be no more aware of his or her position than am I, but my studies suggest that they will feel the compulsion to come take the coin.  Examine for yourselves: Do you have the desire to come accept this coin?”
 
I wondered if anyone did, but my focus was on the coin itself, not on whether anyone might accept the offer.  The magician continued his spiel, but I didn’t hear anyone else moving.  Finally, the suspense became too much.  I wanted to know what the coin would do! Standing up, I clumsily made my way out towards the aisle, almost tripping over several people due to my singular focus on the coin.
 
Had I been watching myself as I walked up, I might have noticed a few oddities.  For one, what seemed to be a domino mask had appeared about my eyes.  A quick glance would be enough to reveal that it was no physical mask, but instead was simply a new pattern in my fur.  My pointed ears had rounded off a bit as well, growing smaller atop my head.  They were not the only things growing smaller; I usually stood a few inches short of six feet, but I doubt I stood taller than four feet when I reached the steps to the stage.  My clothing was far too large for me by now, but my tail kept my pants from falling, and my shirt just barely clung to one of my rapidly-slimming shoulders.
 
As I climbed the first step, my tail was suddenly spiraled by several dark stripes.  The second step gave me a little more trouble as I shrunk more, but my jeans still barely held on and just kept from tripping me.  As I climbed to the stage over the final step, I dropped to all fours and scampered a few more steps towards the magician.  In doing so, I finally gave my clothing the opportunity it needed to slip off, leaving my jeans, my shirt, and finally my signature bandana lying in a heap on the stage.  Standing back to two paws, I walked with a waddling gait towards the magician, who I could see smiling down from above me.  I was now a feral raccoon in both size and shape, so the magician’s stature was very imposing to me.
 
At this point it would be somewhat difficult to explain what I was thinking.  Well… perhaps it would not be so difficult to explain what I was thinking, but it would be quite a task to explain how I was thinking.  My thoughts at this point ran along a very simple line.
 
/That coin is amazing!  I want that coin.  I want to hide that coin and keep that coin and play with that coin and never let anyone take that coin!/
 
As single-minded as I had become, there was certainly still a little bit of the intelligent wolf that I had been only moments before, and I attempted to show it by saying something to the magician.  As focused as my mind was on the shining object in his hand when I made the attempt, I cannot say exactly what I had thought to say.  Perhaps I was trying to compliment him on a fine performance.  Maybe I intended to ask him for the coin straightaway.  I might even have simply wanted him to lean over so that I could try to snatch the coin away.  Whatever the intention, the words I spoke came out as little more than a series of chattering syllables that only a feral raccoon such as me would understand.
 
As the magician spoke next, I regained enough clarity to understand what he was saying.
 
"Have you come for the coin, sir?" he asked, refusing to use my current state as an excuse to talk down to me.

I nodded sharply, a very human gesture that drew more than a few chuckles coming from what appeared to be nothing more than a wild animal.  I took no notice, since the magician responded to my nod by flipping the coin to me.

I caught it in both paws, and stood staring at it with muzzle agape.  It was even more astounding from up close!  Refusing to reflect the imperfect light of the stage, it gleamed with a light of its own.  I'm not sure that there was anything left to change by this point, but anything lupine I retained was overcome as soon as my eyes met the bauble's gleaming surface.

"Tell you what," the weasel continued.  "If you help me with my magic show, I'll let you keep that coin!"

Utterly engrossed, I merely chittered to myself.  It was enough for him, however.

"Good!  I knew we could come to an agreement!"

The audience's applause was deafening, but I was already deaf to their cheers.  For now at least, the only thing that mattered to me was that coin.

8
Random Topics / Anthrocon
« on: July 03, 2014, 01:14:52 PM »
Will anyone from CF be attending the convention?  If so, I wouldn't mind running into a few of you.

9
Writer's Guild / LurkingWolf: Toymancer Origins
« on: January 20, 2014, 05:07:08 PM »
A story that's been in the works for quite a while, here is the story about how I first became a toymancer!  This will almost certainly be continued later on.  For now, please enjoy!

___

Holidays were always a difficult thing for Azariah.  The wolf was a bit of a loner, so he had very limited options when he wanted to do something with his friends.  Quite often, he got to the end of his list of friends before he found something to do.  Such was the case on this day, and so he decided to go driving in hopes of finding something interesting.

On this particular day, that interesting thing came in the form of a new carnival in town.  It was reasonably well occupied and seemed to be well maintained, and so he decided to see what all the carnival had to offer.

Entry was not particularly cheap, but he was desperate to find something to do.  Fortunately, the rides and attractions were quite good.  Azariah entertained himself for quite a while going back and forth between a few favorites.  He didn’t go into any of the tents at first, but after quite some time on the rides, he decided that he wanted to sit in a stationary seat for a little while, at least.

The tents were what you would expect in most cases.  A fortune teller’s tent was reasonably popular, and another tent claimed to house the funniest show in the world.  Still another advertised inhuman feats of strength, and one more housed a freak show.  Still, none of them sounded as strange, or as entertaining as the tent near the edge of the carnival, its colorful letters proclaiming it as the domain of the Toymancer.

“Come see the greatest show on stage!  See toys of all kinds brought to life, dancing to the magic of his very fingers!”

The wolf thought that such a show sounded interesting, and the price was affordable, so he entered the tent and took a seat.

The tent was disappointingly empty, and as Azariah took his seat, he discovered why.  The magician, a rabbit wearing a worn top hat, was cavorting on the stage with obvious energy, but his marvelous tricks were clearly nothing but the work of strings, some of which could even be seen in the stage lights.  The man’s energy was infectious, and the show did help restore some of Azariah’s energy, but he was disappointed in the lack of wonder in the show.  At least most magicians managed to keep the audience guessing as to how they performed their clever deceptions.

Only a handful of people remained when the man took a bow.  He was still energetic, but his face showed that he knew that his audience was not impressed.  He wiped his brow with a handkerchief after his bow, only to hold up his hands as if to forestall the exodus of his small audience.

“Please, gentlefurs!  You must stay to see my finest trick!”  Few heeded his words, but Azariah was among them.  He wanted to see if the man could redeem himself at all.  “Using nothing but a set of strings,” he dangled them before the audience, “I will change one of you people from a man into a marionette!  This trick is completely harmless, and will show the true extent of my power!”

A couple more people shuffled out at his proclamation, leaving Azariah in the audience with only a half dozen others at the most.  None seemed to be volunteering, however, even as the magician implored them.

“Please, one of you people, allow me to demonstrate my full power!”

Azariah wasn’t completely certain, but even his tentative paw was the first, and only, volunteer that the magician received.

“Thank you!  Please, come to the stage!”  The man’s energy was back, and he danced to the side to meet Azariah at the stairs.  He reached out and grasped the wolf’s paw in his own.  “What’s your name, son?”

“It’s Azariah,” was the response.  Then, suddenly, as their paws released, the wolf’s paw lifted up with the magician’s of its own accord!  Startled, Azariah stared as his paw went limp, and attached to it, again visible in the stage lights, was a string!

“Hey, give Mister Hezekiah a big hand!  What is the sound of one hand clapping, anyway?”  With the wolf’s paw still attached to the string, he waved his own back and forth, making his volunteer act as though he were clapping with only one hand.  Despite the small audience, the volume of the reaction was louder than even the boos had been during the main performance.

The young wolf might have corrected the rabbit’s pronunciation of his name, but the strange feelings and his inability to control his own hand distracted him too much.  How was the man doing this?  Surely, this unskilled magician could not have suddenly gained such talent in so short a time!  As he was thinking, however, he felt a lightness to his head, and realized he couldn’t turn it on his own, either!

“Turn and face the audience, won’t you, sir?”  A tug of the strings that now led to his head and his hand brought him around, and he found himself looking at the audience, a bewildered smile on his face.  At least he could still control his expressions!

The magician pulled Azariah’s right paw about in front of him, and the wolf found himself sketching a simple bow for the audience.  As he rose, his left paw was caught on another string, and he was no longer in control of his upper body.  He wondered if he should feel concerned by this, but somehow the absolute impossibility of the situation overcame his misgivings.  His legs were still his to command, but they felt like limp noodles.  How could this be happening?

“Well, would you look at that?  It seems our volunteer is shrinking to make working with him easier for me!  How considerate.  Hezekiah, you are a true gentleman!”  Indeed, Azariah found that his footpaws were no longer touching the floor, and he flailed a bit before deciding to trust the magician with sustaining his weight.  As he did, two more strings fell from the magician’s hands, and the wolf’s legs belonged to the toymancer as well.

“We’re almost there!” the magician proclaimed.  The audience was reaching a fever pitch, and he had to shout over them.  “Look, his tail’s wagging, I think he likes it!”

Indeed, Azariah found himself wagging his tail in pleasant surprise over how this impossible thing had happened!  How could he suddenly have become a marionette in a magician’s hand?  Even as he thought this, his tail was also caught by a string made especially for it, and the wagging was continued at the hands of the magician.

It was odd being unable to move of his own will.  Honestly, he found it relaxing, far more relaxing than anything he had ever experienced before in his life.  Even as he thought this, the magician began to parade him across the stage, skillfully working the strings of his new marionette in first a march, then a waltz, then a chicken dance.  All throughout, Azariah found himself wishing that he could laugh.  This was a fantastic trick!

Finally, the magician and the marionette each sketched their closing bows, and as the curtains closed, the few people in attendance went insane with loud ovations.  The shouts of “encore” were easy to hear even through the material of the curtain, but the magician walked briskly backstage as soon as he was hidden.  Azariah wondered when the trick would end but he followed along, unable to ask, as the magician carried him back.

The rabbit held the puppet in front of him, giving an odd sort of smile.  “Thank you for your help,” he said.  “You make an excellent marionette.”

With that, he lifted the paddles that now held the strings of the marionette named Azariah, and hung them from a pair of pegs intended for just that purpose.  His ears wiggled for a moment, and then he left, leaving the wolf hanging on the wall, unable to move.

A mirror occupied the wall opposite the wolf, and he finally got a look at his current appearance.  He looked the same as always, down to the clothing that he had worn to the performance, but even a quick inspection of his body showed that it was now made of wood!  Mechanical joints had replaced his own, waiting to let arms, legs, and even tail bounce with the subtle movements of the strings.

The effect was incredible, but thoughts of concern were growing once again in his mind.  He couldn’t move at all!  He still seemed to be alive somehow, but the wooden body was now moved by strings, not by his will!  What would become of him now?  What if he never--?

“Don’t think that way.”  The voice seemed to come from his own mind, but he knew the rebuke had not come from his thoughts.  It had the sort of tone that made it difficult to discern whether it was male or female, but that consideration was not extraordinarily important.  “Wasn’t it fun, performing and dancing on the stage?”

Azariah stared into the mirror, trying to see who was speaking, but his was the only image to be seen.  “Yes, it was fun,” he responded.  “But I can’t move anymore!”

“Yes, you can!” the voice insisted.  “You just need the hands of a puppeteer, that’s all!”

“It isn’t the same,” the wolf puppet responded.  “I’ve been able to move on my own as long as I can remember.  Being a puppet is relaxing, and dancing at the end of strings is fun, but I need to be able to move!”

The voice did not respond for quite some time.  Finally, it spoke again.  “So, you don’t like being a marionette?”

Azariah hesitated.  “No, I do like it,” he said at length.  “It’s relaxing, and I would say it is fun to dance about on the strings.  Still, it doesn’t stay fun forever.  I need to be able to live, to move about freely.”

“What about this?”  Suddenly, Azariah felt the tension in his strings relax, and then he realized with a start that he could move his body again.  He flexed his arms and legs, grateful for their release, but looking down at them revealed that they still had a clear wood grain instead of his fur.  The mirror agreed; he was able to move, but he was still a marionette.

“That’s better, but I still can’t live like this!  My friends and family know me as a flesh-and-blood wolf.  If I came to them as a puppet, they would be terrified!”

The voice said nothing, but Azariah detected a hint of sadness in his mind.  “I cannot share a form with a flesh-and-blood.”

“You can’t what?” Azariah asked.  “What are you, anyway?”

Suddenly, the wolf’s self-control was wrested away again, and he felt his body moving about at the ends of the strings again.  He could see the paddles still hung from the pegs behind him, however; the strings were moving on their own, not affected by the paddles themselves.  “I am the strings that this magician used to change your form,” came the response.  As though to prove the point, they made the wolf dance through another, even more complex dance than the magician had managed.

“What?”  Azariah was amused by the dance, but still surprised.  “How can strings be able to talk?  How can they be alive?”

A tittering laugh bounced about in the wolf’s mind.  “It takes a good bit of magic,” the strings explained.  “I do not understand the reason why, but a wizard in eons past tried to bring me to life, but thought he had failed when I showed no signs of intelligence.  As it was, I simply had no opportunity to learn.  One day, I was used to create a marionette, and through the puppeteer’s hands I learned the secrets of movement.  Since then, I have also discovered how to change a living creature into a marionette, but none so far have agreed to remain a puppet.”  The hint of sadness returned, and Azariah felt a pang of sympathy.

“I am sorry,” he said earnestly.  “For someone to go from a free creature to one of wood and strings, however?  It would seem to them like a prison.”

The strings were quiet again, briefly this time.  “A prison.  That is what I suffer,” they said quietly.  “Understand, I do not wish to inflict such a prison on another, but I cannot move without the aid of a companion, whether they be a puppeteer, or linked to me as a marionette.  I need to find someone who would agree to remain a marionette in order to escape my own solace.”

Azariah felt truly sorry.  Only minutes ago, he would have found it inconceivable to be sympathizing with a set of strings, but then he had not been a puppet at that time either.  He wished that he could help, but he was unwilling to give up his life.  How long would it be, though, until the strings would refuse to yield their control over their host from sheer desperation?

“I would never do such a thing!”  Azariah had forgotten that the strings somehow heard his thoughts, and was surprised when they reacted to him.  “I am desperate, but I am no monster.”

“I am sorry,” Azariah thought quietly.  “Isn’t there some other way, though?  Can’t you share a body somehow?”

The silence that followed was extremely protracted, a period so long that Azariah could swear that he saw the lights on the wall drift several inches between words.  “It might be possible,” the voice finally said, sounding hopeful.  “Perhaps…”

Slowly, Azariah began to feel different once more, but this time the direction had reversed.  The feelings ceased to be muted as they were when he was a puppet, and resumed how it felt when he was a regular wolf.  He dropped to the ground as the strings disappeared, and then found himself growing back to his original height.

“I can do it!” the voice proclaimed.  “My magic... I have changed you back into your original self, and yet I am still here with you!”

Azariah stood up and looked into the mirror, turning this way and that, patting his arms up and down and looking for strings.  “You will not find me,” they said.  “I have completely concealed myself.”  Indeed, Azariah’s body felt exactly as it should have.

Azariah sighed, and considered silently for a few moments.  “I think,” he said at last,” that I will be willing to share my form with you, if you would allow me to remain as I am during my daily life.  I would allow you to change me into a puppet at times, but I will need to live as normal most often.”

The strings agreed.  “I cannot sustain this form for very long at present, however,” they warned.

“Then return me to the form of a moving marionette,” Azariah suggested.

The change was far less protracted this time, and he was a wooden wolf before he could even blink.  He experimented with his joints again, and found them to be acceptably flexible.  “What do you need to be able to sustain my human form?” he asked as he took a few paces about the room.  Without him even noticing, the strings went lax, the paddles slipping into place on his back like the sheath of some greatsword.  The strings then disappeared once more, leaving the wolf looking rather normal apart from the obvious wood grain of his skin.

“My power comes from the fun that people have.  Whether they are puppeteer or puppet, I can absorb the power from either.  Another performance or two, and I should easily be able to sustain you for a few days.”

Azariah nodded.  “Actually, I think that an act sounds like a very good idea,” he mused.  “I have an idea.  Can you create more than one puppet at a time?”

*   *   *

A few minutes later, the wolf marionette was standing above the stage on a catwalk.  The audience in the tent was large and electric; apparently, word had spread of the magician’s amazing trick.  The man himself was about to step out onto the stage, and the wolf watched him curiously as he stood backstage.  He seemed unhappy, and was clearly mumbling to himself.

“I think he thinks that you’re doomed to remain a puppet,” the strings suggested.  “This was the first time he used me since he first discovered my power.  He must have been desperate.”

The wolf nodded.  “He seems like a good guy, and he was a very good performer when he transformed me,” Azariah mused.  “I don’t want to punish him too harshly, but I do think he needs a little bit of comeuppance.  Perhaps some relaxation, and certainly as little fun!  I just hope I’m as good of a performer as he was.”

It was not long until the magician stepped on stage, his tall ears bobbing about in amusement as he addressed the crowd with his raucous, motor-mouthed introduction.  Azariah let him get to an opportune point in his speech, and started to grin at the course of the monologue.

“This evening, before your very eyes, I will change a man into a marionette!” he crowed.  “On this stage, in this tent, this very evening!  Who will it be?  Will it be you, sir?  Perhaps you, Madame?  One of you?”

With a huge grin, Azariah dropped a few strings down from his perch, even as the magician swept both arms out in a wide arc.  The confusion was clear on the rabbit’s face as he suddenly found his arms suspended by an unseen force, and his head stuck in place!  Azariah jumped off of the catwalk from where he had perched, letting the strings connecting him to the magician pass over top of the walkway to suspend them both.  As he began to drop into the audience’s view, the rabbit magician began to rise, despite clearly weighing far more than the wolf puppet.

“Or perhaps, the magician himself?” Azariah finished the man’s thought.

The crowd went insane.  The stunt was amazing!  Impossible!  Magical!  And as the audience reacted, the rabbit looked at the wolf in shock, and saw the puppet’s eye wink at him.

“Relax,” the toy whispered.  “Everything’s going to be fine.”

And the rabbit gave a buck-toothed smile.

*   *   *

The performance was more than a smash.  The reaction from within the tent drew dozens more visitors, until even the standing room was occupied.  The rabbit magician, once he realized that the wolf was benign in his intentions, delivered a performance to beat the band.  His very real shock had already made an impression with the audience, and he cleverly hammed his performance to the next level as he was overtaken by a smaller, more wooden form.  Finally, once the change was complete, and Azariah had played with the seemingly inanimate puppet for a few moments, the rabbit slapped him playfully across the muzzle and demanded that he be allowed to participate in the act!

The two cavorted and played about the stage, turning their complete lack of preparation into an improv act to beat the band.  Toys that had been intended for the cheap parlor tricks were used with new zest; the rabbit magician drove across the stage in a wooden truck, followed closely by a wolf, tied to the car by a string and riding a pair of matchbox cars like skates.  A toy plane took a nosedive straight at the stage, only to be caught inches from its surface by a rabbit puppet wearing a gaudily colored cape.  A plush bunny became the magician’s dancing party, while the toy wolf attempted to cut in several times, only to be turned away with increasingly ludicrous slapstick maneuvers from both dancers.

Time was lost on both performers and audience as the act rolled on, until the carnival officials actually had to come in and announce that the gates were closing for the evening.  The groans of disappointment were overpowered only by the ovation that the performers received.  Each bowed to the audience, and then to each other, and then the curtains closed on the most unexpected performance of the ages.

Backstage, the rabbit gave the wolf a huge embrace.  “Thank you!” he exclaimed sincerely.  “I thought I had done something horrible to you.  You’ve cleared my conscience, and given me the best night of my life!”

The wolf chuckled.  “You still did something very dangerous,” he scolded.  “You didn’t know that I would find a way to move about.  For all you knew, you might have killed me!”

The rabbit’s wooden ears drooped.  “I’m sorry for that.  I tried so hard to make a good act, but no one would stay to watch it!”  He looked up at the wolf with a grateful expression.  “Thank you for being one of the few that did.”

The wolf smiled kindly.  “I hope this new form will help you out.”

The rabbit looked himself over with a wiggle of his wooden nose.  “It does present some interesting possibilities,” he admitted.  “Still, is there a way to change back?”

Azariah chuckled.  “I’ll let you and the strings work those details out.”  At the rabbit’s confused gaze, the wolf just laughed.  “Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out.”  He started to walk away.

“Wait!” the magician exclaimed.  When Azariah turned, he found himself looking into the rabbit’s imploring eyes.  “Could you maybe come help me with the show?  You were great tonight!”

Azariah smiled.  “Of course,” he said.  “I’m sure that helping you out would be a lot of fun.”

The strings seemed to leap at the word, and began to talk excitedly in his mind as he walked out of the tent, already resuming his customary form.  “That was so much fun!” they exclaimed.  “I have so much power, I could sustain this form for weeks!”

Azariah nodded in agreement.  “That was fun!  Don’t worry, though.  We’ll be helping the Toymancer out quite a bit in the near future.  There will be plenty more fun where that came from.”

He could almost see the strings smiling.  “Thank you,” they said.  “I haven’t ever had such a good time since I was created.  I can’t wait to see how much more we can do!”

Azariah agreed.  Life spent as a puppet one moment and a wolf the next was going to be complicated, but after this experience he was certain that it would be well worth the confusion.

10
Writer's Guild / Call of the Ocean
« on: August 28, 2013, 10:42:05 PM »
Thought that the picture that Virmir just posted of me turning into a mer-collie deserved a story, so here it is.  A bit of a vignette more than a story, but it does have an abbreviated plot arc.  Hope you all enjoy!

_________

The silvery gleam of the ocean surface smiled down at the young wolf as he slipped ever deeper beneath the waves. His feeble attempts at doggie-paddling back to the open air had ended moments before, and he now drifted silently towards the ocean floor. He might have sighed in resignation had he not been holding his last breath. It was already beginning to burn in his chest, and he began to wonder how long he would last before he took a gasp of salt water instead.

His macabre thoughts were interrupted when suddenly he heard a sound like singing. Whales, he thought. He turned his body to see if he might chance a last glimpse of them before the end, only to stop as he came face to face with a lovely mer-vixen. He had thought mermaids mere myth, but here was one before him in his last passing moments.

Her red-brown fur floated in the crystal waters, and her muzzle moved with the sweet sounds of the ancient song she was singing. She looked him in the eyes, and without stopping the song, held forth a small clam shell in the pad of her paw. Her sea-green eyes stared into his own icy-blues, transfixing him in the placid waters.

"I can save you," her voice echoed in his cloudy mind, her song never faltering.  "But for your life to be saved it must also be changed."

The shell was lifted before his muzzle, and he understood that he had only to take it to accept her offer. The price was given only a brief consideration as he reached out and took it in a weak grip.

The mer-vixen smiled to him briefly, and then she gave a strong stroke of her fishlike tail and was gone, leaving only the shell and a trail of bubbles.

The wolf continued to sink, but he held the shell before him. The two halves were clasped together naturally, but his claws allowed him to pry them apart. Inside was a nascent pearl, its gemlike surface sparkling even in the quickly fading light of the far away sun. The wolf smiled and held it close, not noticing as a curious blue aura emerged from its surface,

The glow hung about the sinking wolf like ink in the water, passing through his clothing and brushing his fur, slowly but surely settling about his legs and tail.  Through half-lidded eyes, the wolf began to see wisps of seaweed passing. He was close to the bottom of the ocean now.

Or so he thought until he realized that what he called seaweed was following his downward track. With a concentrated effort, the wolf opened his eyes completely to see that it was the color of his fur. Lazily, his paw traced it back to its source, with a soft tug revealing that it was rooted to his head. Presented with this new mystery his slowing mind revived, and he realized that it could only be his hair.

The question of how it had grown so quickly was abandoned a moment later as he glanced down (or up, as his descent had ruined his sense of direction) to see that his shirt was a ragged ruin of its former self.  He tugged softly at a corner, only to have the cloth tear like wet tissue in his paw. It had barely enough strength to pull tight across his chest for a brief moment, and then it tore open in the back from his neckline to his waist. The decaying cloth was tugged upwards by his sinking form, and it was soon ripped completely free, leaving his chest uncovered but for his fur.

His shirt's demise revealed what had been pulling it tight moments before.  His chest had distended into a pair of modest white-furred breasts where before it has been flat and masculine, if perhaps not chiseled.  Compared to the minor afterthought the sudden growth of his hair had presented, this sudden and radical change of his body was enough to make him gasp in surprise. By the time he realized what he had done, he had already inhaled quite a bit of water.  Wincing, he tried to fight back the futile choking coughs that would try in vain to exchange sea water for absent air.

They never came.

Shocked, the wolf realized that the gasp of water had soothed the burning in his lungs. He knew he stood no chance of surviving short of a miracle, so he took the risky decision to hope in that miracle. Bracing himself, he took another breath.

The water was a soothing balm, and his gasping breaths came faster and faster as he discovered that it satisfied his desire for air. Soon his lungs were satisfied, and the revitalized wolf began to look himself up and down with renewed vigor. None of the strange occurrences seemed to have been hallucinations, and least not apparent enough as to be shattered by the invigorating effect of the air that he could now draw from the sea.

He looked down, past his chest and the most recent of his evident changes.  Finally, his eyes caught sight of the aura that surrounded his legs. Its color was almost lost in the background of the ocean waters, but it carried an inner iridescence that set it apart. He watched in wonder as the gleaming azure halo trimmed his waist and broadened his hips as it spun in whirling eddies about his lower body.  His pants seemed to be going the way of his shirt, but in a moment the fragmenting pieces began to catch in the current of the radiant glow, reforming into glistening strips that wound about his legs in lazy spirals.

The texture of the cloth shifted until it was no longer like any sort of cloth the wolf had ever seen, changing from ragged denim to a sturdy, interlaced set of what he could only call scales. Those scales then wound tightly about his legs, pulling them closer together until the distinction between the two was difficult to detect. His tail was caught in those spiraling bands as well, pinned to his legs one moment, and impossible to identify apart from them the next.

The nature of the limb which remained when the scales finished their dance was clear even before the flippers appeared at its end. It was a fish tail, only much larger and with its fins spread horizontally like a dolphin's rather than vertically. Smaller fins emerged at the sides of the tail as stabilizers, and another pair of similar fins grew from among the fur on his arms.

Its work finished, the aqua blue dimmed and began to fade, but stopped long enough to lift the shell from the wolf's paws. It gently closed the halves of the curious heirloom, and with a final flicker of blue, bound it about the wolf's neck so that it fell to rest upon his chest

Her chest.

The similarity between her new form and that of her rescuer was not lost on the new mermaid. As she began to examine her changed body, she realized that the incantation had also changed her species. Her muzzle was longer and narrower, and her once peaked ears flopped at the tips. A collie, she realized. She was a mer-collie. Everything below her waist was now combined into a powerful blue fishtail, and her upper body was covered by the long, luxurious fur of a collie.

She glanced to the shell that now hung about her throat. Curiously, she opened it once more, and saw that the pearl had grown in size. As she examined it, she began to see images dancing on its surface. With a start, she realized that they were scenes from her life. She thought perhaps that this might be a way for her to return, but something in her mind told her that the change could only occur in one direction. Her life has been saved, but it was also changed.  The images in the pearl were only reminders at the beginning of a new era.

Briefly she wondered what she should do, and then she heard the cries of a drowning sailor. With several strokes of her powerful tail, she was on her way towards him. The mermaid would save however many she could from death in the cruel waters, and when another came who was far beyond hope she would offer them the gift that she herself had been given. It was not only a new life, but a chance to save others from the fate that had once befallen an unfortunate wolf.

11
“BLAST!”

Virmir threw the malfunctioning staff against the wall and ducked as a bolt of transformative magic ricocheted off the walls around him.  The grey fox dove for cover behind the table that had become his workbench as he had tried to repair the staff, certain he would be changed into something horrifying in the next few moments.

For once, whatever cruel hands of fate turned the universe were on Virmir’s side.  Just as the bolt of transformative magic grazed close by his large right ear, someone opened the door across the room, and the bolt escaped through the portal, bouncing down an unseen corridor before finally finding a target and dispersing with a flash.

Cautiously, Virmir crept towards the door, following the gaze of the fox toy that had just opened his door.  At the end of the corridor was the Grand Hall, and in that Grand Hall stood one conspicuous form even, among the great variety of shapes and sizes of those that frequented his chat.  It was a pile of a vile, white, crystalline substance that Vir could not bring himself to name, shaped roughly into the form of some fox or wolf, although the rough childlike design of the figure made it difficult to tell.  Only the bandana, bearing a single white star in a triangular field of blue, gave any clue as to its identity.

“Trees!  I KNOW I didn’t order one of those,” he breathed, shivering silently at the thought of being hit by such a beam.  The toy fox beside him looked on aghast, and then everyone in the chat suddenly took off running in every direction possible away from the chat’s proprietor.  Even the furry-turned-snowfur took off in another direction, finding some way to escape despite its sudden lack of legs.

A tumbleweed rolled around the corner and past Virmir in the corridor, receiving a quick shift of the eyes from the fox.  Fed up, he growled and followed it to the door.  It was time to give someone a piece of his mind.

*

Virmir stalked out of the chat, grumbling loudly to himself.  “That’s the last time they send me the wrong blasted wand!” he declared.  He was so furious that he couldn’t even keep his hammer in hammerspace, and he drug the massive mallet behind him as he walked towards the gargantuan building before him.

It rose from the flat landscape like a mountain, smoke rising in puffs and swirls from the chimneys that pierced the sky above it, chugging and churning in a way that only a toon factory could.  Giant letters were mounted on a weave of metal girders, streaked with ages of oil and rust and bouncing with the rhythm of the factory’s chugs.  They declared this to be the single greatest supplier of all things toonish, the legendary—

ACME CORPORATION ®All rights reserved.  ACME Corporation should not be held responsible for the views, actions, or characterizations of any characters, employees, or facilities herein stated to be related to ACME Corp. or any of its subsidiaries.  Any information herein referring to the defective quality of any ACME product is fictitious.  Any ACME products herein described can be found and/or purchased using the COMPLETE CATALOGUE OF ACME PRODUCTS AND SERVICES. Please see your local ACME representative for questions, comments, or customer service, or in case of a defective product.  Please do not attempt to break into the ACME facility, as any such intrusion will be met with extralegal force.

Virmir, who had read none of the above warning statement, went straight for the largest entrance he could find to the facility.  Raising his hammer, he brought it down with as much force as he could muster, the various plates of green-highlighted black armor popping onto his body from out of hammerspace as he swung.  The plates were lined with magical fire as they emerged, mirroring the blaze of their owner’s anger.  The metal, garage-style door dented with every impact of the massive hammer, buckling and bending until it tore like wet paper and was crushed into a flat disk under the final swing.

The grey fox stepped through the hole he had created, a spotlight shining from behind him and forming a glorious halo about him as he raised his hammer in one paw to take on anyone he might encounter.  Growling, he whipped around and SMASHED the spotlight that had appeared behind him, sending a pair of ACME employees scrambling in terror.

Turning back to his current conquest, Virmir scowled.  Before him was nothing but an empty chamber, filled with nothing but vats of various bubbling solutions designed for strange purposes by the corporation.

“Blast.  They should at least have the courtesy to show up when a customer comes to make a complaint.”

He carefully stepped into the large warehouse.  Virmir sniffed and let out a gag at the smells.  Whatever was in the vats was too foul for using his nose to be a useful method of finding someone to speak to.  He walked a few more steps in, and finally found a door that was labeled Employees Only.  Or rather ‘ylnO seeyolpmE’, indicating that the fox was already in the restricted area.  He marched towards the door, his hammer held up over his shoulder, its UROCYON label visible to the world.

Suddenly, Virmir stepped in something sticky.  He lifted his footpaw, looking at the goop in disgust.  “Eww!”  He hopped away from the vat that had spilled the substance, backing up against a metal stairway as he tried to scrape it off with his claws.  He stared at his paw as he leaned against the railing, blinking in surprise.

It looked like he had stepped in an oil slick, but it still had its odd rainbow pattern on top of a metallic sheen even as it sat on his paw.  Only it wasn’t sitting on his paw; it was creeping up along his pads, up onto the fur, up along his legs…

“GAH!”

Dropping his hammer, he waved his leg, turning it into a blur of solid color until he stopped his thrashing.  By the time he did, the strange coloration had climbed nearly halfway up his leg, slicking down his fur as it went.  Not only that, but the claws he had used to try to use to scrape it off had been covered too, and the metallic-textured substance had overtaken his elbow.

The sheer amount of BLASTing that followed was mindboggling, even as Vir began to run around the room, dashing behind one vat only to pop out from behind another as he panicked.  He tripped and skidded along the metal flooring, leaving a streak of rainbow-colored liquid behind him as he slid.  Desperately rolling around on the floor, Virmir only managed to coat himself further in the sticky stuff that he had stepped in.  The fox only stopped once he had coated himself entirely, and still he twitched on the ground as the strange substance covered him.

Slowly and stiffly, Virmir got to his feet.  Even his armor and the accompanying ragged cape had been coated, and it became clear that the goo was doing something odd to the angry fox.  He stood rigidly with his head down as the strange metallic sheen began to settle, losing the swirling rainbow reflection as it took on the appearance of solid metal.  He stood unnaturally still for a moment, and then something clicked in his mind.

>.INITIALIZING SYSTEM FUNCTIONS
>.OPTIC………..READY
>.AUDIO………READY
>.MOTORFUNC……..READY
>.RESPIRATE……..READY
>.NEURAL………READY
>.CAUTION: FIRST-TIME USER DETECTED
>.RECOMMEND AUTOMATED CONTROL
>.ALLOW (Y/N)
>.N

“GAH!”

Virmir’s head snapped up, his eye swirls curiously comprised of green ASCII characters.  He shook his head, and his eyes returned to their usual color and immediately looked down at his body.  It still looked like it was made out of metal, and he gaped at it in wonder.

“What did this blasted corporation do to me NOW?”

Just as he finished the question, something clicked in his head and his eyelids automatically closed as if he could find the answer projected on his eyelids.  Appropriately, the answer was indeed being projected on his eyelids, and he watched in dumbfounded confusion as the artificially-aged silent film presentation played out literally before his eyes.

‘WHAT DID THIS BLASTED CORPORATION DO TO YOU NOW?’ ®ACME Corporation LTD. 20xx

‘A GLIMPSE OF THE FUTURE!’

The 60s style title card faded to a fuzzy image of a clearly robotic silhouette.

‘MERGE THE BEST PARTS OF FUR AND MACHINE!’

The image was now lit, showing a seemingly metallic furry waving to the camera.

‘BE WHAT YOU WANT WITH GREY GOO!’

The film clip now showed a badly-animated transition from the metal furry to a taur of the same species.

Vir’s eye twitched as the projectors cut out and his eyes opened up once again.  What was this crazy corporation doing in this factory?  As soon as he thought the question, he had to make a concerted effort to stop the instructional video that tried to project itself from behind his eyes.  Growling to himself, he took a few steps to make sure that the goop hadn’t altered his body too much.  Thankfully, his motor functions seemed to be in order, so he stalked over and retrieved his hammer from beside the staircase.  The now-metallic grey fox then continued towards the ‘ylnO seeyolpmE’ sign for a few more steps before thinking back to the instructional video.  He considered for a moment, looking down at his body.

“Well, it couldn’t hurt.”

He thought about assuming a taur form, and his tail suddenly retreated from his body, creating a second torso behind him as it did, until he was in his taur shape, looking far more imposing as his battle armor flared out to protect his new lower body.  He grinned NOT-evilly as he looked himself over.

>.TAUR FORM ACTIVATED

“That’s more like it!  Now, if only I could get my fur back…”

>.SYNTHETIC SKIN ACTIVATED

Virmir’s GLORIOUS grey-and-white pelt grew out full in only moments, and he waved his once more fuzzy tail in approval.  Now he could force ACME cease the construction of their defective products and receive his due refund.  Not that he had ever paid for any of the product he had received, but he was certain that he was due some recompense for his experiences with ACME products.

He reared up on his hind paws and SMASHED the ‘ylnO seeyolpmE’ door beneath his forepaws.  “ACME Corporation, your DANGEROUS and DEFECTIVE products have gone FAR ENOUGH!  I demand—“

Beyond the door was an empty hallway.  The grey fox growled and dashed down the hall, repeating his demand as he skidded into a production floor area.  Still, no one was about.  Up and down, in one door and out another, from catwalk to catwalk and conveyor belt to conveyor belt.  The machines were running, spitting out row upon row of questionable merchandise and carrying that merchandise to sheer walls, which were quickly painted into facsimiles of highway tunnels and loaded into the back of ACME Corporation trucks painted on the same walls.  Still, not a single employee walked the factory floor.

“Does this whole blasted place run itself?”

Virmir’s new mental process immediately began projecting the movie entitled ‘HOW THE ENTIRE BLASTED ACME CORPORATION RUNS ITSELF’ ®ACME Corporation LTD. 20xx.

Virmir looked about the factory aghast from atop a catwalk.  No wonder the products were defective!  How could anyone expect an entire factory to run itself with no one to supervise it?  How could they expect quality?  How could they expect customer satisfaction?  How could they expect to STAY ON SCHEDULE?

The armored foxtaur leapt down to the factory floor and began to scramble about from one machine to another, shaking his head in embarrassment at all of them.  “NO!  That is not how you make a taurification wand!  Who approved the freeze beam?  WHERE IS THE UROCYON WAND?”

He was soon dashing from one machine to the other, trying to fix what the negligent ACME employees had fouled up.  He manifested a wrench from his partially-mechanical new body, using it to adjust a bolt on one machine as he inspected a rod that had fallen into a box to one side.  It misfired and shot him in the chest, but the nanomachines that had altered his body kept it from changing without his permission.  They also gave him a complete rundown of what had gone wrong, and what needed to be fixed.  Virmir had soon remotely shut down the conveyor and had a long, toony mechanical arm extending far up the shaft to tweak the inner workings of the mechanism.

This factory would be in order and on schedule if it took him all day!

*

Trask walked into the ACME production plant later that day, looking about at all the sparkly clean and perfectly functional mechanisms.  He had followed the hammer-trail that Virmir had left in the ground during his approach, and was trying to find out what had happened to the fox after the disaster with the snow wand.  He finally discovered his target, or what looked like him, sprawled across the ACME production floor.

“Virmir?”

The figure seemed to be made of metal and was clearly a taur, but the antennae hair and the battle armor were still recognizable.  He raised his head as Trask approached before dropping it back to the floor with a CLUNK.

“BLASTED… nanites… out of power.”  A power cord appeared out of thin air from Virmir’s tail and coiled perfectly on the ground.  “Plug me in… please?”

Trask approached curiously and took the end of the cord, poking at Vir with his toy paw.  “How did this happen?”

The toy fox watched with mouth agape as a projector somehow appeared from Virmir’s side and played a short film entitled ‘HOW THIS HAPPENED’ ACME Corporation LTD. Trademark Pending before withdrawing back behind the metallic panels of Vir’s side.

“Just plug it in,” the fox groaned quietly.

Trask squeaked and ran off, looking about for a place to plug the cord in.  He looked all about the production floor until he reached a small control room that looked like it hadn’t seen use in years.  For some reason, this room contained a single outlet which was under the only desk in the room.  The toy fox plugged it in carefully, and heard a sigh of relief from outside.  Before he could go to check on Virmir however, something caught his eye.

Lying on the floor was a conspicuous remote, a single dial above a single BIG RED BUTTON® on its face which also bore the large-print words MASTER CONTROL.  The toy fox picked it up and stared at it, and noticed that the dial was set to GREY FOXTAUR.  The toy fox glanced out of the control booth at Virmir before returning his gaze to the dial on the MASTER CONTROL.  It only had one setting, but one turn to the side changed the text above it.  Trask smiled deviously and leaned to watch Virmir as he pressed the BIG RED BUTTON®.

“Blast it, Trask!”

12
Writer's Guild / The River Daughter
« on: April 26, 2013, 08:12:00 PM »
A story in the same universe as 'A Match Made in Moonlight.'  Depending on my own motivation, this could evolve into a series that culminates with a more detailed adventure featuring the descendants of the current major characters.

-LurkingWolf

____________________

He saw her at the river one day, stopping him dead in his tracks as he hunted for a meal.  He thought her a dream at first, a hallucination at the middle of a warm day, but she remained as he had seen her at the first, dashing through the water with impossible speed and grace.  She was unlike any other woman he had ever seen before.  She seemed as much otter as she was human, with watertight brown fur covering her from her rounded ears to the tip of her streamlined tail.  Her face ended in a blunt muzzle that somehow perfectly complemented her strange, exotic beauty.

She might have been easily confused for one of the otters that routinely made their homes in the river, but for her people’s beads which were braided throughout her raven hair.  They dangled loose about her shoulders when she stood… and stared back at him in wide-eyed shock.

A rush of motion, and her form shifted impossibly into the shape of a common river otter.  She dove in and swam quickly away, her brown-furred form disappearing down the river far too quickly for the young man to follow.

“Wait!” he cried.  He meant her no harm; indeed, he could not even fathom the thought of harming one so lovely.  Yet even as his voice echoed from one riverbank to the opposite, the form of the wondrous creature disappeared down another bend in the river.

The experience stayed with him, and he often made excuses to return to that spot.  Sometimes he carried a rifle in search of game; others he brought a hook and line with which to bring back fish from one of the small lakes that were fed by the river.  Always he looked for her, sometimes jumping at the glint of the sun on the surface of the river as his imagination fashioned it into the shape of that lovely creature.

And yet, for years, he could not find her.

He never gave up hope, but as the years progressed he always wondered if his eyes had perhaps been deceived by some cruel deception of the light.  The vivid vision in his mind demanded that something must have been there that day, but perhaps it had simply been a river otter after all.

His family had settled the nearby land to make a new home for themselves, but there were those who had lived on the land for years prior to their arrival.  There were certainly disagreements between the two for some time, but a series of unusually harsh winters had brought the people together.  The native inhabitants aided their newly arrived guests by helping them learn of hardier crops that continued to flourish, even in the cold.  The settlers returned the favor by showing the natives methods of treating hides that would help shield them from the cold.  So a friendship was born from hardship, and when spring finally came, both peoples gathered for a celebration.

The young man accompanied his parents to the celebration, bringing gifts of food from the spring’s first prosperous hunt.  They shared this provision with their new friends, finding a companionship the two peoples had never shared before around a bountiful feast.  Even as men formed new friendships around him, however, the young man was shocked to silence as he recognized the daughter of one of the village’s elders.

She wore her hair in careful braids, each one intertwined with an array of fine beads.  He had seen those beads before, falling across the shoulders of that mysterious creature in the river.  He tried to convince themselves that they could not possibly be the same, that their similarities were no reason to assume…  But her face, although now human by some working of a magic he could not hope to understand, was somehow still recognizable to him, so much so that it made him certain f her identity.

Although she often tried to avert her eyes, the way she smiled shyly at him whenever their eyes met convinced him that she had recognized him as well.  Those eyes made him even more certain that he was not imagining.  They were the same brilliant, liquid brown that he had seen from the mysterious creature several years ago.

He thought perhaps to talk to her later, but he was pulled aside instead by one of the elders.  His heart sank as he realized that the man was the young woman’s father.

“You have eyes for my daughter.”  The man spoke the language of the settlers with more clarity and confidence than most of his people, and the young man detected a hint of pride in his tone.

The young settler nodded, hoping to avoid any mentioning what he knew.  “She is quite lovely,” he managed to reply, keeping his voice quiet.

The man nodded sagely, a mischievous smile on his lips.  “Yes, she is,” he said slowly.  “But that is not the only reason why you have an interest in her, I think.”

The young man paled.  “I’m not certain I know what you mean,” he insisted.  His voice lacked the conviction he had hoped to convey, and he winced as the man turned to face him fully.  The smile remained on his face, however, even as he clapped a large hand on his guest’s shoulder.

“My daughter was as afraid to tell me of your chance meeting as you are,” he remarked with a quiet chuckle.  “She did tell me, however, so I know that you saw her at the river some time ago.  You and I both know what you saw there, and why you are so surprised to see her now.”

The young man knew that he was found out, so he swallowed and decided to own the mistake.  “I am sorry, sir.  I was hunting down by the river, and I did see your daughter’s secret that day.  I was not certain of what I had seen for some time, but I know the truth now.  I meant no disrespect by hiding that knowledge, I only thought that perhaps it was something you wished kept a secret.”

The man laughed and clapped his shoulder.  “It is a secret, yes, but one that we knew would be revealed in time.”  The elder glanced about to be certain that no one else could hear them.  “My daughter was gifted to be a River Daughter from birth.  Only a few times in each generation is one gifted so; each is given the form of some creature from the river and each is fated to guide our people at a critical point in our story.”

The settler turned to watch the young woman, who was speaking with one of the settlers’ wives in a quiet tone some distance away.  “I am not sure I understand what you mean,” he said slowly.

The elder considered.  “Whenever a River Daughter appears, it means that there will be a great change soon.  I considered for long years what my daughter’s role might be in my people’s future.  I have come to believe that your brief meeting at the river was no accident.”  He looked seriously into the young man’s eyes as though to emphasize the seriousness of what he was saying.  “Our people came together in hardship, and this has made both of us stronger.  I believe that my daughter’s destiny is to unite out peoples even more fully.  I believe the two of you are meant to marry.”

The settler almost collapsed from shock when he heard the elder’s admission.  He had been taken with the young woman, but the idea of marriage so quickly and suddenly sent his reeling.  The other man had evidently foreseen his coming shock, however, and he held the young man steady while he recovered.

“I do not expect you to wed her immediately,” the man noted quietly.  “I am, however, giving you my blessing to court her.”  The older man smiled at the confusion of the young settler.  He knew that he was being rather presumptuous to suggest such a thing, but his advantage of age made it awkward for his fellows to question him.  He believed that this was the fate that awaited his daughter, and he meant to give that fate free reign.

The world was a whirlwind to the young settler after that.  He had known since he saw her that day in the river that he loved her.  He knew that, if there was any opportunity in the world, he would find a way to marry her.  He had simply not expected that the opportunity would be presented to him like a gift.  Now he had only to win her affection in return.

As it happened, she felt much the same way about him.  She had been frightened of him at first when he had discovered her secret, but his face had been etched on her memory all the same.  He had not looked frightened or angry at the discovery; instead he seemed fascinated by her strange gift.  She thought to herself that, perhaps, a man who would not immediately react against her secret form might love her.  When that same man came to her now and sought her hand, it was all she could do to keep from jumping to her decision then and there.

In only a short time, only the settler’s own parents stood as an obstacle to their union.  They were hesitant because of the differences between the cultures, but the combined voices of the other interested parties turned their decision.  They finally accepted their son’s decision as the final step towards unifying the two peoples.

The wedding itself occurred just half a year after the settler had been given permission to seek out his lover’s hand.  The ceremony blended the traditions of both peoples, as many came to see the two married.  Only few knew the story of how they had met, but all who saw them could tell that it had been a match made in the heavens.

That is precisely where both of the newlyweds felt as though they were as the ceremony drew to its conclusion.  Neither of them could believe that they were wed to the only one they could ever have loved so dearly.  The circumstances of their first meeting were nearly forgotten, leaving behind only their joy that the meeting had taken place.

There were no luxurious penthouses or expensive bottles of champagne for the new husband and wife, but neither of them would have minded if they had been left to sleep in the woods on their honeymoon.  As it was they were given the use of a small cabin in the woods, coincidentally not very far from the river where the man had first seen the River Daughter.

They simply held each other close for quite a while, enjoying each other’s presence and whispering sweet declarations of love in hushed tones.  Only after many moments spent like this did the two step back still clasping each other’s hands.  The woman smiled brightly.

“My love,” she breathed.  “You told me once that you loved me from when you first saw me.  You did not see me first as a human, however.”  As she smiled to him, her form shifted before him.  Thick brown fur grow over her skin, a wide, tapering tail extended behind her, and her hands, still clasped in his, grew webs of skin between each finger and sharp claws at their tips.  Her face, although still smiling to him, became an otter’s muzzle.  Only her braids, the very same ones he had recognized at their second meeting, remained unchanged, falling across her shoulders just as they always did.

“You are lovely either way,” he responded.  He pulled her close again, brushing his fingers through her thick fur.  She could have purred as he embraced her.  She had always feared what others might think of her secret, but her husband accepted her and loved her no matter how she appeared.  He looked into her eyes, brushing one of her braids behind her shoulder before kissing her long and deep on the muzzle.  He did not seem to be bothered at all, even as her fur and her whiskers brushed his cheek.

When they finally parted, she stepped back and smiled.  “I have a gift for you, my love,” she said with a coy smile.  He arched an eyebrow, but she continued to smile, placing one of her webbed paws on his chest.  Before he could ask her what she meant, he felt a strange flush of heat from where her claws touched his skin.  As she removed her paw, the heat seemed to spread like a liquid fire.  It touched every part of his skin before any visible effect emerged, but it did not remain a mystery for long.

All at once he felt all over much like his face had felt when it was pressed against his wife’s fur.  At this feeling the warmth was released, and he watched in wonder as a coat of fur grew across his entire body.  It grew in layers, the softer lower layer growing just before the emergence of the upper, watertight layer of fur.  He watched his hands as they changed to match his wife’s, each finger bound together by a thin webbing.  Dark claws replaced fingernails, and his palms grew rough with padding.  His legs and feet changed as well, becoming more suited for swimming in the river’s cool waters.  His tail grew to match his wife’s, thick at the base and tapering down to a point that dragged on the ground behind him.  Finally, his head reformed, his ears growing round and preparing to close out and water that attempted to enter, and his face become a blunted muzzle.  His whiskers twitched as they emerged into the air, sensitive even to the small movements of air around them.

“You can change me to be like you?” he asked breathlessly.

His wife nodded.  “It is an ability I am not certain even my father is aware of.  I am not certain how I knew of it either.  All I know is that I may only use it once, on the man that I love.”  She pulled him into another kiss; it was different now that they each had muzzles, but they could not have cared less.

“Is it permanent?” he asked as they parted briefly.  He curiously did not sound concerned at all.

She chuckled quietly, still holding him close to her.  “It is permanent, but I have given you a power much like mine.  You may shift at will from human to otter, much as I can.  Later, I will show you how to take on several different forms in between.  For now…”

The new couple only spent some of their first night in the cabin.  Although no one was there to see them, the two returned to the stretch of river where they had first seen each other, and there they swam and played together in the light of a dim crescent moon.  For years, rumors were whispered quietly that the river was guarded by two shape-changing spirits, and neither the man nor his wife had any reason to correct their neighbors.

In the end, the union of the settler with the River Daughter did help unify the peoples.  Many others followed in their footsteps as the years progressed, and soon it was impossible to claim any distinction between the two.  The longstanding peace between the two peoples was over, for the two were now one and the same, and none were happier than the River Daughter and the man who shared her secret.

13
Writer's Guild / The Tailer's Dance
« on: March 23, 2013, 10:24:34 PM »
Part of a series I started here earlier, and also the official companion story to this picture:

https://www.dropbox.com/s/79aj223a0zx5hym/lurkingwolf.png

Enjoy!

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Azariah Wolf wasn’t what you would usually call a social butterfly.  He was honestly quite shy most times, in fact, but this time it would be different.

At least, that’s what he promised himself.

There was a social function happening later that evening, a dance that he had promised to attend, if only because he realized that he needed some real social contact in his life.  The problem was, he had waited until the day of the dance, and he still didn’t have anything worth wearing.

So here he was, standing outside of a small tailor’s shop.  Or “tailer’s,” as the sign above the door indicated.  He had never done much in the way of formal clothes shopping in his life, so he hoped that the process would be quick and painless.

He had barely gotten a paw in the door when he heard a call from further inside the shop.  “Just a moment, please!”  Azariah smiled.  Hopefully that meant that he would not have to wait very long for the process to begin.

It was, in fact, quite a bit faster than he had anticipated.  He had only just started to sit in one of the few chairs in the lobby when a man bustled out of the back room.  The human was a bit of an odd one; he wore a pair of rough brown trousers, a tweed jacket, and a bowtie.  He dropped a fez on a chair as he went by, turning to smile at his new client.

“What can I do for you today?  It wouldn’t happen to be about the dance this evening, would it?”

Azariah raised an eyebrow.  “Have you had so many people come by for it already?”

The tailor shrugged.  “Several people have come by, yes, but I am also wondering because I am sort of the sponsor of the event.”  He grinned.  “I sort of have a stake in it, I suppose.”

The wolf smiled and nodded.  “Well, that makes sense.  Not too busy, I hope?”

“Don’t worry about it, I can see you immediately.  It honestly should not take long.”  He waved the wolf towards the back of the shop, and Azariah saw no reason to delay it.  He stood and followed the man back into a fitting room.

It was well suited for its purpose, if perhaps not particularly decorative.  Several chests and drawers were scattered about the room, and all of the walls were inset with mirrors.  There was a short pedestal in the middle of the room that would allow the tailor to see his work over the room’s sparse furniture, but otherwise there was very little.

Azariah quickly took his place on the pedestal, waiting while the tailor prepared.  It didn’t take long; before the wolf knew it, the man had already claimed his measuring tape from where he had placed it after his last appointment, and he quickly began to take measurements.  Azariah had little experience with these things, so he simply let the man work, moving only when he was asked to.

The man tutted quietly as he looked over the measurements.  “Not a bad start, but some of these measurements will have to be altered.”

Azariah blinked.  “Wait, you can’t change the measurements, you change the clothing,” he pointed out.

The tailor laughed.  “For other jobs, perhaps.  I certainly must alter the measurements here, however.  There’s simply no way around it.”

He pulled some sort of catalogue from one of his drawers and began to leaf through it.  He grumbles a few times under his breath.  “This one is too small,” then, “this one is the wrong color,” once or twice, “too fancy.”  Finally he gave a loud “Aha!”  Turning the book about, he showed his find to the utterly confused wolf.

Azariah had not been able to see exactly what the tailor had been looking at until now, but as his eyes focused on it, he stared astounded at the light blue dress that the tailor was pointing to.  Certainly, it would have looked wonderful on a female of a similar build to Azariah’s, but that was the problem.  There was not a female in the room!

Azariah started to object, but the tailor cut him off.  “Of course it’s perfect!  Let’s get you changed.”  Without another word, he pulled his hand back, showing momentarily the eerie glow that surrounded it, and pressed it briefly to the wolf’s chest.

At first Azariah thought that the man was simply insane, but a moment later he saw the glow from the man’s hand remain clinging to his shirt.

Being the rather fashion-challenged creature he was, he had come to the tailors wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of blue pants, cut just above his ankles.  From the place where the tailor had touched him, however, the coloration of his shirt seemed to be changing.  From black it turned to a dark blue, and from there it faded to a lighter blue, almost identical to the blue from the dress in the catalogue.  The color was spreading, overtaking the rest of his clothing in a rapid series of changes.  Even the material seemed to change, going from a plain cotton to a much finer cloth that the wolf could not identify.

He didn’t have much more time to consider it, either.  Suddenly, a dozen changes happened at once; his chest suddenly pushed forward, a pair of breasts impossibly emerging where none had been before.  They tore through his shirt, only to demonstrate that the undershirt the wolf had worn was now a frilly pink bra which comfortably cupped the decidedly uncomfortable additions to his physique.  He blushed fiercely, the red of his cheeks visible even through his long, white fur.

At the same time, the wolf’s usually peaked ears began to droop, one already flopping over while the other slowly wilted to match.  Between them, Azariah’s headfur developed, growing longer and gaining the distinctive sheen of a woman’s hair.  The fur around his head and neck grew longer as well, forming what almost looked like a mane.

Changes carried on below as well; a moment after his chest had blossomed unexpectedly, his waist and hips both changed.  The tailor managed his goal of changing the measurements, as the wolf’s waist became slimmer and his hips wider.  She blushed even more intensely now, even as the changes rippled down her legs to finish adjusting her figure.  Her pants were not spared the fate of the rest of her clothing.  First, her shirt and her pants merged at the waistline, the one indiscernible from the other.  Then an impossible wind rippled the material for a moment, and instead of simply tugging at the cloth briefly, it pulled it out of its original form, twisting what had once been a pair of trousers into the swirling skirts of a long, blue dress.  The changing wolf touched it in disbelief, but found that her paws agreed with her eyes.

As the chest of her shirt reformed to cover her bra, the sleeves of the shirt tore themselves away, floating through the air for a moment before coalescing and wrapping themselves around her neck loosely into a woman’s choker.  Her now sleeveless dress showed the longer fur of her arms, which had also become more slender.  Azariah raised a hand before her as she watched the final, more detailed changes emerge.  Black claws changed to white, black pads softening and turning pink before her eyes.  Fingers became slender, slightly longer to reflect her new gender.  And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

Azariah finally breathed again, hearing without speaking that her voice had changed.  She looked over her form in the mirrors, marveling at the extent of the change.  She was not only female now; she was also a collie rather than a wolf!  Looking at her form, she would have to admit that it would have been attractive, if not for the fact that it belonged to her.

“There we are!”  She had almost forgotten the presence of the tailor.  “What do you think?”

She looked at the tailor as though he was crazy.  That wasn’t an unlikely possibility, she mused, but at the same time she had a hard time figuring out exactly what to think.

“I…”  She paused briefly at her voice, but shook her head.  “I was looking for a suit, I didn’t exactly expect—” she waved her hands down her changed body.

“Ah, but there’s the genius!  What no one realizes is that this function is my doing.  I set up this dance, sending out enchanted invitations that cause everyone who receives them to come to my shop for their formal clothing.  When they do, I give them an experience!”

The female collie gave him a bit of a glare, but began to soften.  It wasn’t so bad really, as long as—

“You can change me back, right?” she asked quietly.

The tailor nodded.  “I will return your form as soon as the dance is over.  Now, let’s see if I can’t introduce you to some others.  Don’t worry; they’ve all gone through the same thing as you.  It will be a good opportunity to interact where everyone is just as awkward as you are.”

The collie actually managed to giggle.  “That doesn’t sound so bad, I guess,” she admitted.

The tailor smiled and offered her his hand.  “Allow me,” he said, helping her down from her pedestal.

The dance was, honestly, not as bad as Azariah had thought it might be when he arrived at the tailer’s shop.  He had worried that he would embarrass himself by not knowing how to dance very well, but since no one knew the right steps in their new bodies, everyone laughed together as they stumbled through the dance.  By the end, everyone had abandoned their attempts in favor of talking quietly while the music provided a calm backdrop.

As Azariah left the dance that night, once more a male wolf, he smiled.  He lifted a paw and looked at the picture he held in it.  It was a picture of a male border collie, taken at the dance this evening.  He moved the picture so that he could see the one beneath it, a photograph of a female cat, her fur pattern quite similar to that of the border collie.  He sighed and tucked the pictures into his wallet.  He looked forward to seeing her again the next evening under more familiar circumstances.

He had one more slip of paper in his hand that he had received after the dance, and he smiled as he read the simple two word business card.

The Tailer.

14
Writer's Guild / Gypsy Magic
« on: March 21, 2013, 10:34:48 PM »
A short story I recently came up with based on some art I saw.

_____________________________

The young tiger stalked quickly along the pathway.  He was dressed for a formal occasion, with a dark black waistcoat buttoned up far enough so that it framed his dark purple scarf in the most socially acceptable fashion.  His fine black trousers were immaculately pressed, and his pawwear was the very latest fashion.  A gold chain looped down from his chest pocket, into the waistcoat where the watch at the end was kept otherwise hidden.  Or it would have been, except that the watch was pulled out again and again by the grumbling gentleman as he realized just how late he was.  Even though he was prepared for the occasion in every way, delays had kept him from his destination for far too long.  If he wasn't on time, he would lose his opportunity for a good first impression.  But, there was no way he could make it there in time now...

Well, that was not entirely true.

He cast his eyes across the old village graveyard.  It was specifically called old because no one had been buried there for years.  It had been abandoned a dozen years ago, when a troupe of gypsies had come to perform in the town.  The paranoid governors had insisted that the graveyard was the only place that the garish performers could stay during their time.  It had worked out all right for most of their stay, until one day all of the gypsies mysteriously disappeared, leaving their colorful wagons derelict in the center of the graveyard.  Gypsy magic, the denizens had whispered amongst themselves.  It was a trap, some sort of curse laid to punish the honest people of the village for some perceived insult.

The governors didn't believe it, but the people were scared.  A fence was erected around the perimeter of the gypsy camp to keep people out and protect the citizenry from the possibility of gypsy magic.  Since that day, none had walked through the graveyard, even as the town had grown to surround the abandoned field.

And now that field stood between the young man and his destination.  The fence forced him to walk the circuitous path, easily twenty minutes around.  If he was willing to break tradition, however, he could make it in five.

He snorted.  He wasn't paranoid, so the choice was no choice at all.  The only matter that remained was to find a route through the fence.

The tiger walked along his way, closer to the fence than most dared.  As he moved along, he rapped on the wooden planks that made up the length of the fence.  It took him barely a minute before he found a plank of dubious quality.  Stopping only long enough to be certain that none of the proper folk of the town noticed, he wrenched the rotten wood from the nails that should have held it and, careful to keep his trappings undamaged, ducked between the slats of the fence.  With a brush of his sleeves, the young tiger was off, his orange and black tail bobbing behind him in satisfaction.

Although he was no foolish child, he had to admit that the graveyard did have a certain unsettling atmosphere at this time of evening.  The tombstones were no great obstacle; their dull grey stone and serious inscriptions were familiar to anyone who had visited the town’s new graveyard.  While it was an unfortunate fact, the young man could count himself among the number who was somewhat familiar with the newer field.  Still, it meant that none of the graves frightened him at all.

What put him on edge were the utterly incongruous hulks of the gypsy wagons, arranged still in a vague silhouette of a circle.  The wagons had clearly once been colorful; the gay colors of the cloth that had once covered the wagons were still just barely discernable despite the march of time.  Most of the cloth had been faded and dirtied by the cycles of rain, wind, and snow.  Most of the wagons were stripped to their wooden bones with only fragments of cloth hanging onto their frames.  They reminded the young gentleman of the corpses of so many massive creatures against the dark sky, and that was the fact that put him on edge.

He gave the wagons a wide berth as he walked through the graveyard, but he felt an odd chill in the early evening air as he walked.  It was midsummer, however, and the coolness was decidedly unnatural.  He shook it off for a few moments, but a sudden, airy giggle from behind him.

The tiger turned slowly, eyes narrowed in a predatory glare.  He would not be caught off guard by some fool’s stupid prank.  He looked about for a few moments and finding no one, turned and started walked again.

   The gentleman stopped short when he nearly ran into a cloud of hanging mist that had drifted before him.  He grunted and waved a paw at it.  As he did, however, he blinked in shock as the mist moved in a decidedly unnatural way.  It clung together, moving together as a unit, even as its surface roiled like natural mist.  Squinting at the strange fog, he could have sworn that he saw a shape in it.  It was an almost ghostlike image of what seemed to be a person.  He tried to shake his head to get rid of the image, but it only seemed to gain in clarity the more he stared at it.

   He finally came to a conclusion a moment later.  Somehow, conveyed through the mist, was the image of a white tigress.  He had only enough time to realize the image’s nature before it suddenly swirled into a wide cloud about him.  He initially thought that he had imagined it, but suddenly the mist began to pull close about him again.  He twisted to see what was happening, but suddenly everything began to feel odd.

   As the mist coalesced about him, he felt a tingling shiver running through his body.  He tried to move, but the mist seemed to be preventing him from moving of his own accord.  He held his hands out before him, staring involuntarily as they were strangely altered before him.  In a moment his fingers became longer and more slender, his claws suddenly painted in a variety of lively colors.  His orange fur grew white, and that fur continued to alter up the length of thinner arms.

   He gasped as he felt a pressure seeming to come from within his chest.  In a matter of a few moments, his chest had expanded into what he recognized quickly as a pair of breasts.  Surprisingly, his formal clothing began to alter as well.  His waistcoat altered quickly, its material growing thinner and mingling with the lower layer of cloth from his shirt, both joining to form the light material of a dress.

   He could not believe his eyes, even as his body became more foreign by the second.  His stomach became thinner as his waist became more slender and his hips widened.  He gasped as the changes moved past his hips, changing her legs even as her trousers altered, the cloth joining with than of her foreign waistcoat.  The legs of her trousers joined into one, and they spread into a wide circle of cloth that spun wide around her legs.

   She watched in resignation as the changes swept up towards her face.  Her Adam’s apple reduced, and as she gasped again she could hear that her voice was higher.  Her muzzle became gentler, her jaw less sharp and more feminine.  Her fur was now entirely white, but locks of long, dark hair began to cascade down her back.  Her ears flicked as the hair tickled them, and then she felt that it was over.

   Momentarily, her white and black tail bobbed in shock, and then one final surge shocked her.  She blinked several times, confused.  Then, she smiled, looking over herself in approval.

   “Very nice,” she said in an accent completely different from that of the gentleman that she had possessed.  She took the purple scarf, the one item unaltered by her magic, pulling it from her neck and waving it about in a simple dance.  “It will be good to dance again.”

   She turned to the wagons behind her, frowning a bit.  “ганьба.  The wagons are a mess.  Worry not, мій будинок, music and dance will return to you soon.  Our magic will soon bring your master’s back.”

   Now revived, the gypsy dancer set out to bring others into the camp.  It was time for the gypsy magic to bring life back to their caravan.

15
Writer's Guild / Signs of the Alpacalypse
« on: February 16, 2013, 10:08:44 PM »
A random story that came together in my head today.

________________

   “How could you do something like this?!”  The scientist was practically screaming at the man in quarantine on the other side of the glass pane.  The man sat, looking somewhat sheepish, as he faced the other man’s wrath.

   “My daughter had a recital; I couldn’t be late to it, not again!”

   “You could if you realized what you’ve done!” the scientist cried.  “You were exposed to a new, manmade virus!  No human on the planet has a resistance to it!  You might have killed your daughter and everyone in that recital.  You may have started the plague that will wipe humanity from the face of the EEEEEEEAAAAAAARRRRTTTTHHHHHH!”

   The man waited for the spotlight shining on the scientist to turn off, and the ominous organ music to die down.  “Why would we create a virus that could kill the entire world?” he demanded.  “What sense does that even make?”

   “Well, it’s highly unlikely that the effects will be lethal, but we have no idea what side effects this could cause!”  Someone was shining spotlights off of the scientist’s glasses again, making the glare almost unbearable.

   “So what does it do?” the man asked.

   “We aren’t sure, honestly,” the doctor said, pacing.  The man behind him hiccupped abruptly, but the doctor ignored him.  “We’ve been testing it on alpacas in test environments, and they haven’t shown any obvious effects.  We can hope that there is no effect, but we cannot assume.”

   “Doctor?”

   “It is quite likely that some things that do not affect alpacas can be harmful to humans.  Since we have yet to authorize human testing, we cannot possibly know what this will do.”

   *Hic* -- “Sir?”

   “We will simply have to hope that—“

   “Dr. Roberts, I think we have a—“ *hic* ”—problem.”

   “Yes, what is… oh.”  The scientist stopped as he saw the strangely altered man before him.  The man’s neck was oddly stretched, now several feet in length.  Around it was a coat of strange wool, and his face was stretched out oddly.  As he hiccupped again, his neck extended even further, and his ears began to swivel about independently at the sides of his head.

   “Inform the health department,” the doctor demanded of someone off screen.  “We have to stop this before it—“  *hic*

   “Oh dear.”

*   *   *

   “Mommy, where’s daddy?” the little girl asked as the two of them went to the car early that morning.

   “He had an emergency meeting at work.  He should be back by tonight, dear,” her mother replied.  She started the car and began to pull out of the driveway.

   *Hic*

   “Now dear, what do ladies say when we hiccup?”

   “Excuse me,” the little girl replied with a giggle.  She bounced in the back seat as they began to drive down the freeway.  She hiccupped again a few times, each time replying as her mother had instructed.  When it went on a little while, however, her mother pulled the car over.

   “Here, dear, I have a bottle of water.  That should help you with—“

   There was an alpaca in the back seat.  An alpaca wearing her daughter’s clothes.

   “Good gracious!  Emily, what has happened to you?” the startled woman asked

   “I dunno!  I think the hiccups did it!” the alpaca replied in her daughter’s voice.

   “That’s not possible, hiccups don’t turn people into alpacas,” her mother insisted, trying to reassure herself as surely as she was trying to reassure her suddenly changed daughter.  “Come on; we have to get you out of this—“  *Hic*

   She felt something odd, and turned to the rear view mirror.  Her ears had changed, now wiggling oddly at the sides of her head.

   “Maybe hiccups do cause strange things,” she pondered, hiccupping again.  The two of them scrambled quickly to exit the car, and were soon completely changed by fits of hiccups.  A pair of alpacas soon stood by the side of the road, trying to figure out what they should do.  A man pulled over to try to help the driver of the car, and was surprised when the alpacas spoke to him.

   “This is highly irregular,” he commented, rubbing the back of his neck.  “I’ve never seen anything like—“  *Hic*

*   *   *

   The news anchor pulled on her collar as her neck grew too large for comfort.  “In breaking news, the sudden outbreak of *hic* what scientists are calling the Alpacalypse virus has swept the globe *hic* into a fit of panic.  Everywhere, people are being suddenly *hic* subjected to fits of hiccups that change the victim into an alpaca with no reasonable explanation.”

   You turn off the television, laughing as you do.  Technology was certainly becoming better!  The transformation sequence live on the air almost looked like it was real.  It was ludicrous, though; what sort of virus would change people into alpacas?  It didn’t make sense that anything like that would exist, did it?

   *Hic*

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