Merse stumbled out of the dark room and back into the narrow alley. As she shuffled back towards Pia's shop in the failing light, her head was filled with confusion over the information the vendor had given her.
<i> Swearing inwardly at allowing herself to get so excited, Merse waited for the voice to answer her question. She had almost begun to worry that she had said too much when it finally began to speak again.
"The kind of magic of which you speak is not of human origin. Transfiguration magic is normally the realm of the gods, or those chosen by the gods. To gather more information on this, you would probably be best served in consulting a heretic priest or shaman. I doubt the temples would look kindly on such research." </i>
Merse frowned. The gods worshipped by humans had long since been consolidated into a network of temples and their teachings unified into a mythology which unerringly placed humans atop the structure of civilization in the eight realms, even though the actual power base of six of the realms fell to different species. The vendor was right; the temples would revile the idea of a human being changed into a monster, and consider it the work of evil. Merse was more likely to find herself "exorcised" than cured. Heretic priests belonged to the sects of human gods which refused to take part in the consolidation, and were unceasingly hunted by the temples. It was near impossible to find any, and the result of finding one would be unpredictable. That left shamans. Many monster and metabeasts tribes possessed shamans, but very few human civilizations which did still existed. Considering how monsters and metabeasts felt about humans, it was unlikely Merse would make it within a league of a village alive, much less close enough to speak with one of their shamans. Merse was at a loss as to how to proceed.
She was so wrapped up in her own problems, Merse did not even notice that she was being followed. As she turned into a side street on the deserted side of town, a voice shook her out of her reverie.
"Well, I'll be a goblin's uncle! And I told 'em they were full o' piss! Them lookouts is gettin' an extra silver tonight! And here I was thinkin' I'd never get a chance to skin your hide!" Merse looked up, shocked. The familiar voice belonged to a grubby, stocky middle-aged man with quite a few ugly scars. As he grinned, his missing teeth only added to his disreputable appearance.
"Reton!" Merse hissed in disbelief. Reton's smile grew even more unpelasant.
"The gods must be smilin' today, you'll finally get what's comin' to ya!" Reton chortled. Merse cringed as she realized that not only had she not noticed Reton, but that she had overlooked the fact that all of her exits had been blocked off by his underlings.
"Pin 'er down, I got somethin' special in mind for 'er!" Reton called out. As Merse prepared herself to be set upon on all sides, Reton motioned behind him.
"I just got 'im a few days ago, been dying to try 'im out! How kind of ya to oblige!" Reton glanced over at a large figure that had just stepped out of the shadows. The first thing Merse noticed was the item around its neck. Subjugation collars had long been outlawed in the eight realms, but that did not mean they were not still in use. If a person was powerful enough, or especially if the victim of the collar happened to not be human, the use of the collar was often overlooked, especially in the more crime-ridden areas of the realm. The collar deprived its victim of independent thought, turning them into a relative puppet of the owner of the collar. However, the victim remained conscious and aware of all which was happening, a cruel fate.
However, what shocked Merse most was the species of the collar's huge victim.