Service picked up and Troy barely had time to check on Mark. That didn’t deter him from having bouts of weirdness. He found himself become hotter and itchier, and scratched at himself with a clawed hand. He glanced down from serving a Pixie a thimbulful of wine and noticed a wave of spotted brown fur sweep down his chest before disappearing into his pants. He squirmed a bit as it covered his ass and balls. Then he was confused, because he’d always had fur, that’s why his shirt was open.
While he was pulling a draft of Ale for Greg, who’d come in to chat, Troy had stumbled as his legs cracked and stretched, reversing themselves at the knee. His gait shifted to digitigrade. It was awkward going at first, but he managed to walk the ale over without spilling a drop. Again, alarm bells rang in his head, but…for some reason, he couldn’t remember walking any other way.
He was sure Mark was changing him, but for life of him, he couldn’t tell what was different. Without the protection of the Book, he was as vulnerable as anyone else.
As Troy struggled to lift a keg, he felt his muscles vibrate, tense and contract, and then swell. The keg grew lighter with every pulse, muscles straining and bulging, until it wasn’t a struggle at all. He even grabbed another keg, enjoying the light strain it caused him. Sure, he’d still had a bit of a beergut, but he was yoked! He set the kegs down into place and attached the tap. He’d wondered if this was one of those changes, but he was fine with it if it was.
He padded down the bar on bare paws, nails clicking on the stone floor. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all? Troy sneezed. He sniffled and wiped his nose. It was suddenly really moist and sensitive. He took a clear breath through his nose and staggered a bit as smells overwhelmed him. The wood, the smell of his patrons-he didn’t even have to see them to tell who they were-the smell of his dog Rex, laying in his bed in the corner. He rubbed his nose, not noticing as his face creaked out into a full muzzle.
Getting thirsty, he pulled a draft of Dwarven Lager and downed it, long tongue lapping the foam from his muzzle. His smiled at the empty cup. Damned fine beer. He didn’t notice the small beer belly push out, inch by inch, causing his shirt to bulge a bit. He glanced up in the mirror and frowned when his mohawk-like mane fell into his eyes. He hastily tied it back with a rubber band he kept on hand just for this and gave his reflection a sultry wink. A damn fine specimen of a Gnoll, if he said so himself.
Something about that worried him. Mark was changing him into a Gnoll, but hadn’t he always been one? Oh! Right, he was supposed to get to Mark before he changed his ability scores. Guide him along so Troy didn’t get shafted.
Troy wandered over to Mark. “Need a top off?”
Mark looked up at him and smiled. “Actually, could you make me a mixed drink?”
Troy nodded. “Name it, I can make it.”
“Fairy Berry Thistledown on the rocks.” Mark enunciated, “And make it a double.”
“Coooming right up, sir!” Troy chuckled and began pulling bottles off the shelves, bottles he really didn’t know as they never existed before, and began twirling them.
People clapped as he juggled bottle and jigger and then flipped the mixer. Troy had no idea how he was doing all this, but it was awesome! He shook the concoction back and forth and then poured. Not a drop spilled. He gave a little bow and presented the drink.
“Your drink, sirrah.” Troy wondered where that word had come from.
Mark sipped the drink carefully, then smiled. “Perfect. That Mixologist feat might be garbage for a PC, but for an NPC like you, it’s great.”
Troy blinked. “Oh. I hadn’t realized you were still working on me.”
“Yeah, you wouldn’t. Anyways, I changed Gnolls around a bit. They’re more like entertaining showmen than slavering raiders now.” Mark said. “But they’re a monster race. Decided to give you the +2 strength as a racial, but now I have to decide if I want to give you full Gnoll stats or adjust them to make it a playable race.”
“Um…” Troy glanced at the Monster Manual Troy had on the table next to them. “7 intelligence?”
“Yeah, that’s too low. I still think it’s a good dump stat for you.” Mark nodded. “Maybe an 8. Dumb but full of fun.”
“Are you sure?” Troy swallowed. “Maybe something else..?”
“So for you, it’s Strength 14, Dexterity 14, Constitution 14, Charisma 17." Mark ignored him, talking out loud. "I might have to drop your Wisdom too, actually. Not sure if that would make you too vapid. That isn’t very hot at all.”
“Well, if I’m just an NPC,” Troy pointed out, “Then making me a bit unbalanced won’t be a problem.”
“Hmm. Well, I’ll figure something out.” Mark nodded to himself and started writing. “Finishing off your past as we speak.”
Another voice called for the barkeep. Troy padded away, ears falt against his skull and tail swishing in worry. He didn’t want to be dumb.
“Have you read the newest quest?” Greg asked as Troy measure him out another mug of ale. “Here, read it.”
Troy bent over to read it and as he did, an odd buzzing sound echoed in his ear. Troy scrunched his muzzle and stuck a finger in his ear. It was hard to concentrate on the words, and as the buzzing sound increased, he felt a strange pressure in his head. Then somewhere in his brain, he heard a pop, and the buzzing went away, but his thoughts felt foggy. The words seemed to blend together into gobbledygook.
“Um, it err.” Troy shook his head, thoughts feeling sluggish, “I ain’t much for letters, sir.”
“But an ear for music, right?” Greg clapped him on the back.
Troy chuckled, wondering why he’d thought he could read. “’S right, ain’t got the head for anythin' else.”
“Nah, but you’re good at giving head.” Greg smirked. “Mark’s flagging you down.”
Troy drained his flagon and his belly grew and wobbled before gravity did it’s work and it lopped over his belt. He gave it a pat and chuckled. Really should cut back. He walked to Mark, belly jiggling slightly, and caught his reflection in the back bar mirror. Wear the hairs on his muzzle turning…gray? He shook his head. Must be his imagination or summat.
“An’ wha’ can this here barkeep do for ya, lad?” Troy grinned at Mark.
“Just checking in. Went with a 7.” Mark eyed him.
“7?” Troy asked, knowing it meant something, jaw going slack as he fought for the answer through the fog of his mind and landed on the answer, “Erm…fer yer book fing?”
“My book thing, yes.” Mark nodded gently. “I also lowered your wisdom to 8.”
“Ya did?” Troy blinked in confusion. “Did I do sumfink wrong, yer, erm, lordship?”
“Not wrong, no. Don’t worry, you’re almost done.” Mark patted Troy’s paw gently. "It won't hurt."
“Don’tchu worry about ol’ Troy, master Mark.” Troy chuckled. “Don’t know much about book learnin’, but I’m still fit tah fight!”
“Right.” Mark swallowed the rest of his drink and picked up the pencil again. “Can’t have that. And Troy is kind of a strange name for a Gnoll.”
“’S mah name.” Troy shrugged.
“Trox.” Mark nodded to himself, writing something in his book.
“Ye?” Trox asked.
“Take a look in the bar mirror. I think I saw something weird there.” Mark kept writing.
Trox walked to the bar mirror and something snapped in his leg painlessly. He stumbled and caught himself on the edge of the mirror. He looked down and saw his leg had twisted oddly. Trox didn’t know much, but he knew that a break like that was the end of most adventuring careers.
He glanced up in the mirror and froze. The gnoll in the mirror had seen better days. His muzzle was grizzled and gray, the gray extending up into his mane, and as Trox watched, a scar rent itself across his muzzle. Sword that almost got him a few years ago, he remembered. His eyes were rather dull and yellow. Trox could see Mark writing a bit more, and suddenly adventure sounded exhausting to him. That leg wound had been the end of that.
A flagon of ale appeared in his hand and he downed it, drowning his confusion in the happy suds of intoxication. Trox belched, and he felt some of his muscles wither, years of drinking filling in the muscles with flab. His strong pecs drooped onto his belly, which widened. He turned, catching a glimpse of his nice big ass that stretched his silk pantaloons to the limit. His cock was achingly hard as he stared at himself in the mirror. Something was wrong with him. He struggled to figure out what exactly that was.
"Forgetting something?" Mark asked.
Trox nodded. "Erm-"
"Oh, sorry, forgot to put a period at the end of 'very jolly'." Mark's pencil hit the paper.
Trox gripped the counter as his body wobbled, orgasm hitting him, dumping a load in his pants. He gasped, eyeing the rather handsome old gnoll in the mirror. Next to him was his flagon. He gulped it down quickly, well practiced. He loved drinking and talking about days of yore with his friends at the adventurer’s guild! The old adventurer scratched his graying beard and burped, body sagging and waist widening, middle age fully catching up to him.
“You tricking this ol’ yene, marster Mark?” Trox chuckled, turning back to Mark. "Ain't nothing there but this ugly mug."
Mark eyed him critically, searching for something. Trox grinned dumbly, took a swig of his ale, belched, making his gut jiggle. He patted it and winked at Mark, settling against the bar comfortably.
“Does 7 mean anything to you?” Mark asked.
“Erm, nah, I try not tah think too hard on numbers.” Trox shrugged. “Can’t help ya with yer wizardin’, ‘m afeared.”
Mark smiled. “Heard any rumors?”
Trox had. Rumors Mark had written into his head with trigger words and phrases that would get him to spout them. As Trox happily rattled off gossip, Mark did a few more little tweaks to his backstory, though the ability score adjustment had done most of his work of eliminating the boring human.
The gnoll seemed dumb but would prove surprisingly intelligible if his players chose a romance route with him, as Mark intended to. He wasn’t sure why Troy had been particularly truculent, but he wouldn’t be a problem anymore. Now all he had to do was nail down that accent, which even he had to admit was atrocious. Dialogue was never his strong suit.