Bernard the bear lumbered his way back down to the cellar.
It was gruel time for the lizards, and Bernard was their official “chef”. Not that the title meant much, since all he ever did was dump whatever no one else wanted into a pot, but he was in charge of one of Diamond Hollow’s most important jobs – making sure that the lizards stayed lizards. Every twelve hours, they needed their doses.
Bernard didn’t understand all the magic jibber jabber around it, but dosing these potions was difficult to do. Underdosing wasn’t an issue, since even the slightest drop would maintain their form for about 12 hours, but that wasn’t what Rodrigo wanted. He wanted permanent slaves to work the mill. And that was the challenging part of this.
Potions were difficult to make, and Rodrigo always seemed to keep most of what he made for a ‘special project’. That left only a tiny amount for Bernard. Sure, he could save up for a few days and give his captives a megadose, but then there was a good chance they’d just end up as actual lizards, rather than lizardmen. As amusing as it was watching a high and mighty caravanner slinking away on their belly, you needed hands to work the mill.
And that was why Bernard was the chef – he knew how to put just enough potion into their food to make the effect permanent after about a month of continuous use, while at the same time having enough of a margin that it was unlikely for them to end up as a useless animal. Not that it occasionally didn’t happen, but he was a chef, not a scientist.
Down in the secret passage,Bernard hitched up his dropping pants as his paw ran idly up and down his wide ass. After staring at the crate of fresh potion for far too long, he decided on… hmm… twelve seemed about right this time. Opening the crate of potions, he removed twelve bottles, holding them all awkwardly in his palms before lifting his tunic and using it as a bag. His cock flopped out, big and heavy, but Bernard didn’t care.
Hauling them back up to the cellar, he started scooping out the dried fish and oats needed for the gruel. Lizardmen loved the stuff. Not that they were allowed to eat anything else, anyways, but they did seem to like it. Which was a scary thought, since Bernard knew just how easy it was too end up like them. Rodrigo had no tolerance for failure, and the idea of a single mistake dooming you to a cold body and a lifetime in the mill was terrifying.
It was a silly fear, of course, at least for Bernard. He’d been a loyal guard and servant to Rodrigo for…. Bernard scrunched up his muzzle… well, for as long as he could remember, which was years now. It was strange that he couldn’t really remember anything past moving to Diamond Hollow, but he was sure if it were important, he’d remember.
And even if he hadn’t always been a bear – he was big and fat and happy and no one messed with him! Bernard snorted and scratched prodigious gut. Well, maybe not happy. Diamond Hollow wore at the soul after a while. It was dirty, the people weren’t exactly friendly, he lived in a tiny one-bedroom apartment, and he hated his boss. But at least he wasn’t a lizardman.
The pot of water began to boil and he stirred in the oatmeal and dried fish. Potion went in very last, AFTER the gruel was mostly cooked. Too much heat could break the potion up, render it inert. Honestly, it was a bit of a hassle having to keep preparing it instead of just megadosing the former adventurers.
He couldn’t believe the Mayor was going to promote those three lizardmen to actual wolf guards. Especially after they murdered five of his best men. But then… well, obviously Rodrigo’s guards must not have been that good compared to those three.
Bernard removed the finished gruel from the fire and pulled out the corks on the transformation bottles. They looked a little different today than usual – normally the potions would be light green in color. Now they appeared to be a gross, swampy green-brown. Even slight changes could completely alter a potion’s properties. But maybe he was just imagining things. Green was green and it was getting dark.
With a shrug, he stirred in all twelve potions, the gruel changing texture slightly, the smell weird and slightly noxious.
Normally, when someone rolls a natural 1, it’s bad for them. Or the party. In this case, however, it was going to backfire rather hilariously on whoever was near the potions. These potions were far from inert, in fact, they were extremely volatile. So, when the mixture started smoking and the bear breathed them in… he started to change.
It started simply. Bernard’s baggy tunic, like the meager wages he had used to buy it, simply disappeared. Now completely naked, other than a keyring hanging off his tail, the fat bear scratched his naked ass to the sound of clanking metal.
The bear grumbled as he stirred the pungent brew. Stupid mayor. Too much of a cheapskate to even pay for uniforms. Even for someone like him that’s been working here for years. Why couldn’t he be the one getting promoted for once?
Bernard took another whiff of the simmering dinner. There was something wrong about this batch. The food wasn’t dissolving into the potion properly. Instead, the gruel was taking on a thick and muddy texture. Singular bubbles struggled through the murk, and they released a foul reek when they popped that mingled with the noxious smoke.
Bernard furrowed his eyebrows. Holding that expression as his skull grew thicker and his browridge protruded further outwards. Giving him a stupider appearance.
It’s not like he was dumb, though! He did plenty of things well! Like stirring this gruel. He was the best gruel-stirring bear on Rodrigo’s payroll. Well, he was the only one. He wondered what happened to the last person with his job.
The bear licked his teeth as a lingering wisp of smoke curled around him. Did he always have this many sharp teeth in his mouth? He shrugged and kept working. His nostrils flared as he exhaled. His nose was becoming larger, drooping a little. His stomach growled. He sure was hungry. When was the last time that he ate?
He vaguely remembered eating before heading out to the kitchen, but he was still really hungry. Gah, he hated his job. Working with tasty-smelling food all day. It was pure torment for someone as hungry as him.
Bernard continued to mix the lizardfolk’s dinner. Pounding at the undissolved fish and oats with his big wooden spatula. The bubbling started to intensify, and he felt a sense of relief. Yup, that’s more like it. That’s how this food is supposed to look like. Nice and bubbly. And so delectable…
The foul batch slowly took on the same putrid swamp-brown color that the potions were. All of that work was teasing out even more smoke. The fetid vapors practically clung to him as he worked, permeating his being.
As he stirred the gruel, the gruel stirred his hunger. His appetites. His hungry stomach growled loudly. His fat cock twitched, and then felt itchy.
Reaching down, he gave himself a stroke or two, before scratching his furry, fuzzy balls. Not noticing the fur start to slough off. Just like with the tunic he no longer remembered owning, the alchemical smoke swirling around his body simply dissolved his fur like a powerful acid. But for the dramatic changes running through his body, all Bernard felt was a momentary discomfort, distracting him from his work for a few moments as an immense itchiness overwhelmed him. The more fur he scratched himself, the more his pelt thinned out. Leaving him completely furless, utterly bald.
He didn’t feel cold though, despite being in the cellar. Far from it. His hide, his skin, was becoming thicker. Rubberier. Insulated against the environment. He reached down again and played with his dick as he kept cooking. It felt good this way. Better, even.
Bernard took another deep whiff of the gruel. Plumes of smoke entered his large, flared nostrils. The smoke lingered in his mouth and throat, and he inhaled it like he was taking a hit of pipeweed.
The bear’s posture relaxed, and his eyes glazed over. His stirring slowed as the fumes settled inside of him. His thoughts were feeling hazier.
Bernard coughed a little. Wisps of vapor expelled from his mouth as he did, only to be inhaled right back in. Expelling and inhaling. Not noticing his neck growing wider. His grumbles sounding deeper as he kept stirring.
As he continued to work the gruel, the smoke worked on him. Churning, roiling inside of him. Reacting inside of him. He felt unpleasantly bloated, and his mind felt even cloudier.
Why did Rodgrigo have him stirring the stupid gruel for the stupid lizards? Bo-oring. Why couldn’t he be eating instead? That’s way better. Much better. His long and droopy nose inhaled deeply, and he licked his lips. That gruel just smelled so good, just the way he liked it back in his swamp.
Wait, swamp? The bear massaged his heavy brow, trying to center himself. He gave a deep exhale and winced as his stomach rumbled loudly. He almost ached from the hunger. Bernard patted at his rubbery belly, but instead of settling his stomach, the smoke inside of him reacted even more strongly.
A long, loud burp forced itself from Bernard’s lips. Full of putrid bubbles and a smoky miasma. Echoing around the cellar. Lingering in the air.
Bern smiled dimly. What had he been worried about again? There was this massive serving of gruel right here. All for him!
He took the heavy pot off the heat and started to dig in. His thick hide kept his hands from being burned as he started to shovel handfuls of gruel into his mouth, which seemed wider and larger than before.
The reeking gruel was delicious. Just the way he liked his food - aged and fermented. The smoky haze in his mind started to coalesce. He could remember hunting. Letting the prey he hunted ferment in dank swamp water until it reached that perfected level of flavor.
Bern’s hands started to discolor as he scooped serving after serving of food into his yawning gullet. The same noxious swamp-brown color as the potions. They were also becoming larger. Much larger and stronger. Perfect for palming skulls in his hands and crushing them with a vice-like grip. His nails grew longer, darker, and hooked. Sharper than steel. Perfect for raking and rending through soft flesh. For some reason, there was a webbing forming between his fingers.
A few warts grew on the back of his hands as he realized something. His appetite still wasn’t slaked. Far from it. He needed to have more! He needed more food! Shoveling food one scoop at a time into his mouth just wasn’t going to cut it.
Bern grabbed the pot of gruel, and the swamp-green hue raced up his arms. Across his body. The rubbery limbs grew long enough to scrape against the floor. Massive muscles packed onto them. Dense and corded. Strong enough to punch a tree to splinters. He instinctively hunched forward a little, his posture almost ape-like. That barely hid the fact that he was becoming positively massive, his awful posture the only thing keeping his head from scraping the cellar’s ceiling.
Tilting the pot slightly downwards, Bern devoured the food with great relish. He slurped and smacked loudly as he did. The bear could feel his thoughts getting slower-simpler. Instead of feeling panic, it actually felt good. Considering the awful life Bernard the bear had been living, it was actually a bit of a relief.
His fear of punishment, of becoming a lizardman if he failed at his job, all went away. His resentment at his low-level assignment withered to nothing. His anger over his one-bedroom apartment and low pay went up in smoke. The only things that mattered to him now were satisfying his appetites and being relatively comfortable.
His appetites ran deep, though. That massive batch of gruel would barely sate him. It took a lot of food to feed a swamp troll. His belly remained somewhat large as he filled it, but there was firm definition and muscles packed under the softer, rubbery exterior.
Burr the troll continued his feast. His feet became big and warty, with lichen-like toenails. A thick coat of dank, moss-green fuzzy “hairs” sprouted across his rubbery body in an abundant carpet of growth. His scalp itched tenderly, but he would never put down his pot of gruel.
Instead, he continued to eat. Ignoring the itching. The moss-green fuzz grew out from his head in long, thick dreadlocks. They writhed slightly with the regenerative energies of a troll.
Burr was eating away the last traces of his old bear identity. His eyes were small and set deep now, his protruding brow almost made them look shrouded in darkness. And while it may be hard to see for a casual observer, his pupils glimmered with a baleful light.
The swamp troll’s meal was finally over. He dropped the pot and let it clatter loudly on the ground as he wiped away his meal from his mouth, before licking his fingers.
Even though the foul-smelling gruel was devoured, a noxious, acrid odor hung in the air. Burr lowered his drooping nose to his rank armpits and took a sniff.
He smelled good.
Burr moved his nose to the other pit and took a longer, deeper whiff. His fat troll cock stiffened as took in his aroma. His scent.
He smelled very good.
The swamp troll leaned forward, lowering his head towards his thighs. Another deep breath. This time the scent was mingled with his virile trollhood’s musk.
He smelled extremely good. His dick hardened even further. Slick and dripping and rubbing against his stomach now.
Trolls weren’t known for their self-control, and Bern was far past the point where could just keep breathing in his own tasty scent without doing something about the hard cock of his. Reaching down, a massive hand took ahold of his meaty shaft as he started to jack himself off furiously. Lost in the moment, he opened his mouth and began muttering nonsense to himself, all while long ropes of pre and drool dripping onto the floor.
“Me smell good,” groaned the troll in a thick, guttural voice. Deep and rumbling, like the sound of rocks tumbling down a mountain.
He ran his available hand all over himself as he pumped his massive troll cock up and down. Feeling his soft, rubbery hide. The moss-green carpet growing all over him. The thick locks of hair falling down his back.
“Me look good,” he gasped.
Burr closed his eyes, tongue lolling out as he went at it. Chuckling dumbly to himself, hurr-hurring as the vain troll gave himself such much-needed pleasure. For some reason, he felt like hadn’t done this in ages.
His breathing hastened. His large nostrils flared as he inhaled and exhaled. His lungs were like bellows, and his strong breaths were knocking all sorts of things onto the floor. Making a loud ruckus.
The troll pounded his feet loudly on the floor as he swam in bliss. Howling loudly as he finally came. Shooting out massive ropes of reeking white-green trollseed onto the floor. The cellar became even more foul-smelling, if that was possible.
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Palseks resisted the urge to gag. She covered her snout with her hands, and it barely protected her against the swamp troll’s reeking, acrid aroma.
The kobold had followed Bernard back to steal the key from him. While she’d certainly expected some sort of effect from the potions, she didn’t expect this to happen. Did that mean?
She must’ve rolled a natural 1. Frankly, it was a bit surprising to see the results of that. She had been sure that she had done everything correctly, but that was the issue with a universe like this – she probably did do everything correctly, and then the universe just decided that she didn’t. Oh well, at least it was the bear that had ate that gruel and not Gregory, Geoffery, and Charlie. If they had mega-dosed and turned into trolls, that would’ve ruined the campaign.
Palseks was also grateful that she had stayed away from Bernard as he prepared dinner. What would’ve happened to her? Would she have turned into a troll? Or some other swampy denizen like a bollywog or a grung? Or maybe, a swamp dra-
No, she couldn’t even start to let that thought creep into her mind, lest she lose control and run in there to share the troll’s fate.
Sighing, she just consoled herself with the fact that it was a good thing she was smart enough to predict every possible scenario, including volatile potions.
Now where was that key? The kobold scanned the cellar, and her heart sank. It had fallen to the floor… covered in troll jizz.