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Bropunzel

Written by Leo_Todrius

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The cerise sunset looked like something out of a child's storybook, stretching across the sky in pastel watercolors ranging from floral pink to earthy salmon. The sun itself had been taking its sweet time in its afternoon descent, the decline made even longer by the dip between the two snow kissed peaks of the Algorn mountains. It was as if the sun had worn a groove down between them little by little, year after year. It was through that mountain pass that the diminishing sunlight passed far over the dense, verdant canopy of the Shadowlorn forest. Beneath those leaves and the fading light, filled with equal parts bravery and concern, was Brandt.

The twenty four year old was no knight, no squire, no messenger or servant. He had gotten paid to do some jobs, he had straight up snatched other opportunities as they had arisen. Some would say that placed him somewhere between being a mercenary and a rogue. Brandt stood in a clearing, deep blue eyes thoughtful as they peeked out from beneath a fringe of coppery orange hair. Well tanned shoulders peeked out from a brownish-black dragonhide vest he'd snagged on a trip into the dwarven mines after the previous tenants had fled due to an unexpected toxic mushroom bloom. His green trousers had been bought with legitimately earned coins, the green leather worn soft and broken in well. As Brandt turned his head one way and then the other, trying to determine direction, two dangly green crystal earrings swung from his ears.

"Now if I were a lost prince, where would I be..." Brandt murmured to himself before he resumed walking, the tall brown boots he wore keeping back the sharp edges of the razor grass he was tromping through. While only a human, Brandt could hear all sorts of sounds in the tree line; birdsong, shimmering glass like flutters of will o' the wisps, even the scuttling of dire-squirrels as they moved through the trees - oddly symmetrical trees. Brandt slowed to a stop, his copper colored eyebrows furrowing as he looked to his right. The canopy was complete, blocking the dying light from reaching the ground, but the branches beneath were all equally arched in perfect match to the next tree, and the next, and the next. It formed a perfect row that stretched as far as Brandt could see, a row that was repeated right next to it and then again and again.

"Okay, creepy abandoned orchard... but any orchard would have had to have a tender." Brandt commented. It was easy to see that the trees had been abandoned after being carefully looked after for many years, but regardless of what happened to the farmer, the infrastructure might have been taken over by new occupants. Whatever farmhouse, commune or fort that looked after the trees would be an ideal place to either find the missing prince or to rest up before setting out again.

Brandt's scabbard swung from his hip, the sword carefully sheathed away as he adventured. It was the rogue's hope that he wouldn't have to use it. After all, his rather flawless pectorals had already been scarred once by a duel that had gone a bit too deep, but if it took violence to rescue the wayward son of the mightiest man in all the realms, he would just have to rise to the occasion. The reward for saving the prince was immense, though Brandt realized that this time he'd have to be more careful with his money. He should have been set up for life after slaying the Basilisk of Briskke but the money had slipped away with too many drinks and too many partners in bed. This time he'd have to get himself a good accountant.

The longer Brandt walked, the more concerned he grew about the size and state of the orchard. The ground beneath the trees was nothing but dirt and fallow nuts that had been cracked open and left as empty husks... at least at first. Brandt had intentionally stayed along the periphery of the orchard, but the farther he walked, the darker it seemed to be. Glistening metallic black mushrooms with silvery veins seemed to pulse and undulate beckoningly, looking as deadly as they were delicious. The round, curved heads rose off of fat, veined stalks that plunged down into the ground with an oily black moss spreading out around the roots. After looking at them for a while, Brandt started to blush, realizing that his mouth was watering and his green trousers had stretched tighter over his erection.

"I really need to get laid." Brandt sighed, wiping some drops of sweat from his forehead, his copper hair flicked back by the gesture. Brandt tried to pass the time by returning to his mental puzzle. There was the risk, of course, that the orchard was so large that he had come upon the 'backside' and it would take the better part of a day to walk around its edge and find a road, if one existed, that led to signs of civilization. By his measure, however, the sun would set far before that. He could already see stars beginning to puncture the sunset and the twin moons were rising behind him, impatient to claim dominion over the heavens.

The rogue's toes felt a little sore in his boots as they accommodated his ever shifting balance walking over slightly uneven terrain. Between that and the slight stinging heat of a mild sunburn on his exposed arms, Brandt started to weigh the pros and cons of stopping and finding some sort of shelter for the night. At least it was likely to be mild. The crickets were starting to chirp, the birds were settling down and the giant black horse with the glowing red eyes was looking right at him. Brandt skidded back, his face wrenching into an ungainly expression of ugly surprise, though that surprise soon gave way to utter shock...

Brandt had seen many horses in his life, ranging from Shire horses to thoroughbreds to ponies and even the six legged horses of Jurattishokki, but he'd never seen anything quite like this beast. Every part of the horse's fur was uniformly black, only the slightest hint of gloss allowing any light to escape. It had a conventional mane and tail, shorter fur on the rest of its body, but its eyes were a uniform, solid, glowing red in color. Its lips were tight, giving no view of its teeth, though an unusually long tuft of black hair hung down from its chin, almost half way down its chest. As unnerving as any of those qualities would have been, however, Brandt was most alarmed by the obscenely, unnaturally, biologically defying size of the erection that extended along the entire length of the horse's stomach before jutting out in front of its front legs, the flat, blunt head almost seeming to bob up and down with the heartbeat of the steed.

"You are not my fairytale companion..." Brandt whispered to himself. The horse looked at the rogue for a long moment before a snort left its thick nostrils and it began trotting across the clearing, heading into the trees. It made it in a few steps before it lowered its head and black lips parted, allowing a dark purple tongue and blunt gray teeth to start consuming one of the midnight mushrooms. Brandt exhaled a bit with relief that he was not in danger, though he wondered just how long it had taken the local horses to take on properties of the mushrooms. With that close encounter under his belt, Brandt decided it might be best to keep walking rather than setting up camp in this particular part of the forest. With care, the rogue ambled on, edging over the route the horse had used to get to his apparent buffet.

****

The crickets had been charming at first, but on hour three it was starting to grate on Brandt's nerves. The sun had set, the moons had risen, the dark orchard was now glowing with blue and purple spirits and there was the vague sound of a horse getting its rocks off somewhere in the wilderness. Brandt had climbed into a tree for relative safety, though it was hardly the most comfortable place to sleep. The red headed rogue had crossed his arms over his chest and bent his legs into a position that would keep him in the tree, but it just didn't seem to be comfortable enough to sleep. An annoyed sigh escaped his puffy lips as he groaned and tried one more time just to will himself to sleep.

With his eyes shut, the rogue decided to try and filter out the noises of the very active forest by acknowledging them and willing them out. He started with the crickets, imagining that they were only metronomes to time his breath to. He then was forced to listen to the horse, but tried to reimagine it as... restless intestines? Gas? He exhaled a bit, trying to put it out of his mind. The diresquirrels went next, then the bats, leaving only... grunting? And it wasn't an animal either, it was clearly a human grunting in regular, even intervals.

Brandt's deep blue eyes snapped open, one boot slipping from the tree limb as he swiveled up and dropped down. He secured his scabbard to his hip once more and started following the noise, tilting his head to try and echo-locate. Each time his head turned, his dangling earrings brushed against his neck comfortingly. After a bit of trial and error, Brandt advanced toward the grunting. It was through some of the trees and at a higher elevation. Mindful not to make too much noise rustling through the branches, Brandy moved over and under, trying not to trip as he maneuvered through the thicker greenery that he had been treating as some sort of natural barrier during his earlier walk. After catching a few spider webs with his face and having a close brush with a possum, Brandt finally started to see light up ahead.

The branches started to thin out again, the ground becoming more even. Brandt caught glimpses of the twin moons through the openings in the canopy. He heaved a little sigh of relief, wondering if perhaps this would give him even more protection from the dark horse. Brandt put one foot in front of the other until his boot came down on something firm. It wasn't just firm, it was even. Brandt looked down and tapped his boot before he used it to brush back and forth, clearing the dust and pollen and desiccated leaves. What he had revealed was a pacing stone, a particularly large one at that. Brandt's heart skipped a beat and he took a few steps, using his foot to tap, revealing the road that he had assumed was there the entire time. It was the road that had been used to get to the nut orchard!

The rogue grinned ear to ear, all but bounding down the path, realizing that the grunting he'd been listening to was only growing louder. His eyes scanned his surroundings in the moonlight, getting a feel for where the road was naturally curving up ahead. The path had been covered by years of leaves, but the road created a sort of natural gap between groves of trees and allowed the moons to be visible up above. Brandt had no problem navigating it, making great time.

A slight inhale of expectation passed Brandt's lips as he came around the curve of the road, his jaw dropping a bit. The road did not lead to a farmhouse, nor did it lead to a commune building. The road wove its way up to the base of an immense tower, a spire that looked as though it had been cleaved from the corner of a castle. The stones had aged and weathered, but their original craftsmanship was flawless. They were placed with such sublime precision and number that it looked quite round. Brandt slowed to a stop, his eyes slipping up the long, tall length of the cylindrical spire, catching sight of the mushroom shaped dome roof at the top before he backtracked, eyes coming back down to the one source of light piercing through the tower. There was a window, a balcony of sorts that must have gone all the way through the spire for the amount of moonlight that poured through it.

Debating what to do, Brandt opted to back up a bit. He maneuvered away from the spire, moving to the farthest edge of the curve in the road before he looked up. With a better angle of view, he could see more of the balcony... and its occupant. Standing with glistening skin exposed to the cool night air, Brandt saw one of the most perfect specimens of the male figure. A broad, muscular back tapered down to a plump and juicy bubble butt clad only in light brown linen. That V shaped back had muscles upon muscles, forming a mountain range of rocks that Brandt wanted to climb. A soft grunt punctuated the evening as thick tree trunk arms lifted some sort of improvised weights on each side.

Brandt strained to see, but from what he could tell, crumbled pieces of tower stone had been fastened together with metal wire and formed around short rods. Whoever the beefcake of a man was, he was hoisting the weights up and down over and over again, the moonlight pouring over his glistening, glossy pale skin.

Brandt had to lick his lips to wet them, realizing only then how long he'd been gawking with his mouth hanging open. He forced himself to look up higher, seeing the shaggy mane of golden blond hair that crowned the back of the man's head. Brandt began to wonder and fantasize, to play scenarios in his mind, one hand idly drifting down along the fasteners on his dragonhide vest until he remembered why he had come here. Brandt's jaw fell open in shock once more.

"That can't be the prince... No royal son would pour so much effort into his physical body... That's not how rulers are..." Brandt murmured. Still, he had come all this way and logic had driven him to discover the tower. The rogue began to wander around the base of it, discovering in fairly short order that there was no door, nor no ladder, no method of ascent that he could see at all. While the spire would not have withstood conventional marshal tactics to damage the base, it was clearly unassailable. With that being the case, if this man was trapped at the top of the tower without much else to do, maybe working out didn't seem like such an unnatural choice.

The red headed rogue had nearly made a full revolution when he spotted the one detail on the side of the spire that stood out, a flat section that had been etched with something. He started to approach before realizing it was in the shadow of the tower and quite illegible in the darkness. Cursing his luck for a moment, Brandt opted to open his scabbard and withdraw his sword, crouching down to angle the blade so it caught and refracted the light of the twin moons. With a little trial and error, a streak of silver light angled across the passage. Jogging over, Brandt used his fingers to start carefully drawing away the moss that had grown onto the stone over the years.

"Illician..." Brandt murmured to himself. He'd once taken a short class on languages of the Eastern Marshes but it had been many years. He tried to piece together the strange glyphs from the detritus in his mind, forcing old cogs to turn before his brow furrowed.

"Bropunzel, Bropunzel, let down your golden hair so I may ascend upon the mighty stair?" Brandt read out loud.

"Oh shit..." A curse came from up above, a deep and yet comfortable sounding voice. A few pebbles fell from the balcony and there was a flash of movement as the musclebound individual peeked over into the darkness before going back inside. Brandt worried for a moment that he had scared his quarry away, but he gasped as an incredibly long braided cord of cornsilk colored material came whipping down from above, making it almost all the way down to the ground.

Brandt stood there for a moment in dumbfounded shock. What in the world was going on? But as he replayed what he had just uttered out loud, there was only one conclusion... He was supposed to use that rope or whatever it was to get up? It wouldn't have been his first choice, but it seemed a lot more inviting than the idea of sleeping in a tree while a midnight horse fucked who knew what. Pulling out some fingerless gloves from a satchel on his hip, Brandt quickly donned the protective gear before he took a hold of the braided rope with one hand. Heaving a breath, he grabbed on with the other and then tested it. Somewhere up above there was a faint scraping as whatever mechanism held the rope in place tightened.

Throwing caution to the wind, Brandt jumped off the ground, bringing his feet to brace against the wall of the tower. With careful precision, he began to ascend upwards, climbing on the rope. Whatever material it was made of, it seemed quite strong and sturdy, yet pliable and soft at the same time. If it hadn't been for the meticulous braiding, he wasn't sure he would have been able to climb it at all. Inch by inch and foot by foot, Brandt worked his way up the long, hard column. The tower had seemed so big from a distance, but Brandt was starting to realize it was almost as wide as it was tall, making it quite the beefy spire to work his way along.

After several minutes, Brandt saw the lip of the balcony jutting out. That made the top of his climb the most dangerous part. Feeling less slack to work with, he managed to use the tips of his toes to push against the wall, getting a slight momentum going before he gave one big push off. There was a grunt above as he did so, but Brandt switched one hand from the braid to grab onto the ledge of the balcony, getting a good enough grip that he switched the rest of the way over.

With nimble grace and a bit of acrobatic daring, Brandt hurdled himself over the side of the balcony, landing in a four point landing. He lifted his head up with his best, charming grin, a moonlit glint in his deep blue eyes and a well timed gust of evening breeze to ruffle his red hair, but his most dashing entrance faltered as Brandt's eyes followed that thick, wonderful braided golden rope as it looped around a support column and then trailed its way up to the jawline of the very muscular, barely clothed blond man he'd been watching before. Brandt twitched, looking at it again, realizing what had just transpired.

"That's... That's your beard?" Brandt asked in stunned shock.

"You're not Father Gothrik!" The beefy blond said in confused quiet, reaching to rub at one plump, entirely erect nipple. Brandt looked around the interior of the spire. It was just one room; a bed, a table, a counter for preparing food and a small alcove with a wooden seat with a hole in it that no doubt led to a chute to evacuate waste from the tower. While the furnishings were limited, however, the floor was littered with more of the man's improvised accessories. Brandt saw the hand weights he'd been using before, but there were larger ones made from pieces of ceiling tile that looked like they weighed as much as a small person, as well as some sort of piece of equipment that looked like a torture rack where vines ran over pulleys and levers to lift up stacks of bones. Brandt looked back into the pale, icy blue eyes of the blond bearded man.

"You wouldn't by chance happen to be Prince Rafael Lionheart, would you?" Brandt asked. While it hadn't seemed that complex thoughts had been operating on the hunk's face before, the shock seemed to drain what remained.

"No one's called me that in... I don't even know how long. I've lost track." he murmured, "Father Gothrik just called me Bropunzel." he murmured.

Brandt thought back to the moss he'd had to clear, not to mention how old the reward poster had appeared at the tavern.

"So, uh, this Gothrik climbs the tower by using your beard too? Doesn't it hurt?" Brandt asked. Bropunzel, or Rafael, looked surprised again. He moved over to the support column to uncoil his long braid from it.

"It did when I was younger, when it first grew in I guess. Then again I learned that if I tied it around the pole here, it only got tight up until there." he explained, fishing his long beard up from over the edge of the balcony. As he moved, Brandt was starting to become aware of just how baggy the prince's pants were, and as he shifted it seemed to be filled with a lot more than just air. It wasn't until he turned back towards Brandt that the rogue saw the thick log shift from one side of his knee to the other that he realized just what was going on.

"Oh my..." Brandt murmured. Rafael blushed a bit, looking away.

"I, I'm sorry, I haven't ever had guests before. You must think I'm hideous." the prince murmured, moving across the room to try and find something to put on. His braided beard clattered as it slipped along the floorboards after him.

"No! I mean, I saw you lifting your weights before I came up. You look amazing, better than amazing actually. I've never seen a man as manly as you before." Brandt admitted with a blush of his own. Rafael turned and looked back, his blond eyebrows going up a bit at that, a small quirky grin crossing his face. While the blond hair that came down his cheeks and jaw and chin all fed the mighty beard that had been strong enough for Brandt to climb, the mustache the young man had was split on either side of the tiny crease between his upper lip and his nose, creating two crescents that curved down.

"You think I'm handsome?" he asked. Brandt nodded, daring to move closer.

"I mean, on top of the fact that you have more muscles than I could ever dream of having? You've grown a beard that would make men envious, and it seems you're packing quite a punch downstairs." Brandt said. Rafael made a bit of a confused clicking in his throat.

"There aren't any stairs, that's why you climbed my beard?" he said, obviously a little confused. Brandt grimaced slightly.

"I meant you seem well hung, in... the other ways that a man can be manly?" Brandt said, pointing down a little. Rafael looked down, eyes casting over his trousers before he looked back up at Brandt, realization dawning across his face.

"Oh, you mean my cock..." He said, "Father Gothrick says that I have a long way to go, that I have to embrace his power fully to become the man I was meant to be... But you think I'm already more manly than most?" Rafael asked hopefully. Brandt bit his bottom lip with his teeth and nodded, moving up, daring to place one of his normal sized hands on one of Rafael's gigantic biceps.

"Trust me, babe, you are the most manly." he whispered. Rafael grinned from ear to ear and turned, grabbing Brandt with both huge, oversized arms in a muscular squeeze that forced the air from Brandt's lungs. Just when the rogue thought he was going to explode, he was unceremoniously dropped back to his feet.

"That is fantastic news! I mean, I've had no one to compare to until now. I thought I had so much further to go to prove myself, but hey, you're like... What, thirteen? Fourteen?" Rafael asked. Brandt's warm and fuzzy attraction seemed to fizzle suddenly into rage.

"I'm twenty four!!!" Brandt protested. Rafael looked confused and he reached up to rub at his head.

"Really? I mean, I don't know how old I am anymore but..." Rafael said before finally realizing how angry Brandt was. He blushed a bit in delayed embarrassment, "I mean, hey, all people are different, right? You can probably fit all sorts of places I could never fit... Assuming I wasn't trapped up here." he said. Brandt's rage seemed to still slightly as he remembered why he had come all this way.

"So you are a prisoner here? You're trapped? Did this Father Gothrick kidnap you?" he asked. Rafael inhaled slowly, then exhaled again.

"Maybe I should fix you something to eat, that's a pretty long story... Plus it might be nice to have company for dinner for once." Rafael smiled before he headed over to what acted as his kitchen. Brandt looked around for a place to sit, opting for the bed over the vine-bone-workout machine. He settled onto the mattress and looked up, watching Rafael try to gather his modest ingredients together to make something appetizing. After such a long day and night, it was nice to just sit... But if Rafael really was the prince, and if he was the method of getting up and down the tower, how was he supposed to get down?

****

A fire crackled in a rather unique looking fireplace, providing light, warmth and atmosphere. Several half used candles were situated around the room on high shelves, adding to the illumination and filling the space with a soft, warm light. Brandt had eventually left the bed and come over to the table, using a barrel to act as a second chair since there was only one. He watched Rafael slaving over the food, moving with a fair amount of speed despite his size. He had to be six and a half feet tall, at least two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle plus whatever his enormous, seemingly endless golden beard weighed.

"Oh yeah, that's the stuff." Rafael said as he ladled his concoction into a bowl, watching the thick, creamy liquid splatter and spread out inside. Once the first bowl was filled, he worked on the second before bringing them over to the table. The muscled prince cracked a wide grin, offering Brandt one of the bowls, "Hopefully I got the proportions right, I don't usually cook for two." he said. Brandt looked down at the bowl, not so much seeing the hearty soup as smelling it. It was so creamy and savory and salty even in aromatic form.

The prince tipped the bowl back and started slurping at it, letting the rich medley slip over his tongue and down his throat. Brandt decided to do the same and sipped at it, his eyes fluttering shut as he tasted the indulgent mixture. It was saltier than he expected, though the salt was backed up by pepper, cream, and a good hearty stock. The soup itself was thick and rich and the warmth radiated out from Brandt's stomach to return heat to ribs he hadn't realized were chilled in the first place. The rogue swallowed evenly, gulp after gulp, though he found himself chewing every once in a while to break up the squishy, spongy bits that floated in the soup.

"This is really good, I mean, amazing with all things considered... Does Father, uh, Gothrick? Does he bring up everything you need?" Brandt asked.

"Mostly. I have a window planter on the other balcony that lets me grow a few things." Rafael said, licking the soup that had collected in his mustache. He had finished his soup in record time and he seemed to be watching his guest closely, no doubt invested in seeing how his cooking was received. Brandt took another few hearty gulps. He hadn't realized how hungry he'd gotten on his journey. He liked to consider himself a sort of professional, but this mission had gotten away from him. As he started to feel flushed, he wondered if it was because he was coming down with something. The rogue reached up to unbutton the top few buttons of his tunic, fingers hastily pulling the fabric apart, revealing a chest that was covered with a dusting of red hair that had not been there before. The prince started to smile slowly.

"Sorry, I guess I got a bit wiped out on the way here. You're not exactly on the road well traveled." Brandt said, breathing harder, inhaling and exhaling rhythmically. As he breathed, his chest seemed to swell up a bit, filling out his vest more fully. His chin started to itch, a rusty orange shade appearing as stubble began to prickle out from his fair skin. He reached up to itch at it, but his finger felt the instant friction of hundreds of blunt hairs.

The heat of the soup bled away as a chill ran down Brandt's spine. He rubbed at his chin, then his cheeks, feeling that the stubble had crept all the way along his jaw line. In moments the hairs were unspooling outward, creeping longer centimeter by centimeter. Tiny sprouts of hair emerged from his knuckles, more still on his forearms. Brandt shook his head, looking back at the grinning prince. Brandt's lips curled into a sneer.

"You did this on purpose, what are you doing to me? I can't be like you, I ca-" Brandt was cut off as the prince reached across the table, his hand cupping the rogue's chin, fingers caressing the rapidly maturing stubble on his chin. The rusty red hair suddenly turned to a gleaming, glowing orange at the touch. Electricity crackled through Brandt's body, bringing with it an intense feeling of arousal, of lust, of pleasure and power. His nipples hardened, his cock stiffened and the hair seemed to grow in response... and as the hair grew, so too did Brandt's cock. The prince pet the hair again, caressing it and brushing it until he grabbed on to the hair and gave it a tug. Brandt nearly cried out in shock. The hair surged out from his chin, so too did his cock as it grew painfully hard in his pants.

As good as the pleasure was, Brandt fell backward from the barrel, hitting the floor. He panted, rolling onto his hands and knees, huffing and puffing. His cock was begging for release, for escape, for anything that wasn't as tightly clad. In moments the rogue had gone from smooth faced to having a short goatee hanging frown from his chin, but the stubble on his cheeks was quickly filling in thicker and darker, growing all the way up to his hairline. Brandt looked back with a darkness in his eyes.

"That was mushroom soup, wasn't it? The dark mushrooms from the orchard?" he asked. A soft clicking came from Rafael's lips as he stood up.

"You are crafty, aren't you?" he asked, his voice growing deeper. As he stood from the table, a sizzling came from the long golden beard. Sparks erupted from it as most of the length dissolved into fiery green sparkles, falling to the floor like granules of sand. What was left rapidly darkened, turning from blonde to gray to black. The prince's pristine hair sizzled away to leave a narrow strip of spiky black hair down the middle of a large head flanked by wide, angular, porcine ears. The prince's perfect nose turned up into a flat, blunt teardrop shape marked by two wide nostrils and the candlelight glinted off of the ivory tusks rising up on either side of the man's mouth.

Brandt watched with horror as the perfect, handsome prince became an intimidating pig man with a long black beard and mohawk. He stretched his shoulders as the flawless skin became calloused and freckled, a curly-queue tail springing out from the hem of his pants just above a hair dusted ass. A wide, flat tongue licked the last of the soup from thick lips as he looked back at his guest and grinned.

"Gothrick..." Brandt sneered. The pig man crouched down, reaching out to caress one side of Brandt's face. His sideburns shimmered with a glowing orange intensity, making the rogue crumple as his beard and his balls both grew suddenly.

"You may call me father... or daddy." the pig man whispered. Brandt forced himself up to his knees, turning back, shaking his head.

"You waited here? For me? For someone to come along? What happened to the real prince?" he asked. The question seemed enough to force the pig man to look contemplative.

"For a while, he was my honored guest... His beard, his manhood, his muscles, they all grew and grew. I fed off him for some time, and he came to enjoy it to a degree..." Gothrick admitted, "But the magic takes its toll. The mushrooms became too strong of a draw. His lust grew unquenchable, at least here..." Gothrick said. A look of pure terror crossed Brandt's face.

"The horse... The super well endowed horse..." Brandt whispered. Gothrick grinned wide, an expression that was rather ominous with his tusks.

"You've met Rafael! That's fantastic, I'm glad... I think he tries to find what's left of the villagers, to share his blessing with them. If you ask me, he really is living his best life." Gothrick said with smugness dripping from his assertion. Brandt shook his head, lowering his gaze as if in defeat, but when he started to look up again, it was with the sole purpose of ensuring his hand struck true. The bowl he'd been drinking from crashed against the side of Gothrick's snout, sending the pig man toppling. Brandt sprung to his feet and stumbled toward the balcony, each step feeling heavier than the last as his pants tightened, his boots creaking under the strain.

"If you jump from that height, it'll be more than just a few bones that break." Gothroick called after him. Brandt turned around at the edge of the balcony.

"I'm not going to become your prisoner." Brandt said with certainty. Gothrick shook his head slowly.

"No, no. You're too wild for that, too much of a loner, a wanderer, a trickster..." Gothrick whispered, "Wily, mischievous, playful but dangerous at the same time... I saw that sharp pointy edge you left down below." Gothrick said, "I think your natural state is something a bit more.... Foxy." Gothrick whispered.

As if the words had been a key to unlock a door, Brandt gasped suddenly, but the air had nowhere to go. The rogue's head felt as if it was being squeezed. His sense of hearing fell away, muffled and muted. His shag of red hair ruffled as something began creeping through it on either side of his head. The unnerving situation rippled its way down his spine as it arched, reaching down to his puffy, bubble butt as the cheeks started to pull apart from one another, making room for a wedge of flesh to wriggle its way free and flick outward. Brandt looked up in a panic as he realized his ears were moving and growing, taking on points as they stretched out from higher up on his head, a dusting of orange hair growing up the backs of them. His green eyes sparkled with a vulnerability. The pig mage merely grinned, reaching out to take half of the tuft of hair on Brandt's chin in one hand, the other half in the other.

As Brandt stood there, frozen in metamorphosis, Gothrick began to pull and twist the copper hair extruding out from the rogue's chin. The hair was thick and healthy, adding on inch after inch as it grew. Gothrick meticulously crossed one patch over the next, weaving in and out as he got a pattern going, braiding the hair carefully. As Brandt's new beard reached three inches, then four, Gothrick enchanted it to continue braiding itself. Orange sparkles sizzled near the skin as the hair was coaxed to continue the pattern ad nauseum as it grew in. With his spell in place, the pig man reached to caress Brandt's fox ears as they reached new heights. The touch forced them to flatten, a twitch crossing the rogue's cheeks as whiskers began to poke out from the soft flesh.

"Oh very nice..." Gothrick said, "Though you'll look far better with your tail out." Gothrick considered, leaning closer to Brandt. The mage took a breath and exhaled, blasting a jet of air right at Brandt's new ears. The pop snapped open the ducts inside his skull, returning his sense of hearing and sending him toppling down on all fours as his center of gravity shifted. As the rogue landed hard, the nub of flesh above his ass blossomed with rich reddish-orange fur, the tip blanching out to a pristine white. Gothrick ground his teeth, his tusks glistening with saliva. He stayed close to his new pet, bringing his snout almost into the fox's ear. "More..." he whispered. Brandt groaned as his tail started growing in faster, his pectorals getting heavier as more muscle filled them. His pants strained and his boots stretched uncomfortably. "More...." Gothrick hissed demandingly.

"You can't... can't..." Brandt moaned. Gothrick's hand shot out, wrapping around the tick nine inch braided beard hanging from Brandt's chin. As he grabbed onto it and squeezed, the entire length suddenly grew a bright, fiery orange.

"MORE!" he bellowed, spittle coming from his gluttonous porcine face. Brandt howled out as his tail stretched out of his spine, his teeth sharpening to fine, glistening points. His tail surged inch after inch, then a foot, then two feet, then more. The fur rippled and shifted as if hit by an unseen breeze, growing in as fast as the tail grew, going from a pom pom to a legitimate length of fuzzy orange fury. Brandt threw his head to one side and then the other, his howl becoming more of a snarl. White fur blossomed across his exposed chest, more reddish orange fur wrapping around his forearms.

The natural sounds of the shifting human had been a sound that Gothrick had expected, but he nearly jumped as he heard something pop, then two more, then several. He looked down to see several black claws pushing through the leather of the rogue's boots. Biting his lower lip with excitement. It had been so long since he'd initiated a corruption. He shuddered softly before he forced his eyes open, holding out one hand. He maneuvered the dark magics, letting them play with the spores the mushrooms had released in Brandt's body. He helped guide them through his circulatory system down lower and lower, pooling in his feet, moving through ever smaller blood vessels and capillaries, coming to the surface.

Skin cells buzzed with vitality as some made room for fur to sprout, others became tougher and thicker, swelling out and ballooning into little pads of flesh on the bottoms of Brandt's toes and feet. The boot strained and stretched, struggling to keep its integrity, but the wiggling clawed toes cut through more and more until it gave out. The boot split sideways across the toes before a jagged tear split up the side like a lightning bolt, allowing a plump, fuzzy white paw to burst forth, the fur sweeping up Brandt's leg and into his pants. A moment later, a second erupted from the rogue's other boot, rendering it obliterated and destroyed for all time. Gothrick knew it was time.

Bringing his hand to the long braided plait of hair hanging from Brandt's chin, Gothrick wrapped his fingers slowly around the thick hair. He brought up his other hand and did the same just beneath it. He would have looked right into the rogue's eyes if his face hadn't been consumed in conflicting pleasure and confusion, but a smile crossed the mage's porcine lips as he tested his double fisted grip on the hair, brought a leg to press against the shifting human's stomach, and began to pull. The beard immediately began to glow with bright orange light, radiating energy.

Brandt's back arched once more, his fox ears going flat against his head as he inhaled sharply. Magic, circulation, focus, and life essence all seemed to have reached a boiling point. Inch after inch of new hair pulled out of his jaw, giving Gothrick ever more to work with... and as it grew, so did everything else. A tiny pop was followed by the clattering of a button as it went bouncing across the floor, Brandt's pants splitting open to allow a very long, plump, decidedly inhumanly red cock to slap against his now furry stomach.

Brandt looked down in confusion, then shock, then ecstasy as the cock suddenly shifted. The mushroom shaped head stretched and curved into a canine point, the shaft itself tapering and contouring to match. The base grew puffy and swollen, abandoning any trace of being remotely human... and Brandt couldn't have been happier. He reached down with one hand, gasping as new black claws brushed the sensitive flesh. The rogue coiled his fingers around his foxhood and started to stroke up and down, whimpering as he felt it growing ever longer and thicker beneath his hand.

"M...more, please, f-father..." Brandt muttered, eliciting quite the grin from the pig that held him down with his knee. Gothrick grunted and pulled again, bringing out another foot of glowing beard from Brandt's face. The long plait hung down at least three feet now, the hair coming out of his cheeks sloped down and worked into the magical braid that kept itself together. As Gothrick pulled, it was as if he was stretching Brandt in countless directions. A fuzzy pillow of orange and white had stretched up behind Brandt, his tail not only filling in nicely but growing to almost absurd size behind him.

Brandt frantically worked his puppy prick as his fingertips swelled into paw pads, his claws elongated and black fur grew in from his wrists to his fingers, almost looking like black gloves. The mage grunted and pulled on his beard again and this time Brandt pulled his head in the opposite direction, applying as much resistance as he could. His beard still poured out from his follicles, and this time his cock slithered up his stomach, slinking past his navel, inching towards his sternum, growing wider and longer and fatter at the same time.

At the moment there was enough room, Brandt added his other paw below the first. He jerked off frantically, tail twitching and toes trembling as the head of his shaft reached his sternum. He leaned forward frantically, a longer than usual tongue lolling out of his mouth to stretch ponderously towards the seat of such pleasure, only barely aware that his pucker had swollen and grown dark, turning to rubbery black flesh. His ass cheeks were coated in fur, as were his hips, his legs, his arms and chest. It swept ever upward, cascading over his shoulders, spiraling up his neck.

The desire to reach his cock seemed to facilitate the magic as pops and snaps came from his skull. His sense of smell grew weaker as his nose began to extend, followed by his lower jaw and his mouth. The flesh grew taut as it extended, new cells filling in barely fast enough to keep the integrity intact. As Brandt's face extended, it narrowed, coming to a smaller and smaller focus point. His lips smacked as his teeth sharpened, dark pigmentation ringing the rogue's eyes like eye shadow.

His youthful face complimented the masculine beard, the contrast seeming exotic and alluring. Where the beard had claimed dominion, it allowed sympathetic fur to start sprouting. The rest of Brandt's cheeks filled out with orange fur, his forehead brightening. The coat that had been slinking up his neck sunk into his beard and in moments the only exposed flesh remaining was his massive fox cock and his paw pads. Brandt clicked his jaw side to side as it settled into a muzzle, his new black nose sniffing before he lunged down, spreading his jaw wide, sloppily sucking himself off. There was still enough room for one hand at the base thanks to his immense length so he did what he could, jacking and sucking himself off at the same time, offering no restraint whatsoever.

This time it was Gothrick who gasped, the orange light suddenly leaving Brandt's seven foot long beard, draining into the pig mage's hands. His own mohawk shimmered with purple light briefly, runic patterns appearing and disappearing on his tusks, neck and stomach. Gothrick fell back onto his ass, panting and moaning before he sprawled out. He let out an exquisite moan as a wet, sloppy sound came from his pants as he came, unleashing a pent up orgasm of some size. He murmured and went limp, fingers idly playing at the floorboards beneath his hands as he let the magic course through his system.

No longer feeling the exotic pleasure of his beard growing, nothing was holding Brandt back from crashing over the edge himself. A salty, savory, creamy flavor erupted inside of his mouth as his fox cock began to sputter forth his corrupted seed. Brandt marveled at how similar it tasted to the soup he'd enjoyed before he realized that the cursed mushrooms were likely not the only tainted ingredient he had consumed, but the pleasure ripping through his body was more than enough to put him at ease - an ease that he hadn't realized just how much he'd been missing in his life.

Thoughts of fame and fortune, of danger and adventure, all of it seemed like so much effort. Brandt briefly thought of how hungry and cold and bruised and tired he'd been just going on an easy assignment like this. Why would he subject himself to that when there was an easier path, a better path before him? When Brandt had filled his gut with as much cum as his body was willing to share, he licked his fat dog dick clean and climbed over, settling down next to Gothrick. He closed his black fur rimmed eyes and snuggled up close, his white furry chest rising and falling as he fell into an easy sleep. Gothrick looked down at the fox boy curiously. He'd been a rogue, a trickster, and yet he so easily became a pet. One large hand came down to rub the fur between Brandt's pointed ears.

****

Days had passed, then weeks. The rich green canopy of the Shadowlorn forest had been painted with new shades of red, yellow and orange. The wind brought with it the smell of fall and the rustling of dead leaves. Brandt appreciated the cooler weather because it made it easier not to overheat during his workouts. The home-made weight rose into the air as Brandt curled his arm, bringing out the bulges beneath his glistening human skin. Pump by pump, rep by rep, he'd added bulk to his arms, his legs, his backs and his shoulders. Brandt always felt deflated when his father's magic wore off and he returned to human form, but he knew with one good meal and Gothrick's presence that his true self would emerge again - and some benefits, thankfully, remained.

Brandt moved around the tower on large, bare feet, his calloused toes having grown familiar with the grain of the wooden floorboards. As he walked, a good fifteen feet of long, coppery-red braided beard trailed behind him, sliding like an obedient snake. The former rogue moved out onto the balcony, lifting the weights, watching the way each motion made his biceps and triceps bulge. It was hard to wipe the grin from his face as he admired himself. His nipples were as large around as imperial coins, his pectorals full and girthy. His hair had grown long enough to tie into a ponytail and his beard... his beard felt almost as good when it was pet and stroked and pulled on as his fox cock was. Just thinking about it made the muscular man horny all over again.

As Brandt continued his workout, he turned to look out over the orchard and the leaf strewn path. He'd caught sight of the previous prince a few times, along with a variety of creatures that had to have once been members of the local village. A small part of him envied them, even fantasizing about just what that huge black horse could do to his hungry hole, but they couldn't fulfill him like Father Gothrick could. Such fantasies would be nothing more than idle past times.

Whether it was by luck or random happenstance, Brandt spotted movement. His green eyes shifted to narrow in on the source. He had expected to see the prince or other creatures, but instead he saw a man... He was tall, broad shouldered, his skin looking healthy and rich, the shade of chestnut trees. His head was framed by a beautiful round mane of black hair and an artful split mustache adorned his upper lip. His leather vest had various knives and implements pinned to them and his pants were form fitting. Brandt's lip nearly trembled a little with hunger and anticipation, mischievous thoughts running through his mind.

The former rogue turned, continuing to lift his weights, showing off the dozens of pounds of muscles he'd added on over the last few weeks. With luck he'd catch the eye of the mysterious man and lure him over. Perhaps he'd find the inscription and entreat Brandt to let down his hair. Brandt nearly drooled, imagining filling the wanderer's ass with his huge fox cock, bloating his belly with his seed, hearing the moans and grunts of another. Perhaps he would present the man to Father Gothrick. Perhaps the mage would let him keep the man as his own. Brandt licked his lips, deciding that this fantasy, this idle past time, was far more likely to keep him occupied. After all, how rewarding was it to ascend the long braid of hair to the tower's keep and fine a wanton, needy prince? Brandt was most delighted to see what he could offer to the role.