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In the prologue, our ten adventurers discovered a strange vial inscribed in an ancient language.

In Part I, Connor the barbarian sampled it, finding its effects made him an even more bullish fighter than before.

We now start...

Part II - The Refill

Stefan let out a pained groan as his unconsciousness was disturbed. He heard a pained yelp, then some foreign cursing. Pulling him out from his badly-needed rest, his eyes opened, blurred vision barely making out the dark shapes moving around.

One of the nearby blobs grumbled impatiently in Robin's voice. "What did you do?"

"It's just a small cut." Giorgio's naturally melodious voice answered. "It's fine."

"It's not fine." Robin insisted. "Do you know how much blood and shit gets left in dungeons like this? We're dealing with rat-men, not exactly known to be the cleanest of creatures."

Vernon's pompous voice interrupted. "There's not a lot of shit here. Present company excluded, of course."

Stefan groaned again. He was very quickly growing to regret joining up with this party. The trip out had been rather uneventful - a little boring, he felt - and although the pay would be substantial, nothing really made up for a mace to the ribs. Especially when it's with bad company: he was being attended to by a surly cleric, at least when he wasn't arguing with the arrogant fop. At least the vain barbarian had mercifully taken his loudness elsewhere. It was a surprise they hadn't turned on each other yet.

The dungeon was cold, damp and the cupric smell of blood lingered in the air. Stefan wanted to cough to clear his lungs, but even breathing was still painful. "If I'm going to die," he thought, "can they just get it out of the way now, instead of just leaving me here while Robin played doctor."

"I'm going up for some air." Vernon, the fop, once again interrupted; at least, this time it was interrupting the pleasant, uncomfortable silence that had descended on the group.

The mage - Elwin - coughed. "Don't you think you ought to stay down here with the rest of us?"

"Connor didn't deign to stick around." Vernon pointed out. "And we haven't seen him yet."

"Yes, but that's what I mean." Elwin tried to elaborate on his thought processes. "He seemed to be acting a little weird when he left."

Now it was Giorgio who interrupted. "Haven't you ever been filled with the needs of a man before?"

"I don't see what that has to do with anything." Elwin's reply was so loud and high-pitched that Stefan could almost see him blushing. "I just mean, what if something happened to him when he went off to... have some privacy? He drank from the vial. It might have been some slow-acting poison, or..."

Vernon cut in. Stefan was getting irritated; the fop had a habit of doing that. "Well, why don't you see if you can translate the rest of this?" Stefan heard something whistle through the air.

"Careful!" Elwin admonished. "It won't help if you break..." Suddenly, everything got oddly quiet for a moment; Elwin's voice seemed to cut off. Then it returned, filled with awe, his words long and drawn out. "Holy shit!"

"What is it?" Giorgio asked.

"It's filling back up!" Elwin exclaimed, his tone wavering somewhere between exasperation at what he thought was obvious, and fascination at what was supposedly happening to the vial in his hands.

Stefan gave his eyes a long-lasting blink. His vision cleared enough that he was able to swivel his eyes to see what was going on. Elwin held the vial up in the air, showing off the miraculous events for the rest of the party to see. Stefan couldn't see all that well: from his angle, the vial might as well have just had some stuff stuck at the bottom, or equally be completely refilled. The latter seemed most likely, going by the surprise that seemed to be in Elwin's voice.

"This might explain why it seemed like the rat-men hadn't used it." Elwin exclaimed. "Maybe they have been using it, but it automatically replenishes? If it's as revitalising as it seemed to be for Connor, then maybe they were using it as a healing potion, or some kind of energising tonic?"

"Could I have some then?" Stefan wheezed. His head was throbbing, and his chest rattled unpleasantly as he spoke.

The sudden interjection back into the land of the living grabbed the attention of the party. "Er, well," Elwin cautioned, "we still don't know if there's any negative effects. Connor going away kind of put a damper on us figuring it out."

Stefan tried to shake his head. Death's icy grip was scrabbling at his body, trying to pull him away, or maybe just to toy with him. Either way, his chest was crushed in agonising pain. He was quite willing to hasten his death if it meant not having to deal with the constant discomfort from simply breathing.

"At least with him, we'd be guaranteed a test subject that won't bolt away immediately to pleasure himself," Vernon observed.

Stefan, feeling heavy, watched as the rest seemed to agree to the request. The vial was handed to Robin; the cleric frowned but relented to common pressure and the desire of his patient. Robin bent down, placing the vial up to Stefan's lips. The contents sloshed around his mouth. Almost immediately, the salty fluid made his mouth tingle as it drained down his throat.

As soon as the vial had been emptied, Elwin had started to count aloud. As with most of the things the party had done lately, Stefan found this irritating, but his annoyance lessened as the fluid seemed to go to work on his broken body. His next breath was much easier, even so much as affording him to give a contented sigh.

Quite quickly, Stefan felt the broken bones inside him starting to reknit, the damage to the squelchy constituency of his muscles and organs starting to repair. Strength flowed back into his body; the twinges of pain became less acute, the throbbing becoming duller and shallower.

"How do you feel?" Robin hovered in front of his face.

Stefan smiled weakly. "Pretty good, all things considered." His chest sill seemed to crackle unpleasantly. At least now it didn't hurt, and his body seemed to be telling his brain that everything would soon be better than ever. He let his head tilt backwards, sighing again. "Give me a few more moments, and I think I'll be able to get up."

"Let's not rush things. You were badly injured." Robin bent down, gently probing at Stefan's body. The contact with another warm body was, although clinical in nature, quite stimulating. Despite the aches still throbbing in his body, and that Robin wasn't exactly the type he usually enjoyed being touched by, something about the liquid's potent scent - which he couldn't help but smell on his breath - and the touching caused the cock confined in his pants to thicken.

Robin, either unaware or used to patient's random body responses, continued to probe Stefan. Initially, Stefan felt a little embarrassed about getting aroused from the touch: he was sure that all of the others were quite well aware of his growing erection. As his manhood continued to thicken and harden, his embarrassment disappeared. "Think of it like you're in a whorehouse," he managed to convince himself, lifting his arms up to grab at his armour. Suddenly, he felt immensely confined, his skin itchy, especially around the area he'd been wounded.

"When I get back," Stefan thought, sucking in a large gulp of air to no twinge of pain in his chest, "I should probably go whoring." He licked his lips: the rat-men - while not being much of a fight, and having done him in pretty badly through mostly bad luck - had still been one of those fights that tended to stir the fire in the blood.

When Robin relented to his insistence, Stefan got to his feet. They strained uncomfortably in his boots. "That's what happens when you don't have enough coin for armour," he pondered. The old wives' tale about big feet suddenly popped into his head: quite now he could believe it, as both had never felt bigger.

None of the others seemed inclined on sticking around, now that the main reason holding them back was no longer an impediment. They still had to wait: several of their party had yet to report back. Licking his lips, Stefan insisted. "I'm heading outside. I need to relieve myself." It was somewhat true - he did need, increasingly desperately, to do something involving his manhood - and nobody seemed particularly keen on watching him whip out his cock and urinate into the corners whose cleanliness had been thrown into doubt.

He licked his lips again; the thick meat at the middle of his tongue registered the smooth, mandible-spanning teeth growing in his mouth. For a moment, it seemed strange, but his mind quickly focused on other endeavours. Stefan scratched at his hands; the skin seemed quite rough and swollen, and his fingers throbbed as he itched at what felt like invisible insects nibbling at his skin.

Walking up the stone steps on his own, Stefan wondered if perhaps standing up and walking so soon after being a near-death invalid maybe hadn't been a good idea. His feet hurt, swelling to fill every gap of space in his boot. The prickling skin pushed right up against the edge of his armour, making him feel uncomfortably hot. Even his face felt too small, his staggered steps seeming to put the hair on his head on end. Reaching up, he scratched his neck; he hadn't realised he was in that desperate need of a shave. The most unbearable part, though, was his crotch: it had been a fairly long time since he'd gotten some action, and the thrill of battle seemed to have inspired him into being extra thick. Unfortunately, his pants weren't incredibly forgiving for these situations: useful in a fight to protect the goods, but no so much for afterwards.

Swiping his arm along his forehead, Stefan glanced at the thick golden hairs that seemed to bristle out of the end of his sleeve. More prickled down the back of his hand, small tawny hairs spreading out across his arms, disappearing around the time it reached his thick, abruptly stubby fingers. Sweat stuck to the strangely thick patches of skin on his fingertips, punctuated by the long, sharp nails that seemed to be growing as he looked at them.

Grunting, Stefan pushed upstairs: filled with a need to get outside - his breathing felt laboured the longer he spent down here, even for how tight his clothes felt - he forced himself up the stairs. The voices of the others rung in his ears, an annoying cacophony that he was more than happy to leave behind.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he saw the thin trickling of light from the entrance to the dungeon that they had forced open. Memories flooded back, his body straining with other strong members of the party to pull at it. Every sinew of strong muscle seemed to be magnified in his memory; he moaned, slightly muffled by the creak of his armour straining against his subtly growing, changing body.

The sun felt wonderful against the skin on his face, slightly dulling the scratchiness that seemed to creep across the line of coarse hair-like growths that were sprouting for him. Opening the short beak that peeked out between his stretched, transforming lips, he let his large, thick tongue poke out into the air. Reaching up, he dug his short claws into his armour: with the energy he felt flowing through the swelling muscles in his arms, he was sure he could have dismantled a knight in the finest armour with them.

Stefan gasped, his wide, hairy body welcoming the short burst of freedom. Rending apart his shirt, he breathed in fully for the first time in a while. His chest was better than ever, he decided, sliding his hand down the firm, furry muscles he'd just exposed. Letting out his breath with a frighteningly large shriek like some bird of prey, he ignored the voices coming up close to him. He had more pressing concerns.

Bending over, he let out a shudder of pleasure. It was so more comfortable being like that, but the sudden shock of his pants disintegrating into tatters caught him off-guard that he didn't spend too much time contemplating it. Pulling off the rest, he saw his swollen cock, sitting huge between his bulging legs as a sheath - his sheath - started to creep around the base. Grasping the head in his increasingly paw-like hands, he felt a jolt of pleasure through him. His short, brown tuft of a tail wriggled behind him as his hands touched the barbs pressing out of his thick cock head.

Voices appeared behind him, confusing, irritating, stupid and poorly-timed. He turned, eyes burning a fiery red as he shrieked at them in protest. Instinctively, his claws extended: his boots exploded just then, the strain of the claws enough to tear open the footwear confining his paws. The thrill of a fight boiled his blood.

"No," he - or rather, his cock - told him. "You have other, more urgent needs."

Shrieking a warning at the humans, Stefan turned; he stretched his forelegs along the ground, the remnants of the confining clothing scattering off of him as he bounded easily on all fours. Large, powerful muscles tensed under the leonine fur that covered most of his body, the lion's tail whipping behind him.

From his shoulders blossomed giant wings: first appearing as giant lumps of furry flesh, they quickly stretched out, sturdy feathers filling in the gap as he sprinted away. His cock throbbed, leaving a sticky trail for any pursuers to follow, as his wings started to move. Yearning to fly, he started to beat his new appendages as his muscles reknit themselves to let him access more of the strength of his mostly-lionlike body for the purposes of getting into the air.

Taking off, charging through the trees, was almost as good as sex. He shrieked into the air again, one final departing warning that he wasn't interested in being followed. Feeling his cock surge, he let loose a thick stream of pre-cum as his body worked its way above the tree-line, his powerful eyes spotting a nice-looking cliff to perch on for some privacy not too far away.

By the time he landed, his past had been discarded, like a set of old clothes that fit him. He found it hard to care about questing or money or whatever else he vaguely remembered being interested in. Quivering his body, he revelled in the firm strength of the muscles he possessed. Claws digging appreciatively into the dirt, he allowed his wings to rest, folding them up around them, like an extra shield of privacy.

His eyes looked down at the dripping, throbbing tool that pushed out of his sheath. The mating urge throbbed strongly through his head. Frustrated, he cawed at his body for choosing now when there was no other griffins to mate with. The barbed tip of his cock glistened with juices. Moving his front paws together, he rubbed his shaft between his feline front legs, breath rasping in his throat as he shifted his crotch forward.

While the rubbing wasn't supremely stimulating, in the state he was in it was effective enough. The large, round orbs currently resting on the grass twitched in their sack. Random twitches of muscles pulsed through his body, the energy pounding in his body needing some sort of temporary outlet to release. His heart throbbed in time with the gentle twitches along the veins in his shaft. Clear goo oozed over the legs he was thrusting between, leaving a dark, growing stain on the light brown fur. For a few moments, he maintained the rhythm, the gnawing need growing inside him; then his cock started to throb more intensely. Excitedly, he thrust faster.

One final twitch passed through his balls, and suddenly he felt his hot seed rushing through him. Trapped between his legs, his cock twitched, the barb tip widening as a thick jolt of seed squirted out of him. His hips pulled back, leaving behind a wide line hovering in the air, quickly falling to the ground as another heavy shot squirted out of his cock. Having reached orgasm, he relaxed his forelegs, allowing his cock to pump and squirt on his own.

A great sense of release spread through him. It was pleasant, feeling all his cares melt away. Rolling onto his back, he allowed his cock to leave a growing warm puddle on his chest as he blinked his large, monstrous red eyes, his tongue wagging between the open parts of his beak. Turning to lie on his front, he used the friction to work out the last dregs of fluid from his body, and to wipe his sticky fluids off of him.

Hunger started to fill his mind. Images came to his mind: a goat in a field; a deer peeking out of the forest, if he was lucky. With his wings spreading to their full span, he rose to his feet, running to build up speed. Soaring into the air, a griffin went hunting.