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Clovis' Inferno Written by _ Mandag _ _ Twokinds _, and all the characters from it are _ © Thomas Fischbach _

Part 1: The Wet Dog Inn

Autumn had come to the town of Llwynderw. The lush green foliage that surrounded the keidran town had given way for yellows, auburns and reds, the sun replaced by foreboding clouds. The great southern gates were assaulted by a torrent of cold rain, and the lone robed fox who came striding through was already sodden from the deluge. As he marched through the entrance to the decrepit commoner's district, he was greeted only by empty, muddy streets and silent wooden houses. The only source of light came seeping out through the windows, coating the alleyways in a faint but homely sheen. On a regular day, the fox would have cursed the weather, and taken shelter like any sane long-furred creature would. But today, an observant viewer could've spotted a slight smile haunting the edges of his vulpine lips, and the enthusiastic spring in his step was unmistakeable. He took a sharp turn off the slightly sloping street, and into a dark and narrow alleyway. Undeterred by the looming figures of the houses above him, he navigated the winding streets and corners like only a native of the town could. Most of the other keidran settlements were rather organized and upstanding, much like their human counterparts. But not Llwynderw; the geography and skyline of this city was about as complicated and tedious as its name. The bigger streets would branch off into smaller ones without any rhyme or reason, none of the houses were numbered, there were no discernable addresses, and the slum and middle-class areas blurred together like mud and water. Many of the houses were old and abandoned, but no one bothered to raze them, as they could just expand the city further into the endless forests. As the robed individual clambered up a winding stone path, his ears perked up under his loose hood, facing forward to a point ahead. His faint smile grew into a full, pointy-toothed grin, and he increased his pace further, the thought of a warm meal in his belly, a tankard of ale, a full purse and a warm and dry bed driving him on. As he rounded a particularily decrepit block, he could see it too, and he could finally feel the cold, hunger and fatigue from his long journey seeping into his bone marrow. The crooked sign over the creaking wooden door read "The Wet Dog Inn," And he failed to suppress a tired raspy laugh as he caressed the countless old knife marks covering the center of the door, keepsakes of way too many rounds of knife-throwing practice, as well as the sign reading "No foxes allowed." The current proprietor wasn't overly fond of the southern species, despite being half fox himself. "Inn" was a loose term for the sleazy establishment that lay before the vulpine. Situated in the depths of the criminal slum, it was a watering hole for the gruffest, hardest and dirtiest wolves in town. And though he still didn't quite feel like he belonged there, he had to give the owner some credit; It really was a perfect place to conduct shady business practices for a highly illegal mage guild. The fox gave a satisfied sigh, shook some rainwater out of his hair, and opened the door. After a long and grueling mission, Carver was home.

The sounds and smells from the inn, until now muffled by the thick wooden door, hit Carver like a moving wall as he entered. It was his favorite part of coming here. The first and most intense sensation was the smell; The entire locale was laden heavily with male testosterone and musk, so thick he could almost taste it. The scent of alcohol was also present in its many forms, albeit not as strongly as the aforementioned manly aroma. The second one of Carver's senses to be assaulted was his hearing. The assassin had spent quite some time on missions in human cities, disguised as a gaunt man with a haircut that would make the humans snicker, though he could never understand why. But not even the rowdiest human brothel could hold a candle to the level of chatter and howling achieved at The Wet Dog Inn. Usually only inhabited by gruff and dangerous yet jovial men, the establishment was always alive with the growls of wolves, clanking of platters and tankards, and an evening without at least five drunken fights ending in broken bones would be considered tame. Carver grinned. Of course it would be the perfect place to arrange meetings among associates of the Prince's Guild.

The tavern stretched about forty feet inward from where he entered, with a bar on the right and tables along the wall on the left, most of which were occupied by keidran in various degrees of drunkenness.

The only source of light came from a row of magically powered torches on the walls, and there was no fireplace; The guests would have to rely on the heat of each others' bodies in an outdated yet surprisingly comfy and effective keidran fashion.

Along the back wall was a narrow spiral staircase leading to the upper floors, where one could rent a room, and maybe some company for the night.

But that's not what Carver was here for.

Well. Not primarily, anyways.

Ducking under a flying platter of snacks, and stepping around two burly male wolves in what looked to be in an intense bout of tailtug, he maneuvered through the busy space of the tavern to get a better view of the area. The Wet Dog Inn, much like the town it was situated in, was not designed for easy navigation, and Carver had to duck and weave under quite a few shirtless wolves, and a few naked ones to get to the open floor. The regulars of this establishment were a rowdy bunch to put it mildly, and Carver was still not quite comfortable around wolves; compared to foxes they were noisy and obnoxious... not to mention large. Every single man in the tavern towered over him with almost a foot's worth of muscle and fur, sometimes more. But the canines of the Wet Dog knew not to pick on the young vulpine; A poisoned dagger and a few mana crystals worth of fireballs and telekinesis had taught them that. Magic users were a bit of a rarity in this part of the woods, and when Carver had thrown two wolves who were twice his size across the entire room, he had gained a modest amount of respect from them, and by extension, their leader. The halfbreed who owned the establishment had even gone as far as to make an exception to the no-fox rule and allowed him in, albeit begrudgingly.

Carver stopped near the middle of the tavern, keeping one eye out for drunken wolves, and scanned for the half-fox with the other. But try as he might, he couldn't spot his boss' eggshell-color coat of fur anywhere, nor his highly recognizeable outfit.

Clovis had always been... pretentious with his choice of clothing. He'd usually wear nothing on his upper body save for a long, sanguine-red mantle, open at the middle and held together with a gold clasp, to flaunt his high status in the face of anyone who laid eyes upon it.

Not only did it serve the purpose of reminding people of his alleged high-born heritage, but it also kept his chest and midriff exposed, as many keidran would.

Clovis was a halfbreed of humble stature, probably inherited from his mother's side, Carver thought, and he made up for it not only by way of his overwhelming fortune and power, but also by sporting a visibly athletic body.

One could easily see his smooth and toned abdominal muscles and pecs move with every gesture he made, of which there were a lot.

He had the body shape of a picturesque model, and he knew it all too well, showing up even at formal occasions with nothing but his mantle. Carver sighed. He had really expected for the guild master to wait in his regular spot; Namely at a central table, surrounded by allies and inebriated henchmen.

A growling in his stomach and a wave of exhaustion reminded him much he could use some rest, and he turned towards the counter, a little annoyed. He was in no mood to ask around for someone who should be easy to get a hold of, but decided that his acquaintances at the inn would know.

But the wolf behind the counter was not the usual gruff, seven foot tall bartender, but a young, highly attractive girl with snow-white fur, blue eyes and a narrow snout. "And what can I get for you..." she asked before Carver had time to gather himself. "...Wait. You're a fox. Shouldn't you be somewhere else? Like a few dozen miles south?"

Carver stammered; The inn had some girls employed, but they were mostly there for serving beer and warming beds.

"I... Who- Who are you? Where's Raggs?" He eventually muttered; The usual bartender and daily manager of the tavern was one of the few people Carver would consider a friend. "Off duty today. Sick. But I'm more interested in who _you_are, and why you failed to read the sign on the door." She crossed her arms, and Carver couldn't help but stare at her bountiful cleavage. "I'm a... _friend_of the boss. He and I were supposed to meet here. But I guess he's decided I'm not worth his time. Now may I ask again. Who are you?" "Oh, I just work here. Hired by Clovey personally, so keep your hands to yourself. And I don't see why Clovis would want to meet with a fox, or anyone else for that matter; He's usually not too talkative." This short conversation had already sparked a dozen questions in Carver's head, but he was smart enough to keep them to himself; Why would Clovis hire a woman to run the tavern, even though he viewed them as useless?

Why wasn't he here himself?

What did she mean by "Usually not too talkative"? The Clovis he knew wasn't exactly a friendly character, but he wasn't a recluse either.

The fox grumbled. "I... Look. I just want to talk to him. Had to suck off a mage in Pint's Pass just so he could send him a message and set up this meeting. I know he's around here." Best to stay civil for now, he thought. He had a reputation as an adept mage, but he was out of mana crystals, and even the girl on the other side of the counter was bigger, and probably stronger than him.

She shrugged and nodded towards the back of the tavern. "He's over in the corner, his usual spot. Go talk to him if you like, but be warned; He's in a bit of a sour mood. Think he might've caught something, so I'd keep my distance if I were you." _His usual spot?_Clovis usually sat somewhere near the center of the tavern.

Carver held back a groan. He had been gone for a long time, and things seemed to have changed quite a bit. Right now, he really didn't care all too much about Clovis' well-being; He just wanted the reward for his mission, and then some sleep. "...Right. Thanks for the heads-up, I guess..." He mumbled half-heartedly in response, and turned to the back of the room, where Clovis was allegedly sitting.

Though still quite young, Carver had a fair bit of experience in recognizing lies and half-truths; after all, he was employed by a notorious manipulator and deceiver. And something in the serving girl's voice when she'd said "Think he might've caught something" had set off quite a few alarms in his head. Something about the way her eye had twitched, her voice gone a little bit higher, unnoticeable for someone untrained in lie-detection. But Carver had seen it. Something was wrong. A bit more wary, he gazed over the tavern once again for the highly visible blood-red cloak and glistening off-white coat. That was the one upside to the halfbreed's signature clothing; It always stood out from whatever environment he was in. But the red mantle with the always-polished golden clasp was nowhere to be seen in the dim magelight.

Confused, he scanned the tavern once more. And that's when he saw it. At a table tucked away in the corner, halfway obscured by a supporting beam, sat a robed figure, only the thin, half-canine muzzle visible under an oversized gray hood. He was much too small to be a wolf, and his yellowed-white snout was buried in a large tankard, but there was no room for doubt in Carver's mind; The person under the hood was none other than the master of The Guild, commander of assassins, keeper of coin: The Prince of Greed himself.

He couldn't help giving a slight grin at the sight. Though he wasn't exactly on a friendly footing with The Prince, Carver had always been facinated by his power and wealth like so many others.

Though as he got closer, he started to wonder again;

Why would someone as handsome, powerful and charismatic as Clovis seclude himself to a dark, unseen corner, dressed in an old robe? Maybe the serving girl had been right? Though Carver had never heard of the kingpin falling ill, he was surely prone to diseases like everyone else. The table at which he sat was hardly visible at all from the rest of the tavern, and hidden behind the spiral staircase which lead up to the bedrooms of the inn.

Carver plopped down on the opposing bench to Clovis. Eye contact had always been an important part in dealing with people like him; he had learned that the first time they met.

Though with his eyes obscured by the hood, and his muzzle buried in the large steel tankard, it didn't seem like Clovis had even noticed the fox was there. He cleared his throat uneasily. "Erm... Clovis?" No response. "...That IS you, right?" he added, slightly nervous now. For some reason he had an inexplicable, nagging feeling that he was about to make a very big mistake. But speaking with Clovis always gave him that feeling, so he didn't pay much attention to it. The robed half-fox raised his head from the tankard, revealing a pair of bright red eyes. "Oh. You." he sighed. "And I was looking forward to a pleasant evening. But I guess you can't have it all." His voice was marred by an easily recognizable alcohol-induced slur, and Carver could've sworn the pitch was slightly higher than the last time they had spoken. "Huh. You really are in a great mood tonight." Carver replied flatly, undeterred by Clovis' mocking words. "Is that concentrated sadness you're drinking or what?" He bent a little closer and took a whiff, only to recoil a moment later, nose instinctively scrunched; "Basitin rum?! Gods above, Clovey. If you feel like killing yourself, I'd recommend using magic or a rope. much less painfu-" The half-fox cut him off in a low, seething voice, "Shut up. I'm not in the mood for your sad attempts at banter. If you have any news concerning the whereabouts of your targets, then drop 'em and piss off. Can't stand to look at your self-satisfied mug too much longer." And with that, he lowered his head, once again hiding his face. If the prince's choice of clothing and secluded position hadn't tipped Carver off that something was terribly wrong, then this certainly did; Clovis, while not always an easy man to talk to, was at least usually reasonable, and willing to listen to the input of others.. He'd never seen him an such a sour mood, especially not without a good reason.

Carver opened his mouth again to protest, stalled for a few seconds, and closed it; Playing around with Clovis was one thing, but directly disobeying him was never a good idea, and sometimes directly dangerous, depending on his mood. And his mood seemed downright nasty tonight. So instead of forming a snarky comeback, he reached into the inner pocket of his waterlogged coat, pulled out a small pouch, and dropped it onto the table next to his master's tankard.

"Both dead. Mission is done. Here's the trophy you asked for. A lot more elegant than literally bringing you their heads like last time. The smell was abhorrent." He had decided that being concise and to-the-point would be a good way to go about conversing with his boss tonight.

He was cold, wet, and completely exhausted from weeks of trudging through human lands in ill-fitted boots, and the last thing he wanted was to play mind games with someone far stronger and smarter than himself.

Any investigation of Clovis' alleged affliction could wait till the morning. The halfbreed's hand crept up onto the table and lifted the pouch gently. He opened it and emptied its contents into his palm. Resting on his black pawpad were two rings made of onyx, one with an inscription reading "Together" and the other one "Forever" "I don't know why you would really want these." Carver commented. "It's surely top-notch craftmanship, and probably worth a small fortune, but they don't have any magi-" Clovis stopped him with an abrupt hand gesture. Then, very gently, he pulled back his hood to get a closer look at the artifacts.

Carver Couldn't help but notice the difference in his face; The guildmaster had always paid close attention to his own looks and personal hygiene, never making an appearance without a perfectly groomed face and a glistening muzzle. Now however, his fur was strangely matted and tangled, as if he'd just been on a long journey like Carver, his snout dry and cracked like that of someone who had gone a long time without food or drink. But even more strange was the subtle change to his facial anatomy, some details Carver couldn't quite put his finger on. The prince had always been beatiful, a fact the fox had to admit even as a man. But something about his face looked more... feminine, in a way that he couldn't quite describe, more attractive in a way, even with his razzled and harrowed look. The prince sat there for a good while, examining the rings, And neither of them spoke a word. After a while, Carver could feel his eyes starting to grow dim. The warm tavern was so damn comfortable after the long trek, he felt like he could easily just fall forward and pass out on the table right then and there. But after a while, the half-wolf's voice shook him awake. "Huh. I guess you're not quite as incompetent as you look. Though by itself, that's not really much of an accomplishment." He paused, and for the first time Carver could remember, he looked uncertain, as if he was struggling to find the correct words. "How... Give me details." The question took Carver by surprise. He hadn't expected for his employer to believe him without question. "Uh. Well. It was easier than you'd think. The two you wanted dead had taken up residence in a human city, under a pretty robust disguise spell. Though of course not as intricate or wholesome as my o-" "Wait." Clovis butted in. The details of his mission had clearly awoken his interest, Carver thought. -Nothing better to break the ice than a bit of cold murder.

"I don't care much about the details of how you killed them." He continued. "The mere fact that you brought me these rings is proof enough. To be quite honest, I didn't even expect you to succeed, but I guess even I can be wrong from time to time..." Carver felt another sting of annoyance, but kept his mouth shut. His back ached like no tomorrow, and he felt like he had a severe headache coming on as well. He figured it best to just hold his tongue and wait for Clovis to be done with his berating.

"All I want to know, Carver, is how you masked yourself. I know your illusion spell and human speech is nearly impeccable, probably as good as my own. But did you... say, remember to... uh." The prince trailed off and stared at a point somewhere behind Carver, as if distracted by something. But when Carver threw a look over his own shoulder, all he could se was a group of shirtless, burly wolves arm wrestling a few tables down. He turned back, nervously. This behaviour really was strange, especially for someone as focused and sharp as Clovis. "Erm... Hello? Clo?" The half-wolf jolted slightly, and regained himself. "Ah. Yes. Did you remember to hide your keidran form properly? Feigning a human accent, human clothing, illusion spells and so on?" Carver shrugged. "Of course I did! How many missions have you sent me on across the border? I'm an expert at blending in amongst humans, they'd never susp-" "I don't CARE about the humans you bloody dolt!" Clovis bursted out. "Did you mask yourself from other keidran? Did you mask. Your. Scent?" Goddammit, there it was. The one thing he had forgotten. There was always a flaw in any assassination plot, even the seemingly successful ones, and Clovis would always find them. "Well, uh..." Carver cleared his throat nervously as he watched Clovis' expression darken; This could get ugly quick. "N-no. But... I'm quite certain I was not seen or followed. I-" "You're "Quite certain." Huh. Well that's reassuring." The prince's voice had sunk to an intrusive hiss, almost a whisper. "Do you even have ANY idea why I would want you to avoid being seen by other keidran, or are you truly as dense as you look?" Carver always hated this part of talking to Clovis; The part where he had to shut up and let the prince talk him down. And that's just what he did. Clovis clenched his fists, and Carver could've sworn the air got slightly heavier and harder to breathe in. "I may primarily be the leader of a mage guild, but even you know damn well I oversee more than just scholarly pursuits; you're one of my assassins, for fuck's sake! I am currently monitoring more ongoing missions than you would be able to count on all the hands in this room when added together, and that's only the ones I've started this week. I have made so many enemies over the years that I can hardly keep them apart from my allies anymore, and my only defense against unforeseen attacks and assassination attempts is my own wit, and my subordinates' faith in me. That, and about ten thousand gold's worth of protective spells and charms. For all I know, half the people in this tavern could be conspiring to kill me in this very moment. It could be the guy sitting two tables down from us. Or it could be that stupid, hot-" He had to pause, seemingly to draw his breath. "-Hot-headed bartender that you always talk to. Or it could even be you, Carver. My point is, I have enough to worry about already. So then. Tell me. Why in the name of all that is unholy are you being so careless? The two keidran you were sent to kill have powerful allies, people who would want to see me dead. If any friend of theirs saw you there, or much more likely, SMELLED you, then all they would've had to do is follow you, and they would've been led directly to me." He hovered over the table, his face only inches away from Carver's. "And that would be the end. Not only for you, but for little Princess Clovis as well." Carver couldn't help cocking an eyebrow at the strange wording. "I'm sorry for- Eh. What...-" The prince recoiled slightly, almost as if he was surprised by his own words, before drawing a couple of shallow breaths. He then continued; "You're out of mana crystals, right?" "Completely dry. Have been since I left the human city." "Good. That'll make things a little easier. Sit still, please. This might hurt a bit." The serving girls's warning flashed through his mind, and Carver made an attempt to rise and get out of the way. But no matter how hard he strained his muscles, he appeared to be completely locked in place by an unseen force. Clovis sighed; "It took you this long to notice? You really are slow. So much for that famous "Vulpine wit", am I right? Now sit still. I'm not going to kill you or hurt you. Not much, anyways. I just have to make sure you didn't do anything stupid, and since I don't find your overconfident boasts all that reliable, I'm going straight to the source." He leaned even closer and brough his hand up, his faintly glowing index finger approaching Carver's forehead. Realizing what was about to happen, The fox cried out and struggled against the invisible bindings; "Hey, I'm sure there's some other way to do this! I'll tell you every detail, without any lies or vague statements! I'll answer any question you ask, just..." His ears lowered and he crossed his eyes as the glowing finger got too close to keep track of. Mind-reading was a rather fickle type of magic; Most practitioners of the art would spend years trying to work up a sort of surgical light-handedness, to gently lift the veil between their own mind and the target's, letting them browse their thoughts and memories painlessly. Clovis, however, was infamous for his hammer-and-chisel-like approach to the otherwise delicate technique; Carver heard that some people had never been quite alright in the head after having their brains scrambled by the young halfbreed kingpin. He made one last attempt to move, feeling the panic rise up his neck, but it was pointless; it was like he was held in a vice. "Just please... Don't... read my...mruhh..."

As the finger made contact with Carver's head, it felt as if someone had knocked a hole in his skull. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he opened his mouth to scream, but all that came out was an anguished groan as the guild-master pried his mind open, and forced his way in. "Huh. Rather cramped and dirty in here," A voice boomed from inside his bursting head. "But I guess that's to be expected from someone of your humble caliber. Now let's see here..." Carver could feel his consciousness getting shoved into a corner of his mind as his master started lazily flipping through his memories in reverse order as if reading a book. "Hmm... Miles and miles of trudging through the woods... No teleportation because you were out of mana crystals before you even started the mission... -Wow, you really are broke as hell. Great pain from wearing ill-fitted boots... Wait, why would you wear boots? You're a fox, Something wrong with your paws?" Carver tried collecting his consciousness enough to formulate a reply; "Ghh... Hhumgss ghrr...-" He gave up halfway through, drool seeping from the corner of his mouth. "Ew. No, speak telepathically you idiot." He tried again, this time speaking from inside his own mind; "Humans... Don't walk on bare feet. Would raise... attention... And...-" "...And you also don't know what human feet look like, at least not in great enough detail that you can replicate them with an illusion. I don't really know why I bother asking you these things, I can read your mind. Let's carry on, shall we? Since we're looking at this in reverse order, I'm guessing we should be closing in on the part where you kill them. Ah, here we are." As Clovis continued to look through his memories, Carver could feel his body starting to give out, only propped up by the tyrant's unyielding magic restraints. A drop of warm fluid ran down from his right nostril and into his mouth. Salty. Blood, he assumed. The prince carried on; "Okay, decent work on the actual kill. Poisoned throwing knives, a classic. Though you could've spared yourself the monologue, it gives them too much time to find a way out. I can promise you it will cause you trouble in the future if you keep doing it. Also, if you ever mention my name to one of your targets without killing them immediately after, or worse, letting them escape, You may as well not return. Ever. If you think this light mind-reading is uncomfortable, then I have a few things to teach you about pain."

Carver couldn't really imagine anything more physically and mentally painful than this; He felt like his eyes were about to pop out of his head, and his innards were trying to escape through his mouth.

"Well." Clovis murmured. "Looks like you somehow made it, clumsy and stupid as you are. I'm actually a little impressed; You've been marching for a couple days straight without any kind of rest. You must be pretty tired..." _Tired_was an understatement; The fox couldn't feel his legs, and his entire body ached for a soft bed. "Anyways..." Clovis continued. "I Didn't see anyone follow you, or take note of you in a disconcerting way, even though you smell deli-" There was a fit of what Carver could only describe as intense mental static, as if Clovis was literally coughing and clearing his throat inside his brain. "...Shit. Even though you smell like shit. Yes. But I guess this mission was a success on your part, with the many faults and stupid mistakes you made. And I don't think there's anything else of interest in this dusty and vacant brain. So..."

The room seemed to tilt sickeningly as Clovis started retracting his mental feeler from the poor fox's brain. Carver groaned helplessly and dug his claws into the edge of the table as Clovis wrecked his mind in the way out. All his memories of the last couple weeks were flung about and scattered like leaves in a storm, until the guild master finally removed his finger from the fox's forehead, and let him fall forward onto the table. His nose hit the wooden surface with a thud, and he was left panting and sniffling, trying to put his mind back together.

Clovis leaned back and crossed his arms. "I must commend your fortitude, Carver. Most people void themselves and start bleeding profusely from every other orifice when I do that. Nice to see you got away with a mild nosebleed. Would've been a chore to clean up otherwise." Carver groaned. He tried to open his eyes, unsuccessfully. His eyelids felt like they were made of lead, and his lips like they were glued shut. He decided to stay put for the time being, and use his other senses. He didn't pay much attention to what Clovis was saying, partially because his brain was too strained from the intrusion that he couldn't parse individual words, and the half-wolf's smug mutterings blended into a continuous stream of babbling in his mind. His ears turned instinctively backwards towards the rest of the tavern. The rain was still flooding down outside, painting a dull grey noise over everything else. The snow-wolf serving girl was conversing with one of the other guests of the inn, but he couldn't parse what they were saying either. There was, however, one sound he couldn't quite understand. A soft, thumping noise coming from somewhere in front of him, in Clovis' direction. It took him a couple seconds to realize it, but he came to the confusing conclusion that it was the sound of a bushy tail beating arythmically against a wooden surface. Did humiliating and tormenting his subordinates really excite the halfbreed so much that he had started wagging? He made another attempt at moving, and managed to force an eye open this time. His view from on top of the table granted him a closer look at his employer's face, and in the warm light of the wall-mounted magic torches he could see a few surprising details. Firstly, Clovis' fur was in an even worse condition than he had first realized. His greasy whiskers jutting in all directions, his once royal cheek-fluff hanging limp and ungroomed. He also couldn't help but notice, shaken as he was, the prince's facial body language. His nostrils closed and flared seemingly at random, his eyes jumped back and forth, almost too fast to see, as if he was constantly distracted by something, and his breath seemed shallow and uneven. Clovis took a deep gulp of the basitin rum, and grimaced, having to swallow multiple times. "Well, Carver. I guess this means I'll have to pay you. Remind me... How much was it again? You took a your time with this one, I've forgotten." Carver moaned and tried to open his mouth. After a few embarrassing seconds of unsuccessful groaning and snarling, he finally succeeded; "-Fhiivh hunhrr..."He had to pause for a couple quick breaths. "ahhhn... andh the mannha rod..." He threw his arms over his face in misery; He really needed a drink and a bed. "Mhm. Five hundred gold, and... A mint-condition, unused mana rod." Clovis reclined, sucking at his lower lip. "That's VERY pricey for just two targets... let's make it four hundred, alright? Since we're old pals and all that." Carver made an attempt to protest, but couldn't muster anything more than a meek sputtering. Backing out on a signed contract was cold, even by Clovis' standards. He could feel saliva pooling under his chin. "You're not gonna say anything. I've seen the inside of your brain, and I know you're too weak and afraid of me to speak up. I'm willing to bet that most of the people in this tavern would give you the cold shoulder if you snitched on me for this as well. So, three hundred it is. Plus your...Eurgh." He groaned, and Carver could've sworn the prince sounded a little nauseated. "Your mana rod. That thing is probably more expensive than anything you've earned from all your contracts so far, but hey. A deal's a deal. I'll go... upstairs to get your stuff. I'll be back..." He paused for a breath or two. "...In a while. Don't go -hah- anywhere." And with that, the half-fox rose from the bench, clumsily. Basitin rum would do that to a keidran, especially one as small as Clovis.

Something had been tugging at the back of Carver's mind ever since Clovis had pointed out the main flaw of his assassination quest, and a part of his assassin's intuition had been working constantly since then to figure out what it was. The smells of the inn were all familiar to him; The smoky atmosphere, the musk of a dozen male keidran, the intoxicating allure of alcohol, and usually a tempting aroma from a warm bowl of meaty stew. The scents weren't what irked him. It was the _absence_of one that made him wonder. And he'd finally found out which one it was.

"Hnnnghh... Hey... Clohvisss..." He managed to sputter forth through his slack jaws "Yes?" "Ahhrre... You hidinghh yourr... Scent?"

***

Keeping a mask of cruel indifference and nonchalant charm was an art Clovis had spent a lot of time perfecting; Dozens, if not hundreds of people had been killed at the command of the kingpin over the years, and she had never let it slip. But now, in the dimly lit tavern, she felt the mask cracking a little; She had too many secrets to keep, and Carver was about to sniff them out. Literally.

"Are you hiding your scent?" She stopped halfway up the staircase. How could he possibly know? She had, as far as she could tell, kept her composure perfectly, pretending to care about every stupid little misstep he had done in his mission, just like always. She tried to reply, but somehow found her lungs completely empty, even though she had done nothing but talk for the past couple of minutes. This had been happening more and more frequently this last week. And she had an idea, deep inside, of what it might be, but had chosen not to think about it too much. She could hear Carver fumbling around at the table beneath her, blubbering and whimpering incoherently, feebly trying to form more words. He probably wouldn't be a threat, not in his current state. She managed to force a couple of wheezing breaths down her throat for a quick "None of your business," before bolting up, out of sight from anyone in the tavern. She almost had to claw her way up just to reach the second floor, where her sweaty pawpads slipped, and she promptly collapsed onto the wooden boards, her throat burning and her stomach in complete turmoil. The basitin rum had, in retrospect, probably not been the best idea. She had used it to block out the..._Distracting_smells of the inn, and the burning spiced alcohol had helped smoothen her tongue on many a previous occasion. But this time she had miscalculated the dose, and now she could feel her stomach convulsing, and the bile swelling up through her throat. She barely had time to cast a sound-muffling spell before a cramp forced her to bend forward and retch painfully. But all that came up were a few splashes of rum and stomach acid; She hadn't eaten in what felt like weeks. After a few dry heaves, she forced herself to straighten up to lean against the wall. The prince found herself at the second floor, on the steps of the spiral staircase going up behind her. The ground beneath her swayed back and forth, and the corridor oscillated before her. She gave herself a few seconds to recuperate, before clumsily rising to her feet; The inn had four floors, and she had ordered her own private suite be situated at the top. Things had looked very different back then. And as she dragged herself up the last two flights of stairs, she couldn't help but long for the strong, masculine and unburdened form she used to have. The curse she'd received from the dragon had started out as a manageable, albeit degrading nuisance; Chest wrappings were easy enough to fix, and even though Clovis preferred to solve her problems with magic, she had decided she couldn't be too careful with this particular matter. Scent masking had been even less of an issue. After all, she was the head of a mage guild. So all in all, aside from a few strange changes to her diction, and the fact that she now had to sit down to pee, not much had changed from her days as a male. But these last five days or so, as the autumn storms had descended on Llwynderw, her body had started to change in ways that were mostly unpleasant, but sometimes strangely... stimulating, and it frightened her more than any assassination plot against her ever could. Exterior threats she could outsmart, solve and eliminate. But her own body...

As she scaled the final step, the Prince had to pause yet again to catch her breath, clutching her lower belly. Over the span of these last two weeks, she had been more and more frequently haunted by sudden heartburn, breathlessness, and as of the last few days, an intense itching and eventually burning in her central pelvis, deep inside her groin. The aspect of estrus was never something she had given a whole lot of thought as a male; It had always appeared to her as a biannual time for free girls and good sex. But now that she was burdened with the body of a woman, it appeared as a threat, and she had prayed that the dragon's curse was only skin deep, that her body was only female on the surface, and that she would never have to deal with such womanly issues. But tonight, the infernal burning had spread from her groin and outwards, first up her abdomen, through her now enlarged chest and up her neck, until her whole body was ablaze, from eartips to footclaws. The conversation with Carver had taken a tremendous toll on her mental fortitude, as she not only had to keep her mask of indifference up in front of the dimwitted fox, but at the same time battle her own boiling body, which felt like it was trying to tear itself away from her control. Panting heavily, the guild master shambled forward. The door to her room lay at the end of the hallway, inscribed with her title, "The Prince of Greed." She tried to say it out loud, for practice. "The princess... Goddammit... pretty... prinss hhaah- ffuuuhhk" she stopped, heaving for breath. Not only had the dragon ruined her body, it had also made some alterations to her mind; Her speech patterns had started changing, twisting her words as they made their way out of her mouth. Or at least, that's what she'd thought at first. But after a bit of experimenting, she had come to the conclusion that the disruption was located deeper in, inside her mind.

At last she stood facing the door, yet again completely out of breath. Inside she would be safe; the room was protected by a handful of enchantments of her own making, and she could take as much time as she pleased to figure out how to deal with these bodily tribulations, far away from the prying eyes of the men in the tavern. Carver could wait, at least for a while. The metal doorknob was cold against her sweaty hands, and the hinges made no sound as she twisted it and pulled; At least the servant girl had made sure to maintain the quarters in her absence. The quarters themselves were not quite the standard she was used to back at her estate, but it was still miles better than the dusty little rooms of the lower floors in The Wet Dog Inn; Decorated in crimson drapes, the large living space featured a royal double bed, a small table fit for up to four people, a smaller, much-less-royal bed for her servant, and even a wooden tub. This latter piece of furniture was a more recent addition, as she could no longer risk trips to the local bath-house. A merciful gust of cold air hit her as she stumbled into the room; she had left the shutters open earlier in the evening, in an attempt to cool herself down. The rain poured in and soaked the floor beneath the window, as well as the crimson curtains which were now fluttering in the wind. But a wet carpet was a small price to pay, she thought, as long as she had something to cool down her burning bosom. She locked the door behind her hastily, before letting her trembling legs take her towards the huge bed. This time she made it all the way before her knees gave out, and she collapsed face first onto it, sinking halfway through to the floor, engulfed by soft feather matresses and expensive satin bedsheets. The cold air from the window would normally blow right through her, chilling her to the bone, but tonight it felt like it went no further than halfway past her cloak. She groaned. Why did concealing clothing have to be so damn warm? With a sigh of frustration, she began peeling off the heavy and restrictive garb. Clovis would never have worn such a crude garment if it weren't for her current state. Though she had faith in both her chest bindings and her illusion skills, she had decided that three safeguards were better than one; If the first two should somehow fail, her annoyingly large breasts would be less noticable under the thick cloak. She sat up at the edge of the bed and fumbled with the garb; right now she didn't really have the strength to stand. After a short struggle, she pulled it off and let it land in a pile on the floor. Beneath it she was wearing no more than a thin shirt and a basic pair of cotton trousers, But for some reason they too seemed inordinarily heavy and restrictive, like they were clinging to her furcoat, constricting her legs like a snake. After a short moment of hesitation, she slinked out of her shirt as well. No point in having her own heavily enchanted room if she couldn't undress in it, right? The halfbreed couldn't help but let out a short sigh of relief as the cool air caressed her damp fur; It hadn't taken more than a couple of hours in the warm and clammy tavern to make her sweat like a pig, and the presence of the other males had somehow made it worse. The tankard of basitin rum had amiably served the purpose of keeping the intense and oddly alluring scents out of her nose, but after downing half a tankard she had ben gripped by nausea, and had to stop. Her head and vision were still blurry from the alcohol, and she already regretted taking that last sip.

The guild master looked down at herself and got a slight shock. Her once rich and fluffy coat of eggshell-white fur was now flat, matted and damp, clinging to her skin. Her chest bindings sat tight across her seemingly flat chest, looking like some sort of medical bandage. She couldn't imagine what it would look like to others. But this wasn't what shocked her. Between her legs there was a small, wet stain. It wasn't big or easily visible, but still, it wasn't supposed to be there. Incredulously, she ran her index finger down and touched it lightly with the tip of her fingerpad. It came back wet and slick, as if she had dipped it in oil. Cursing, she started fumbling with the buttons on her trousers; What the hell was going on with her? Her hands felt numb and unresponsive, and the buttons in the front of her pants somehow slipped between her sticky fingers. She felt the jittery frustration rise in her, coated in a tint of panic; How could she hope to rule an entire mage's guild when she couldn't even take off her own pants? She eventually felt the frustration turn into rage, and hooked her lonfinger claw in under the button, pulling it out forcefully. She had dozens of those trousers, and could afford as many as she'd like, so why should she let them stop her? With the front now torn open, she could see her white briefs underneath, and to her disdain, the watery substance seeping through them. She let herself fall backwards onto the thick, soft bedsheets. And then, very carefully, she grabbed the top of her trousers and started peeling them off herself, wincing every time she touched any of the wet spots. She almost pulled her briefs off too; She had stubbornly decided to continue using the same ones as she had before the transformation, and they were now a couple sizes too large, with plenty of agonizingly empty space in the front where her manhood used to be. After a few seconds of fumbling, she could finally throw the trousers away, letting them land next to her coat and shirt. She gave another frustrated groan, and looked down again. Her briefs were utterly ruined, soaked through from the front of her pelvis to the base of her tail by the gooey, clear fluid. She traced a finger up along her wet inner thigh, sampling the substance. Rubbing thumb and index fingers together, she found there was almost no friction between them, thoroughly lubricated. She then sniffed them, before facepalming. Of course, the scent-masking spell. But even though she couldn't catch any scent, she could imagine what it smelled like. After all, she had gone down on a few girls in her time before her run-in with the dragon, and had licked and eaten her way through a lot of ladies in heat She leaned backwards onto the bed again with a heavy, trembling sigh. The traumatic change to her body had taken a much larger toll on her than she had allowed herself to reveal to her companions; her masculine frame and posture had been an anchor for a greater part of her self esteem, a sort of ground wall upon which she had housed her dashing charisma and wits. But what terrified her the most about the change to her physique wasn't her altered form or lack of male libido, nor the prospect of the others figuring her out. No, what made her shudder as she looked at her wet fingerpads, was the growing feeling of warm and needy lust rising in her sternum, a primal desire to put her finger back where it had just been, and dig much, much deeper. These thoughts and needs had plagued her ever since the transformation, but it wasn't until the end of last week that it had become more than a slight nuisance, when they had shifted from a tingling in her stomach to an acute, aching burn in her lower pelvis. She had sometimes wondered as a man, what going into heat would be like. From her experiences with girls in estrus, she had imagined it being mostly pleasant, like an intense lust, combined with a constant stream of pleasure. But this was such a contrast from anything she had envisioned; Feverish and intrusive, it had descended on her body like a bad flu, making her dizzy and sweat-soaked, even when she was cold. And she could never sit close to a man, much less talk to one, without feeling an acute need to... be _closer_to him, as if her body had become a huge magnet, seeking out a fitting counter-piece.

She wiped some sweat from her face and pulled her tail up between her legs, a sort of defensive habit she had been falling back to more and more lately. It was a normal part of keidran body-language, a sign of fear and unease. As a highly powerful archmage, Clovis had almost never pulled her tail up like this, simply because she was almost never afraid. But her new, strange physique scared her. Unlike other threats, she couldn't overpower it. She felt like she would need to explore this new body at some point, but had just never gotten the time to do so. The only person other than herself who knew about the change was the snow wolf maid she had hired, as it would be impossible to hide it from someone so close. Clovis let her hand fall to her belly, and started running it downwards, anxiously. The once rippled abdominal muscles that she had once been so proud of had slowly given way for a smooth and sleek tummy, much to her dismay. At first she had hated how feminine it looked, but as she rubbed her pawpad gently across the sleek navel, the new form becoming more and more familiar to her, she couldn't help but get a little excited at the prospect of having a female body to play with. "A woman you can have complete control over" The dragon's words echoed through her head as she moved her hand even lower, over the slight bump of her lower belly and down to her thick-furred underside. Of course, it was her own body, why should she be so afraid of it? It couldn't hurt her unless she wanted it to, and she was still in control over it, right? She ran her hand through her bushy nether regions. She hadn't trimmed down there since the transformation, mostly out of fear of touching parts of herself she weren't familiar with, but also out of sheer old laziness; She would never let anyone but the maid see those parts of her, so why should she care? Well, now would be the time to familiarize, she thought.

The half-fox felt her way further down, and couldn't suppress a gasp when she found what she was searching for. In the thickest tangle of soggy fur, her finger suddenly met a hard, fleshy protrusion, and the contact sent an intense shocking sensation up through her belly, and into her chest. Though her first reaction was to pull away, she let her finger stay, and pushed down slightly harder. The feeling made her fur bristle and her toes curl, and she shuddered involuntarily as she put more pressure on the pea-sized bump. It was a perverted pleasure unlike anything she had ever felt before, neither as a man nor woman. "Congratulations, Clovis. You found the clitoris." she mumbled to herself, followed by a stifled gasp as she gently rubbed the tip of her finger back and forth. She pulled her legs together, locking her right hand in place, stuck to her ladybits. With her left hand she fumbled clumsily with the chest bindings; her breath had already been constrained enough a few minutes ago, but now she could hardly catch a few snaps of air, much less breathe normally. Her attempts to remove the bindings gained her nothing but frustration however, as she'd made sure to wrap them multiple times, as tightly as possible, to ensure that no one would notice the slight bumps on her chest. She pulled angrily at them, but in so doing, curled curled her right hand, letting her fingers slip down past her clit, and into the fleshy mound below. And this time she was unable to stifle the moan that forced its way out of her, and she cried out in a mixture of surprise and pleasure, loudly, before clasping her hand in front of her mouth. Her head was spinning, and her vision was obscured by a thousand little stars dancing above her. Something about the feeling felt invasive, but she somehow found herself unable to stop her right hand, and dug her finger deeper inside the unexplored areas of her body. One digit was followed by a second, and soon she found her own needy moans hard to muffle as she pumped her right hand back and forth, in and then out again, coating it in her own juices with every penetration. Through a haze of pleasure, she realized how loud her throes were getting, and turned over on her belly, letting her face sink into the soft pillows and sheets. And as if pulled by invisible strings, her butt rose to the air and her tail was pulled to the side like it was frozen mid-wag.

The half-wolf moaned into the pillows as she dug her hand back into the crevice between her legs, spreading it wide. The cold wind from the rain outside did nothing to quell the fire that was roaring in her chest, nor the heat in her nethers, and she could feel a bead of sweat roll down the scarred cleft in her right earlobe. But none of this bothered the halfbreed as her muffled exclamations grew louder, and electric shocks of pleasure wracked her body. Through a haze of ecstacy she could feel her left-hand claws ripping through the expensive fabric of the sheets, but she really didn't care. Her body needed this, and it needed it now.

The prince closed her eyes and let her mind wander freely. It didn't wander far though, only down about twenty feet from where she was now, down to the tavern below her. The scents of the dimly lit room returned to her nose, as vividly as if she was there. Smoke from pipes, warm broth, lukewarm beer and sweat. She found herself bent over a table, with her legs still spread. And as she looked around she could see a dozen wolves standing around silhouettes against the low light. With a shock, she realized they were all naked. Not only that, they were clearly aroused, their red, tapered members poking out from their sheaths, glistening with precum. The half-breed felt like she should be afraid, but the only sensation running through her was an intense need. A need for someone to enter her, fill up the aching space between her legs. One of the figures took a step towards her, and spoke. "Aren't you a hungry one? All bent over and ready. Didn't think you'd be this submissive." He stepped behind her, out of her field of vision. She let out a loud "yip!" as he grabbed her tail and yanked it upwards, out of the way. The outburst was followed by a molten moan as his hand came in contact with her dripping bits, sizing them up. "Wow, you're gonna flood the entire tavern if you keep this up. Guess we've gotta get to the point soon." Clovis felt something hard and warm slap heavily onto her butt, and it didn't take her long to figure out what it was. "Tell me, how bad do you want this?" The wolf spoke again, in a mockingly playful tone as he rubbed his cock tantalizingly against the base of her tail. "Because if you wanna have it, you're gonna have to beg, like the good little foxie you are" She tried to form an angry retort, but all she managed was a breathless squeak. He was right, she really DID need it, more than she had needed anything in life. "G-get to it! I-I _-hah-_command you!" She sputtered, gyrating her hips to rub closer to the wolf, feeling the warmth heat radiating from his firm member, heating her up more than any sunny day ever had. He gave her butt a squeeze, and sighed, almost lazily; "Alright then, little princess. Hold onto something, this is probably gonna hurt..." The warm dick slid off her butt, and angled itself lower down, towards her hungry lips. "Co-come on, what are you... -haah- waiting for?" she huffed, almost out of breath. "Hey, Clovis." The wolf's voice was different all of a sudden. Much lighter and less gruff than before. "Whah... what is it?" She replied, warily. "Master Clovis, are you in there? Please open up."

In a flash, the dark tavern, the smell of beer, broth and cock all disappeard, and Clovis was once again tangled in her own soft bedsheets with her butt in the air, two fingers lodged in her slit, and her entire body burning and damp with sweat. After a moment of total confusion, she realized what must have happened. At some point during her indulgent rubbing, she must've dozed off into a daydream without even realizing it. The prince took a moment to regain herself; The vision had been so vivid, she had really felt like she was leaning her chest on a hard wooden table, and the base of her tail still felt like it was being held up by a strong, manly grip, exposing her labia to a crowd of lusty males. The bed suddenly felt overly soft to Clovis, like she didn't belong on it, like she would sink into the satin sheets and disappear at any moment. "Master Clovis, I know you're there. Let me in, I think we need to talk." The voice came once again, and this time the half-wolf managed to recognize it. Oh goddammit, it was the stupid maid again. "Ju- -huuh- Just a m-moment!" She huffed, slipping her sodden fingers out of herself, and tried to rip her mind away from the fantasies still hammering away in the back of her mind. She weighed whether or not she should put on any clothes, but decided against it; The young maid had already seen her naked multiple times before. As she stepped out of bed, she almost stumbled over on the floor; Her legs were trembling uncontrollably, her knees slapping together whenever she stood still. "Oh screw this" She breathed, and raised her hand towards the door. Telekinesis was not considered to be easy. For most mages it required full, extended concentration to even lift the simplest object. But for someone as experienced and skilled as Clovis, it only took a a flick of her wrist to perform the most complex of motions. At least, that's how it used to be. Now, as she tried to simply turn the lock on her door around, she realized she would probably need to practice it a bit. With the blazing furnace between her legs demanding immediate attantion, she found her telekinetic grip slipping whenever she tried, and failed, to concentrate. After a good fifteen seconds of fumbling however, the lock finally turned, and the half-wolf sat back onto the bed with her tail folded up between her legs, clutched fluffily against her belly. "Alright, come in." Her voice had taken a much higher pitch than she liked, but at this point she really didn't mind. She had more... important matters to think about.