… Crag the Barbarian

You are Crag the Barbarian, mighty thewed and verily hung warrior travelling through Kush. As companions you have a steel longsword you call “poker” and a wooden shield you call… “sheild”. You are on a quest to loot the nefarious witch Selena's lair. You've heard tales of how she lives to the north of Kush in the moonlit forest and she is not to be tarried with. You scoff at the fears of milksop peasants. For you are Crag and you have poker, sheild and mighty thews. No witch can cause your manhood to shrivel in fear!

And woe betide anyone that laughs at you or your companions. Such fools become well acquainted with poker. “Hah!!!”

You set forth on your path to defeat this fabled witch and walk undaunted into her dark forest with your trusty companions. You enter the forest and, after a short stroll over terrain that a lesser man would struggle with, you spy a small clearing ahead, illuminated by the faint glow of a full moon. You step forward cautiously, your hand resting lightly on the hilt of your longsword, poker, as you scan your surroundings for any signs of danger.

As you approach the clearing, the silence is broken by the rustling of leaves and the soft chirping of nocturnal creatures. A hoot of an owl. The chirrup of a field mouse. A shrill bleed of a cicada. Your heart beats a little faster, but you steel your nerves and continue to advance. As you step into the moonlit space, your eyes widen in disbelief at what you see before you.

A naked Dryad stands at the center of the clearing, her lithe form glowing with an ethereal light that seems to emanate from her very being. She is gazing up at the moon with a look of serene contemplation, unaware of your presence. Her hair is a mass of wild, tangled vines that cascade down her back, blending seamlessly into the foliage around her. Her eyes, bright like stars, seem to hold a deep, ancient wisdom that belies her delicate appearance.

You step back in awe and she looks up the sudden noise. Then she snarls and fires a bolt of lightning at you. This is no Dryad! It's the witch!

The air crackles with electricity as a bolt of lightning strikes towards you. You swiftly raise your shield to block the attack, the impact sending a shockwave through your body and momentarily stunning you. You grit your teeth and push through the pain, readying your longsword to strike back. Selena, the witch, sneers at you and conjures another bolt of lightning. You can see the malevolent energy building up in her outstretched hand, and you know you have to act fast.

You lunge at her with your longsword, aiming to strike her down before she can unleash another deadly blast. She quickly sidesteps your attack, revealing her agility to be just as formidable as her magical abilities. You turn to face her again, but not before she sends another bolt of lightning your way. This time, you manage to dodge it, jumping to the side just in time to avoid getting seared by the fiery energy. You and Selena face each other, both wary and prepared for the next move.

Then she casts a spell and your body is lifted into the air. You struggle but there is no point. No purchase. She starts to chant furiously as you hang there. You feel magical energies condensing about you. The world flickers and dims as you reach for you dagger.

As Selena continues her incantation, you manage to grasp the hilt of your dagger, which is sheathed at your waist. With a surge of strength, you pull it free and swing it upwards, aiming for the witch's outstretched hand, where the magical energy is most concentrated. The blade slices through the air, and you feel it make contact with her hand. A shower of sparks erupts, and the witch's concentration is broken.

Her eyes widen as she stares at her hand. At the missing finger. At the ring floating in the air, still worn on her severed finger. "Damn you!" She cries as suddenly she shrinks in on herself. Disappearing in a weird warping of flesh. But the magics also batter and bash you.

The magical energies swirl around you, buffeting you with their intensity. Your senses are overwhelmed by the cacophony of spells shattering and reforming, and you feel yourself being tossed about like a ragdoll in a tempest. The world fades in and out of focus as your vision blurs, and a strange, otherworldly taste fills your mouth. You can feel your consciousness slipping away, pulled under by the maelstrom of magic. Just as you're about to lose consciousness, the chaos subsides.

You find yourself lying on the ground, the grass cool and damp against your skin. Your body aches all over, but you can tell that you're no longer under the influence of the witch's magic. You take a deep breath, feeling the air fill your lungs and the pain recede slightly. You sit up, wincing as your muscles protest, and look around. The clearing is empty now, the witch gone. The air is still, the only sound the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze.

But you were wrong you realise with a growing dread. You are still under the influence of the witch. Your body… it is not your own. It is small. The word comes to you. Petite. Your body is petite. Gone are the mighty thewed muscles and long limbs. The height and regal poise of a warrior. The verily hung appendage that has given you and many a fair maiden untold pleasure. To say more would be to tell and this pleasure is perforce untold! Egads! It is gone. "Crom! I am a woman!!!" You cry in the dulcet voice of a lustful maiden.

Indeed, you look down at your body in disbelief. Your once broad, muscular frame has been replaced with that of a slender, graceful one. Your hands, once calloused and scarred from years of battle, are now soft and delicate. Your arms are thin and toned, but lack the raw power they once held. Your thaws… they are gone. Your chest is smaller, your waist narrower, and your hips curvier. Your legs are longer and more lithe, and your feet are smaller. Your loincloth and sandals no longer fit and are ludicrously large on your tiny five foot frame. As if in mockery your loincloth drops to the ground. “Crom!” You cry, lamenting like the woman you are.

The weight of your steel longsword and wooden shield is too much to carry in your current feeble feminine state, and you let them drop to the ground with a dull thud, bereft of strength. You take a deep breath, feeling the air fill your lungs in a way that is both familiar and foreign. Your voice, when you spoke, was higher pitched and softer than before. You look around the clearing, your eyes scanning for any signs of the witch's presence. She is gone. "Gods," you mutter.

You take a moment to collect yourself, trying to come to terms with your new reality. Your mind races with questions and fears, but you push them aside for now. You need to focus on finding a way to reverse this curse and regain your true form. As you stand up, you notice a faint trail of footprints leading away from the clearing. They're small and delicate, just like yours now. You follow them…