King No More

You, Richard the Butcher, Conqueror of the Five Realms, Slayer of Men and Layer of Women, Ruler of the Harem of 500, Enslaver of all Elven Kind, are currently seated at the head of your banquet table. Your generals, those that have survived the campaigns and your wrath, are seated at tables down from you. To either side of you are the ten highest women of your harem, beautiful but lacking in the brains department, as it is better for them to be seen and not heard. Serving girls mill about, naked as the days they were born, offering up platters of expensive meat and trays of spiced wine.

One of the serving girls saunters up to you, an all to definitive swirl to her ample hips as raven hair cascades down her back and over her gorgeous bosom. In front of her, she carries a tray holding a single golden chalice, encrusted with jewels, intricate patterns cover its exterior, a plunder from the conquest you celebrate now. Strange, though, you don't remember bringing this girl into your fold, though she is quite lovely. You'll have to put your staff leader to the sword later though, he can't be making these kinds of decisions without your permission first.

You take a sip of your drink, the rich ruby draft feels heavenly as it flows down your throat. But then you feel a sudden burst of pain starting in your gut. The excruciating pain spreads out from there, soon consuming your entire form. You look down at your arms, only to see them shift and change. A transformation potion, you can barely piece together. Looking up at the room around you, you only see a room full of triumphant faces.

"All of those bastards are in on this," is the last thought in your head before you black out from the pain.