Dagon blesses the gestation of his unholy spawn.

“Nnghh…” Rosaria groans, rolling onto her side. A ripple undulates throughout the bare-assed bandit’s distended, vein-laden gut. Even you balk as her mocha flesh surges outward, now large enough to hold a 4 year-old child. Lurid, misshapen veins weave along the skin of her blood-spattered belly, throbbing with energetic progeny. Her stretch marks darken, now wreathing the circumference of her malignant tummy. More begin cropping up around each of her breasts as they too swell with the unholy boon of demonic fertility. Not even you could have anticipated such a change, but it seems Dagon is pleased with your sacrifice. You look to your dagger and crack a wicked grin.

“Marvelous… I’m one step closer,” you quietly murmur and tuck the blade into your belt. Tremors ripple across the taut, burgeoning flesh. Rosaria was once a bandit of regard but each passing second she spends bathing in the holy man’s blood, filled with the unclean offspring of a demon lord, she slides further and further from her role as a fighter, and closer and closer to a cursed life as an abyssal broodmother. Her teats grow fatter, staining her tunic with mother’s milk. Each of her engorged breasts strain against the leather vest containing them, spilling out of the top of her shirt. You watch a button ping off into the dim light before clinking somewhere on the stone floor of the temple. She was already going to be problematic to move, but this was quickly approaching impossible. Certainly Dagon would benefit most from this particular birthing, but if you play your cards right, Rosaria may pay homage to Grevakhnu’s grace with each subsequent birthing.

Or so you thought. In a bright flash of turquoise light, the sigil of Dagon appears upon the woman’s gravid fecundity, a few inches beneath her new outie navel. Your eyes widen, and fear sinks into your stomach like a stone. Such a mark means that Rosaria has been claimed by Dagon, body and soul. The blood sacrifice. You realize too late that performing such an act upon the eggs of the aquatic demon lord in his own temple meant… you have nothing left of the bloated bandit to offer Grevakhnu. Rosaria’s corrupted womb would forever spawn only the piscine monstrosities of the temple’s master. Damn! Yet, Grevakhnu had not struck you down. You remain alive. After all, you think, her servitor accepted the eggs with no ****. Perhaps this was all part of her fiendish plan?

Though you’re hard-pressed to look away from the glorious and troublesome spectacle of Rosaria’s grotesque transformation, you hear Elizabeth’s armored footsteps clinking closer. Damn. You haven’t even had time to clean up the priest’s corpse yet… you need to think fast. You could lie again? Casting another Charm spell was an option, but you suspect using two spells on one person would be a waste, especially if you find yourself in a pinch later on today. Your mind reels with calculations and strategy when you notice Helen roll over in her sleeping bag. A petite yawn echoes softly around your alcove campsite. Damn. You suspect your Sleep spell is weakening, and you pray it isn’t caused by the dissatisfaction of Grevakhnu.

You grin gleefully when a new plan enters your scheming mind. Sleep spells can be dispelled by the caster, wear off over time, or be negated with a thorough shaking. You still have blood all over you, and the young rogue had long since fallen for your charisma. What to do…