The Akkadian is transformed, but not as intended.

"It helps because I can do this!" The Sorceress laughs.

Taking a good hard look at the captured whore, the witch turns suddenly and gestures towards the Akkadian and mutters a phrase in some arcane tongue. A blue glow suffuses out of her flung hand, which then leaps out from her open palm to strike the assassin on his broad chest.

Frozen in place the Akkadian cries “Betraying Bitch!” as he feels every fiber in his body being rent apart, while the witch cackles and the orcs and the whore advert their eyes.

Using all his considerable might the assassin slides his hand into his pocket and takes hold of a rune stone of Ibis which he carries to ward off minor magics. He knows the witch's dark arts are far superior to this trinket, but it is his only gambit. Once grasped the stone glows warm and lessens her spell just enough so that the assassin can make a **** leap at his assailant.

The witch screams in surprise as the Akkadian grabs her by the shoulder. With his fist still clenching the stone he strikes at her spell casting hand to knock it off target.

“No, you fool!” She yells.

The last thing the Akkadian sees and hears is a massive burst of blue flame, with a thunderous imploding sound, as the stone explodes when it comes in contact with the Sorceress's spell. This unnatural firework is seen throughout Al Areth, but as for the assassin, all that greets him is the darkness of unconsciousness.

. . .

The Akkadian awakes with great difficultly. His mind dizzy and disoriented, swimming in confusion with uncharacteristic surges of great emotion. His strong, powerful body, now seems weak, small and thin.

Slowly his senses return. He seems to be laying on a soft bed with silk sheets in some sort of tent. This leather armor is gone and all that he now wears is but some sort of flimsily night shirt. Finally, he has enough strength to sit up. Shaking his head back and forth he tries to clear his mind and gain control of his thoughts. The sudden twisting of his head causes his straight long perfumed black hair to fall across his face.

He freezes in shock. Grabbing the long silky tresses he gasps in bewilderment. Gone is his closely cropped hair, which has been replaced with scented locks befitting some pampered lady of high condition. In terror he looks down at his body and is greeted by the sight of two large firm breasts attached to a voluptuous female body attired in a brocaded silk dress.

“Xuthal's Cunt!” He swears loudly in an alluring feminine voice that is not his own. Touching his face in vain he feels for his strong jaw and stubbled chin, but instead finds the delicate facial features of high cheek bones, smooth skin and full lips.

Within seconds two hulking pigfaced orcs rush into the tent. Instinctively the assassin goes for his dagger that he keeps strapped to his leg, but to his dismay he is fully disarmed. Turning to face the beasts he is perplexed that they're on one knee bowing before him.

“Are you all right, mistress?” The large one asks with the sinister lisp which is common to its race.

“Umm. Ahh.” He stutters not knowing what to say, while confirming his voice is one of a woman's which sounds somewhat familiar.

Looking around at his surroundings clearly for the first time the Akkadian sees that he is in some sort of noble's traveling tent, which is richly designed and decorated with strange runes. On a nearby table are woman's toiletry items, several large and ancient tomes, surrounded by weird looking candles, vials of unknown substances and other paraphernalia of the dark arts of sorcery.

“Mistress?” The orc again inquires.

Turning his attention to the green skin monsters the Akkadian's eyes go wide, recognizing they're the minions of the Sorceress. “By Mitra.” He stutters looking down at his new seductive body finally guessing the truth. “What has happened to me?”

“Me sorry, mistress.” The brute hisses as it bows its head. “Your spell exploded. You and man in dark cloak knock out. We took you back to camp when guards came.”

“Wait, what?” He demands. “Where is my body?!”

“Umm.” The chief orc looks at the other confused. “In . . . bed? We thought you safe here. Too many guards.”

“No, no, no.” The Akkadian waves off the orc, realizing its confusion. “What happened to the body of the man? The one in the dark cloak.”

“Don't know.” The orc answers a bit scared, concerned he has angered his mistress. “Left on ground. Guess guards take him.”

The assassin's mind races. “And the other woman, what of her?”

“She ran away.” The orc mutters. “Again, many guards, we had to protect mistress.”

The Akkadian gives a frustrated groan and tries to stand. It takes a bit, his body still dizzy from the effects of being magically knock ****, let alone getting use to his new shorter, weaker female legs. Walking over to the table he sees a hand mirror near a wash basin, comb and a bottle of perfume that has a familiar exotic musky smell. Picking up the mirror he braces himself and takes a look.

“Fuck!” He grimly swears, as his fears are confirmed by the image of the lovely face of the evil Sorceress staring back at him.