Glancing away from the sterling plate mail on its stand, Delle Eberia Fontessa regarded the talking tortoise with chagrin. “You’re just… giving me this armor of legend? There’s no… catch?”
“No catch, I assure you, my Delle,” the spirt-reptile replied, fixing his glassy eyes on her. “We of the forest would prefer you control these lands over those butchers to the south who are using this dispute to poach us.”
“Besides,” he added putting a wide foot on the shin guard. “This belonged to Delle Griveria, your ancestor, who charged me with keeping it safe. It’s high time it was returned to the royal family.”
Later, after the evening’s functions and the bustle of the camp had died down, Eberia was pulling on the gauntlets when Q’air entered her tent. Her frost-like handmaiden from the Berserker tribes to the north only raised a pale blue eyebrow before stepping over to help her liege suit up.
As the last buckle clasped shut with a bell-like clang, the warrior-lord felt a rush of power. Her muscles throbbed and her already stunning physique began expanding into the cold steel. Sure that she was going to burst out of the armor, Eberia was shocked to find it morphing around her. Although, to her great embarrassment, the more she grew, the more it came to resemble lingerie and not armor.
However, that was hardly her only issue. Along with her muscles, her pulse was pounding elsewhere. She could feel something about her body changing drastically with each twitch of her being. She had no idea what was happening until Q'air gasped and reached out. Her grip, which was enough to handle a greatsword with one hand felt dainty in comparison to the shaft she was gripping now.
When Eberia spoke, it was not her voice, but the growl of a man that issued from her lips. “I knew this was a prank! Damn and blast that shell-swindler!”
“Oh, I’m not so sure, my–er, Lord,” Q'air said, dropping to her knees and running her tongue along the length of Eberia’s substantial arousal. “Legends of your ancestors speak of a great warrior with a mighty sword–and you certainly seem to be in possession of one. In fact, I would say your sword is still getting mightier…”
Looking down over her much, much larger body, Eberia felt herself blush when she realized the only clothing she still had on was a single bicep-length glove, a single pauldron on the same side with a strap that only emphasized her massive pectorals, a loincloth, and knee-length greaves. She looked like a slice of beefcake! That said, her gleaming musculature was twice–maybe even thrice–that of any man she had ever seen–and her cock! It was huge in comparison to Q'air’s hands and face, who seemed content to worship her massive tool as the Berserker’s attention grew more and more insistent.
Collapsing back into bed, the transformed Delle found herself both mounted by the most beautiful woman she had ever known and thinking that maybe, just maybe, this armor was a great heirloom… (530)