Corrupting a Paladin (WIP Preview)

WARNING THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN: Female Slobification (Weight Gain, Burping, and Farting)

   From the maw of a perilous dungeon, a troupe of adventurers walked out with their bodies exhausted and sacks of treasures carried upon their backs. It had been a typical quest to retrieve stolen goods from a bandit horde of goblins. While the little monsters were easy to disperse, their sheer numbers had made them formidable foes for the experienced team. Regardless of their skill, all of them needed a well-deserved break.

   After surveying a nearby clearing to ensure his group was safe, Troth the half-orc laid down his axe and got to work setting up the tents. Muscles bound by thick, grey skin designated him as the muscle of the group. Despite his gruff appearance gifted to him by his physique, weathered, leather armor, and the savage tusks sticking out of his mouth, he was the default leader of the group due to his talents for keeping the group both safe and always capable of finding employment.

   While the rest of the group rolled out their bed rolls, Myathe used her experience living among her fellow elves in the forest to scrounge up firewood. Her sharp, silver eyes sent her lithe body bounding through the trees to collect the perfect branches for their needs. Her braid of chestnut brown hair swung against her hand-made bow, both features a sign of her deadly beauty.

   With the others focused on their tasks, the less savory member of their group hid away behind a boulder with his bag of goods, his small stature as a halfling keeping him perfectly hidden. Lifting up the brim of his pointed, black hat, and pushing back his bangs of brown hair, he surveyed the sack of stolen good for anything worth lying to townsfolk about “accidentally” losing. Sifting through treasures and jewels, his interests were purely on any objects brimming with magical power. His search bared fruit as he wrapped his fingers around a spell scroll bearing unknown marking. Just as he was about to unfurl the scroll to transfer the magic into his spell book, he heard a familiar clink of plate armor from around the corner. He managed to stuff the scroll into his robe just as the moral backbone of the group made her appearance.

   Standing at twice the height as the diminutive halfling, Alma was a sight to behold with her flowing, golden blonde hair. The bulky silver armor adorning her had saved her life many times and her teammates even more. While the majority of her armor was made for function, a exception was made for the bright blue scarf around her thin neck depicting the holy symbol of her god. Beneath the thick metal lied a body of toned muscles that helped her repel the evils she faced during their various quests. At her waist was fastened a silver longsword, the sight of it making the halfling recall the numerous times she had thwarted his attempts to “borrow” it.

   “What do you think you’re doing, Corrin?” Alma asked, in the same way a mother would ask a child if they had gotten into a cookie jar.

   “Just examining the loot-er, stolen goods to ensure that nothing is out of place or broken.”

   No sooner did Corrin show off his well-rehearsed grin was the sack of loot snatched away from him.

   “I’ll be holding onto this until we get back to town,” Alma declared, slinging the bag over her shoulder. “Now hand me what’s behind your back and I’ll consider your sins forgiven. At least, for this transgression.”

   “Nothing escapes you, does it?” Corrin replied, tightening his grip on the scroll.

   “That wasn’t a request,” she said, holding out her hand. “You know as well as I, that these items are the townspeople’s most valuable possessions.”

   “And you should also know how little they’re willing to pay us for returning them. I’m just trying to get something worthwhile out of nearly having my neck filled with more than the recommended amount of knives.”

   Alma shook her head and muttered a short prayer for her companion. “How can you say that? Haven’t you learned what it means to truly be an adventurer?”

   “To risk our lives for the lazy and incompetent?” Corrin asked, only half-joking.

   “No,” Alma replied, putting a fist to her chest. “It is to protect the weak and uphold the virtues of justice. There is no greater reward than knowing that our work is making the world a better place.”

   “Well good for you,” Corrin said as he leapt to his feet, “but I’ll take a more tangible reward, thank you very much.” His retreat back to camp was halted by Alma stepping in front of him. “Come on. At least let me have this one.”

   Alma replied with an outstretched hand and a glaring stare. Letting out a sigh, Corrin began to pull the scroll from out of his robe to give to her. Moments before the parchment touched her gauntlet, he made a backwards jump to land atop the boulder.

   “Get back down here right now!” Alma shouted.

   “I will, I will,” Corrin said, quickly unfurling the scroll. “Just give me an hour or two to transcribe whatever spell is in here into my book. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I don’t even know what it does.”

   “All the more reason you have to return it to its rightful owner,” Alma said as she began to climb up the rock.

   Corrin’s fingers began to shake as he was reminded of the paladin’s surprising dexterity as she ascended the boulder. The halfling’s panicked state kept him from extracting anything worthwhile from the scroll. Each passing second brought Alma closer to reaching his perch and putting him on the receiving end of her divine smite. Through a combination of fear and instincts, Corrin mindlessly read off the incantations on the scroll.

   A blast of green energy shot out from the parchment to hit Alma in her chest. The sound of the paladin crashing to the ground was more than enough to attract the attention of Troth and Myathe. When they arrived, they found an unconscious Alma sprawled out on the forest floor and a guilty looking Corrin clinging to the burned up remnants of the used-up spell scroll.

   While Myathe tended to their fallen comrade, Troth turned his gaze towards the shivering halfling “What in the hell happened?”

   “I-it was an accident. She saw me going through the bag of loot and tried to stop me, so I panicked.”

   “Dammit, what’s wrong with you?”

   “I have a condition!” Corrin shot back. “And I’d appreciate it you didn’t mock me for it.”

   Troth slammed his fists together. “Oh, I’ll do much worse considering what you’ve done to Alma.”

   “Don’t rip off his head yet,” Myathe mercifully commented. “She’s still breathing at least.”

   Pulling the halfling from his perch, Troth tossed him onto the ground. “Get to work. You can think of a way to make it up to her, after you’ve undone whatever spell you cast on her.”

   “Fine, fine,” Corrin replied, moving about his hands. Letting magic flow through his veins, he spoke the incantations needed to dispel whatever magic had overtaken Alma. Letting the spell fly, the magic reached the paladin only to come bouncing off with no effect.

   “Did it work?” Troth asked.

   “His face says otherwise,” Myathe answered.

   “Sorry, sorry, I don’t know what went wrong,” Corrin said, ready to dash off into the woods at a moment’s notice.

   Troth snarled. “Why not? It’s your spell. You should be able to end it.”

   Corrin tapping his fingers together. “Not…exactly.”

   Troth clenched his teeth. “Explain.”

   “I might have…accidentally…through no one’s fault…used a spell scroll.”

   “What spell was it?” Myathe spoke, putting her hand against Troth’s chest as a means to keep his anger at bay.

   “I’m not sure. When the spell fired off, the scroll burned up. I have no way of knowing what kind of spell it was.”

   Troth stepped forward and Corrin braced himself for a punch to the face. Once again, his inevitable punishment was put on hold by Myathe’s quick movements.

   “We can pummel him after Alma’s been healed up,” the elf said. “Corrin, conjure up that disc thingy and put Alma on it. Head into to town with her and we’ll meet up with you later.”

   Rather than risk earning more of his leader’s wrath, Corrin got to work summoning a magical disk to carry his motionless teammate. Struggling to get her up on the makeshift cart, he set off towards town without chance to pocket any loot for his trouble. Arriving in town several hours later, he tried to ignore the strange gazes he and Alma received as he made his way to the nearest inn.

   Pushing through the door with Alma in tow, the riotous drinking and conversation of the other patrons stopped as he entered. Silently making his way to the counter, he called up the inn keeper and slammed enough gold on the table to pay for a night. Pocketing the change, the innkeeper gestured for him to follow her upstairs.

   Thankful that the innkeeper knew the about Corrin’s group well enough to not ask any questions, Corrin heaved Alma onto the bed. Taking off her armor piece by piece, he was surprised to find soft flesh buried beneath it. Bringing her down to her underclothes, he started to turn away to go back downstairs and wait for the rest of his team.

   Corrin stopped as he heard an unruly rumbling emanate from Alma. Spurred by his curiosity, the turned back towards his companion. Putting his hand to her belly, he could definitely feel the pudgy belly that had quickly overtaken her once chiseled abs. Continuing to poke and prod her gut brought out more of the strange noises. It all came to an end as Corrin was pushed back by a squeaky fart forcing itself out of Alma’s rear.

   Reeling from the rancid odor, Corrin turned back on his heels and ran for the door. Entering the hallway, he took a deep breath to rid himself of the toxic air. The moment’s reprieve was just long enough for him to consider the variety of awful things his wayward spell may have caused. Wincing as he heard another fart from inside Alma’s room, he descended back to the tavern area to await his other teammates.