Mordred's Tale - Once Upon a Time in Camelot 1 (Fate bimbofication)

Hey folks, hope all is well out there!

So, traditionally this, the third Wednesday of the month, would be the week where I release a game update! ... Well the early Wednesday took me by surprise so instead have a story, and the game update will be next week. Sorry about that!

This story was a long time in coming - a long while back I discussed the interesting possibilities of Fate's Scheherazade's Noble Phantasm with Zarvex - a conversation that eventually turned into a lovely piece of art he did on the subject. I promised a story! ... But it took a while to work out how to go about it. I think you might be able to see what too kmost of my time when I wrote this one... Hope you enjoy!

(Also, since a few people have asked how the system works, I'll be posting the requests thread for this month's shorts... shortly! Patrons of the requisite tier can put their requests there, and I'll be working on them over the rest of the month. The rules will be explained clearly in that post, but that's the general gist, for those unaware!)

-

Once upon a time…

Camelot, the shimmering utopia that should never have existed – at least, it shouldn’t have existed here and now, in the middle east during the thirteenth century. This was supposed to be the time of the crusades – and yet, of the crusaders, there was no sign. This land, wrapped up in a singularity of distorted time, had been conquered by an outside force, one no one had expected. The Lion King – a potential future of Artoria Pendragon, granted godhood by the power of Rhongomyniad – and her loyal knights ruled here now, and slowly bent the surrounding lands to their whims.

And it was across those lands that the Traveler walked, carefully crossing the golden sands, wrapped in white desert robes that concealed all but the merest outline of her womanly form. Camelot, the impossible city, was her goal, and its distant light was where her eyes were focused as she steadfastly marched across the wilderness. With a mission in mind, doubtless there was nothing that could stop her from reaching her destination-

“Hey! Who goes there?”

… Nothing save, perhaps, a fierce looking Knight clad in red and metal, a large sword resting casually over her shoulders. Mordred, Knight of Treachery and, surprisingly, loyal follower of the Lion King, cut a fearsome silhouette over the crest of the dune the Traveler had been climbing, her dark scowl all too clear under the desert sun.

Certainly, the sight was enough to give the robed Traveler pause, and quickly she bowed, gracefully pulling off the motion despite the sloped sand she stood upon. “Have mercy, my Lord, I beg of you. I am but a humble woman, come across the desert in order to seek an audience with the mighty Lion King. I am willing to offer all that I have in order to reach my goal.”

“Oh? Hm. Another pilgrim, huh?” Mordred rolled her eyes, sounding far from impressed. They were growing more common out here day by day. The King – her father – judged them when they arrived at the gates of the city, determining whether they could enter the city and be preserved, or if they would be cast down instead. Honestly, it wasn’t anything that concerned her. Her job was to patrol the lands outside Camelot and deal with any threats she found – a job which she intended to do to the fullest of her ability. After all, her father had acknowledged her enough to give it to her.

So, this traveler didn’t have to be anything she needed to concern herself with. Even if they were scheming something, as unlikely as that was, they weren’t going to be any kind of threat to the King’s plans alone. And yet… Mordred was bored. She’d been sweeping through the desert for three days straight at this point, and though her existence as a Servant meant that her body wasn’t affected by the harsh conditions, it didn’t exempt her from base human emotion – and three days of finding nothing, not a single trace of the Hassan or any beasts to fight, that was only going to leave the battle hungry knight frustrated.

Why not have some fun with this lone wanderer, then? Just to make sure she wasn’t secretly plotting to take down Camelot, or whatever. Where was the harm in that?

“Well let’s see you then,” she ordered, swinging her sword casually around to point at the Traveler. “Get up here and let me see your face. Those robes of yours could be hiding anything!”

The traveler hesitated, and then, seeing the knight’s eyebrow quirk in annoyance, hastened to obey. She scrambled up the sand dune, stumbling a little on the shifting ground, before falling on her hands and knees at the blonde’s feet. Gently, she pulled her hood back, revealing her deeply tanned skin and long dark hair, her head bowed in supplication.

Mordred’s eyes narrowed as she took the surprisingly beautiful figure in. “Well well,” she drawled, the point of her sword dipping in the air, hovering near the woman’s head, making her shudder with every twitch. “You’re a servant.” That much was obvious – there was no presence concealment in play, so she could detect such a thing with ease. “Why didn’t you announce yourself as such?”

“I beg your forgiveness,” the cowering traveler answered, her tone truly miserable. “But I am such an insignificant heroic spirit, that it didn’t seem worth mentioning.”

“Ugh.” Mordred’s lip curled in disgust. There were many things in life she couldn’t stand, but such pathetic groveling was certainly near the top of that number. “I’ll be the judge of that. Gimme your name – your true one. Then we’ll see what you’re made of.”

It was a loaded demand. Obviously, no good servant who was considering a fight would divulge their true name – to do so would be to reveal all of their powers and weaknesses. Alone out here in the desert, the traveler would be utterly at her mercy. If she meant any ill will, or posed a threat to Camelot, then surely she’d never risk answering truly…

“Scheherazade. A teller of tales, and no more.” But the woman didn’t even hesitate – revealing her identity without even a trace of deception.

Scheherazade – the heroine and narrator of the 1001 nights. It was criminally unfair to call herself a mere ‘teller of tales’, for more than any other, she was the servant of storytelling, a woman who’s words could captivate even the most restless of audiences. Her stories had spread the world over, and influenced the hearts and minds of untold generations in proper human history. Have you ever heard of Aladdin? That was her – or, at the very least, it was part of her legend.

All of that was completely moot to Mordred, of course, who was a far more direct kind of servant, and not really one for admiring the classics. “Oh. Right. A bard. Fair enough. Kind of surprised you even qualified for the Throne of Heroes.”

“I did, to my eternal regret…” The storyteller admitted with a forlorn sigh. “And now I find myself summoned back into life again, to die pointlessly in a battle I have no ability to affect…”

“Huh. Yeah, that must suck.” The knight shrugged, and then turned to walk off. “Well good luck with that. Say hi to my dad when you get to the city!” Obviously this woman wasn’t a threat, and whatever she wanted with the Lion King, her father would be more than able to handle. She was King Arthur, after all!

But before she could charge off over the dunes to resume her mission…

“Wait!”

Surprised, and more than a little irritated, Mordred looked back over her shoulder at the begging servant. “What?”

Scheherazade bit her lip, looking nervous. She knew well that if she earned the knight’s true ire it would be a death sentence for her. But fear it though she might, the woman had a will of iron, and presented her request all the same. “The gates of Camelot are notoriously difficult to pass – the selection is incredibly strict. If you say that the King is your father, perhaps you might be able to grant me an audience with them directly?”

Well that was certainly true – only a handful of the thousands who presented themselves at the gates were allowed entry into the city. The Lion King had very exacting standards. Of course it was unlikely that anyone Mordred recommended would be granted an exemption…

Still, the knight turned and folded her arms. “Why should I? Do you have any great treasure under those robes to offer me?”

Scheherazade nodded and rose to her feet. “Some might say so…” She said, allowing her robes to fall to the floor, revealing her incredibly curvy body to the sun. The other aspect of her legend, after all, was the seduction of a mad sultan – and clad in the skimpy attire of a harem girl, her looks made that achievement very believable indeed.

“Uh.” For once, the knight of treachery was taken off guard. “Um, I…”

“But what I had in mind was something a little more practical,” the beauty continued, suddenly reaching between her eye-catching breasts to pull out a thick scroll. “After all, rolling around on these dunes would be quite dangerous. Tell me, my lord…” Her green eyes sparkled. “Would you like to hear a story?”

“A story?” Mordred frowned. “That’s all? Sounds like a waste of time.”

“Oh, I think you’ll like this one,” Scheherazade said, pulling the scroll open. “I call it…”

A Royal Inheritance

-

There once was a prince, who wished to be king…

His goal seeming futile, he sought out a ring.

Legends told of its power, the grant of three wishes

For great strength or women, or even more riches.

With ring held in hand, the fates could not foil,

His reach for the crown, to be golden and royal.

Of this he was certain, of this he was sure,

His want for the throne was true, noble, and pure.

“Weak.” Mordred interrupted, rolling her eyes. “This guy can’t earn the throne himself, so he needs to rely on magic to do it for him? He’s a cheat.”

“Perhaps so, my Lord,” Scheherazade agreed easily, looking up over at the knight. “And he may learn his folly. But do you wish me to tell you a different story instead?”

“No,” the blonde said with a shake of her head. Instead she sat down on the sands, her legs crossed, arms folded. There was no point in being on guard against such a weak servant after all. “This one’ll do.” She was a bit curious about this prince, after all. “But if I don’t like it, I’ll let you know.”

The warning grin on her face left no doubt in the storyteller that she would not enjoy the knight’s displeasure. Still, she was used to this kind of treatment. Swallowing her nerves, she continued the tale.

The quest then did lead him cross great seas of foam,

Through perils, and danger, and mountains to roam.

And onwards he pressed, until once long at last,

He found himself crossing a great desert vast.

His goal growing near – a cave filled with treasure!

A place that would show off his worth beyond measure…

Sitting on the dune, Mordred allowed herself to picture the scenario – a handsome young prince (a blonde, naturally, in dashing red armour) questing to find a magic ring. It was surprisingly easy, she found. After all, she herself had been on no small amount of quests back when she’d been alive, and even now her days were spent trekking across mountains or wide open deserts.

As Scheherazade continued to speak, the knight let her words start to lull her, bold and dramatic images of heroic adventure filling her head. This was, after all, the gift of the story telling servant – the ability to conjure such captivating images from her words alone. Before she knew it, Mordred found herself carried away with that prince on his journey, hiking in his place across the warm desert sands…

And when it appeared he dove in with a cry,

For inside his hot armour he was starting to fry.

The cave was a break from the dry desert air,

But once he was in his eyes went a stare…

Held bold out before him, a rest on its stand,

Sat that great ring of legend, so shining and grand!

Yes, she could feel the suns heat. It really was so hot in this stuffy armour – she’d never liked that. Spending so long cooped up inside it thanks to that scheme of her mother’s… But phew! She breathed out a sigh of relief, glad to catch her breath inside this cool cave.

Wait a second…

She opened her eyes, and found herself looking around inside the mouth of a dark cavern, her eyes adjusting as she moved into the shadows from the bright sun. The place looked old, worn by wind and sand and time, but she could still see that the walls here had been carved by human hands. Could this be the place?

Place? What place? What was she…?

… Oh yes. The storyteller’s words reminded her. She had been looking for a cave filled with treasures, hoping it would hold the answer to her quest. Cautiously, she advanced in, and found her path blocked by a great stone door – one far too heavy for mortal hands to move.

“Heh…” With a grin, she grabbed it, her arm flaring with red mana, and yanked it aside – her strength far greater than an average human’s. And as it opened, she saw, just as she hoped, a cave filled with wonderous treasures, glittering in gold – and there, in the middle of it all, resting quietly on a plinth of carved stone, was the ring she had been hunting for…

At once he was on it, sliding straight on his finger,

This was no time for doubts, and no time to linger!

He felt right its power, and summoned it out,

Drawing great breaths to his lungs for one piercing shout!

“Oh Genie of the ring, I summon your might,

Heed me my wishes, and grant my birthright!”

She rushed over in a blur of red, removing her right gauntlet and tossing it aside so that she could put the ring on. The thought that this might be some kind of trap never occurred to her – that wasn’t part of the story. Instead, with a gleeful smile, she raised her ring finger aloft, and called its power forth.

“Hey! Genie! Get out here!”

And with a bright flash and a great plume of smoke,

The full cosmic power of the genie awoke.

Wrapping around the prince with a twirl,

A tanned female figure appeared in a whirl.

“Woah!” Mordred stepped back as thick purple smoke suddenly began to pour out of the ring, twisting trails coiling around her, before flowing away and condensing in front of her, into the form of a very familiar woman. “Scheherazade? Why are you-?”

The knight’s eyes fluttered. What had she just been saying? Her brow wrinkled, something eating away at her. Hadn’t she just been… somewhere else? And why was…

No, wait, she hadn’t said anything – that wasn’t in the story. Silly.

Mordred shook her head and grinned in anticipation as her Genie took the shape of a woman she’d never seen before, dressed in a very revealing set of garments that showed off her lovely body well. Before she could speak, though, the Genie got there first.

“After five thousand years I’m released from that coil!

And what a cute Master I’ve been summoned to spoil~

You’ve freed my, my Master, and now I must serve,

So tell me those wonderful dreams you deserve!

With a snap of my fingers and a wave of my hand,

The universe must bow to fulfil your demand.

Your wishes I’ll grant, to the full count of three,

So tell me, my Master, just what shall they be?”

“Yes!” The knight pumped her fist, her grin eager and sharp. Finally, she was going to get her wish! After her long, long quest, her reward was here at last.

Uh… Wasn’t it? Wait, how long had she been journeying? Why couldn’t she remember-

The prince was delighted, it was just as he’d hoped

It was time to claim peace from the torments he’d coped.

“For my first wish,” he cried, “I want to be known,

So that no one can deny me my claim to the throne!

When anyone sees me, I’ll have their acceptance,

Genie, I wish to receive my inheritance!”

Oh. Yeah, that sounded good! Mordred nodded to herself, proud of her decisiveness, her hesitation completely forgotten. This was exactly what she wanted – finally, she’d be king, and father would accept her. “You heard me!” She nodded firmly, giving the Genie an impatient look. “I wish for my inheritance!”

The Genie smiled and she bowed, with a quick knowing grin,

A fitting expression for a mischievous djinn.

The she gathered her magic, her power did flow!

Upon the young prince, it was his time to grow.

Clouds of smoke wrapped around him, his body enveloped,

And he waited to see how his kingship developed.

But something felt wrong there, his body felt funny.

His flesh felt all tingly, he chest warm and runny.

A pleasant haze filled him, set his heart all aflutter,

Drew a moan from his throat, melted thighs like warm butter.

And when the mist cleared, he felt so pleasantly thicc,

But when she opened her eyes, she spotted the trick.

The knight watched eagerly as the dark-skinned Genie began her work, an impressive gathering of magical smoke condensing above her, surely summoning up the power to change the world…

Only to gasp in surprise as all of that smoke suddenly shot towards her, surrounding her so quickly that the rest of the world was completely hidden from view. But opening her mouth at all had been a mistake. The smoke rushed in and filled her lungs, and suddenly a warm, wet, pleasurable heat flooded through her body, throbbing out from her chest until every inch of her felt like it was melting. No, not just melting – the smoke around her had grown so thick that it was practically solid, and now it was pushing in tight, as though it was forming a mould for her to pour herself into…

Each touch and squeeze sent another warm wave of pleasure washing through her brain. Her eyes rolled up in her head, a guttural moan spilling from her lips as her mind drowned in a warm bubbly bath of delight. She was helpless to resist as her form was reshaped, drawn bigger and thicker, until, until-!

- Until suddenly the sensation was over, and the mist vanished into thin air. The knight found herself standing in the middle of the cave once again, as if nothing had changed – but it certainly had.

“What is this?!” She cried, her voice high and shrill,

Her fury a pyre, her glare set to kill.

For her body had changed, she found to her horror,

Her curves had grown out and her face her grown older.

There was no more denying that she was a girl,

She was clearly a woman, with skin pure as pearl!

“What the fuck?!?” Mordred looked down at herself in shock, anger quickly starting to build. Her body was nothing like the one she remembered. She had grown at least half a foot in height, though that was hard to check because her suddenly massive chest was obstructing her view of the floor. And as she moved to lean around, she felt an unfamiliar thickness to her hips that told her the exact same expansion that had blown up her breasts had also inflated her ass.

Her boyish frame had been completely obliterated, and even though her armour had changed to accommodate her new shape, she felt utterly exposed.

“Well that’s unexpected,” said the Genie, amused

“I thought you a prince, but were you confused?

You’re clearly a princess, and a fine one at that.

Why would you hide such a sweet pair of baps?”

“Don’t call them that!” The knight yelled, covering up her chest in mortification. “And don’t call me that! J-just-!”

“Be silent!” The prince growled, her face in a rage,

“This wasn’t my wish! You’re on the wrong page!

Perhaps I’m a woman, but why should you care?”

“Now now,” said the Genie, “let’s not be unfair.

You wished to inherit, and I gave you that dear,

The genes of your parents, awoke without fear.

That’s what you asked for, just what is the problem?

There’s plenty who’d kill for such a fat bottom!”

It was just as she said, the young prince was hot!

Though that wasn’t quite true – a youth she was not.

Her body was mature, though she’d rather eat filth,

That admit she’d become one mighty fine MILF!

“Ugh…” Torn between fury and embarrassment, Mordred stared down at her changed body with gritted teeth. It was… true… in some ways… that she now looked a lot more like her father – at least, her father as the Lion King. And if her father looked this way, then maybe…

Wait, no! She was supposed to be king now, wasn’t she? But there was no crown on her head, and no adoring subjects at her side. What the hell?!

“I wanted the throne!” She cried in protest

Her bigger tits jiggling inside armoured vest.

“Why isn’t it mine? This can’t be all!

I’m owed so much more, a far bigger haul!”

“Well that’s up to your father, the king to decide…”

The Genie explained, still protecting her pride.

“If he’s made you his heir, then you should be king

The celebrated hero of whom the bards sing.

But if not then that wish – it simply won’t do

And we must now be careful, because you’re down to two.”

Oh. Shit. Mordred went silent, realising her position. She’d effectively wasted one wish now, and to fix it she’d need to use another. With that and her desire for the throne, she couldn’t afford a single mistake here…

At that the prince grew quiet, her face deep and thoughtful

Because to waste her chance now, yes that would be awful.

She had to speak slowly, and labour with grace

This quest couldn’t end just with egg on her face!

She chose her words deftly, selecting her need

The ask must be cunning, a great trial indeed.

Mordred wasn’t exactly the brightest bulb in the bulb smashing factory. Cunning plans were not her forte. She could think on her feet and strategize well, but she wasn’t the servant you wanted looking over your legal contracts to scout for loopholes.

Still, she felt she could do this. Yes, she had boundless confidence in her abilities, in fact. She could feel an encouraging force whispering in her ear, a narrator of some great play driving her forwards to act. This wasn’t the right time to doubt or hesitate – this was the time to strike!

“I wish,” she started, yes she calmly stated,

“That my position in court would not be debated.

All would see me and know, that my place was there

No unusual sight, and no need to stare.

Even father must agree, I won’t have them doubt!

Give me what I deserve! My place and my clout!”

There was a slight pause, and Mordred’s brow wrinkled once again. Those words… Were they what she wanted? For a moment she’d almost felt like someone else was speaking through her…

Oh, but of course they were. It was the perfect wish! Why was she fretting – soon she’d get exactly what she deserved!

The Genie bowed low, her chest firmly bouncing

Hid her smile in the shadows while her magic went pouncing!

Once again the smoke curled around the unfortunate prince

And again they felt strange, felt temptation to wince.

It was a different odd feeling that came this time though

One that seeped to her core, soaked in deep and slow.

Her armour around her she felt start to shift

Grow lighter and softer, turned silken and swift.

But that change was nothing, to the one in her head

As she forgot all her sword skills, and learned dancing instead.

And when the smoke cleared, she looked down in shock

Her armour replaced with a loose silken smock

Her big breasts were on show and her hips full displayed

She could certainly be forgiven for feeling dismayed.

The smoke swept in again, and this time Mordred cautiously held her breath. It didn’t help. Instead she found her body going stiff and her eyes crossing hard as the fog shot in through her ears instead. Her thoughts all scattered, a shuddering gasp echoing from her lungs as her brain was given a good through scrub, flossing away all those things she didn’t need for her new role – like that violent nature of hers, or how to hold a sword.

And as those nasty skills were slowly replaced by ideas of what would please a Master in bed, or how to dance so seductively your audience might try to bend you over there and then, her old armour and weapons were steadily melting away. Metal and spikes evaporated, leaving little more than red slips of cloth wrapped loosely beneath her breasts, or lightly dangling between her legs. Were she in the right state of mind, she might have recognized her attire as one similar to the set the Genie wore – or what she had seen a certain storyteller wearing, in a meeting she no longer remembered.

Suffice to say, there was no hint of underwear anywhere in evidence. After all, a pretty royal bedwarmer had little need of such garments…

By the time the (former) knight came out of her trance, the change was complete – both mental and fashionable. The blonde milf could now shake her money maker like a pro, but she had no idea how to tell one end of a sword from the other. Though, that didn’t exactly stop her from getting mad…

“What the fuck is this?” She screamed, “I look like a whore!”

You said that you’d fix this, now you’ve broken it more!”

“But Master,” Genie spoke, her evil glee hidden,

“I’ve done as you said. And all as you’ve bidden!

Your status in court is now beyond question!

The say of a harem girl would never get mention.

You have what you wanted, granted with no hitch!”

Mordred’s eyes flashed, and in her anger she spoke aloud the words being whispered into her ear.

“I never said I wish to be a brainless bimbo bitch!”

Indeed, so in tune with the narrative was she now that she didn’t even hesitate – nor did she notice her critical mistake as the story swept in for the kill.

The Genie smiled and bowed again, a third and final time.

“Thank heavens,” she said, “we’re nearly finished. It was getting hard to rhyme.”

The prince just blinked, her face confused, and that would like continue

For as magic rushed in around her head, thought bid her mind adieu.

Pink mist seeped in and shrank her brain, her wits turned dull and weak

And as the prince began to drool the Genie moved to speak.

This time the knight received no warning – she was too lost in the story to see it coming. Her lips just pursed into a cute little pout as she felt the slightest tickle in her scalp, and then…

Pop!

Her eyes turned wide and vapid as smoke puffed out of her ears, her jaw dropping to hang slack – the only sound to accompany the complete evaporation of her brains a quiet “duuuuuuuuuuuhhhhh…” as the last vestiges of her old self leaked out.

Then she went fully quiet as the Genie reached over and gently lifted her mouth closed.

“Your wish is granted,” she smirked and preened, her freedom now secured.

“That’s three, a bargain, granted full, and that’s the final word.

In turn I’ll take my price from you, a single wish you’ll grant.

You’ll be my slave, my loving thrall, and never say you can’t.”

The prince agreed, and happily, for now she was a slave,

And the Genie took her merrily, enjoyed her bimbo babe.

-

“What came next?” Scheherazade asked the empty air, smiling down at her scroll – where a very brainless bimbo bellydancer posed seductively, staring at the reader with adoring eyes. “Well that is a story for another time…”

With a sigh of contentment, she rolled the scroll back up, and slid it back between her breasts, where it would be most secure. Mordred had been a wonderful catch – she hadn’t known for sure if the Lion King’s infamously treacherous son would chance upon her out here in the desert, but she’d read up on her story just in case. And now, the knight was another one of her stories – ready to be brought out and used however the storyteller desired. Yes, she’d be very useful once her owner reached Camelot…

But that was enough time spent on such tales. Wrapping herself back up in her concealing white robes, the traveler began to walk once again – her eyes ever locked on that shining city in the distance.

And what would she do once she got there? Well, that is a story for another time…