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66"Something's bothering you," Kret speaks without turning around. "And it's getting annoying.

"Apologies, mistress Kret," Gavit says, keeping his head low now. He bends a sore knee to her, awkwardly keeping himself low below his queen.

"Spit your concerns out. I can't have you second-guessing yourself this late into things. I need to know if I should be done with you or not."

"Ah, right, my lady. It's just that... the Paladins of Love had sent their finest here. I've met with him before, Tybalt the Half-Elf. He is quite skilled in the ways of love, and yet, he fell to the temptations of the dark mistress who used to reside here."

"Yes, I know about this Tybalt," Kret says. "His mind was strong and his devotion to his order stronger, and he needed to be broken in mind to change himself." She smirks, "For you, it took being broken in body."

He grips at his stump, scowling. "That isn't... that's not why I serve you."

"I know," she says, turning to face him. She raises her hand, closing her eyes. Green magical energy erupts from her fingertips and flies for the subservient kobold, and it hits his chest and shoulder where his arm once was when it strikes him.

Burning pain sears through destroyed flesh and lingers deep within him. He tenses and holds himself resolute, despite the tear that wells up in the corner of his eye. He grits his teeth, breathing quickly as the acid works through his body. And yet, he does not experience the dissolving of the material eating away at his flesh. Instead, the strange sensation moves and alters things, closing wounds and stretching scales until the acid disappears, leaving only faint scars where the grievous wounds once were.

"I... my lady?"

"Can't have you bleeding all over the place. Now, about the look... I'm sure we can do something about that as well."

With a wave of her hand, the wall beside shifts and pulls apart, bricks undoing and rolling away, revealing a passage further into the tower. She beckons Gavit to follow her, saying. "When I took this place as my own, I inherited all sorts of wonderful toys, including this."

As the two venture deeper into this hidden passageway, it becomes more apparent that the constant striking of a hammer upon metal is beyond. With each step, the heat rises, beckoning the kobolds with its disquieting comfort. The sudden change sends a strange reflexive shudder down Gavit's body, and what he sees is a marvel indeed.

A massive forge, tinted red with smelting and furnaces, fills a grand chamber. And the one who operates this forge is a serpentine dressed in an apron. Her muscular arms strike at a glowing lump of metal, taking on form in the mind of the master crafter before them.

"This one is bound here," Kret says. "She has her uses, especially now, and she knows what I like in a man." She turns her attention to the blacksmith.

The smith nods but focuses on her work.

"I'll leave the two of you here," Kret says, stroking her finger over the stump. "Make yourself anew in the fire, my knight. I want to see the true you, born in the flames of this furnace."

She steps past them, leaving the two alone in the forge. The great salamander continues with her work, but she speaks up, saying. "Shall we get to work, oh knight Gavit?"

Gavit nods. "Yes... let's."

--

The great dragon that rules this tower spends much of her time plotting. Her schemes, of course, are inscrutable to those of the much shorter-lived species, but this one has a particular goal in mind as she watches upon her viewing globe. "So, that pathetic pinkie has her own hideaway now?" She spits, and the acid eats away at the stone.

Three echoing and ponderous knocks fill the chamber from the great double doors that lead within. The dragon disappears into herself, standing now as the kobold Kret and waving her viewing globe out of sight. "Step inside, my knight. Let me see the real you."

The doors open upon her command. When she sees the one standing on the other side, she fights the urge to bite her mouth.

What stands before Kret is a dark reflection of the holy knight he once was. The armor is deep and dark green and blue, and it displays scarred scales with all the contours and muscles and pelvic bones. A crimson skirt drapes over the back of his waist, completing the effect of regal servitude and dark beauty.

"So, this is you," Kret says, stepping up to Gavit.

He remains silent before her, his head held high, his arm behind his back, at full attention for her inspection.

Her finger slides up along his abdominals. "If only you were just a bit bulkier," she muses. "But I suppose your cuteness does mask the killer instinct I feel bubbling up inside of you, ready to unleash upon my enemies." She steps aside, examining every inch of his new look, paying particular attention to those anatomical features that keep themselves exposed. "It's acceptable," she says, "but it isn't complete. You may speak if you desire."

"I am an incomplete being but will serve you to the fullest of my ability. That's all I have left, my lady."

"I'm sure you will, and you'll just love to show those goody goods the error of their ways and all that." A pillar emerges from the floor, and upon that pillar is a box. The latches unlock, and the lid lifts open. "But first, you need to be complete. You have your armor... now for the arms."