Lady and the Tiger: Transformation
A human woman approaches your pen, one who definitely stands out from the crowd. First she is obviously wealthy, as evidenced by her jewelry, noble bearing and expensive (if revealing) clothes. Second she is achingly beautiful, with lustrous hair and flawless skin, unlike the sun-scarred wretches in this parched hell-hole. Still something about her makes you think her older than her appearance, her looks preserved by sorcery or alchemy. Most surprising of all is that everyone is keeping a wary distance, despite her lack of weapons. Normally anyone with that many jewels would be mobbed by beggars, pickpockets or worse. Yet even the clouds of dust seem to part before her.
She sweeps her gaze over the slave-traders merchandise. When it reaches you it seems to burrow to the core, past marrow and bone strait into your soul.
"That one," she says with authority, and it takes a moment for you to realize that she is pointing at you. "This should be sufficient," she says as she tosses a heavy coin purse to the shocked slaver. It must be ten times the going rate. "Come," she make a beckoning gesture and the cage door flies open. You begin walking toward her, your limbs moving of their own accord.
As you stand before her your mind races with tales told to frighten you as a child. Fireside stories of powerful and amoral beings that could warp the body, break the mind, and steal the soul.
Magician. Sorcerer. Witch.
If your body were under your control you would be shaking at the thought of who -what- your new owner is.
And in that moment light swirls around you both and the world disappears.
~~--~~
A moment later (or is it an eternity) and you return from the void in another place entirely, your senses telling you this as they return one by one. You feel carved stone beneath your bare feet, not hot dust. The air is thinner and cooler, without the fetid stench of misery. The din of the market is gone, no crack of the whip or hawkers cry. Finally your vision clears and you take in your new surroundings.
You stand in the center of a runic circle carved into a stone balcony. As movement returns you look around and see more. The adjoining room is an opulent hall worthy of any royal villa. Above are the walls and spires of a palatial keep, flanked by mountains to either side. The balcony overlooks a village in the valley below, in the distance the desert outpost you were plucked from is just a smear on the horizon.
Having regained your bearings you realize that your buyer is there with you. In fact she is walking around the edge of the circle, seemingly trying to get a look at you from all angles.
"An adequate male specimen, but I think you would look better as... an Anthro-Tiger. Yes, a tiger should do nicely"
The runes around the circle glow with a fierce light and a wave of blue flame races up your body. You scream as skin, muscle, blood and bone shift and stretch in its wake. Your very essence reshaped at her whim. The flames engulf your head and turn inward, reshaping your mind.
When the flames subside you notice that your scream has become a deep roar. You look at yourself to asses the damage, surely that arcane fire must have left you horribly burned. Yet instead of charred flesh you see fur covered muscle. Strong arms and hands tipped with retractable claws. Legs that could leap over a carriage. A large muscular frame. Your loincloth did burn away in the transformation, revealing you to be more than human in all respects. And covering it all the striped pelt of a white tiger.
So it was true, you are now an anthro-tiger instead of- What were you before? You look inward, to that core memory of self where identity lies and find it burned away, replaced by an irresistible mantra.
Obey the Mistress. Protect the Mistress. Serve the Mistress. Love the Mistress.
Your powerful form looms large over the human woman, but she shows no hint of fear, only smug self satisfaction.
"That went better than I had hoped. Yes you will do nicely. I have need of an Enforcer. My magic has proved too subtle a threat for some who covet what I have, and only a show of physical force will deter them. I need someone who can eliminate threats before they get too close, and punish those who defy me. I need a bodyguard in public and a proxy to act where I can not. You, in other words."
"If that is your will Mistress." You have to admit that she is right; this new tiger form of yours would suit the role.
"Your fearsome appearance should deter some of the smarter ones, but not all. Some do not believe the knife to be sharp unless they see it cut, and some do not learn until they bleed. We need a public demonstration. I have just the thing in mind."
~~--~~
Down in the tunnel that leads to the arena floor you can still hear the roar of the crowd, worked up by the earlier matches. The smells reach you as well, the stink of sweat and bloodlust from the crowd, blood and death from the arena floor. The whole thing sets your predatory tiger instincts pumping.
The arena is not as fancy as the enduring monuments in the largest cities, but it was by no means small. It was also packed, with rabble in the benches and the wealthy in their boxes. Word had gotten out that something special could be seen today.
The bombastic announcer is giving you some over the top introduction, but you pay it no heed. At this moment you only have eyes and ears for your Mistress as she leads you into the arena by a gold collar attached to a slim leash.
She turns to you, "No need for this anymore," and touches your chest where a glowing rune appears and then sinks under the skin. You collar unlatches and falls to the ground.
"Give then a show my pet," she then turns and leaves you alone on the arena sands.
You lift your sword and shield to salute the crowd, prompting cheers as well as jeers from the revelers. The gates at the opposite side of the stadium open and your opponent enters.
The announcer introduces your opponent: "In this corner the three time tournament winner, Slayer of Beasts, the She-Devil herself - The AMAZON CHAMPION!"
The crowd shouts itself horse cheering the athletic woman who enters the arena. She wields trident and net, and wears light armor and a full helmet. You stand across from each other, weapons raised, eying each other warily as the trumpeters announce the start of the match.
Time to put on a show
To the surprise of everyone in the arena you throw down your sword and shield with enough force to embed them both in the arena floor, and unsheathe your claws. You will not unseat a champion gladiator with gladiator tactics.
Falling to all fours you bound across the distance to your opponent, veering of only at the last moment. Your leap carries you halfway up the wall (to the terrified cries of those above) which you then kick off of, landing behind your startled opponent. One claw lashes out and rakes across her back before your momentum caries you out of trident range.
You revert to stalking mode, circling to keep the amazon off balance while you asses the damage. The wounds to her back are mostly superficial, little more than scratches. The real damage was to her armor, you shredded the straps securing her breastplate rendering it more hindrance than protection. She is forced to risk a moments distraction to tear it off fully and regain freedom of movement. You note with amusement how little she wears underneath to cover her considerable charms.
Mobility restored she jabs at you with her trident when you stray too close. You twist out of the way barely in time, but the attack leaves her open long enough to swipe in with your claws and bat off her helmet before you both pull back to more guarded positions.
The loss of the helm reveals flowing red hair and a beautiful face set with grim determination. Not quite what you expected from someone with the stage name of She-Devil. No matter, it is nearly time for the curtain to come down on the show.
With a feral growl you commit to a full frontal assault. A smile of triumph crosses the face of your opponent as you charge strait into her thrown net. This is the moment she has been waiting for, any gladiator caught in the net is hopelessly entangled, waiting helplessly for the finishing blow.
You lift up both arms as if to try to ward off the outstretched net, a seemingly futile gesture. As the net hits your hands you grip it with your claws and tear it apart like paper.
The look on the her face falls from triumph to fear as it dawns on her just how much you have been holding back, like a cat playing with a mouse.
Time for the mouse to get eaten.
Frantically she tries to fend you off with her trident, but with one hand you tear it from her grip with such strength that she stumbles to the ground. Before she can regain her feet you have the tip of her own trident poised under her chin.
The entire crowd seems to be holding its breath to see how you finish this. You look up to your Mistress in the luxury box. She seems to hesitate but finally gives you the signal for mercy with a raised thumb, drawing both cheers and jeers from the bloodthirsty audience.
A few moments later and you are leading your red haired opponent though the arena gate by a leash and gold collar. Fighters bet their lives in the arena so now you own hers, and so by extension does your Mistress. Your Mistress meets you down in the exit tunnel.
"Well done my pet. You put on quite the show. And you found me a new toy." She takes the leash from your hands. "I must think of a suitable reward."