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Corrupting a Paladin
🕑 Added 2021-08-02 02:40:40 +0000 UTC
WARNING THIS STORY CONTAINS: Female Slobification (Weight Gain, Burping, and Farting)
In the midst of a struggle between a party's thieving wizard and righteous paladin, a spell scroll of unknown magic hits the righteous woman. Over the course of several months, the curse strips her of her morals and strength, in exchange for a life enveloped by flesh, gas, and hedonism.
This story was voted for by my Patrons.
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From the maw of a perilous cave, 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 horde of bandit goblins. While the little monsters were easy to disperse, their sheer numbers had made them formidable foes for the experienced team. However, the group still needed some time to regain their strength before they made the long trek back to town.
After surveying a nearby forest clearing to ensure his group was safe from any unseen threats, Troth the half-orc laid down his axe and got to work setting up the tents. A bulky body 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 due to his talent for keeping the group both safe and always capable of finding employment.
While the rest of the team rolled out their bed rolls, Myathe used her experience living among her fellow forest elves 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 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 goods 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 to further his abilities as a wizard. His search bared fruit as he wrapped his fingers around a spell scroll bearing unknown markings. 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, an exception was made for the bright blue scarf around her thin neck depicting the holy symbol of her patron goddess. 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, cherubic smile 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 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,” Corrin replied, doing little to hide his contempt for their thankless work. “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 glare. 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 a few minutes 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 incantation 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 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 and cast a spell.”
“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 did 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.”
“Fine, fine,” Corrin replied, moving about his hands. Letting magic flow through his veins, he spoke the incantation needed to dispel the enchantment that had knocked out Alma. Releasing a bolt of energy from his fingertips, the magic reached the paladin only to bounce 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 tapped 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. The scroll burned up as soon as the magic was spent. 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 a floating disc 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 translucent disc to carry his motionless teammate. Struggling to get her up on the floating platform, he set off towards town without chance to pocket any loot. 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 in the common area stopped as he entered. Silently making his way to the counter, he called up Mardred the inn keeper. Upon seeing the grizzled dwarven woman approach him, Corrin slammed enough gold on the table to pay for a night. Pocketing the coins, Mardred ran her fingers through her greying beard and gestured for him to follow her upstairs
Thankful that Mardred knew about Corrin’s group well enough to not ask any questions, he nodded his head in appreciation as she unlocked the door an took her leave. Exerting his meager muscles, Corrin managed to heave 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 noise emanate from Alma. Spurred by his curiosity, he turned back towards his companion. Putting his hand to her belly, he could definitely feel a layer of soft pudge that had 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 common area to await his other teammates.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The usually cheery corner of the inn where Corrin and the others unwound after a successful mission lacked any semblance of joviality. Keeping his head down, Corrin stared at his breakfast rather than look at the understandably furious faces of Myathe and Troth. Reaching the seventh day of Alma’s spell-induced coma, it was getting harder and harder for him to make up excuses for why his variety of spells couldn’t cure her condition.
“Well, what have you got today?” Troth asked, practically banging his fist against the table to get the halfling’s attention.
Reaching into his pocket, Corrin produced a gold amulet. “I had to pull some strings, but this should do the trick. A buddy from my wizard school days swears by it. Just put it around her neck, leave it there for a week, and she should be-“
Snatching the amulet from Corrin’s hands, Myathe ran her finger along its surface and came away with a layer of gold paint on her skin. “Some friend they must be,” she said, a deadpan stare in her eyes as she wiped the gold coloring on Corrin’s sleeve. “The nerve they have to trick one of their old classmates. Unless you were aware of this piece of junk’s true nature.”
“N-no, of course not,” Corrin replied, grinding his teeth as his last hope of getting out of the situation got tossed across the room.
"Enough of your games,” Troth demanded, baring his teeth. “Either you come up with a way to fix Alma or you’ll be sleeping in a shallow grave.”
“I’m trying.”
“Then try harder.”
“I’ve told you, it’s not that simple. Alma’s condition can’t be found in any of my books, nor the ones in the town’s libraries. For all we know, she might never-“
Corrin stopped as he spotted something in his peripheral vision. Tilting his head up, he watched as a chubby woman carefully maneuvered her pudgy legs down the stairs. He recognized the woman’s underclothes and scarf, but less so the bulging potbelly that looked about ready to burst out of her attire. Alma’s continued descent was hampered by a series of jiggles that overtook the added layers around her buttocks. Reaching the bottom step, her breasts nearly showed off their full plumpness as the C-cup mammaries strained her outfit. Despite her less than flattering appearance, Alma wore a warm smile. Making her way towards her companions, she brushed back her blonde hair and inadvertently showed off a few darkened strands mixed in with the golden locks.
“Good morning,” Alma announced, taking up her usual spot at the table. “What’s for breakfast?”
The party stared at one another, as if a ghost had suddenly appeared before them.
“Is something wrong?” Alma asked.
“You’ve been out for a week,” Myathe informed her.
“And I’m absolutely famished,” Alma said, showing little remorse as she openly rubbed her hand against her prominent potbelly. “Can I get a plate of bacon, eggs, and sausage over here?” she called out to the inn keeper. “Oh, I would also like a mug of your best ale.”
“Isn’t that against your order’s code?” Troth asked.
Alma paused for a moment. “Well yes, but I think I’ve more than deserved a little reprieve after I…” She trailed off, scratching her head in deep thought. “Why was I out again? I’m having a hard time remembering.”
Troth and Myathe turned towards Corrin.
“Well, you see…” Corrin began, his eyes going back and forth between his teammates, “…there was this scroll among the villagers’ lost goods. A spell scroll to be exact. It went off and hit you with an unknown curse.”
“Is that true?” Alma asked.
“Of course not, Corrin is just-“
Myathe reached out and clasped her hand over Troth’s mouth. “What he meant to say, is Corrin is just trying to protect you. The scroll only went off because you attempted to examine it for any signs of tampering from the goblins. He was so worried about you that he insisted on carrying you back to town himself. Isn’t that right, Corrin?”
“Umm, yeah,” Corrin replied, further twisting Troth’s face with confusion.
Reaching across the table, Alma grasped Corrin’s hand. “Many thanks to you my dear companion. Your generosity will not go unrewarded under the eyes of BWOOOOOOORRRRP!”
The room fell silent just long enough for Alma’s burp to peter out. Still reeling from the abhorrent morning breath that had assaulted his nostrils, Corrin hurried to copy the looks of shock on Myathe and Troths’ faces. Staring at Alma, they confirmed what they experienced was real as a second, smaller belch parted her lips.
“I beg your pardon,” Alma said, putting her hand to her mouth, “that’s so unlike me.”
“Here you are miss,” Mardred said, slamming down a mug of ale and plate of food to disrupt the awkward moment.
“Thank you very much,” Alma said, nodding towards the inn keeper before picking up a fork and knife.
Meticulously cutting off a small portion of bacon, she punctured it with her fork and held it up to her face. Popping it in her mouth, she slowly chewed on it to savor every aspect of its flavor. As the tiny morsel slid down her throat, she reached out to cut another piece. Just as she was about to sink her knife in, her stomach let the table know of its impatience through the use of a ravenous growl. As the rumbling noise grew louder, Alma’s hands began to shake. Smacking her lips at the slow pace of her cutting, the hunger pangs reached their apex as she laid her utensils by the wayside.
Before the party could ask if something was wrong, Alma lurched forward and dove headfirst into her plate. The formerly refined woman slurped up her meal like a gluttonous hog. Grease slathered her cheeks as she ran her tongue across every last bit of her meal. The occasional swig of ale helped to wash some of remnants of her meal from her face. Everything else was left to be licked off her lips and sucked from her fingertips. Before anyone realized it, she had eaten through the entire dish in under two minutes.
“They make UURRRP excellent food here,” Alma commented, her lethargic arm moving too slow to catch her burp.
Leaning back in her seat, Alma showed little remorse in the way her belly button peeked out from beneath her tunic. While one hand mopped the grease off her face with her scarf, the other slid along the exposed flesh of her stomach to help along her digestion. As she continued to rub, the party grew aware of another rumbling noise emanating from her gut. By the time they identified the sound as the very one they had heard multiple times from Alma’s room, they were already too late to escape the cloud of noxious gas that spewed from the paladin’s rear with a prominent PHHHHRRRRRRRRTTTTTT.
“Sorry,” Alma said, a hint of red on her cheeks. “I guess I ate a little too fast. Although, that did free up some room for more.” Pushing back her chair, she paid little mind to the rest of her group’s trouble breathing as she turned towards the bar. “I’m going to make another order. Do you want anything?”
“No, we’re *cough* fine,” Corrin spoke up, sending Alma’s thick thighs trudging up to the inn owner.
“Why didn’t you let me tell her the truth?” Troth asked, his tunic pulled over his nose and mouth.
“Because I want him to admit to her that he’s the reason she’s like this,” Myathe managed to say before leaving the area to escape the lingering smell of Alma’s flatulence.
“You seriously underestimate my ability to care more about saving my skin over admitting my various wrongdoings,” Corrin spoke up. “Besides, I’m sure I can come up with a way to fix her.” He paused, turning his head just in time to watch Alma chow down on her second breakfast. “Eventually,” he added, wincing as he caught another whiff of what his sticky fingers had helped create.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Considering their reputation and typical pay rate, hunting down a group of giant boars should have been an easy job for their group to turn down. However, Myathe had snatched it up right away and convinced the others to take the quest. They were not lacking when it came to funds, having gained quite a horde of wealth from their previous adventures. The main purpose of accepting the job was to attempt to bring one of their more problematic team members back to her former glory.
For the fifth time since leaving the village and entering the forest, the party had to stop to allow Alma to catch up. Forcing themselves to turn towards her, they all shared a feeling of disbelief that the wheezing woman shuffling towards them was the same person. Through nothing short of a miracle, they had managed to squeeze her into her armor. Although, her over 300-pound body was doing its best to fight against the blessed metal with how parts of her chubby flesh could be seen through cracks in the armor. Stopping before the motionless group, Alma took several deep breaths that helped her regain her stamina at the cost of showing off her less than graceful appearance.
Alma’s once otherworldly hair had become besmirched by her perspiration and the black coloring that had gradually crept out from her roots over the course of two months. A drop of sweat slumped down her face to trace against her three chins before joining the various food stains adorning her cherished scarf. The droplet seeped through the cloth to splatter against her overburdened chest plate and give some much needed relief to her heaving, E-cup bosom. Forcing herself out of her slouching position, her straightened posture nearly made her belly come bursting forth from beneath her armor. Too concerned with wiping away stray sweat droplets and regaining her strength, she though little of the boisterous BRRRAAAAAAAAAPPPP that came slapping out of her chunky rear to ruffle the chain mail hanging against her bare, chubby thighs. Heaving a sigh of relief, it was only once Alma saw the disgusted looks on her teammates’ faces did she realize what she had done.
“Sorry,” Alma commented. “My digestion gets really BWOOOOOOOORRRP riled up when I move around too much.”
“Your digestion is always riled up,” Corrin piped up, receiving a fist to the back of the head from Troth in the process.
“Enough,” Myathe said before things could get out of hand. “I can sense the beasts are nearby. Is everyone aware of the plan?”
“Yeah, yeah, the typical bait and kill,” Corrin commented, rubbing the spot where Troth had struck him. “I honestly don’t see the need though considering how easy giant boars are to take down.”
“You should know by now not to underestimate our opponents,” Troth said in turn. “Keep your wits about you. They may have been easy prey in the past, but that was when we were at our full strength. More than a few of us have gotten a little rusty,” he added, side-eying Alma as she chugged down her waterskin filled with ale.
“I have visual on the boar,” Myathe said, effortlessly leaping into a nearby tree. “Get into position everyone.”
On the elf’s command, the group scattered to their designated hiding spots. Troth took his spot behind the tree, getting his axe ready to attack once the creature got close. With Alma standing in the middle of the path with only her armor and girth to protect her, she gave a thumbs up to Corrin. Wincing at the sight of her chins jostling about, Corrin slipped behind a low bush and cast a spell that recreated the call of a female boar in heat.
Moments after the noise echoed through the forest, the group heard the sound of hooves rapidly clawing through the dirt. Charging out of the tree line, the boar somehow managed to keep its carriage-sized mass of bulky black hide standing on its four legs. It made sure to show off his gnarly, curved tusks as it lifted its head into the air to let out a series of snorts and grunts that were surprisingly close to the noises Alma made when she ate.
The boar’s fervent search for the source of the mating call came to an end as it locked eyes on Alma. Seeing the sword in her hand, it let out a huff and began to rear back. In preparation for the inevitable charge, Alma did her duties as a paladin and asked her goddess to bless her weapon. Upon the beast lurching forward in an attempt to impale Alma on its tusks, the party prepared to clean up whatever was left of the boar after it was smacked by the paladin’s holy wrath.
Halfway towards the boar impacting Alma, the party grew concerned at the lack of shimmering lights or any sign of divine intervention. Alma’s prayers turned more into desperate pleas, begging for her goddess to answer her call. Before anyone could realize the grave danger they had just thrown their disgraced paladin into, the boar managed to ram into her and slam her against the trunk of a nearby tree.
Upon seeing their teammate using what little muscle remained beneath her blubber to keep the beast at bay, the team leapt into action to try and pull it off of her. Myathe’s arrows bounced off the boar’s hide, its constant thrashing making it near impossible for her to hit any of its softer areas. Charging towards the beast with his full strength, Troth’s valiant effort was thwarted by getting a stray hoof swipe to his chest that sent him sprawling towards the ground. Corrin began to chant an incantation for a fireball, only to be stopped by a familiar rumbling noise echoing through the area.
“What are you waiting for?” Troth asked, getting to his feet. “Kill that thing.”
“But the fireball-“
“She can take the hit,” Myathe said, letting fly another arrow to try and bring down the beast.
“I know that, but I’d rather not burn down the entire countryside by lighting up her-“
Alma graciously demonstrated Corrin’s point by blasting out a prolonged fart from her derriere. While the party retreated to put some distance between themselves and the noxious odor, the boar wasn’t so lucky. Its tusks sunken into the tree, the boar’s efforts to escape the cloud of flatulence were deemed useless. Forced to inhale the gas through its sensitive nostrils, one last fart bursting out of Alma’s rear was enough to send it crumpling to the ground.
While the others stared in shock over what had happened, Troth powered through the lingering fart cloud to sink his axe into the boar’s neck and end its misery. “What the hell was that?” he asked, giving the boar another slice to ensure it was dead.
“I-I don’t know,” Alma replied as she managed to squeeze herself out from beneath the boar. “I did everything I was supposed to. Giving thanks to my goddess, revering her morals, following her guidelines to maintain my status as a morally upstanding BWOOOOOOORRRRRPPPP!”
The belch silenced Alma, the scent of booze on her breath making her and the others realize the various sins she had committed against her moral code during her prolonged stay at the inn. Though no one wanted to say it, they all knew that her growing waistline and lack of control over her behavior had put her out of her goddess’s favor. Rather than scorn her for her degrading moral compass, Myathe and Troth once again turned their gazes at Corrin.
“I’ve done everything I can,” Corrin said in an attempt to further delay his inevitable punishment. “Unfortunately, we’ve exhausted all of our options. She may be stuck like this forever.”
“For your sake, she’d better not be,” Troth said, pointing his axe towards Corrin’s face. “It’s obvious that she’s incapable of taking up her old job again like this.”
“B-but you saw what she did to that boar.”
“I highly doubt that gassing her enemies is a consistent strategy,” Myathe replied. “Especially since it just makes her a bigger, more noticeable target.”
“I think she’s proven that she can take a hit,” Corrin said, eyes shifting left and right in search of an escape route.
Myathe and Troth’s righteous glares were blocked as Alma waddled her way between them and Corrin. “There’s no need to take your frustrations out on UUUURRP Corrin,” she spoke. “He said he’s trying his best to change me back. Not his fault that this forsaken curse is doing such BWOOOOOORRP gross things to me.”
The two peeked past Alma’s hips to shoot another series of scornful looks towards Corrin.
“At the very least, I think is as a good of a chance as any to take a well-deserved break.”
Myathe and Troth turned their attention back towards Alma.
“What do you mean?” Troth asked. “Don’t you miss adventuring with us?”
“Kind of, but it’s not like I don’t see the three of you on a regular basis. With my body like this, it might be better if I stay behind until we can find a way to UUUURRRP return me to my old self.”
“Aren’t you concerned about your goddess?” Myathe asked.
“I’m sure she’ll eventually see that I am still a loyal, morally righteous individual.”
Alma’s attempt to take on a dignified posture was hindered by a fart blasting out of her rear to fill Corrin’s nostrils with its awful scent. As the halfling clenched his nose and shuffled back towards a safe distance, he began to feel sorry for the poor boar. Given a chance to catch refresh his lungs, he watched as Alma constantly repelled the others’ questions in an effort to convince them to leave her to own devices at the inn. Watching the two shrug their shoulders in defeat, Corrin kept his vision trained on Alma as she waddled her way back to town.
Corrin’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as Alma began to remove her armor. Dropping them on the side of the path, she freely let her gut hang between her legs. Clutching her drooping belly, she massaged her hand across it to relieve herself of a torrent of burps and farts. No longer burdened by her armor, Alma increased her speed to a light jog to get back to town before another boar could show up. Seeing the way her breasts nearly broke free of her bra and her butt cheeks hung out of her thong-like underwear made her almost unrecognizable from her former, modest self. The sight of her once beloved scarf being tossed off to blow away in the wind was the final push needed for a hint of guilt to worm its way into Corrin’s mind.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“This has to be done,” Troth said, his eyes affixed to the bright lights shining from the windows of the noisy inn.
The half-orc’s march was cut short as Corrin ran in front of him in a laughable attempt to block the entrance. “Let’s not be too hasty here. I’m sure there’s more than enough money to let her off the hook for another week or two.”
“No, there isn’t,” Myathe interjected. “Alma has already gone through her entire savings and then some. If she can’t lift her own weight around here, we shouldn’t have to keep paying for her to get drunk and party from sundown to sunup.”
“To be fair, I don’t even think Troth could carry her weight right now. No offense big guy.”
“Some taken,” Troth said, pushing Corrin aside. “Regardless, we can’t keep supporting her bad behavior. If that means watching her beat you to a bloody pulp when we tell her about what you did, then so be it.”
Ignoring Corrin’s pleas for mercy, Troth and Myathe stepped inside the inn. They entered the common area just in time for the riotous cheering to be drowned out by a bellowing belch that would make even a dragon shake. Despite the lingering odor of fermented beer breath, the patrons were still in high spirits as they clinked their glasses and congratulated Alma on how far she had sunken into her vices.
The group found the former paladin in her usual spot, at a table in the center of the room with her chunky rear supported by two chairs that looked ready to snap at any moment. Adorned in a simple, black dress large enough to both encompass her over 500 pound body and act as a bib for a plethora of food and alcohol stains, Alma beat her fist against her prominent, watermelon-like boobs to force out another belch to entertain her loyal followers. Continuously slamming her pudgy mitt against her beer keg of a belly let another burp cloud come flying past her plump lips to scatter the unkempt strands of her long, black hair. Beating against her fat rolls a few more times sent an unruly rumbling noise through the room that got everyone riled up in an excited fervor.
Showing off a wide grin that stretched across her chubby cheeks, Alma heaved herself out of her seat and waddled towards the stage typically reserved for traveling bards. Swiveling her massive form around, she lifted up the hem of her skirt to show off to the bar the pair of dingy, white panties sunk into her ass crack. The few moments the patrons got to gaze at her behemoth butt cheeks were put to a stop as Alma lifted up her hand and counted down from three. Upon reaching zero, she let loose a loud PPHHHHHHRRRRRRRRTTTTTT that shook the very foundation of the inn and shrouded the room in a toxic fart cloud.
Despite the horrific smell and sound that had just erupted from Alma, the crowd cheered for her slobby display. Swiveling herself back around, the former paladin took a deep bow that jiggled around her gut and gave the room a good look at her cleavage. Upon rising back up to a standing position, her eyes gleamed as she caught sight of her former party members. Waddling as fast as her thick legs would allow, she approached the group with a friendly smile on her face.
“Troth, Myahte, BWOOOOOORRRPPP Corrin, what are you three doing here?” she asked as her hand lazily scratched her backside.
“To be blunt, we’ve come to collect,” Troth stated.
“Alma, we do care about your well-being,” Myathe added in an attempt to keep things friendly, “but this has gone on long enough. We can’t keep supporting your bad behavior, regardless of if it’s because of a curse or not.”
Alma scratched her four chins as she let loose with another bout of flatulence. “A bit harsh, but I can understand where you’re coming from. Come with me, we can UUURRRP discuss it over at my table with some drinks.”
Daring to follow Alma through her gas cloud, the group approached the corrupted woman’s reserved table and sat down. Moments after they heard the chairs’ loud creaks in protests to Alma’s weight, Mardred was quick to place mugs of ale upon the table. Tossing a gold coin into the dwarf’s hand, Alma grasped the three mugs in front of her and drained them in a matter of seconds.
“Alma, have you been drinking like this every day?” Myathe asked.
“No, mostly BWOOOOORRRRP nights,” Alma replied, wiping a stray drop of booze from her lips. “I spend most of the day UURRP sleeping. Helps my beautiful body recover from all the drinking, partying, and BWOOOORRRP nightly visitors.”
A moment of silence took over the table, only to be broken by a squeaky fart slipping out from between Alma’s rear.
“Alma…you don’t mean-“
“Yes, sex. A lot of challengers don't have the cash to pay up, so I get my reward in other ways. Sometimes with multiple partners at a time,” Alma casually answered the elf. “Don’t be so UUURRRP prudish about this. Not like you and Troth are pure white virgins either. I could hear what the two of you BWOOOOORRRP did that one night after we battled the Treants. Just couldn’t get the image of their vines tightening around Troth’s muscles out of your head, could you Myathe?”
“W-we were just…just…” Troth began to reply, his words fumbling around his tusks.
“Don’t worry about it,” Alma said with a wave of her hand. “I don’t expect you guys to UURRP understand.”
Myathe attempted to regain her composure and control of the conversation by clearing her throat. “Putting our private time discussion to the side, there is still the matter of paying off the massive debt you’ve accrued during your-“
Sinking her fingers into her cleavage, Alma pulled out a sack of gold and slammed it on the table. “Will this BWOOOORRP do? If not, I have plenty more in my room.”
Picking up the sack, Troth emptied out its contents to confirm it was real. “How in the world did you get this much money just sitting around and being a slob?”
Alma grinned. “You’d be surprised how much work goes into being UUURRP me. Every so often someone comes in thinking they can beat me in a variety of contests and are willing to put money down on it. They’ve challenged me to eating, drinking, BWOOOOORRRP burping, and even…” Alma trailed off, letting a boisterous fart end her sentence. “Idiots don’t know what they’re getting themselves into. It’s like they think beating me is a matter of rolling high on a set of dice.”
“And you’re okay with this?” Corrin asked, acting as the voice of reason in the group while Troth and Myahte ogled their gold.
“Why wouldn’t I UUUUURRP be? Like we’ve discussed in the past, there’s no changing me back. Might as well make the most of a bad situation.”
Corrin chewed on his lip, six months of building guilt finally taking hold of the thing inside of him that resembled a conscience. “Alma, can we talk in private for a moment?”
“Sure thing,” Alma replied, heaving herself out of her chairs. “You two okay waiting BWOOOORRP down here?”
“We’ll be just fine,” Myathe replied, she and Troth working on counting and collecting their payment.
“Alright. Let me know if you two need a room for the night. I practically own the UUURRP place with how much money I bring in so I’m sure they’d be more than willing to let you two love birds nest for a bit.”
Leaving her companions with flushes of red on their faces, Alma gestured for Corrin to follow her up the stairs. Stuck following behind Alma’s glacial movements, Corrin was given plenty of time to watch her butt cheeks wobble back and forth. Despite getting a full frontal assault of one of her farts, the thoughts of finally telling her the truth kept up his resolve to reach the top.
Arriving at her quarters, Alma swung open the door with a slam of her hips and squeezed past the door with little room to spare. The once modest and neat room had become adorned with a mess of dirty plates and ragged clothing. Sitting herself upon the king-sized bed she had bought with her ill-gotten wealth, Alma gestured for Corrin to join her.
“So, what did you want to UURRP talk about, shorty?” she asked, needing to grasp his arm to lift him up onto the bed.
“It’s about your condition,” he said, his intentions helping him to ignore the lingering smell of Alma’s gas expulsions and nightly visitors.
“I appreciate everything you did to fix me, but there’s no need to BWOOOORRRRRP kill yourself over it. It’s not like you’re the reason I’m-“
“Yes, it is!” Corrin interjected, swallowing a mouthful of Alma’s burp cloud in the process. “Myathe and Troth didn’t tell you the truth. They said they wanted me to suffer for my sins and come clean to you myself.” He took a deep breath, the stale air giving him a modicum of composure. “That day in the forest, I tried to take a spell scroll from the stolen loot and you stopped me. In the process, I thoughtlessly cast a spell which turned you into this. I thought I could just reverse your condition, but I realized too late that there was nothing I could do.” Prostrating himself across the mattress, Corrin bowed his head. “From the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry for doing this to you.”
“Why?”
Corrin tilted up his head, the moment of his grand apology having been deflated by a single word. “What?”
“Why do you feel the need to apologize for this?” Alma asked, grabbing a handful of her gut and shaking it around. “This is the best thing that’s ever BWOOOORRRP happened to me. Getting to indulge myself every waking moment, instead of fighting monsters for a living is a dream come true for me. You’d have to force me to UUURRRP go back to my old self.”
“But what about your religion? Aren’t you concerned about your moral code and the fate of your immortal soul?” he asked, reciting from one of the many lectures he had received from Alma in the past.
Alma leaned to the side to gift Corrin with an explosive fart that had won her countless bar bets. “That answer your question? I’m happy with who I am and everything my disgusting BWOOOOOORRRRRP body can do. You freed me from such a dull, pointless existence and gave me a chance to live life on the larger side. I should actually be thanking you.”
Too busy coughing out the stale air, Corrin couldn’t dodge Alma’s blubbery arm picking him up and pulling him into a tight bear hug. “Anything you want from me, just UUURRP ask,” she belched, nuzzling her cheek against his. “I’ll even let you fuck me if you want.”
With a pop, Corrin managed to slip out of her arm. “N-no, thank you,” he said, gasping for breath.
“Suit yourself,” Alma said, slamming her feet onto the floor as she got out of bed. “Just keep in mind that it’s an open offer if you ever want it. Now come on, at the very least I have to BWOOOOORRRRRP buy you a drink to celebrate.”
“That...would be nice,” Corrin replied, following a safe distance after Alma downstairs to make a toast in honor of her content life as a slobby degenerate without a care in the world.
