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His pants suddenly hung awkwardly around his waist, and the legs, which once hugged his muscular thighs, now flapped loosely as if they were on a man of much smaller stature. Roland frowned, glancing at his clothing, and thought, 'What the…?' He looked around, but for now, no one seemed to notice.
But then, a murmur swept through the hall, and Roland noticed that the arm he had extended in mockery appeared thinner than usual. 'Is this some kind of joke?' the thought flashed as his fingers became more delicate, almost like a woman’s, and his skin began to take on a strange greenish tint.
Roland froze. His gaze ran over his arm—the greenish hue continued to spread, his fingers turned slender, his palms smaller, and his wrists scrawny. He looked around at the onlookers, hoping to see the usual fear or at least respect in their eyes, but instead, he was met with surprise and even barely concealed horror. The murmuring in the hall grew louder, and the courtiers began exchanging significant glances.
He tried to adjust his shirt, but as his fingers touched the fabric, it seemed to transform along with him. The sleeves, once large, now oddly tightened around his thinning arms, and around his waist, the shirt began to shift into something more akin to a corset.
“What the…” he muttered under his breath, hearing how his voice had turned… more nasal? He didn’t finish the sentence, as his pants, which had been hanging loosely around his waist just a minute ago, suddenly tightened, transforming into something much more form-fitting. The fabric of one pant leg, now resembling part of a woman’s stocking, squeezed his thigh, and Roland felt the material creeping upward, exposing his legs.
Roland froze, feeling something swell in his chest, as if expanding from the inside. He looked down and grabbed at the new mounds, which grew larger, filling his now tiny, green hands with soft flesh. His gaze dropped to the shape his figure was taking—feminine curves becoming more defined, and in his hands was the unmistakable sensation of softness and unfamiliar volume. He tried to speak again, but his voice shot up even higher.
“What da heck?! Dis your doing?! You… you make me like dis! No! No-no, me no be like dis! Me strong, gnight, not dis… not dis ting!” Roland desperately grabbed at his altered form, his hands trembling. 'What da hell? Why me talk like stupid goblin?!' Roland tried to straighten up again, attempting to adopt his usual proud stance, but his new body resisted—his shoulders felt too narrow, and his chest weighed heavily, pulling him down. He felt his small, clawed fingers nervously clutching the tight uniform that had replaced his former armor.