Orianna Grand looked down the flask she was holding dubiously, unsure as to whether or not she should drink it.

The cleric of Gorum was no stranger to alcohol; but this set her senses tingling. It was almost like there was something suspect about the drink… She inspected it a little closer, only to shrug. As far as she could tell, it was safe enough.

The dirty-blonde woman looked back up to the bar, watching with amusement as the barkeep struggled to see his patrons had their fill. He really needed a barmaid, or at the very least a tavern wench. Maybe that would keep some of the rowdier guests a little more subdued.

Probably not, though. She smiled as one of them slugged another in the chin, resisting the urge to wade into battle herself. It had been a long day of glory, and right now all she wanted was a nice drink. Even if this one was a little frothier than she’d have liked.

“Well, no sense in stalling. They don’t get better with age.” Orianna muttered to herself, and with that she knocked back the flagon, taking a generous swig.

Much to her surprise, it was good-not just passable, like she’d anticipated. The fizz played gently along her tongue, and the drink left motes of spice and possibly even pumpkin on her palate. She’d need to have another after this, and probably a third past that!

Hastily, the warrior pounded her drink on the counter, a smile spreading across her face. “This drink pleases me! Another!” She called loudly, a smile on her face.

Little did she know that her instincts were right. The drink was hardly a vanilla beverage, and its potent contents were beginning to not just addle her mind, but even affect her body. Orianna hardly noticed as her armor began to soften, blending in with the soft jerkin she usually wore under it.

Instead, she only ordered another drink, setting her sword against the counter beside herself with a smile. It felt safe to do so, and it kept her from being too unbalanced as she stood.

Orianna had another flagon, then another and another still. The more she drank, the better she felt, and the more her clothing changed. By now, her armor was little more than a long-sleeved green shirt tucked into her pants, though her tabard remained. Her boots had changed as well, becoming perfectly soft shoes.

“Hey, barman! I’m, like, really liking this drinky-drink so far and I want another!” She called, lifting her flagon with a hiccup. Her cheeks flushed at how dumb she sounded, but as far as she knew, it was just intoxication.

“Finish the one in your hands first, wench!” The man to her right called.

Normally, Orianna would have decked him for that, or put her greatsword to good use. But right now, she was feeling a little… well, a lot more airy than usual. Instead of teaching him the error of his words, she cupped the wooden cup in both hands, chugging the entire drink in one go.

As she did, her breasts began to swell, each gulp causing them to bounce slightly. Her ass grew too, though it was hardly as noticeable as her jiggling assets. The regulars around her stared as she finished the drink, dropping it onto the counter wither other conquests.

Then she stuck out her tongue for good measure, in case he didn’t get the message.

Satisfied with her job well done, Orianna turned towards the bar and grabbed her refill, enjoying that as well. She was feeling so light and bubbly; it was fantastic! Normally she’d have to be well into the thick of battle to experience such a giddy glee!

Orianna chased her conquest with another drink before the indignity of how she’d acted had fully caught up with her, and by then it was too late. Still, she had no idea of that. The woman blinked and staggered away from the bar, her brow furrowing as she felt the cool wood beneath her feet.

When had she lost her shoes? Or her armor, for that matter? She looked down to her clothing, finding a loose-fitting v-necked shirt and a pair of tight pants were all that she had on. She didn’t even have so much as a belt; which made her shirt hang in a rather embarrassing manner.

“Wait, like… Wha?” She muttered in confusion, swaying from side to side gently. The cleric looked down to her sword, picking it up in both hands and weighing it carefully. It was unusually heavy in her hands, and she couldn’t help but wonder if it was really her own.

Orianna looked around anxiously, but nobody was shouting at her for taking their weapon. It was odd, and she held it a little tighter in her hands. Why did she feel like a serving tray would better fit her hands than a weapon of war; that she wasn’t meant to be holding this?

A sudden wave of wooziness overtook her, and the cleric wobbled on her feet. She raised her left hand to her forehead to center herself, but it did little good. If anything, it made her feel even more unsteady. Her thoughts were scattered as though there was some invisible current simply washing them away.

“Wait, like… Why am I talking like this?” She asked, wondering why she’d asked it a second later. Didn’t she always speak in that manner? She thought she did when helping the people around the tavern, but why would she help them… She was a cleric, wasn’t she?

Orianna moaned as her breasts grew larger, as if to exacerbate her confusion. The woman knew that she wasn’t supposed to have a chest this large; but she also couldn’t imagine a time when her breasts weren’t full D-cups. Or were they F-cups? No, wait… G’s.

The cleric watched as her bosom grew even larger, to the point where she had to actually change her posture. Or was she settling into her natural posture? Again, it was so hard for her to think straight; so hard to imagine herself as anything but curvy.

“Hey, Ori! Get yourself to bed; we’ve got customers in the morning!” The barkeep called.

“Yes, boss!” She nodded, only to pause. Wait, boss? Was… Was she a worker here? It made sense, her form and mental faculties weren’t near what was to be expected of an adventurer. Not that she was dumb… Well, not that she was smart either.

Orianna giggled to herself at the thought, only to whimper a second later. “No, wait! Like, this isn’t me!” She whined, shaking her head and struggling as her IQ plummeted.

The cleric had never been an intellectual, but she’d also never been dumb either. Working on the battlefield meant having a sharp, quick-thinking mind; and it was horrifying that she could feel it smoothing over, becoming simpler.

“No, no! I’m not a dummy, I’m not!” Orianna yelped, drawing a good deal of attention to herself. She dropped the sword at her feet, both hands holding her head.

Her hair drew to a lighter shade, a pink highlight slipping between the blond locks she clutched in her left hand. Her skin tanned, growing smooth and losing the hardness won by years of battle. Most noticeable of all, her lips swelled, growing large and plush.

“Somethin’ the matter?” One of the patrons grunted at her. It took her a moment to realize that he was the one who called her a wench, a word which bothered her a good deal less now than it had before.

It was enough to startle her back into the present, all thoughts of the past forgotten. That lapse of the mind marked the departure of the old her, all thoughts of being a warrior-cleric now little more than dreams.

“Um… Like, no. I’m just drunk is all.” Orianna chuckled sheepishly, picking up the sword and hugging it to her chest. She couldn’t remember where she got it from, but she knew it was special. She’d have to keep it mounted over her wall.

The man chuckled at that, and Orianna laughed uneasily along. Then she darted away from him, heading back up to her room on the second floor of the tavern. She practically collapsed into bed in seconds, her mind and body both worn out from the day.

The next morning, patrons to the bar would be greeted by a smile and a flirtatious wink from the new barmaid, a buxom and bubbly woman with a corset and skirt that showed off all of her curves. Orianna would never remember the life that she once had; nor would she miss it.