It was requested that Lytar have a nicer ending than being turned into an egg-laying broodmare for an entire warren, so here's an alternative ending for part two 😊hopefully the mascot will be given her own adorable little sword and shield and be back to paladining in no time at all.

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Lytar’s claws scraped against the cavern floor as he scrambled backward, his tail lashing in panic. Before him stood the creature in his body, his sword in her hand, burning with his god’s righteous fire. In the polished silver breastplate, he caught his reflection - a wretched, sniveling kobold. This was not how it was supposed to end. He had always envisioned his death as a wonderful, glorious thing - felled by a thousand mighty foes, his name etched into the halls of Paladin heroes.

Not like this. Not like this.

"Any last words, monster?" she smirked.

"No kill me!" he squealed, and turned tail.

The sword fell. It was over.

Or it would have been if the kobold had ever held a sword before. Accustomed only to crude bludgeoning weapons, she twisted the sword clumsily, and the flat of the blade twanged against Lytar's backside. The crack echoed through the chamber like a temple bell. Lytar shrieked, clutching his bare burning buttocks.

Before the kobold could correct her mistake, a woman's voice rang out.

“Lytar, I know you and Celeste are having a wonderful time, but can we get what we came for and leave? I despise this dampness.”

The air in the cavern rose several degrees as the party's sorceress, Zevir, stepped into the cavern. Lytar’s heart soared. ! Clever, powerful, merciful Zevir! He sprinted and flung himself into the safety of her arms.

It was a soft landing.

"That one is mine," the kobold hissed with his stolen mouth. "Let me kill it, and then we’ll leave."

“You’ll do no such thing,” Zevir said coolly. Lytar barely registered her words, too lost in the bliss of being pressed against her warm, pillowy cleavage. A wave of dry, smoky air wrapped around him, and his tiny scaled arms clung to her for dear life.

Zevir ran a clawed finger under his chin, tilting his snout up. "Look at this thing,” she cooed. "Look at its widdle horns! The tiny tail! It’s like a mini me. I'm keeping it as the party mascot, and that's final."