This choice: The magic finishes your transformation. • Go Back...Chapter #5The magic finishes your transformation. by: Yote   Father Dully clucks his tongue. "I think... you have a lot to learn, boy, particularly in the art of humility. Magic is not a tool like a blacksmith's hammer or a soldier's sword. It is a living force. You'll swiftly find spells are quite capable of taking on a life and mind of their own, should the power of the spell be beyond that of the person who cast it it."
With a lurch, your upper half suddenly sinks several inches into your equine body. With a second lurch, your human half sinks past the navel into the horse shoulders. The terror returns with a vengeance, both your hearts thudding in your chests, the hot animal panic surging through your veins. "What's going on? What's happening?"
"The spell is working to finish what it believes is incomplete," Dully says without emotion. "If I'm not mistaken, you're becoming a horse completely."
Your arms snap to your sides and with a third sinking lurch your entire upper body is pulled into the horse's, so that your human head sits atop its shoulders, absurdly small and out-of-place, though not for long. A wave of pins and needle runs up your neck and over your face, and crossing your eyes you see dappled grey hair sprouting from your nose. The nose itself swells before your eyes. Your teeth feel like they're growing too, swelling up like tombstones in a mouth far too small for them.
Shutting your eyes to the pain, you listen to the crackle and pop of cartilage. Mercifully, the front of your face is drawn out, forming a long muzzle large enough to house your horse teeth. Your hair cascades down your elongated neck, a long dark mane against grey body, and two soft equine ears poke through it like sprouting plants.
You open your eyes again as the transformation slows, staring down your long nose at the wizard, a soft whinny escaping your lips at the look of disappointment on his face. He shakes his head and says with an air of finality, "Such a pity. I had such high hopes for you, sorcerer. You have learned, I think, that there is no knowledge more important in the world to a wizard, than knowledge of his or her limitations." He raises his hands as if to clap. "You have until the end of the week, when lessons begin, to reverse this. If you can, there will be a place for you here. If not, there will be a place for you on your father's estate, pulling his carriage. Good luck."
He claps his hands once, and the study vanishes in a spinning blur of colour.
As the world reasserts itself, it does so with a distinct excess of brown hues. This is a stable. A large one, perhaps even the one belonging to the royal palace. Golden hay is soft beneath your hooves. The rich aroma of horses and oats and dirt fills your nostrils.
You are stood in the central aisle between the two long rows of stalls. Horses crane their necks over their stalls, eying you up with mild curiousity Teleporting horses don't happen every day, after all.
'Okay, I've got a week,' you think, trying to calm your nerves. The body you now inhabit feels nervy, tightly-wound, and it is a challenge keeping its rising animal panic from taking control over your human mind. The scent of the other horses in particularly is making you twitchy as hell - your hooves stamp restlessly and your tail whips from side to side. 'One week. One week. One week is a long time, no worries.'
Stamping restlessly, one of your hooves thuds against an upturned food trough half-buried in the hay with a ringing clang which echoes around the lofty stable. In the distance, you hear a human voice and footsteps approaching. You have the following choices: 1. Next 2. Next indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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