Llewelyn’s first sensation is the welcome nudging of his canine companions muzzle. Svenn places his nose under Llewelyn’s shoulder and shoves him onto his back. The druid is groggy and feeling a sharp pain in his head. At length he opens his eyes and quickly shields them from the brightness of the day. 

“Svenn, where are the others?” Llewelyn asks as he sits up. When he discovers his situation he allows the question to hang unanswered. 

Llewelyn is shackled and sitting in the midst of The Reviled’s war camp. All about him are the heavy, shambling forms of ogres. He could have guessed from the stench. When Llewelyn was roused one of the ogres was alerted and rushed further into the camp. To fetch an executioner, Llewelyn assumed. Svenn has not left the druid’s side and continues to nudge his partner in consolation. Llewelyn scratches his ears absently as he recovers his bearings. There are no signs of Llewelyn’s teammates, though it wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume that they are imprisoned elsewhere in the camp. The druid has been stripped of his weapons and indeed all of his gear aside from his cloak.

“This is not good my friend.” Llewelyn whispers to Svenn before kissing his forehead. “My Svenn.” The wolf whimpers lowly. 

Before long there is a commotion. The heavy stomping of boots and clanging of armor reveal the approach of a new party. Llewelyn composes himself. Rounding the final tent three ogres come into view. The apparent leader wears ornate violet armor with a loin cloth. He possesses unnaturally dark and leathery skin. Behind stand a mage and a foot soldier. The leader leers at Llewelyn while baring his huge, monstrous teeth. The leader gestures the mage toward the rear of a nearby tent. Accordingly the spell caster kneels, produces a runic tablet, and begins preparing a spell. The leader reaches Llewelyn who glares up at the monster in defiance. 

“You are to be my executioner?” Llewelyn says. The twisted grin forms on the lead ogre’s features.

“Me Tarnash. Me have special plan for you.” He grumbles and stomps uncomfortably close to the druid. His loincloth is directly next to Llewelyn’s face though the druid stands his ground. Svenn who had been growling by Llewelyn’s side begins to snap his jaws. With a loud bark he leaps and interposes himself between the druid and the lead ogre. Startled, the armored ogre swings a mighty arm at Svenn who manages to catch its fist within his maw. He snarls and digs in with his claws while the Ogre growls and swings. The beast gives a mighty downward swing which dislodges Svenn and plummets him directly into the dirt. The poor wolf whines before crumpling in defeat.

“Svenn! Curse you, you disgusting ogre beast.” Llewelyn says. The soldier ogre collects Svenn’s limp body while the lead ogre turns to Llewelyn. He takes the druid’s long hair roughly in hand.

“Wolf bite hurt, druid!” The ogre shouts. He throws Llewelyn into the dirt before straddling him. “You owe me.” The monster wraps his pudgy, clawed fingers around his loincloth before ripping it off of his waist. Llewelyn gasps as his huge cock and swinging testicles are revealed. Tarnash looks down at cringing Llewelyn. Again he grabs Llewelyn by the hair before slowly lowering his groin onto the druid’s face. 

“Wait! What do you think you’re *hack* Doing!?” Llewelyn shouts before the powerful acrid smell of the ogre’s body odor nearly chokes him. Tarnash playfully swings his privates in front of Llewelyn’s face allowing the odor to completely wash over him. All Llewelyn can see is the underside of Tarnash’s erect cock and his massive testis. The balls are each nearly the size of an apple and his sack is leathery and damp with sweat. Tarnash then kneels further dropping his balls onto Llewelyn’s face. The druid’s bound arms are caught beneath the ogre’s girth so he is helpless. The monster’s strong thighs hold his shoulder’s in place. He attempts to squirm and thrash, but Tarnash is simply too large. Llewelyn’s face is completely smothers by the swollen orbs. They unfortunately straddle his nose which means he can barely breathe through it. Not that he would want to given the atrocious odor. 

“Hahaha! How you like smell druid?” Tarnash jokes. His ogre companions laugh as well. Llewelyn can only cough in reply. The leathery surface of the testicles blocking out his constant grunts and growls. Tarnash lifts his ball sack temporarily so Llewelyn can catch his breath. The breaths are not pleasant however. The dampness of the testicles lingers on his face and poisons the air. Llewelyn makes a sour face as he gasps for air. Just when he begins to feel comfortable Tarnash drops his balls onto his face again. This time he does so repeatedly to tease the druid with freedom before smothering him with his dangling manhood.

“Mmph! *ack* Nrrg” Llewelyn groans. 

Finally Tarnash relents. He removes his testicles from the half-elf’s face and stands at his side. Llewelyn continues to cough while desperately cleaning the moistness from his face.

“Spell ready druid. You join us now.” Tarnash says. He reattaches his loincloth. Llewelyn witnesses the mage completing its spell. A great amount of energy has been accumulated. The area around the ogre’s hands shimmers.

“Join you? Never. I will never—“ Llewelyn begins as the mage releases its spell. A wave of red strikes Llewelyn and immediately causes him to feel ill. To his core the druid feels something beginning to change. He begins to swell. His entire body pulses and grows in spurts. 

“Whhat have you donnne?” Llewelyn says.

“You turn to ogre now. Forever.” Tarnash says.

“Impossi- *ggraaaargh*” Llewelyn growls. His feet have exploded from their coverings. They grow thick and monstrous. The soles are thick and calloused. His toenails shift and become sturdy, dark claws. The feet feel incredible heavy and foreign. Before Llewelyn’s eyes his legs rapidly increase in musculature. They do shorten somewhat, but are soon double their previous size. He builds a good deal of fat around his thighs. Rather suddenly Llewelyn’s privates transform. His cock seems to unfurl some additional inches while increasing in girth. His balls swell and swell. As the druid’s robe is now tight and short the tip of his dick is visible swinging beneath it. 

“Nnaaaugh. How is this happening?!” Llewelyn shouts. His stomach has drooped and put on significant muscle and flab. He soon has a protruding barreled chest covered in coarse, dank body hair. His prodigious abdominal muscles peaking slightly from beneath the flab. 

“Ozark give us new spell. Spell for make more ogre, gnoll, and goblin. You first victim, haha.” Tarnash ineloquently explains. 

Llewelyn is now three to four feet taller and continually gaining weight. His entire body sags. His arms are the next parts to transform. They expand to become flabby. The leather restrains he had worn soon snap. His cloak is soundly torn asunder and falls away. Llewelyn is disgusted by his new body odor which grows increasingly pungent. His hands become gigantic and brutish with thick, sausage fingers and grimy claws. He runs a calloused hand over his leathery chest.

“Nno. Me not ogre.” Llewelyn says, his voice deeper and distinctly dumber. 

The druid’s neck is widened. His nose becomes upturned and slightly piggish while his cheeks are turned jowly. The thick ogre flesh spreads. Llewelyn’s jaw loudly shifts and changes becoming heavy and soon possessing conical, tusk-like teeth which jut upwards. His lips are rubbery and awkward. The half-elf’s hair which had always been a point of pride is now wiry and coarse. Some of it falls free entirely and drifts ground ward. The last aspect of the transformation is Llewelyn’s brow. He begins to represent a Neanderthal with the heavy brow and deep-set eyes. Llewelyn shudders as the spell is completed.

“No. No!” Llewelyn yells. He pilots his gigantic body toward the leader ogre who is now merely a head taller than himself. He grabs at his armor with his inarticulate hands. “This not possible. Change me back. Now!” The former-half elf has noticed that his intelligence has been greatly diminishing since the spell began to take hold. Common is his first language, but he now struggles to form sentences. His memories regarding how he came to be in this war camp are also steadily disappearing. Tarnash calmly removes Llewelyn’s hands from his armor.

“You ogre. Me ogre.” Tarnash says. Llewelyn is deeply confused. What was it he wanted to turn back into? He looks pleadingly into the eyes of the lead ogre.

“Me ogre?” Llewelyn asks. Tarnash jabs a stubby finger into his pectorals.

“You ogre. You name Bruk, remember?” Tarnash says. Llewelyn, not knowing any better, agrees.

“Yes, right. Me Bruk.” Bruk says. The ogre before him, evidently in a position of authority, must know who he is. 

“Bruk come with me.” Tarnash says laying his heavy arm around Bruk’s shoulders. “You Reviled now. We get you armor. Loincloth too, haha.” Tarnash jokes while groping Bruk’s leathery balls. The new ogre merely laughs in confusion. “Oh don’t forget wolf.”

“Svenn…” Bruk whispers. The wolf, his life-long companion, stands as the final reminder of his life as a druid. He could not remember where he was or what he was doing in this camp, but he could remember Svenn. Bruk turns to the wolf who has recovered and watches the ogres warily. 

“Come, Svenn.” The wolf recognizes his partner, but is hesitant. Eventually he concedes and follows Bruk and Tarnash at a distance. He would follow his companion steadfastly even though his new odor would be enough to make the canine violently ill. Svenn hangs his head and shambles after his transformed partner; resigned to stay by Llewelyn’s side.