Anya the Red and the Dark Elf's Revenge.
Once there was a woman who was a goddess with a blade and wore no armor in battle. Her name was Anya the Red, named for her fiery hair and the rivers of blood she drenched the battlefield in. She was a peerless warrior who acquired many enemies. This is what happened when one gained his vengeance…
Anya had fought her way into the Dark Elf stronghold, leaving a bloody swathe behind her. As she kicked the door down into Malak’s hall, she felt herself grow moist. She would enjoy making the Dark Elf Prince squirm and debase himself for her before putting him out of his misery with a effortless slice of her blade.
There he stood at the far end of the hall. Anya charged towards him, however instead of cowering and begging he was smirking.
"Ho Anya the Red! You’ve come a long way and slaughtered many of my kinsmen to greet me in my hall. Next time I would suggest you merely send an envoy ahead."
"Stub your tongue Prince of Drow, I go as and where I please."
"Such a wild one you are: with no man of your kind strong enough to tame you no small wonder. Tell me, do you wield a steel sword so well to mask your inadequacies handling a flesh one?"
"I will handle yours well enough after I remove it."
"We will see how well you handle it indeed. But enough flirting, come at me wench!" The Prince drew his sword and made a mocking gesture. Anya grit her teeth and charged, sword drawn. She was about to slash at the knave when she hit an invisible wall and landed on her ass as her sword skidded across the ground towards Malik. Stunned, Anya looked at the ground beneath her. Carved into the wood floor beneath her was a magic circle of Drow runes.
"What trickery is this, snivelling dog?! Release me so we may fight!" The warrior snarled.
"I think not, She-Demon of the Sword. There has been enough killing this day. In fact, my sorcerers and I were just discussing how you could make reparations for your slaughter and help replenish our people." Malik smiled smugly as he clicked his fingers, signalling for his robed sorcerers to emerge from the shadows. He picked up her discarded sword. "This shall make a delightful coming of age present for any offspring we produce.
"Crod, you cannot do this! I demand a fair trial of combat! I shall be no one’s wench!" Anya shouted and banged against the magic barrier.
"Oh but you shall be. You shall be mine first and then you shall be passed around our barracks. However first you shall be made more appealing to our pallets. You’re far too skinny and no one likes a half-breed."
The robed figures started chanting in a strange somber language. The runes around Anya’s feet started to glow and violet energy emerged from the carvings that flowed into her skin. Anya made orgasmic sounds as the power travelled through her body.
Her crimson hair became pale lilac as she felt her ears lengthen into long tips. As she reached up her hands to feel them she was soon compelled to grab her breasts as a rush of the violet energy burst through them. Her small athletic breasts, which aided her well in disarming enemies without being cumbersome, shot outwards and became the massive, meaty bosom that men crave. They felt so good in her hand she didn’t physically react as her tight bottom followed suit and flared out into a large posterior that quaked with every small movement. Anya began to despair as her perfect fighting body became a cumbersome parody of a wet dream. Her fur robes and stockings soon disappeared and were replaced with lewd leather undergarments that left her buttocks and crotch exposed. She felt her body momentarily fall only to rise again as quickly: she looked down to see she had lost a quarter of a foot in height only to be made up by heeled shoes that would not be amiss in a brothel. She felt a hot itching upon her arm. Shee looked to see a crude image of a voluptuous woman much like her changed form and a rainbow beneath it: the Drow symbol for a woman of pleasure: a concubine.
"Change me back Malik!" Anya gasped a strange voice left her throat. It was a breathy, sweet voice that melted hearts and codpieces: a far cry from her stern, harsh voice.
"I think not my sweet! Besides we have yet to arrive at the best part!"
Anya cradled her head as a force that was equal parts pain and pleasure wracked her brain. Her knowledge of the deadly arts: swordplay, hand to hand combat, the thousand ways to kill a man. Vanished without a trace. In their place: fellatio, the intimate areas of a man’s flesh sword and a thousand ways to make a man cum with her body. All Anya’s anger and rage vanished. It was replaced with lust and desire towards the brave soldiers of the Dark Elf nation and their daring leader, the handsome Prince Malik.
The sorcerers ceased their chanting and stepped back into the shadows. The runes ceased to glow and the invisible wall of magic dissipated around the conquered warrior. The curvaceous female elf seductively sauntered towards her liege and fell to her knees, unstringing his codpiece as she licked her lips hungrily.
Malik smiled and patted his new community’s head. This was truly the sweetest victory of all, he thought as the transformed whore sucked his member.
In a few short decades the Dark Elves would be the dominant military power thanks to their brigade of red-haired warriors, The Crimson Bastards.