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I like DnD. I like warrior women/sorceresses gaining weight. Easy combination! Chapter I: The Beefy Barbarian Eyes blinking, the Goddess awoke. Confusion gripped her. Her eternal flame was but an ember, the choir chanting her praises was silent, the nave filled with worshippers was vacant and the great sacrificial font was bare. Where were Her Priestesses? Where were the sacrifices? She stood up, realizing only after she had done so that she’d moved on her own power. It had been centuries since she’d been small enough for even a goddess’ muscles to support standing. Her hands, thin and dexterous instead of puffy and round, found a body starved almost to nothing. Everything felt slim and lean, the proportions smaller than before she’d ascended from being a mere demigod. Once head sized breasts were a handful, she could still pinch an inch on her belly but it was nothing compared to the ankle length apron of lard it had once been. ‘What has happened?’ the Goddess asked, voice silent as she examined her great temple. It was derelict, falling apart and abandoned. The gold statues of her at the full extent of her deific obesity were covered in dust and cobwebs and less than that remained of the paintings and texts. A thousand years must have passed since she had been conscious, enough time for her temple to fall and her great stores of power to waste away almost to nothing. She’d almost rather stay sleeping, dreaming of feasts and love making rather than awake to this. She was hungry, hungry for the food of belief and the knowledge of her own destruction. There were no signs of war but her faithful would not have abandoned her, would they? Her priestesses could not have even if they’d wanted, they were all in the half ton range anyway. Swallowing her questions, she walked, an unfamiliar motion without even the waddle she’d had. Memory struck her, memory of the time before millions of worshippers had made her vastly immobile, before she was even obese or even plump. It was of a time as a mere arch-angel, with hard muscles and lithe legs, far weaker than she’d been after ascending from a being of service and war into one of nature, harvest and love. But now she was almost as weak, barely hanging onto god hood, her form invisible to the mundane world. She found what had awoken her from her long slumber: intruders. Scores of unliving things moved in her cathedral, skeletal undead and inert constructs. Three living things were controlling them, everything about them shocked her. Evil and corrupt to the core were they, the vileness of their deeds evident in what to her was ugliness. Their bellies were so flat and hard they were hour glasses, their legs were lean and trim and their breasts didn’t even sag. Their features were painfully sharp, she recognized them as Dark Elves although rare had been any of that kind in her cathedral. Deific rage roared within her, a desire to sweep these interlopers from her holy halls! But it subsided, she wasn’t a violent goddess and even if she was, she had no power. Perhaps she could subsume them, turn the greed and lust for power evident in them into service to her….no. They were too evil and she too weak, even if she succeeded she’d be corrupted with only they as worshippers. She needed purer souls… She cast out her will, searching for chosen heroes. About her temple was only wilderness, home to trees and animals and she despaired. Then she found it, four souls. She dashed to them, finding it night outside and almost despairing again. They were all lean, all slim and lithe, almost as much as the dark elves invading her sanctum. But…but they weren’t evil and in them was a weakness she could use, to turn them to her service and let them clear her temple. Hopefully while they still could, her faithful had never been suited to action. Which one to take first? She had so very little power left to her, just enough to craft one miraculous feast to bind one to her, body and soul and with luck the gluttony and hunger would restore a bit of her godhood. But which one? If she failed, she couldn’t try again. With a soft touch she reached out, brushing the mind of the only one awake. This one was harder than any of the others physically, a mountain of muscle abhorrent to her, but her mind was weaker. Already she was hungry, desiring not just fullness but feasting. That she could do and began crafting her trap, feeling her slightly soft body lose even that minimal pudge as she did. Then she spoke, filling her mind with her name… ‘Nalara,’ Shega whispered to herself, blinking in surprise. The barbarian looked around, startled. Why had she said that? Had she said anything? ‘Damn nymph prayer has me hearing things,’ the barbarian mused to herself, standing up from the stump she sat watch on and proding the dying fire, ‘I notice she never volunteers to have the spell that makes you not need sleep cast on her.’ Shega stretched magnificently, feeling all the muscles in her 6’6 body groan, then cracked her neck, braided red hair shaking from side to side of her square face. At twenty five she was hardly an old woman, but the barbarian had found she was sore from sitting too long anymore. She paced around the fire, strong hands on her broad hips, feeling her belly gurgle. They’d run low on supplies and what she wouldn’t do for a big juicy steak. ‘Not that any weak southlander knows how to cook proper food,’ she grunted to herself, ‘its either sweets or vegetables, its why their either fat or scrawny and weak either way.’ For a moment, the towering barbarian woman considered the weakness of the southlands. She was far superior to any opponent she’d faced here, taller and stronger than any human, swifter of mind and fleeter of foot than any monster. Shega respected her three companions in questing, but none of them were a proper warrior. Jayli might have been a sorceress, but she was so scrawny Shega could snap her with one hand. Ayla had curves in abundance and her fae blood made the druid cleric a powerful caster, but she was so gentle she could barely bring herself to hurt a fly. Only Calla had any skill at fighting, being reckoned very tall and strong for her kind, but Shega had six inches and forty pounds of pure muscle on the paladin. ‘What I wish for the company of some real warriors, some of my people,’ she wished to the night sky. A snap sounded from the bushes and instantly Shega drew her battle axe, ready to fight. A deer looked back at Shega, a magnificent buck worthy of the stepps that had birthed the barbarian. She smiled, seeing twenty points on its rack and smiled harder at the animal’s body. It was rolly polly with fat and after several failed hunts had left the party only with the bland vegetables summoned up by the cleric, Shega was ready for some ready meat. ‘Easy,’ the tall woman mouthed, reaching for her javelin, ‘don’t move.’ But the deer turned around and bolted as soon as Shega grabbed the spear. Cursing, she took off after it without a second thought, dashing by the sorceress’ silk tent. There was no need to wake the others, the deer was so fat it practically waddled and Shega’s long legs took her after it with a blaze of speed. ‘Thank the gods,’ she laughed, easily spotting the deer in the dark, ‘I eat well tonight!’ Panting and sweating the deer surged, the barbarian right behind. Shega breathed easily, the long muscles of her toned legs propelling her on and on. Her deer skin boots ate up the yards, her firm breasts rising and falling evenly with each step, the round bulge of her perfect glutes straining her leather pants. The deer slowed, weaving with tiredness after barely a mile. Shega laughed, she was a Maroti, a child of the northern steppe, hard as a rock and swift as lightning! With ease she cleared a log and then followed the deer around a great oak to find…. A feasting hall. ‘What in the name of the northern gods?’ Shega asked, letting her weapons drop as she saw the great structure, easily larger than a long ship. Forgetting the vanished deer, the barbarian approached, hearing sounds of music and merriment. She pushed open a door to find over a hundred of her people gathered around a long table, great platters of roast boar and foaming tankards of mead before them. Mouth agape she stood stunned, only for the Jarless of the house to greet her. ‘Ho there wonderer!’ the woman laughed, ‘You are a stranger in these parts I take it?’ The woman was big, taller even than Shega. Ten years earlier she’d probably have rivaled the red haired woman for fitness too, but Jarls were expected to be thick to show off their riches. This woman must be a queen, for a gut four feet around strained the gold buckle of a broad belt, head sized tits overflowed their breast plate, tree trunk thighs threatened to split her seal skin leggings and her gold arm bands dug into arms thick with soft fat rather than hard muscle. Looking close, Shega realized that the fat woman was her own age and would have seemed a sibling to her were it not for the wide weight difference. ‘What…what are Maroti doing so far from home?’ Shega asked the huge woman, noticing that all of the people before her were huskily built. Young shield maidens who should have been at the height of their youthful beauty had two chins and guts that filled their laps. A veteran warrior woman of thirty years and three hundred pounds stood unsteadily, needing both arms to rise up and waddled to the privy, thighs rubbing together. Only one other person in the room was thin, a lithe priestess who danced nude over a giant pair of crossed forks at the center table. This woman was whip cord lean, her breasts small mosquito bites and her legs small enough Shega could have gotten a hand around them. Gracefully she spun and swayed, her gaze followed the barbarian with guarded eyes. ‘We’ve found a new land!’ the Jarless said, motioning Shega to a spot of honor, ‘Here the harvest comes in five times a year and every animal gives birth to triplets! Here, have a seat and take part! We’re honoring the goddess!’ Shega sat, already salivating at the food. She’d been living off of tasteless vegetables for a week and here she was now at a feast. Eagerly she filled a horn of mead and ripped the drumstick off of a turkey. The meat, from the rich muscle to the crispy skin, was heaven and the cold alcohol even better. In only a few moments eating she’d drained the drink and stripped the leg to the bone, which she threw over her shoulder for the dogs. ‘What goddess?’ she asked over a belch, as a servant refilled her horn. ‘Why Nalara!’ the Jarl boomed, ‘The Great Goddess! Giver of Harvests! Lady of Love!’ ‘Nalara!’ the hundred others boomed, then went back to eating. Shega frowned, then swallowed as she found she was half way through a slab of pork ribs, ‘I’ve heard of no such goddess, do you not mean mighty Freya or wise Sif?’ ‘Nay, they are good and great, but it is Nalara that feeds us,’ the Jarl said, cutting Shega a big slice of beef and putting it on her plate before drowning it in gravy, ‘Come now and eat!’ The thinner barbarian went to say something and found she was eating again. The steak was amazing, it had been fried in butter and was like eating a cloud. After a while it was gone and she washed it down with more mead. Her head swam and her belly was sore, she undid her weapon belt, axe falling to the ground. ‘I should go and wake my friends,’ she told the Jarl, ‘They’re sleeping and missing all this!’ ‘Let them sleep! There’s no danger in the woods!’ the Jarl laughed, putting more meat on Shega’s plate. ‘Are you sure?’ the barbarian asked, sometime later after finishing more food. ‘Oh yes, its quite safe, save for the temple!’ the Jarl boomed, refilling Shega’s horn and putting more meat on her plate. ‘Temple?’ asked Shega, before draining the mead and undoing the clasp on her pants. Usually the barbarian’s belly was a taught six pack, but right now with an ever increasing amount of food piling up in it, it was bulging out into her lap. Undoing the button helped some, but pants that had fit perfectly were now far too tight. Everything Shega wore was too tight, her legs were stuffed into her pants like sausage casings, her ass was eating her underwear, her breasts overflowed the tops of her bra and her arm bands pinched around her upper arm. But with near a gallon of mead in her, Shega was too drunk to realize it. ‘Aye, the Temple of Nalara!’ the Jarl said, ‘It’s being defiled by foul invaders! Evil elves and their undead servants!’ ‘How awful!’ Shega exclaimed, around a mouthful of cheese covered bread she couldn’t remember starting to eat and found herself undoing the laces on her leather shirt which was pinching her terribly for some reason, she took it off and sat wearing only her bra. Looking down, something seemed odd about her chest. She didn’t have a particularly large rack, but they seemed to surge over the bindings with every breathe, looking like bread dough in too small a bag. ‘You should roust them out!’ she said, looking up from the mystery of her larger chest. ‘Aye, but we are a peaceful people. Too long have we been Nalara’s faithful to remember our old ways’ the Jarl explained, patting her own rotund gut by means of explanation, ‘but you and your friends are strong, strong enough to save the goddess!’ ‘Strong? Aye, strong we are!’ Shega laughed, flexing her arm, which felt strange to her, almost as if her usually toned tricep was wobbling. ‘Will you help the Goddess then?’ asked the priestess, who stopped her dancing and leaned down to put a hand on Shega’s shoulder, ‘will you serve her, despite the burdens?’ Shega looked at her. The nude woman was less thin than she’d initially thought, indeed she was very curvaceous. Her shapely thighs were full and strong looking, coming just close to meeting at the top, her belly was mostly flat but flared into wide hips, what had looked like mosquito bites were an impressive pair of grapefruit not quite starting to sag from their own weight and she had a delicate second chin when she looked down. She was breathing a little heavier than Shega had thought too, not in quite as good of shape as the barbarian had judged. But the eyes were still haunting. ‘Oh, I’ll do more than help!’ Shega declared, vaulting upwards with intoxicated enthusiasm. It took more effort than she’d thought and a strange jiggle went through her body as she did. But the barbarian was standing up and raised one meaty arm up, holding the mead horn in her fist. ‘I swear I will free the temple of the goddess who provided this feast!’ yelled the barbarian, ‘Burdens or no! Or perish trying!’ The Priestess smiled at the barbarian, refilling her mead horn, ‘Then take this token with you, may it quench your thirst and make you strong!’ Then the well lit mead hall vanished in an eye blink. Standing alone, Shega looked around in shock, finding herself back in the woods. She looked around, realizing through a haze she’d been ensorcelled but feeling less stunned then she had been. ‘What just happened?’ she asked herself, ‘Was this the work of the gods?’ She found she was still holding the mead horn and took a sip from the quart sized container, finding it full of sweat mead. With a long gulp she drained it, only to find it refilling from the bottom up. Blinking, the half drunk woman grinned like a mad woman. ‘A god was here tonight,’ she told herself, ‘Well Nalara, I swore did I not?’ Capping the horn, the barbarian bent to retrieve her discarded weapon’s belt. Her pants bit hard into her stomach as she did so, a faint grunt escaped her mouth and then a loud rip sounded through the clearing. The barbarian flushed as she felt cold air on her cheeks, it happened time to time when you made your own clothes. ‘Really ate too much,’ Shega said to herself, going to buckle the belt on. The ends didn’t go together, stopping a full half a foot from each other. Shega strained, she was monumentally strong even without the enchanted arm rings she wore, but couldn’t for the life of her get them around her stomach. She tried sucking in her belly but it didn’t give an inch. ‘Really must have eaten too much. Good thing I only ate their one night! Imagine if I did every day,’ the barbarian laughed to herself, putting belt, axe and her shirt over her shoulder as a crude pack, ‘at least the others will believe me when I tell them of my vision!’ She started jogging back towards the camp, expecting it to take only a short time. After all, she’d only gone a mile, it should only take a few minutes. At once she knew something was wrong, her legs didn’t seem to work right. Her steps were smaller and each one brought an uncomfortable jiggle up her body. Each step brought a bounce in her chest as well, her breasts moving in ways they never had before and making her back twinge. Before long her inner thighs felt sore from chafing and her breathing was coming faster. Despite the cool night air, sweat formed on Shega’s brow and a strange pain formed in her side. ‘What’s…what’s wrong… with me?’ she gasped as she stopped a quarter of the way back to camp, bending over and trying to catch her breath, further seams breaking on her pants. A pool was near Shega and in that moment the full moon came out. The barbarian saw the reflection of a tall woman in too tight leather armor. No one would have called her weak, but soft living had put a thick layer of fat over her muscles. Steppe sharpened features had been dulled, her cheeks were soft and her once firm jaw had a double chin dangling below it. Her arms still looked strong, but were substantially thicker with jiggle beneath the triceps. Very non-athletic breasts half hung out of her cloth bra, large as a matrons and with as much perk. ‘I look like I’ve nursed five children,’ the barbarian muttered, green eyes going down her reflected figure downwards. The reason behind Shega’s non-closing belt was immediately apparent: she’d grown a hefty paunch, not as big as the phantom jarl’s huge belly but substantially wider. In the space of an evening she looked to have added at least eight inches of lard around her formerly ripped abdominals. Barely believing it, she poked a thicker finger into the heavy love handle that now hung over her pants, finding it soft as butter. ‘Its like I’ve eaten that much every night for a year,’ she told herself, patting her new gut for any trace of her old muscles and not finding them. Shega had had the legs of a long distance runner her whole life, long and so muscled they bulged. They still bulged alright, but now her thighs rubbed together and she had gone from firm calves to a nice set of cankles that stretched out her boots. Turning around she saw that the same coating of lazy lard had covered her once rock hard glutes, there was still firmness but it was buried beneath two wobbling cheeks. They bulged at the split they’d put in her britches and the rest of her pants looked ready to go at a moment’s notice. ‘I can’t even believe it, every part of me’s gone puffy’ Shega muttered to herself, ‘I must have gained fifty or sixty pounds in an hour. It seems this Goddess’ service has a hefty price after all. Can I even fight like this?’ She considered it. She was still sweaty and panting after only half a mile jog, her body unused to carrying an extra sixty pounds despite its strength. Her fabulous endurance and speed were gone, what did she have left? A woman with a gut like hers wouldn’t last long fighting. ‘Despair not champion!’ the nude woman from her vision said, appearing in the reflection, her curves seeming very lean next to Shega’s bloated body. Shega jumped in shock, her body rippling as she landed. She glared at the vision, taking a thick handful of paunch. ‘You’ve ruined me! How can I fulfill your quest like this!’ she demanded, ‘I can barely run half a mile!’ ‘You will not need to run in my service!’ the Goddess promised, ‘You will be too strong! Drink of your mead horn and see!’ The vision of Nalara vanished and Shega shrugged, obeying as she sucked down more of the sweet liquid. It burned like fire in her veins, filling her entire body with strength and verve even as her pants got a bit tighter. Shega didn’t feel an ounce of her weight, she bounced on the balls of her feet and then picked up her axe and turned it onto a dead oak, weathered hard as iron. Shega slammed the axe blade into it, watching the trunk shatter into a thousand pieces. ‘Ha, strength indeed! You are a mighty goddess!’ Shega laughed, breathing only slightly hard. ‘It will pass in but an hour,’ the Goddess appeared again next to her, a starter belly starting to bulge her mid section, ‘But merely drink again to restore yourself!’ ‘How can I thank you for this boon, my goddess?’ Shega laughed, ‘My friends will be stunned when I tell them!’ ‘Merely clear my temple and worship me,’ Narala smiled, ‘I will visit your friends by the time you return.’