Transformation/Weight-gain commission for  Nystre!

Nystre is captured by a dragon and transformed into a kobold servant, enduring all sorts of losses and gains...

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Nystre's New Purpose
By: Indi

Nystre ducked behind a pillar, the jamcat’s whole body sloshing and wobbling from the frantic movement. Seconds later a thick dragon tail slammed into its cover, crushing a large portion of the pillar and raining debris down upon Nystre. It’d made a mistake—a huge mistake, a massive mistake. One as big as the bulky pink dragon currently trying to flatten it like a pancake.

Adventurers were supposed to be bold and take risks and reap incredible rewards. At least that’s what Nystre had always believed. The jamcat cleric had wanted to increase its renown and become a legend, and defeating a dragon seemed like the perfect way. It’d hastily researched all the dragons with bounties on them, and picked the lowest: Vindros the Vain.

Vindros was said to be lazy and doughy, a menace content to hide in his lair surrounded by loyal kobolds. The only reason he was even wanted was because his kobolds had been raiding caravans of food a few times too often. Defeating him should’ve been easy.

But Nystre had very quickly discovered that even a lazy dragon was a fearsome foe. An attempted ambush had failed completely, and now Nystre was barely managing to dodge Vindros’ attacks as it exhausted itself running from cover to cover. If only it’d teamed up with others, or simply gone after a regular bounty! The only hope it had was to flee and live to fight another day.

Seeing an opening, Nystre bolted from behind the shattered pillar, aiming for the wide entrance to the spa-like chamber it’d found Vindros relaxing in. It’d only gone a few feet when a thick, pink claw slammed down like a wall in its path. Nystre ran right into it, bouncing off and falling to the floor. Dazed, it was helpless as the same claw pressed down on it, pinning it in place.

“Been a long, long while since anyone’s managed to make it this far into my lair,” Vindros chuckled, looming over his captive. Nystre wiggled with all its might, but there was simply no way it could overpower a dragon. “Let me guess: you’re a brave aspiring adventurer, come to slay a dragon and gain all the fame and fortune such a feat would come with?”

Nystre didn’t answer, merely scowling and avoiding eye contact.

“I’ll take that as a yes. From my point of view, you just don’t seem cut out for the job of adventurer—you’re in over your head, jiggly one.” Vindros jostled his paw just enough to shake and slosh the jamcat’s body. “Fortunately I’m willing to show mercy and offer you an incredible opportunity as one of my servants. But first, a few...changes, are in order.”

Vindros smiled wide, then took a deep breath. When he exhaled, a cloud of thick, pink smoke spilled from his mouth, enveloping both his claw and the jamcat underneath. Nystre coughed as it was pelted by the admittedly sweet-smelling cloud, which sent a chill throughout its body. Its natural coloration faded, as if being blown away in the wind. The purple that dominated the jamcat’s form turned gray. Its pink markings became white dots, a vague imitation of the original design. Its blue belly also became white. When the pink smoke cleared, Nystre was left almost monochrome, its brilliant colors gone.

Nystre couldn’t see the changes, but it knew something had happened, and didn’t like it. And Vindros wasn’t done.

A second puff pelted Nystre with smoke, causing it to squirm with renewed vigor as it felt its body getting rearranged. Its large, bulbous tail was slowly squeezed like a lemon, shrinking it drastically. The bulk of its mass was pushed out and into its hips and thighs, thickening them. Nystre blushed as it felt its body molded and its butt swell, adding temporary color to its gray face.

The cloud hadn’t even completely cleared before a third puff rejuvenated it. This time its ears began to retract, little-by-little. Whenever they shrunk Nystre’s face distended, pushing outwards to form a snout. Nystre crossed its eyes, watching the snout steadily extend as it felt its ears becoming smaller and smaller. It let out a whine in dismay, which was distorted from a mew to a reh.

Most of Nystre’s feline aspects had been stolen from it, warped and shaped into something reptilian, akin to a kobold. Yet its hair and paws remained, and for that another puff was in order. Nystre’s hair blew back and bundled together, until it resembled a kobold’s horns. It curved and solidified, no longer hair. Paws were squeezed, their bulk spread out to Nystre’s arms and legs. The soft features were made pointier, until the jamcat-turned-jambold was left with claws.

The cloud was allowed to dissipate, giving Vindros a better look at his handiwork. “Yes, yes, already looking much better. A bit more bottom-heavy than my usual recruits, but there’s nothing wrong with variety!” The dragon laughed, which shook both his paw and the jambold under it. “Hmm, almost forgot about that odd jiggly body of yours. Certainly wouldn’t want another servant trying to bottle you up if the pantry runs short on jam!”

Nystre clenched its eyes shut as another cloud hit it dead on. The chill returned, harsher than ever. It felt like it was freezing solid, and began shivering on instinct rather than actual need. To its shock, its body jiggled more and more sluggishly, less like jam and more like molasses. It was solidifying. Jam became solid flesh, slick hide replaced by scales with only a fraction of its previous gleam. Now Nystre wasn’t even a jambold even more—it was just a kobold. A tall kobold.

Vindros didn’t bother telling Nystre what was next, and the unlucky adventurer could already guess. More pink smoke billowed over it, provoking a final coughing fit. Every cough made it shrink, and not matter how hard it tried to hold them back it couldn’t. It steadily shrunk right under Vindros’ claw until it was covered completely, puffs of pink smoke blowing from beneath from the coughing.

Only when the coughs had stopped did Vindros raise his claw, revealing a little, bottom-heavy kobold. Physically, all that remained of the old Nystre were its yellow eyes. And even then it was unlikely any of its friends or acquaintances would be able to recognize it based off of that alone.

Swiftly the kobold was scooped up, held at eye level with Vindros so he could take a closer look at his newest servant. “Now, I wonder where you’d best be able to serve me?”

The question wasn’t meant to be answered by Nystre, but it did anyway—with a spell shot right at the dragon holding it captive. Just the latest of its risky, reckless moves—and just as ineffective. Vindros wasn’t the least bit fazed by the spell, which simply splashed off him. Their difference in power was far, far too great. Again Nystre found itself wondering why it’d attempted such a ridiculous task.

Vindros frowned at Nystre’s attempted strike, and blew a small puff of pink smoke at it. Nystre winced and cowered, not knowing what to expect. Its body tingled, but no visible changes occurred.

“Misbehaving will get you punished, little one. But don’t worry, I’ve made sure you’ll never repeat that particular mistake again. You’ll find yourself quite incapable of using magic now.” Vindros grinned, even more so when Nystre clearly tried casting a spell but failed. “So, are you finally ready to accept your fate as my loyal servant?”

Agreeing was the most sensible option considering the circumstances, but Nystre stubbornly refused to give up. While the dragon may have transformed it and shrunk it and robbed it of the powers it’d always been proud of, it still had its pride. “Never! I’m no one’s servant!”

Vindros laughed so loud Nystre was nearly knocked over. “Oh they all say that at first. But I’m just as good at changing minds as I am bodies.”

More pink smoke enveloped Nystre, though this time some swirls seemed to snake their way into the kobold’s body. Nystre became dizzy, struggling to remain standing in Vindros’ palm. Its thoughts were being invaded by gentle whispers that repeating a single line, over and over and over again: Obey.

“So, now that you’ve had a moment to reconsider, will you be my servant, eager and willing to follow my orders no matter what?” Vindross asked, already knowing the answer.

“I...I...I will,” Nystre sputtered. Even with all its willpower and might, it couldn’t bring itself to refuse Vindros’ will. Its memories remained—thankfully—and it retained control over its body, but there was an undeniable compulsion to serve Vindros.

The look on Vindros’ face was one of smug triumph. “Good to see you’ve had a change of heart. Now, you’ll be glad to know I’m a merciful and generous master. If you serve me well and perform all of your chores and duties admirably you’ll be rewarded, and maybe even promoted!” He was acting like he needed to sell Nystre on the job, despite the fact it’d already been magically compelled to accept it. “Better food, more free time, less cramped sleeping quarters—all could be yours as long as you meet my expectations. Who knows, you could one day become a full-fledged dragon guard, entrusted with the protection of my lair.”

Nystre wasn’t being forced to smile or respond in any way to Vindros, so it continued to pout and stay silent as a way of rebellion.

Vindros chose to ignore the potential show of disrespect—for now. “But be warned, just as success is rewarded, failure is punished. Working slow, damaging any of my precious belongings or servants, or trying to disrupt my happy, peaceful lair in any way will lead to punishment. And after too many punishments you’ll be demoted and...reassigned.” It was all very vague, but there was a definite hint of delight in the dragon’s tone as he spoke of potential failure, as if he either expected it or at least desired it. Nystre didn’t want to dwell on Vindros’ true motivations. It already had so much to worry and fret about now.

A pair of sturdy, armored kobolds hurried into the room. They both gave a bow to Vindros, before standing at attention. Dragon guards Vindros had mentioned earlier, no doubt.

“Perfect timing!” Vindros placed Nystre back on the ground, right in front of the guards. “Escort our newest recruit to Roland. Tell him to put it to work immediately so it can acclimate.”

The guards nodded in acknowledgment. One moved in front of Nystre and the other behind, motioning it to follow their lead and move forwards. Nystre complied—reluctantly—finding itself unable to resist even such a basic order. As the trio left, Nystre heard soft chuckling coming from Vindros, followed by a splash as the dragon returned to soaking. Its daring
invasion had merely been a slight distraction in the end.

The wide corridors of the lair were bustling with kobolds of all sorts, all rushing around as they went about their daily duties. There were butlers and maids, cooks and waiters, guards and overseers. Few paid any attention to Nystre as it was marched around, and those who did gave the new kobold only a passing glance.

As varied as they all were, Nystre quickly noticed very few of them were lean. Chubby and plump for sure, even outright blubbery at times, but rarely thin. Nystre didn’t feel the least bit out of place with its wide hips and rear. The fattest kobolds also appeared somewhat less expressive than the others, as if they were lost in thought—or not thinking at all. Many also had brilliant pink eyes that matched Vindros’.

Struggling to think of a way to escape—and to even think about escaping for that matter—made the trip go by fast. Nystre was ushered into a room by the guards and promptly abandoned.

“Hmm, a new recruit, I assume?”

The voice came from a stern, burgundy kobold. He had a round ball gut that bounced softly as he spoke, and was dressed as a butler. He already looked disappointed in Nystre, despite the fact they’d just met.

“Yes.” It’d wanted to say no, but couldn’t. Just another aspect of the loyalty enchantment, it supposed.

“Well I guess we can’t be too picky about the help we get. Master Vindros’ lair is as immense and grand as he is, and it’ll be your job to ensure it stays tidy and clean. It’s an incredibly important task, so don’t even contemplate neglecting your duties! And don’t break anything either; we have no place for clumsy oafs amongst our staff.” Roland glared and huffed, even though Nystre had remained attentive and quiet the entire time. It was beginning to suspect that was his default attitude.

There was no training or even instruction really. Nystre was merely directed to a nearby study along with three other servants and ordered to clean—and clean well. Actual expectations weren’t provided, though the others didn’t seem bothered by it. Once Roland had left, two of the servants—a chubby, chatty pair—told Nystre to start cleaning one half of the room while they both handled the upper portion. The last servant—fatter than any of them by far and sporting the pink eyes Nystre had noticed earlier—silently nodded when he was given instructions.

“What’s up with him?” Nystre asked, already starting to clean a little without realizing it.

“Him? He’s just a clutz. Best to just ignore him and hope he doesn’t belly-bump you over,” one said.

“And don’t get too attached! He’s bound to get reassigned soon,” said the other. The pair snickered before heading upstairs to clean.

More ominous talk of being reassigned. It wondered if the fat kobold was someone in the same predicament as it, a captive who’d been transformed and ordered to serve. Maybe the ordeal had broken him, explaining the silence and distant look. But why was he so fat? Why was everyone so fat? Even as it fretted it cleaned, though not very well. There was still resistance left in Nystre, who wasn’t ready to be a docile servant of the dragon. It couldn’t completely refuse orders, though.

The task of cleaning the study was uneventful and boring at first. Nystre dusted and organized, putting in the absolute minimum of effort. It kept an eye out for anything that could potentially be useful in an escape, but all it saw was the gaudiness of Vindros’ decor. Everything was slightly mismatched, as if in the middle of a remodel. A handful of tables and chairs were of some odd, draconic style. Legs ended in carved claws, cushions depicted scenes of kobolds, and sometimes even scale patterns could be seen.

Statues of kobolds stood in some alcoves, while others were empty. No matter the pose or the scene, the subjects in every statue were hefty. As were any kobolds in paintings. Even a golden paperweight was shaped like a nearly spherical kobold, at least somewhat.

Nystre wasn’t surprised a dragon would enjoy decor themed off dragons and kobolds, but the fact it all seemed so haphazard was confusing. Was Vindros just adding pieces individually on a whim? Did it even matter? It frowned, wondering if the odd train of thought was part of the spell cast upon it, meant to prevent it from focusing on escape. Fortunately a thump and a crash snapped Nystre free of its cleaning conspiracy daze.

On the other side of the room the fat, silent kobold had managed to bump into a massive vase, knocking both it and its stand over. Even the accident didn’t make him say a thing. He just looked at the mess with a mix of confusion and perhaps embarrassment. Up above, the other two were shaking their heads. They joked for a second, before one rushed off, returning a short while later with Roland. The clumsy kobold hadn’t done much else aside from scooping the wreckage of the vase into a pile.

Roland looked as mildly miffed as ever. He mumbled a lot to himself and escorted the kobold away, ordering the rest to return to cleaning. When Nystre was allowed to retire to the shared kobold quarters later on, it didn’t spot the clumsy one. Not that it really tried to look for him.

Over the next few days, Nystre slowly adjusted to its new life as a kobold servant. It focused on memorizing as much of the lair as possible to aid in a future escape, but the sheer size of the place made its task difficult. It also didn’t have the luxury of being able to wander around in between jobs. It knew the corridors that took it between the kobold quarters and various rooms it’d been ordered to clean, but little else.

When Nystre had to help clean the study again, it noticed the shattered vase had been replaced by a newer, larger one. Depictions of barely-mobile kobolds covered it, and for a moment Nystre thought one resembled the quiet kobold it’d almost forgotten about.

“Less ogling, more cleaning!”

The demand startled Nystre, who quickly turned around to face its source: Roland. In the process it managed to smack the vase with both its tail and its rump, causing it to teeter dangerously. With no time to react, Nystre could only watch and wince as it toppled and broke, cracking in half.

Roland scowled at the mess. “Couldn’t even cut it as a vase,” he mumbled, and Nystre swore it spotted a flash of a satisfied smile. “The quality of your cleaning was already atrocious, and now you’ve gone and destroyed the vase we just replaced! I don’t tolerate incompetence amongst my staff, and neither does Master Vindros. Maybe getting punished will inspire you to improve.”

Nystre was marched off to one of Vindros’ many private chambers, afraid of what would become of it. No one had told it what punishment actually involved, and it’d neglected to ask the other kobolds about it. Its mind ran wild, thinking of all sorts of terrible tortures.

“Master Vindros!” Roland said with a bow once they reached the dragon. “This kobold has performed poorly since becoming a servant, and just today broke one of your precious vases!”

“Ah, one of the new recruits,” Vindros said, barely remembering Nystre. “I believe I was clear when I said there were consequences for not meeting expectations. To ensure you don’t forget that ever again, why don’t we clear up some of those excess, unnecessary memories of yours?”

The dragon blew a gust of pink smoke at Nystre, which made the kobold sway. The smoke that didn’t whip around it poured into its mouth instead, swirling above and below. With every gulp of smoke the kobold plumped up. Thighs thickened and rump swelled. Its tail grew softer, it’s face rounder. A second chin formed. Even its claws felt fatter. But as concerning as the weight-gain was, there was worse happening to the poor kobold.

Random memories were getting stolen, ripped away too fast for Nystre to mourn them. Its hometown was whittled away into a vague, hazy memory. Nystre remembered all its friends and the various places it liked to hang out in town the most, but further details were gone. It didn’t remember the name, or where exactly it was located, or how big it was. It was as if a major part of Nystre’s life had been reduced to a couple of hastily painted backdrops for a play.

Nystre strained and struggled to remember what’d been lost mere seconds before, but it was met with failure. The memories may as well have never existed.

“Such a painless punishment considering the damage you caused. And in place of what was taken I gifted you plenty of pounds,” Vindros said. “But remember,” he chuckled, “you’ve only got so much to lose, and can handle only so many gains. Mess up at your own risk.”

As Nystre was led away it felt how much more its body jiggled as it moved, how its hips now swayed more dramatically. It’d barely started getting used to its new kobold body, and now everything felt awkward again.

The fatter, quieter kobolds who’d once been a mere curiosity now felt like waddling warnings to Nystre. Obviously they’d all been punished multiple times, fattened and drained of memories. It was a fate Nystre had to avoid at all costs if it ever wanted to escape and return to normal. But like the giant vase, the vow was just as easy to accidentally break.

Life as a servant didn’t become any easier for Nystre, even after it’d learned firsthand the punishment for failure. Cleaning was exhausting, and Roland was demanding. Dusting, washing, waxing, organizing, moving. Nothing proved to be Nystre’s specialty. The kobold’s round bottom didn’t help, either. It was seemingly always at risk of hip-checking kobolds and objects alike. There were numerous close calls, Nystre catching books and statues and once even a painting right before they fell, avoiding likely punishment.

But the poor kobold’s luck didn’t last long. Its second accident involved a squat suit of armor. Nystre had nearly finished washing its expansive surface when it’d lost its balance and fell forwards right into the armor.

The noise drew the attention of half the lair (at least that’s how Nystre felt). And of course also Roland. It was chewed out the entire way to Vindros, who was told a familiar tale of how poorly Nystre was doing. Though the dragon was quick to chastise, he didn’t look at all disappointed in the chance to punish Nystre again.

Nystre steeled itself against the rush of smoke, hoping it could somehow resist the effects this time. Magic couldn’t be so easily negated, of course. It focused on its training, all the work that’d gone into making it an adventurer. But suddenly those memories were becoming elusive, fuzzy. The hours spent striking target dummies with its sword, the long nights of studying magic, the apprenticeships and tutoring sessions and observations. One-by-one they were lost to Nystre, even as it frantically grasped for them.

And with every memory lost, the kobold gained a little more weight. It stumbled in place as it was forced to widen its stance to accommodate its expanding thighs. Fresh pudge blunted its snout while its face grew rounder in general. Once merely chubby, it was rapidly becoming truly plump, with a belly almost as round as its rump. It could feel its tail losing flexibility as it grew fatter as well.

The onslaught of changes came to a gradual end. Nystre’s dismay became far more general, the plump kobold unable to remember exactly what memories it’d lost—just that it’d lost some.

The journey back to the kobold quarters was a blur. Instead of being left at its usual cluster, it was brought to a brand new one. The beds there were slightly sturdier, the doorway a little bit wider. And its new bunkmates were all fatter. None were leaner than Nystre, but none were particularly massive, either.

“You’re new here, right?” one of the kobolds asked. There was obvious doubt in their voice.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, okay. Wasn’t quite sure if I’d just forgotten about ya after the last punishment,” the kobold let out a rather strained laugh. “Guess Red burnt another roast in the kitchen again. He was getting pretty fat and dopey so it makes sense he’d be moved elsewhere.”

Nystre hadn’t had much luck chatting with the other kobolds in its last cluster, and jumped at the chance to gather information. “Are you a captive too, then? Someone who’s been transformed and had their memories taken?”

The kobold had to think for a second before they nodded. “Yep. At least I’m pretty sure. No—really sure. Just don’t remember what I was before this. Or where I came from. Just not here. Probably. Sorry, last punishment jumbled me quite a bit.”

“Have you tried to escape?” Nystre hoped the kobold would suddenly open up with a grand plan to flee the lair, or reveal a secret tunnel they were making.

“Once, though I got caught and punished for it. I don’t think they realized I was trying to escape because from what I’ve seen they usually blimp you up real good when that happens.” There were hints of doubt on their face and in their tone again, as if they were second-guessing themself. “So now I just try to work hard. Emphasis on try.” They gave their round belly a slap. “You can call me Stripes—on account of my stripes. We forget proper names so often it’s just easier to use colors or markings. Been a while since we had a Gray!”

Nystre looked at Stripes, and then the other equally melancholy kobolds in the cluster. It knew then and there that attempting a mass break-out with them would be utterly impossible. They’d all lost a little too much. All it could do was believe in itself and wait for an opportunity to pop up.

Holding onto hope was just as hard as holding onto memories. Less than a week after Nystre had been moved to the new cluster, Stripes was gone. They were replaced by Rattle, an excitable serpentine kobold who seemed on the high-end of the cluster’s weight. From them Nystre realized that punishments could be undone with exceptional behavior—though it mainly involved losing weight rather than regaining memories.

Old kobolds left and new ones arrived, weight gained and lost. None expressed any intention of escape. Of course most couldn’t remember a home they’d want to escape to anymore. Even Nystre was having trouble concentrating on escape, too concerned with its worsening workrate.

Mistakes piled up, which led to more punishments, which led to more mistakes. It was a vicious, fattening cycle. Little-by-little Nystre’s identity was taken. The names of people from its forgotten hometown, the faces of its friends, happy memories from its youth. Eventually it couldn’t even remember how long it’d been held in the dragon’s lair...or if it’d ever not been a kobold.

It couldn’t imagine having any other body—aside from a thinner one, maybe. At least it’d always had horns, there was no way it’d forget lacking those. And of course the whip-like tail. As thick and unwieldy as it’d become, its feel and movement just felt too natural to be a new change. Yet at the same time it felt...off, not quite right. Perhaps it’d been a couple inches taller before?

All the internal doubts and questions and confusion caused Nystre to become quieter over time. It rarely chatted with the others in its cluster, answering questions from new arrivals but little else. Talking distracted it from the few memories it had left. Talking slowed it down when waddling from one end of the lair to the other on errands. Talking made it easy to slip up and break something while not paying attention.

Silence didn’t end the punishments, though.


“I’ve been seeing you far too often, not-so-little one,” Vindros chuckled as he loomed over Nystre.

“It broke a couch this time, Master. A sturdy one.” Roland’s expression switched between fury when looking at Nystre, and respect when looking at Vindros. The buttons of his uniform strained as he scowled, struggling to keep up with his increased heft. His gains were from pure gluttony rather than clumsiness, though.

Vindros’ chuckle turned into a hearty, belly-wobbling laugh. “I’m not surprised. I doubt much of my furniture can handle a bottom as big as this one’s.” With a claw he poked at Nystre’s doughy side, causing the kobold to stagger and jiggle. Its large rump was like a wrecking ball, its thick tail wider than the waists of most serpents. “But that doesn’t excuse your actions. I wonder how much there’s left for me to take?”

Nystre was nervous, and it only faintly knew why. It’d been brought before the Master often, and knew something had happened each time, but wasn’t sure exactly what. It found itself repeating its name and the word “adventurer” over and over, like a mantra, but the reasoning escaped it.

Escape? The word evoked strong feelings. An odd reaction as it’d been a servant of Vindros for as long as it could remember. Not that it could remember much. Wait, it’d been an adventurer in the past, a long, long time ago. At least as long as its memory went. Which didn’t seem far.

Thinking about it too much left Nystre confused and with a headache. It didn’t even notice the pink smoke coming its way.

Suddenly Nystre wasn’t thinking about adventurers anymore, not with itself in mind. The possibility of any life before becoming a servant was blown away, scattered to the wind, obliterated. It was always a servant? It was always a servant. It was...it was...wait, it had a name, right? It had to have a name!

The kobold’s eyes began to flicker, from yellow to white, slowly at first but steadily increasing.

Meanwhile it was growing fatter, so much fatter. Its already bulbous belly bounced as it swelled, hanging lower and lower, past its knees. Fortunately its rear and tail were gaining just as much weight, preventing it from simply toppling over and ending up beached. As its thighs and hips thickened, they began to push at its sagging gut, exaggerating its size even more.

Much of the kobold was becoming a series of rolls, from top to bottom. Its love handles were large enough to overhang its hips. Its arms were like overstuffed sausages, so fat that just bending or moving them required effort. Even its claws were chunky.

Extra chins had merged to form a single, large roll of pudge where its neck should’ve been. It was squished down by the weight of its head, which was just as fat as the rest of its body. Round cheeks pressed into its snout from both sides, as if to encourage it to remain shut as often as possible.

Every inch of the kobold jiggled gently as it plumped up, going from fat to blubbery in barely a minute. It gained so much weight it could probably have been rolled around from place to place. Just being able to stand was an impressive feat.

But as dramatic as the changes were, the kobold was utterly oblivious to them. It was still trying to remember its own name, and getting nowhere fast. The flickering of its eyes ceased, leaving them solid white. A second later they turned bright pink.

A smile appeared on the kobold’s pudgy face. Of course, how could it forget! It had no name. A servant had no need for such a silly thing. It was called whatever the Master wanted it to be called—that’s how it’d always been, and that’s how it’d always be.

“Now that you’re the perfect blank slate, why don’t we give you a new job?” Vindros said, noticing the visible relief in Roland’s face. “Send it to the kitchens to become a server. Carrying things back and forth should be simple enough for it to handle.”

Roland bowed, then prodded the doughball of a kobold beside him. “You heard the Master, follow me!”

The kobold did exactly what it was told, huffing and puffing as it slowly waddled after Roland. Its whole body swayed from side-to-side as it went along, more blubber than kobold. It focused all of its attention on moving and avoiding others, unable to think of anything else.

The kitchens were, of course, just as vast and busy as the rest of the lair. Cooks tended to food in large ovens, quite a few of which were vaguely kobold-shaped. They stirred stews and soups in boiling cauldrons. Servers hurried along with platters and carts, so many of which had a strong motif of horns and claws.

None of it registered with the kobold, though, who thought only of serving. A portly yellow kobold named Zel became its new boss. He frowned less than Roland, but barked orders just as frequently, and quickly found work his hefty underling could actually manage.

For once the kobold didn’t immediately struggle. Pushing a cart with full plates was simple enough, as was pushing it back with empty ones. All it had to do was avoid bumping into the other servers or guests, the only real challenge considering its body seemed built to wreck anything that dared get in its way.

The kobold’s existence became dominated by routine. Serve and clean up breakfast. Serve and clean up lunch. Serve and clean up dinner. In between there were plenty of snacks to transport, and tableware to put away. At the end of the day it would lumber back to its cluster filled with equally-hefty kobolds and sleep. The next morning it would all begin anew.

Days became weeks. Weeks became months. The kobold didn’t excel at its work, but it didn’t struggle with it either. And that was good enough for it. It’d always been good enough. Squeezing into a creaking bed that barely contained its expansive bulk, the kobold peacefully went to sleep, pleased at being able to serve.


Vindros let out a happy groan as dinner finished, his doughy belly nearly stuffed enough to serve as a cushion for the gluttonous dragon. The last of his dinner guests were waddling out of the room, most on the verge of passing out in a food coma. Roland—who’d proven particularly ravenous that night—had to be carried out by other servants, the kobold butler too fat to move on his own.

The dragon loved to watch his most loyal servants plump up and give in to gluttony, their appetites growing to match his own. Their waddling amused him, as did their struggles to squeeze into chairs, clothing, and even doorways that no longer fit. Sure, there were times when one or two would indulge so much that performing their usual duties became impossible, but Vindros was always willing and able to find a more suitable position for them. He glanced at a large, golden portrait frame on a nearby wall, with its kobold-themed carvings.

A crash pulled Vindros from his daydream. A hefty, gray and white kobold stood staring at the shattered remains of a large porcelain pitcher. It looked guilty but confused, and didn’t quite seem to know how to react to the mess it had made. The other servants stopped momentarily at the sudden sound, but quickly continued with their own tasks once they noticed the source.

Though Vindros sighed, he grinned as well. He lumbered over to the servant, his belly gently bumping into the table as it swayed. “Tsk, tsk. No matter how many chances I give you, you just seem to get clumsier and clumsier.” He poked the tubby kobold’s gut, causing it to blush and wobble. “I guess I’m partly to blame, for not finding the best fit for you in the lair sooner. But now I think I’ve got the perfect job for you, one that requires no effort on your part or even thought. Something you couldn’t possibly fail at.”

The nameless kobold looked up at Vindros blankly. It didn’t have any opinion on where it worked, and awaited whatever role the dragon deemed it should have. After all, it lived to serve.

Vindros took in a breath, and blew pink smoke at the kobold, whose only reaction was to cough a little as it was enveloped. The gray of its body was swept away until the kobold was solid white, lacking in any identifying markings. They’d become even more of a blank slate than ever.

After the color had fled, the kobold felt its body slowly grow stiff. Its tail stopped moving and its claws locked into place. Eventually even its gaze became fixed, eyes unblinking. Yet still the kobold didn’t panic or cry out or show any sign of distress.

The dragon picked up the frozen kobold, claws feeling over the mass of its blubbery, failed servant. “Good, good. Lots of material to work with. Fattening you up was the right choice, at least. Saves me time and gives me a lot of options.”

He curved the kobold’s tail upward, arching it so the tip pressed into its back, almost like a handle. The tail remained in place where it was moved. He pushed both of the kobold’s arms against and then into its body, until they were embedded. Legs were pinned together and merged. With a claw Vindros pressed down, compressing the shortstack kobold further while making adjustments here and there. It was like molding clay.

After some manipulation, the kobold had become a stubby, bulging cylinder with a handle, even smaller than before. It had a passing similarity to the water pitcher it’d broken. Vindros continued to work, smoothing away most of the former-kobold’s features. The head was nudged upward, the snout opened wide. A small stream of smoke was blown right in. Unseen, the work-in-progress hollowed out, an empty vessel both physically and mentally.

Content the shape was right, Vindros let out one last puff. Doughy hide solidified, transforming from pudge to porcelain before the dragon’s eyes. It gained a wonderful sheen, candlelight reflecting off its sizable, glossy surface. A careful tap with a claw on its side created an echoing clack. The dragon’s work was finished.

What had once been a kobold who had once been a jamcat was now a large, porcelain water pitcher. It was solid white, molded in such a way that its spout was reminiscent of a kobold’s open snout. The handle was a curved tail, and faint carvings resembling claws and eyes helped complete the look. A wonderful match for all the other vaguely kobold-themed tableware in Vindros’ collection.

“I do enjoy a chance to be creative,” Vindros said as he lifted up the new pitcher, looking it over more closely. His personal monogram was etched beneath the base, to further mark the item as his property. “Now you’ll be able to serve water and drinks at every meal without ever making another mistake again. I did promise you’d always have a position here, after all.”

The whisper of consciousness still remaining in the pitcher expressed overwhelming glee. It would do whatever the dragon told it to, be whatever the dragon told it to be. Being a water pitcher would be a great honor, something to be proud of. It already couldn’t wait for the next meal, to be filled to the brim and poured over glasses and goblets. Hopefully the servants would keep its surface nice and shiny. The dragon would see to that, surely!

A cart was brought by two of the other, more capable servants, and Vindros placed the pitcher atop it. Without a word the servants took it away, leaving the dining room and heading down a corridor until they reached the storeroom with cabinet-lined walls for all of the grandiose tableware. The pitcher was carefully lifted off the cart, and placed onto a shelf where its predecessor had once sat. The glass door to the display case was shut and locked, and the servants left to handle other chores. They left behind a dark and quiet room filled with happy, dutiful items.


Years later, a grand feast was held in the lair to celebrate the promotion of a new head butler. And—coincidentally—the brand new burgundy cushion Vindros lazed on as he ate. Kobolds glutted and bellies bulged as servants delivered additional courses and made sure each dinner guest had a full plate and glass. As always, it was a festive atmosphere.

The plates and utensils shined just as much as the guests, all arranged to show off the prestige of Vindros. And while they were all incredible in their own right, few stood out quite like the giant porcelain water pitcher. It always got compliments—though many were prone to praise the source of their refreshing drink. Some even claimed it looked ecstatic to be of service. Though they’d never know for certain, they were right.


When dinner had ended and all the guests had left, Vindros relaxed on his cushion, enjoying its unrivaled softness as the room was cleaned up. It was a “gift” he’d been hoping to get for years, and it was already meeting the grand expectations he’d given it. He was always so good at turning a bad thing into a good thing, especially the rotund ones.

He was roused by the sound of something big shattering, and couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of deja vu. A short distance away the giant water pitcher lay broken, smashed into dozens of jagged pieces and strewn across the floor. The kobold who’d been trying to move it onto a cart looked upon the wreckage, oblivious.

Vindros forced himself to leave the comfort of his cushion and dragged himself over to the mess. He frowned at the ruined pitcher, one of the older pieces in his collection. It’d served him well over the years, at countless meals and parties. It was far too damaged to bother repairing, though. Just junk waiting to be tossed out. Oh well, fragile things didn’t last forever. Besides, it was easy to replace.

The clumsy servant looked up at the dragon, just as his cheeks puffed up and a cloud of pink smoke poured down.