Come What May

~Come What May
Tags: Vanilla, Halfling, Changeling, mild shapeshifting.

Joran was fairly typical for a halfling. For too spritely for the introverted types, far too inoffensive for the outgoing types. Talks too much, says too little, comes infuriatingly early, stays frustratingly late. Always eating, always drinking, always chipper with a quick wit and a joke. The irony is that the most average halfling on the planet, the one who is least outside the accepted mould as possible, bears the responsibility of diplomacy, this is as a tiny half man who has too much of a fondness for ale and would rather listen to the court jester than the king he's visiting.
Diplomacy.
With nations.
Yet the irony works in the halflings' favour, spritely can be waved off as decisive, inoffensive as respectful, talkative as engaging, but not so forthcoming as to spill secrets. Early and late become indicators of a hard worker, while eating, drinking and carousing scream of social grace.
Despite this, he was seldom a 'pisshead' and in fact tended to keep a cool and calm demeanour as soon as things took a turn for the serious. Outdrinking a dwarf, while simultaneously navigating the subtle social nuances that are likely to offend at the political table while also appearing to have balls the size of the very mountain they were under, whilst keeping the dwarf's angry bodyguard from lopping off his head was a pretty respectable feat. He ended that meeting being one of the dwarven king's personal poker buddies whenever he was in town (possibly because he paid for the king's ale because 'a man should never have to pay to drink in his own home').
Then there was his bodyguard. Siver was the most unusual halfling he'd ever met. Not outgoing in the slightest, rarely inoffensive, aloof yet confrontational, armed to the teeth and fully capable of using any and all weapons in her personal arsenal. She had a lust for combat and an uncanny knack for spotting liars (halflings tended to be too trusting to be left to this). She never drank, ate little, rarely chipper, always alert.
Sufficed to say, they were quite the odd couple. Usually, this juxtaposition worked well. Siver could pick up the slack when honeyed words and silvered tongues failed. Should Joran fail the open hand and the turned cheek, she would compensate with the clenched fist and the gnashed teeth. Even though halflings resembled fully grown humans scaled down to the tiny height of three feet, she had enough muscle to wreck the day of an angry orc.
This saw them through almost every diplomatic minefield.
Almost.
One particular evening went sourly, a particular human city state had undergone a social upheaval and a new government. Neither of them were prepared for that government to be an organised crime syndicate that was eager to off the both of them.
	"Almost at the gate!" called Siver, her wavy brown hair fluttering as she ran, "I'll carve these fuckers up, you keep running!"
	"Fuck that, haven't had a good fight in years!" retorted Joran, wiping his grimy blond hair from his brow, "I got your back Siver, worry about keeping that pretty little arse of yours in one piece, hey?"
Siver scoffed, Joran was grinning from ear to ear as if he'd never had so much fun. Siver was too grounded in the reality of the situation however, halflings might have been slighter and swifter than humans, but if comparisons had to be drawn, halflings were mice and humans were wolves. Halflings excelled at small bursts of speed, hiding and sneak attacks from covered positions. Humans were social creatures, more so than the inoffensive halfling and potent endurance hunters, the likes that no other race could match. They could be outrun, but they could never be outpaced.
And to strain the metaphor, this diplomat wanted to play 'who's the better killer' with what amounted to a ravenous wolf pack to his little mousy hide.
Siver however was keen to even the odds, setting her sights on the gate, which had crossbowmen on the arch and about four swordsmen at the gate. Siver stopped and raised the wrist crossbow on her left forearm and fired bolts as rapidly as she could load it. The first bolt flew true, braining the nearest crossbowman while the second only knocked the wind out of him, the cloth armour protecting him from the blow. She moved just in time to prevent a bolt from scoring her in the face in reply and gave up her own attacks, hearing the hoofbeats of cavalry behind her.
She ran.
	"Joran, leg it you silly fuck!"
By the time she said this however, she finally saw where he was. She had never seen her client in combat before, and certainly didn't know about the two machetes he kept under his tunic. He parried a blow from one of the swordsmen and followed through by taking his head with a deft swing, the head heavy blade working more like an axe as it sheared flesh from bone, and neck from shoulders. He twirled, dodging a stray bolt and parrying yet another blow in the same instance.
Mid run, Siver let an arrow into the face of another swordsman who was creeping up on her charge from behind, while drawing a bastard sword to deal with the other. As Joran flicked a machete through the swordsman's leg, causing him to fall down to Joran's height, Siver ran up the man and leapt off his head, straight for the last swordsman, bringing her bastard sword to bear. She landed past him in a roll, the resistance his body offered against the blade nearly caused her to stray off the course. The result however spoke for itself, she had cleaved the swordsman, chainmail and all, clean in two.
Joran finished up the last swordsman by disembowelling him with the tips of both blades and immediately darted for the gate to get some cover from the bolts.
	"Shit, fucking thing's locked!" screamed Joran as he got to it.
Siver shook her head, "Move!"
She jumped, kicking the gate with both feet. The lock splintered and snapped, swinging gently ajar.
They ran, but it didn't last long. The cavalry caught up rapidly.
	"Hey Joran..." called Siver as she noted the warhorses getting closer.
	"What's up!?"
	"What if I told you I wasn't a halfling?"
	"Don't care, trying not to die!"
	"Awesome!"
At that Siver stopped, facing the cavalry, sheathing her bastard sword. Suddenly her skin changed pigment, sliding into a shade of dark, sickly green as her limbs extended and her body grew, clothes ripping and tearing, her weapons falling off of her as she grew too massive for their binds.. Joran stopped, almost dropping his machetes at the sight. Siver's fingers became scything talons while a set of elephant tusks extended from her jowls. She grew shaggier, hairier, uglier. The lanky, twelve foot tall, gnarled form was unmistakable: a feral troll. Most trolls were smaller, more civilised and much more attractive. Feral trolls looked like scalded swamp trees with half the bark missing and had the ornery temper of a kicked tomcat.
When the horses came, they immediately bucked and reared, most of the riders falling off their mounts, and the ones who didn't found themselves a one way ticket to whence they came.
They were the lucky ones.
A scything claw in the face from a feral troll was not something most armour could protect against, and if it did, the question was 'could it last through the rest of the blows?'
The half dozen men didn't last long. The heavy blows, talons or no talons, broke bones and shattered bodies. A couple were beaten, a couple thrown, one was bisected when he was swung head first into a tree and the last was pile driven head first into the ground.
When the commotion was over, Siver started to stumble and wave, shrinking down into a smaller form. Joran expected her to fall back into her halfling form, as that was the only way he had known her. With every stumbling step towards him however, her form receded more and more into something else.
At six feet, with silver skin, white hair and matching eyes, Siver's true form shone through. The taut, lean, leggy figure of a changeling fell to her knees in front of him, half naked due to the shredded clothes she erupted from to save their lives.
He couldn't help but notice just how athletic and well kept her body was, sculpted to an attractive ideal as much as the form of a warrior. He tried not to be a pervert however, nothing appealing about someone in distress, particularly a valued and trusted friend.
As she passed out, he picked her up and carried her on his shoulders, making sure to retrieve her weapons before vacating the area.

***

Siver woke with a start, hyperventilating and making an instinctive right hook to an imaginary opponent. Within a few breaths she realised she was in a candlelit cave that was so tiny she would have had to duck her head to get in or out.
	"Woah there, glad I decided to fetch some water when I did!" said Joran, impressed by the power of the blow as much as her quick recovery.
	"Oh..." Siver looked up at him and found herself quickly embarrassed, "Sorry..."
She looked down, noting that she was tucked safely into her bedroll, but her abrupt awakening had thrown the top of it off of her, her apple sized breasts bared and drawing Joran's wandering gaze.
She quickly rolled over, ripping the bedroll over herself, cheeks glowing a bright white blush.
	"Huh, I never would have thought you had white nipples-"
	"Shut up!" Siver pleaded, blushing so hard it was almost luminescent.
	"I'm assuming your everything else is white too?" an almost childlike curiosity in his voice.
	"Shut the fuck up!" Siver ripped the bedroll over her head to avoid his gaze.
Joran seemed to find this hilarious, "Okay, okay, I'll stop being a dirty little fucker. Still... Thank you for bailing my arse out before."
	"Don't mention it!" Siver called.
	"You know... most people would have let me die and dived out that window, but you stayed and stabbed those fuckers in the face at the table. Why?"
	"You're my client!"
	"Not many bodyguards take just the one client, and fewer still gradually lower their prices. In fact it's the rare breed that would have followed me in here."
Siver emerged from the bedroll, gazing into Joran's sky blue eyes.
	"Maybe your happy-go-lucky attitude rubbed off on me?"
	"Why would a changeling take a job that risked unmasking her so much?"
It was then that critical point finally clicked, she began shifting into her halfling form out of reflex.
	"Don't bother!" barked Joran. His face quickly relaxed into a smile, "I actually like the natural you. It's pretty, exotic."
She stopped the shifting and cycled back into her natural self, "S...sorry..."
	"And now you're all coy... big bad mean bitch Siver, don't tell me that persona's an act too?"
	"I..." she glanced away from him.
	"You know changelings aren't welcome most places. Home might be an exception, but a rare one. The political damage that you could cause is staggering to be polite about it."
	"I..." Tears were welling in her eyes, clearly ashamed of both what she was and the fact that she was trying to be something she wasn't.
Joran cracked a smile, "This stays between you and me. And don't get yourself caught. I like you too much for that."
Siver looked back into his eyes, "I... like you too..."
Joran raised an eyebrow, "Is that why you stuck around the past three years?"
She nodded.
	"You once said you had trouble saying no to boyish face," Joran observed, "I guess I accidentally took advantage of that!"
Siver gave a small giggle before smiling, "I guess I let you," her voice was gentler than her halfling persona, her smile keener.
Joran knelt by her, "Sounds like we've got some catching up to do. So, tell me about the real Siver, you know all about me..."
Siver told a relatively short tale, but one filled with a past she was ashamed to admit as an identity thief. She was contracted to steal his identity to topple a nation, but while she had killed in the heat of the moment, she had never murdered for her job before and she couldn't bring herself to stab a face so pretty. She retold about how she cleaned up her life and tried to project herself as a respectable, powerful woman to impress him and that while she was around him, she was relatively safe from reprisal from the abandonment of her former role.
	"I take it those crims running that city were former associates?"
	"Yes."
Joran shrugged, "Nice. When we get home I'm petitioning the army to sack that shithole, liberate those fuckers with our 'democracy'."
Siver giggled, "And it's how easy you just let it roll off you that caught my interest in the first place," she suddenly went sombre and gulped.
	"Hey Joran..." she said with a worried, nervous smile, "I... I... think I kinda maybe fell in sorta love with you?"
Joran laughed, "Wow, you're really awkward when you're not wearing some kind of mask aren't you? not at all comfortable in your own skin?"
A shaken head was his answer.
He leant over and kissed her on the cheek, "I'd often gloat about the powerful woman at my side. I just wished I could hold her hand when I'm up risking my nation's reputation."
Siver's mouth was agape, she didn't expect her feelings to be reciprocated.
She flung her bedding off and embraced him, yanking him off his knees and into a tight hug.
Joran managed to push himself up for some air, finding himself sitting, straddled atop of her with full view of her breasts and her smiling face. Her body heaved, skin rapidly changing and warping, height shifting to match. The only constant the point where Joran sat above her.
She turned into a pretty red-headed human and then to a brown elf, "I can be anything," she shrunk to a halfling and shifted to more childish proportions in a gnome, "be anyone," she then shifted into a squat dwarf and then to an exceptionally tall drow, "you want me to be."
Joran shrugged, "Why not you? You're the beautiful creature here everything else is just a mask."
Siver gasped, "Are... Are you serious?"
	"Well, okay, sure, I have nothing against spicing things up by changing facades if that's okay with you, there are some elves out there that I would do unspeakable things to given the chance, but as I said, you're the pretty one. Just be you."
At that Siver slunk back into her natural state, leaning forward, resting her weight on one arm while reaching for Joran with the other and gave a shuddering, nervous breath.
	"Joran... I..."
	"Shh..." Joran pressed a finger to her lips as he started taking off his coat. Siver assisted, pulling at the straps and threads that held his tunic and trousers on.
Within moments Joran was naked, smiling and eager. Siver was impressed by his member as well, six inches was a respectable size for all races, absolutely gigantic by halfling standards, but that was just icing on what was shaping up to be a delicious cake. Joran was a lot more toned than he imagined, not an overly muscular juggernaut, but lean, the faintest outlines of his muscles visible in the flickering light. She found herself instantly moistening.
Siver wordlessly parted her legs for him. Joran cracked a giggle, she was white down there like he predicted, though with the way it glistened in the light, it looked like a sheen of silver.
	"You're very pretty like this..." he smirked.
Siver leant back and guided the halfling in, his member sliding in effortlessly. Joran started slowly, thrusting gently as he caressed her legs.
Siver felt tingly with each stroke and pet, building up against the sensations of his thrusts and grinds. She slowly guided him up and down her body, letting his fingertips play patterns, drawing streaks of white in her tender silver skin.
	"I can be any shape you want..." her breasts shrunk, flattening until there was nothing left but erect nipple, "any size you want..." they grew outward until they were close to the size of his head, "Just name your tastes..."
	"Yours," he smirked.
Siver didn't know what to make of this, but she complied, and they receded back to their normal size. Joran then started massaging one to emphasise his point, the he liked what he saw, that he liked her the way she was. His thrusts became firmer as he leant down to the other breasts and began sucking the nipple. Due to the size difference, this was rather comfortable for him.
Siver gasped. She had never told him that she was a virgin, while she knew for a fact that he was an experienced lover. The combination meant that she found every sensation overwhelming, and the tongue working against her breast caused her to wrap her arms tightly around his head, pressing him against her. He responded by gripping a hand around her waist and thrusting harder.
She then pushed him back for a moment as she expanded her bust out to the rough size of melons, "I'm sorry, I find it feels nicer when being massaged like this..."
Joran shrugged and went back to exactly what he was doing before, causing a soft moan to escape her lips.
For a while this was working wonders with her, raw pleasurable sensation wracked her body that they had never done before. Pretty soon, Siver found herself at a kind of precipice, but unsure where to go from there.
Joran however seemed to know and reared back, lifting her legs and pushing down on them, planting her knees to the floor and opening her hips as wide as she could physically allow. Then he thrust, harder and faster than he could previously.
Siver was overwhelmed, massaging her own breasts in response. They grew even larger, Siver somehow enjoying the sensation of sinking her fingers into them, pressing, squeezing and stroking them with the same force a baker would use to flatten bread.
Joran merely keeping pace, watching all that was unfolding before him, feeling that this was going to be a strange experience.
As Siver grew nearer and nearer to the edge of her climax, she started to lose control of her form, rapidly shifting in and out of previously held guises. For a short time, she shifted into an incredibly dainty, flat chested, auburn haired, brown elf. Her voice rising a significant pitch, her cries shorter and sharper, resembling a bird whistle.
 As Joran changed it up, moving slower, but sinking his cock so deep he expected to feel her liver, Siver writhed against him and lost focus of her form again, changing into a curvy, busty human with black hair. Her voice deepened somewhat, her cry shifting to a drawn out moan as her eyes rolled up into the back of her head.
Joran made great pains to hold her down, she was shifting and writhing in unexpected ways and each and every form was just as attractive as the last, considering he was angling for endurance and trying to think of other matters to prevent his own ejaculation, this was saying something.
She then began randomly shifting and changing, her skin flickering between all sorts of colours and pigments as her body writhed against his throbbing member, her hair fluttering between random shapes and styles. The main consistent however was the rolled up eyes and the chewed on lip.
Joran was a champion, even when he made that final push that sent Siver over the edge, he kept from cumming. Even when Siver writhed against him in a way that ground the head of his shaft against the top wall of her pussy, he managed to hold it. Even when he felt her juice squirt onto him and then dribble down his legs, even when she started calling out in uncontained ecstasy, he held on.
It was only when she settled down and stopped writing against him that he pulled it out, yanking it out of her just in time to blow it all over her, spraying all up her tummy and chest with his sticky white load, a couple of droplets spraying on her face, the warm cock milk running down her cheek.
Siver smiled and wiped her cheek clean, slipping her fingers into her mouth to clean them,
	"I'll uhh... I'll work on the shapeshifting thing. If I can get it down right, expect a sultry nymph to 'bless' you, or maybe even a vampire to suck you dry if you catch my drift."
	"Give me twenty minutes and I'll be good for you to give that a try, don't worry..." grinned Joran.