Sandra stumbled out of bed, tugging down her pants so she could look at the garment hanging heavily between her legs.

“Crap.”

No, wait. Poor choice of words.

It didn’t matter what her word choice was, though. The fact of the matter is, she’d woken up wearing a diaper. A smelly diaper, at that.

She couldn’t tell if it was the same diaper from the dungeon. Regardless, it stood to reason that even if it wasn’t the exact same one, the diaper hanging around her hips now had something in common with the one that had appeared around her hips then.

“Okay, uh… I can fix this,” she muttered, kicking off the pants hanging around her ankles. Unencumbered, she began pacing up and down the small room, waddling a bit so that she wouldn’t smush her diaper between her thighs as she thought.

The first idea was obvious.

Placing a hand on the front of the diaper, she cast prestidigitation, willing the diaper to be clean.

It was a simple spell, with a simple, predictable effect. The magic surged and fizzled, grounding out and accomplishing nothing. The diaper was still there, still laden down with its… contents.

“Huh?” Sandra said, trying again. The magic proved as useless the second time as the first, failing to do anything about the source of the room’s stink.

That changed things, for the significantly worse. If she couldn’t use prestidigitation to clean herself, it might be a bad idea to even take off the diaper. She would just risk making a mess everywhere, instead of keeping it contained.

For all she knew, the magic wouldn’t let her her get cleaned up at all. She could be doomed to be dirty forever, never able to clean herself, even with soap and a-

The diaper grew a little warmer, and she looked down, alarmed. “Am I peeing?”

She wasn’t. Instead, the front of the diaper had begun to glow, a magical wave passing down from the front, down between her legs, and around the back.

With the magic, came cleansing. The moisture evaporated, replaced by solid, dry padding, and the muck squelching against her backside simply vanished.

Just like that, she was wearing a clean diaper, held snugly against her by the tapes. A little poof of baby powder escaped the top of the waistband, cleansing the room of the stinky, stale odor and replacing it with a sweet baby smell.

“One more thing for the cleric,” she muttered, grabbing her pants and tugging them back on over the diaper. They were baggy enough to hide the bulk, though the subtle crinkle of the plastic backing was still more than audible as she moved around experimentally.

Sandra briefly considered taking off the diaper, but if her magic was on the fritz, she didn’t even want to think about having another accident and wetting her pants where someone from the guild could see.

Getting her belongings together, she put the crinkle out of her mind, braced herself for a tedious day of curse removal and cleanup work, and waddled out the door.

The first thing she did was get a bowl of gruel from the innkeeper. Once the cheap breakfast was in hand, she made her way over to Anand.

“Give me good news,” she said, skipping any preamble as she sat down.

“Always good to see a friendly face,” Anand said, sipping from a mug of something frothy.

She smiled. “Glad you’re in a chipper mood. Any new quests on the docket?”

“I didn’t say you were a friendly face.” Chuckling, the guild master reached in one of his bottomless pockets, pulling out a folded paper. “I’ve got a little something. Client needs a parcel delivered up to the City. Payment upon safe delivery.”

“That’s a little out of our way, but we could make the trip,” Sandra rubbed at her chin, thinking about it. “What’s the take?”

Anand checked the paper, frowning. “Fifteen gold, upon delivery.”

“You’re shitting me.” Sandra almost stormed off right there, but she held back her temper. “That barely covers expenses. Isn’t there anything else?”

“Not for your level of skill,” Anand said, leaving the paper on the table. “Jobs are slow in these parts. There’s a black dragon a little ways north that needs cleared out, if you want a challenge, but I’d hate to see you turned into barbeque.”

Sandra rolled her eyes. “Black dragons breath acid, not fire.”

“Turned into pickles, then. Point is, you’d get your asses handed to you on a silver platter.” Anand sighed, taking a long pull of his ale. “You could always try and rustle up work with the locals. Might be a cave of goblins that they don’t want to pay guild rates for.”

“We’re guild loyal.” Sandra shook her head, pushing up to her feet with a groan. “Let me get back to you? I don’t imagine anyone is raring at the bit to claim this.”

“No, but it’s time sensitive. We don’t get this delivered soon, the client might go to another company.” Anand raised his mug in a toast. “Let me know by this afternoon?”

“Of course.”

Sandra stood, hitched up her pants to ensure her diaper wouldn’t poke out above the waistband, and started walking towards the bar. Two steps in, she stopped. A subtle, wise figure was in the doorway, one hand held over his mouth, waving for her attention.

“Hadrian?” she called, walking over to the entrance. “What’s-”

He took her by the arm and turned so that his back was too the bar, then took his hand away from his mouth. The pacifier from the dungeon had returned, bobbing slightly in his mouth as the wizard unconciously suckled it.

“Oh, of course,” Sandra said, grabbing the loop and pulling the pacifier free. Hadrian gaped for a moment, mouth opening and closing like a fish as he rediscovered his voice. Sandra nodded, pocketing the pacifier. “Take your time. Can you talk?”

His voice initially had a lisp, but he was able to speak. “Can ‘ou understand me?”

The pronunciation was no barrier, but Sandra was still taken aback, because he was speaking in Sylvan. Responding in common, she said, “Yes, can you understand me?”

Hadrian’s brow furrowed. “What was that?”

She switched to Sylvan as well. “Can you speak any languages besides Sylvan?”

His lisp was completely gone when he said, “I’m speaking Sylvan?”

“It’s at least a language,” Sandra shrugged. “Have you noticed anything else… strange?”

“The… I don’t know the Sylvan word for the mouth bulb thing,” Hadrian said. “But that’s it. How are you dealing with your curse?”

Sandra glanced around the room. She doubted many folks spoke Sylvan, but even with that in mind, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“If it helps, there’s no way we could have seen it coming. I was checking the magic scrolls that I took, some of them are far stronger than anything we’ve ever dealt with. This wizard is a much bigger threat than we thought.” Hadrian gestured to a table. “I haven’t been able to read the notes, yet, but it seems, from what happened to us and Quinn, that his work follows a sort of… theme.”

They sat, and Sandra thought it over. “Yeah, I… wait.” Cheeks flushing, she looked over her shoulder and tried to tug up her pants, suddenly paranoid about the waistband of her diaper being visible. “How’d you know about my curse?”

Hadrian snorted, but he shook his head. “Don’t worry, it’s not that visible. I saw your trouble on the walk home yesterday.”

“Oh.” Sandra let out a breath of relief. “Well, we’ve got enough money to pay the cleric. With luck, he’ll be able to get us all sorted out before the day is up.”

“Don’t get your hopes too high. This is some high-level casting,” Hadrian hedged. “The local cleric might not be strong enough to break this magic.”

“Well, then, we’ll go to the City,” Sandra said. “It’ll cost a bit more, but there are some priests there who are more than competent for curse removal. Don’t worry about it, we’ll get this all taken care of and you’ll be speaking common before you know it.”

She hadn’t really heard Tarja come up behind them, until she said, “Is this a secret conversation?”

“Tarja,” Sandra said by way of greeting, scooting to the side so that their ranger could pull up a chair. “No, it’s not a secret, but Hadrian can’t speak Common right now.”

“But he can speak?” Tarja asked, hopefully. “The curse is wearing off, just slowly?”

“Yeah, it seems like.”

“That’s good.” Tarja took a seat, spreading out a bit and taking up most of the leg room around the table. “I hope the same can be said for Quinn.”

“What’s she saying?” Hadrian asked, in Sylvan.

Sandra translated, paraphrasing a bit. “She wanted to know what you were saying, is relieved that the curses are wearing off, and hopes that Quinn will get better in a similar way.”

Hadrian pressed his lips into a line. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Language and mental spells react differently than transmutation, especially when curses are involved. A physical effect like that might not wear off in the same way.”

“Whats he saying?” Tarja asked.

Gods, that’s going to get annoying, Sandra thought. “I’ll translate, just give me a second, it’s hard to switch back and forth. He said that physical curses are different from mind-affecting spells.”

“Oh no,” Tarja said, her face growing distraught. “Is he certain?”

Sandra saw no reason to translate the simple question. “Hadrian doesn’t run his mouth about things he’s uncertain of. Are you that worried about Quinn?”

“Y-yes. Quinn,” Tarja confirmed. “That’s it. I feel guilty, because it’s my fault that he was cursed.”

Sandra almost asked Tarja another question, but was interrupted by a couple chuckles around the bar. She knew why without having to look up, and called over her shoulder. “Quinn! Join us?”

The burly half-orc grumbled as he walked over to the table, arms crossed over his rather busty chest. “Let’s get to the damned cleric already.”

“You’re in a foul mood,” Sandra commented. “Something happen last night?”

“A couple jokes, but nothing I can’t handle,” Quinn grumbled. “But I barely slept last night. Why didn’t one of you tell me that these would be so ungodly sensitive?”

Sandra couldn’t help but smirk, though Tarja didn’t share in the amusement, saying, “Sorry, I should have thought of that. You’re normally a stomach sleeper, yes?”

“Normally,” Quinn groaned.

“I’m not hungry,” Sandra cut in. “I’m fine skipping breakfast and going straight to the cleric, how does everyone feel about that?”

Her two Common-speaking allies nodded in agreement, and after Sandra translated for Hadrian, he agreed as well.

Pushing to her feet, Sandra felt her diaper squelch a little between her legs, warm and damp against her thighs. Hiding her blush, she looked around to ensure nobody had noticed that anything was amiss.

Tarja noticed her look. “What’s wrong?”

“I- nothing,” Sandra said quickly. “Let’s get to the cleric.”

Hadrian gave her a knowing look, not needing to speak the language to understand the exchange that had just gone down, but didn’t make a comment. Without further ado, they shuffled out of the bar, all varying levels of glum and grumpy.

…

“Nothing?” Sandra asked, eyes wide. “You can’t dispel it even a little?”

The cleric pressed his lips into a line. A devoted servant of Calistria, his robes were black and yellow, and cut to show off his supple limbs and the elven grace of his hips. It made him a little distracting to look at as he explained the trouble. “I’m not a miracle worker, and I’m not going to be for years. These curses that hit your wizard are well beyond me, and I don’t even need to give you a second glance to be sure that you’re just as far gone.”

“Sandra?” Quinn asked, waiting his turn for the cleric’s examination. “You’re cursed, too?”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Tarja asked, concern in her voice. “What happened?”

“Nothing!” Sandra interjected quickly, face flushing. “That is- I’m fine, it’s nothing that’ll matter to you. Cleric, do you know someone else who can fix this?”

The cleric bowed his head in a nod, though he gave Sandra a playful look as she blushed. “I have some contacts in the City. The Temple of Calistria has members all across the realm, just find our symbol and ask for aid.”

“What about me?” Quinn asked, stepping forward and pointing with a thumb towards his own chest, undoing a couple buttons to demonstrate the issue more clearly. “Can you do anything about this? They’re sore like nothing and I can’t get any sleep.”

“Let me give it a good once-over, but if it’s the same wizard’s handiwork, I can’t make promises,” the cleric said, bending over to eye the large, voluptuous breasts that Quinn was sporting. It took him only a second to say, “These beauties aren’t the result of a curse.”

“Huh?” Quinn asked, his tone getting angry. “What do you mean, ‘these ain’t the result of a curse’? Do you think I wanted this?”

“Maybe you didn’t, but that’s not the point, sweet,” the cleric said, staring without shame at Quinn’s exposed breasts. “The effect isn’t malicious, and for some, it’s downright…” he paused, choosing his words. “Beneficial. In short, you need something to dispel the magic, rather than removing a curse.”

Quinn stared at him blankly. “Well… can you do that?”

The cleric shook his head. “Again, not with my current skill level. This is potent work. Who exactly did you all tangle with?”

All eyes fell on Sandra, but she could only shrug. “It was supposed to just be some easy target wizard. We still don’t know exactly who.”

“Hmm,” the cleric mused, smirking a little. “Well, talk to my colleagues in the City. They’ll have a better idea of what to do.”

Quinn’s voice sounded a little desperate as he asked, “Isn’t there anything your spells can do? They’re… starting to hurt.”

That took the cleric a moment to consider, before he had a realization. “Oh, I see. They’re not just decorative.”

The half-orc blinked. “Huh?”

“Get a breast pump,” the cleric suggested, eyes twinkling, “Or find someone willing to suckle them for you. Either way, you’ll find that your problem is resolved. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Sandra was about to say ‘no’, but Tarja cut in. “I could use your… services, in private, please.”

“Tarja?” Sandra asked, raising an eyebrow at her. “Are you okay?”

Tarja’s response was quick and sharp. “I’m fine. Cleric?”

He looked Tarja up and down for a long moment, eyes glittering with understanding. “I’ll probably give you the same news, Changeling, but I’d be happy to take a look.”

Quinn finally picked up on the conversation. “You got hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Tarja pointed towards the back. “Your rectory?”

“Our pleasure room,” the cleric corrected. “My rectory is downstairs.”

“Then let’s go there. Sandra, Quinn, Hadrian, I’ll meet you all back at the inn, alright?”

Sandra didn’t like leaving this problem unaddressed, but arguing would be pointless. “Alright. Don’t dawdle. As soon as we get our things together, we’re going to the city.”

…

A chair scraped against the barroom floor as Sandra sat down across from Anand, setting down a beer in front of him. “Eighteen gold and we’ll do the job today.”

The dwarf pressed his lips into a line, eyeing the brew and licking his lips. The bribe - and there was no beating around the bush, the beer was a small but unsubtle bribe - was meant to put him in a good mood, because there was arguing to be done. He accepted it, took a frothy sip, and said, “Rate is fifteen gold.”

“That’s after the guild’s cut,” Sandra pointed out. “We both know the client’s paying more.”

His eyes went hard, the pleasantries gone from the conversation. “Now, listen here-”

“I know,” Sandra cut in. “The guild works as hard as any outgoing adventurer. You make sure our fees get paid, you find the jobs, you negotiate the prices. I’m not looking to cut you out or see that you don’t get paid for your share of the work.”

Anand glared, and Sandra could have sworn that his beard hairs were twitching in annoyance. “But?”

“But,” Sandra conceded, “You have to do your share of the work. If you don’t negotiate a fair rate, that hurts everyone, and in this case you did not negotiate a fair rate.”

“If you don’t like the job, don’t take it,” Anand growled. “Don’t come tell me how to do my job-”

“Rations for four people, two ways,” Sandra said, holding up her fingers to count off. “That’s four gold. Lodging is another two when we arrive. That’s more than a third of the pay right there unless we start cutting corners. Do you expect us to eat wandermeal? To all crowd into a single room and get no sleep? The guild is supposed to be better than that.”

Anand rubbed at his eyes. “If you don’t like the pay, you can let someone else take the job.”

“Who?” Sandra demanded, prepared for that rebuttal. “It’s a parcel delivery. You know who lives in this town, and who’s staying here on furlough. Would you expect someone to come in from out of town to take this job?”

“You aren’t a guild master-”

Sandra didn’t let him interrupt. “And do you expect that there won’t be any trouble with the delivery, that we won’t have to use arrows and spell components and potions if we get into a fight? Setting our prices based on the expectation that there won’t be trouble means we’re losing money at the first sign of conflict.” She finally ended her rant, giving Anand a chance to really respond.

He didn’t, at least not until he could take a long pull from the beer she’d bribed him with, giving him time to think. “Damned stubborn girl. You should be grateful there’s work to be had at all.”

“I’m not going to-”

“But, I see your point,” he interjected, pausing for a breath. “The rate for the job is fifteen gold.”

Sandra blinked. “You just said-”

“The rate for the job is fifteen gold,” Anand clarified, swigging the last drops of the drink. “I’ll give you another five out of pocket when you get back. That’s twenty gold in total. I can’t go bending guild rules for you, but I can do you a favor.”

Sighing in relief, Sandra sat back in the chair. “Thanks. What’s the parcel?”

Anand reached into his pocket for the folded quest paper. “You’re delivering a pegasus.”

Dammit. I should have asked for twenty five.

…

Sandra tugged at the reins, angrily coaxing the winged horse out of the stall. “Come on, girl, just-” the pegasus jerked its head, nearly tripping Sandra, and she jerked back in kind. “You son of a- dammit!”

The mare bucked, wings flapping in the confined space, giving it more force than Sandra had expected. She was thrown back, landing on the hay-covered floor, feeling something squelch warmly beneath her with the impact.

Am I wet? When did I- no time to worry about that, she had a pegasus to deliver. “Stupid beast, I’m trying to get you out of the tiny space. Isn’t that what you want?”

“No, no, you’re doing this all wrong.” Tarja walked in, strolling right up to the pegasus without flinching. Sandra expected the beast to buck or react, but it didn’t, and when the ranger began stroking it’s head, it nickered in a pleased tone. “Pegasi are magnificent creatures. You can’t treat him like a mule and expect that he’ll come along quietly.”

Sandra frowned, dusting herself off as she stood. “Him? I thought it was a mare.”

The pegasus snorted in annoyance, then nickered something that managed to sound angry. Tarja smirked. “He says you are rude and stupid, and smell like pee,” she translated. “And if you want him to come along nicely, you’d better treat him with the respect that someone of his station deserves.”

“His station?” Sandra asked. “This was just supposed to be a simple parcel delivery, for cripes’ sake. Who are we delivering him to?”

The horse nickered more, and Sandra listened before explaining. “Not who, where. He’s joining up with a paladin at the temple of Erastil to go deal with that dragon, but on his own he’s worried about being ambushed if he travels on his own.”

Sandra spat on the ground, annoyed. “Why does everything have to be so complicated? Just once I want a job to go smooth.”

Gently leading the pegasus out of his stall, Tarja listened, translating once more. “He’s not so confident that we can protect him. I guess he doesn’t want… uh… he’s not certain of your skills in combat.”

Eyes narrowing at the beast, Sandra asked, “What did he say, exactly?”

“Eh… the translation isn’t perfect,” Tarja hedged. “But it was something like ‘impotent, helpless piss-baby.’”

Did he see? No, he couldn’t have, but... Sandra shook her head, dismissing the thought. The pegasus was just being insulting, it couldn’t know how on-the-mark its insults were. Directing her comments towards the horse, she said, “We can fight just fine. We’ll get you to your destination in one piece, don’t worry.” Facing Tarja, she added, “Did you see the others?”

“Waiting outside, armed for bear,” Tarja confirmed.

Sandra chewed on a thought, nodding. “Good. If we leave right away, we’ll get to the city before nightfall, but we have to get a move on. How’d your talk with the cleric go?”

“Same news as you.” Tarja looked sullen, but if she wanted to talk about what had happened to her, she would. Prodding for details wouldn’t help, and Sandra was willing to drop the topic as long as it didn’t interfere with Tarja’s work.

The pegasus knickered, and no translation was needed for what he meant. Let’s get going already.

Sandra agreed, but when she stepped out of the stables, she was surprised to have Quinn tap her on the arm and gesture to the side with his head.

“Can I talk to you?”

Sandra frowned, but followed him around the corner. “What’s wrong?”

“My armor,” Quinn explained, the blush out of place on his crude features. “It… hasn’t changed back.”

“Oh.” Sandra took that in, considering the implications. “Well, damn.”

“What do you think the odds are we’ll get into a tussle?” Quinn asked, looking around in concern, even though he wasn’t wearing the frilly pink half-plate at the moment. “Because… Well, we’ll be on a public road all day.”

“Skip it.” Sandra wasn’t as confident as she sounded, but she wanted her party members to be at ease. “We’ll be fine, and you’re light on your feet with or without it. We can replace it or get it un-cursed once we’re in the city.”

The big man sighed in relief, nodding. “Okay. Thank you.”

It’ll be fine, right? Sandra thought, but she said only, “Of course.”

...

The day was long, but for the most part, boring.

In the interest of speed, they didn’t stop for lunch. The four of them ate trail rations as they walked, and Tarja fed the pegasus a few apples so they could keep moving. As they walked, her pants occasionally slipped down a little, but never below the rustling waistband of her diaper. So long as she hitched it up occasionally, there was no trouble.

At some point in the early afternoon, Hadrian’s pacifier reappeared in his mouth, and Sandra had to pull it free once more. That earned them a round of strange looks from a passing tradesman and his apprentice, but the wizard only blushed and grumbled in Sylvan as a result.

A little after that, just as Sandra was starting to worry about how saturated her diaper was becoming, it flashed with a quiet pulse of magic and was once again dry. The puff of baby powder that wafted up from her waistband was visible, but nobody noticed. Or, anyways, nobody commented, though Hadrian seemed to nod knowingly.

Dismissing her concerns as paranoia, Sandra kept trudging forward, watching for any bushwhackers who might be looking to nab a pegasus. The day slipped by, and the sun began to set on the horizon in front of them, forcing her to squint forward to see clearly.

Naturally, the attack came just before twilight. They were only a little ways from the City, but traffic was slow, and visibility looking forward was terrible. There was wheat growing distantly to the sides of the road, and scrub brush closer by. Simple makeup used to hide in the brush might not have worked in normal daylight, but with such poor visibility, Sandra saw them too late to avoid the ambush.

It was only as a figure moved that she could make out a silhouette. Adrenaline and wary caution coursed through her body, and she flicked out her hand on instinct, calling up a shadowy blade. There was no avoiding the attack, they were too far gone from that. They could only face the oncoming threat head-on, unless…

Her thoughts raced, time almost frozen as she considered her options. She had the initiative, having spotted the scoundrels before they charged, but she had to decide how to use it properly.

Only one of them has moved. There must be more, in the bushes to my right. If I charge, I could gut one of them before the music starts, put them on edge, give us a better chance. They might even flee.

As Sandra shifted her weight, though, she considered what that would do. If she took off at a full charge, her pants would certainly slide down some, and in combat there’d be no chance to hitch them up. The party - and the client - would get a nice view of her diaper’s waistband.

Let’s just be defensive, then. No need to play it risky. Raising her voice to call out a warning, she cried out, “We’re being attacked!”

Her opportunity spent, she faced the oncoming bandits.

It was hard to get an accurate count of them. They were in makeup, the light was poor, and they charged from all sides of the road. Some had bows, and shot in arrows from hiding spots in the wheat fields. Two got on both sides of Sandra, flanking her, slicing in with knives. She avoided one attack, letting it glance off her leather armor, but the other drew a thin cut across her arm.

It was hard to take in the chaos of the battle. Two bandits were trying to get a rope around the pegasus, to keep him grounded. Someone else was facing off Quinn, hefting a big club, while the barbarian was forced on the defensive, trying to parry or dodge away from attacks. Tarja was at least on point, getting between two taller figures and Hadrian, ensuring that the wizard could cast his spells unimpaired.

Sandra slashed back with her own dagger, but only scored a glancing blow, and in return got a cut that dug through the leather to draw blood around her belly, and another slash below the waist that she only narrowly kept from damaging a particularly sensitive area. Dammit. I’m supposed to surround them, not the other way around! “Quinn! I need you!”

“Kinda busy!” he called back, slapping away another blow with his axe. “Can you- oof!”

The attack was hard and heavy, and drove straight across Quinn’s chest, smashing into his tender breasts. Sandra had seen him take more damage than that and shrug it off before, but this time he seemed to react more, the pain taking more out of him than usual.

Considering times when Sandra’s own breasts had been particularly tender, where even a light touch was painful, she couldn’t blame him. Still, it was damned inconvenient timing.

The pegasus knickered as the rope got around his neck. He was flapping his wings furiously, trying to pull away, but Sandra could tell there was magic afoot and he couldn’t get higher than the rope would allow. Shit. Shit, shit, shit-

Her own safety be damned, she lunged towards the bandits holding the rope. She received a painful cut across the shoulder blades in the escape, but it got her free of her old opponents and drove her shadow blade towards her new target. He yelped and dropped the rope, leaving only one man to keep the pegasus down.

We need Hadrian to come in clutch here. Maybe if he has a scroll-

Eyes darting to the back of the party, Sandra was in time to see her hopes dashed against the ground. Tarja was in a wide stance, battling with two of the rangers at once, deftly keeping them away from Hadrian while the wizard threw spells against the archers. As Sandra watched, though, a kick drove up between their changeling’s legs, and after a high yelp that echoed across the whole fight, she fell to the ground, doubled over in a fetal position.

The two bandits took their opportunity and closed on Hadrian, forcing him away from the party, casting defensive spells to keep their blades away from his tender skin.

“Quinn?” she asked, but he was on the ground, not moving. The bandit with the club was closing towards her, along with the two she’d run away from, meaning there were four enemies around her and a fifth holding the rope.

They were going to lose. All she could do was protect the client. Lunging towards the man holding the rope, she wrestled it from him, jerking and kicking, getting it free for barely a moment. “GO!”

He needed no further encouragement, flapping into the air and disappearing above the treeline.

Sandra watched him go. They were overwhelmed, and they were going to lose. If they surrendered, maybe they’d be left with their lives after being stripped of their possessions. They could live to fight another day.

“We surrend-” she started, but she was cut off by a loud, high whistle coming from further up the road.

In an instant, the bandits scattered. There was no hesitation amongst them, they simply vanished into the surrounding terrain, disappearing between rows of crops like rats into the walls.

Sandra only needed to wonder about that for a moment before she spotted the mounted soldier round the corner a hundred yards up the road. His armor gleamed, and within a second, a half dozen more cavalrymen were behind him, riding at a clipped pace towards her.

Exhausted, bleeding, she glanced at Quinn. He was breathing, and starting to move sluggishly. Hadrian was mostly okay, and though Tarja was still in apparent pain, she wasn’t badly hurt.

The breeze shifted, and Sandra wrinkled her nose. With that smell in her nostrils, she also became aware of the weight in her diaper, the mushy mass making it sag around her hips. Oh gods, no, why did it have to be now?

Looking down, her heart sank further. The bandit’s knife hadn’t missed, like she had thought. There was a broad slash over the front of her pants, leaving a flap of fabric hanging down, exposing her undamaged - but quite soggy - diaper.

No time to do anything about it. The cavalry was close enough to call out. “Ahoy there!”

“Hello!” she said, hitching up her pants, holding the slashed flap of her pants in place over the diaper, trying to brazen her way through the conversation. As much fabric as had been cut, she had to use both hands.

The leader pulled up, towering over Sandra about five feet away, sword drawn. “Aye, maiden, how do you fare?”

“I’m no maiden,” she glowered. “We’re with the adventurer’s guild. We were ambushed. Who are you?”

He surveyed the party, lips pressed in a line. “I… see. How recently did you join? This is no place for rookies.”

“We’re not-” Sandra balled her hands into fists, wrinkling the material between her fingers, and shook her head. “It was just an off day. We’ll be fine once we take some potions. You never said who you were.”

“We’re with the city guard,” he explained, gesturing to the other riders, a small smile - a smirk? - on his face. “Out on patrol. We saw the pegasus and came running. Are you sure that you and your companions don’t need an escort to safety, madame? You look in no fit condition to fight anyone.”

She turned around to look. Hadrian was helping Tarja stand, though she still looked queasy and sick to her stomach, and Quinn had only just gotten to a sitting position.

“We’re fine,” she insisted. “We’ll make our own way.”

“Well, if you need any aid, we offer it at no charge. We’re not adventurers, we serve the good of the kingdom. We’ve got a bard, he can heal your wounds, or…” he wrinkled his nose, more in show than in reaction to the smell. “Cleanse anything that’s been soiled.”

A couple of the patrolling guards kept a straight face, but two broke out in tittering laughter and Sandra felt her face burn bright red, from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. “I am fine!” she snapped, jabbing a finger at the guard, dropping part of the damaged fabric. “We don’t need you.”

“As you say, maiden,” the guard leader said, twirling a finger in the air. At his signal, the rest of the guards turned, trotting back up the road, watching out for any further bandits waiting in ambush.

Hadrian stepped up beside her a moment later, watching the guards leave. “Do you need me to use mending on-”

“Just do it,” Sandra snapped, focused on not letting her eyes tear up.

He touched the fabric, knitting the pants back together in a matter of seconds. “I don’t have enough infernal healing prepared for everyone, but if you need a potion-”

Sandra cut him off. “We don’t have money to be using potions. I’m not hurt that bad, anyways.”

“Are you sure?” he put a hand on her shoulder, his tone comforting. “It’s alright, Sandra, nobody was that badly hurt. We’ll live to fight another day.”

She jerked away, trudging forward, aware but unable to do anything about her slight waddle. “I’m fine. We’ve still got a lot of ground to cover.”