The packed crowd of priests and supplicants backed away. Sandra had a few guesses why–it could be the smell, or the mere shock of four adventurers landing in their service, or the puddle of…white, creamy fluid that landed on the floor around them.

Sandra quickly conjured an umbral dress over herself, though most of the crowd had already gotten a great view of her exposed tits, and the outline of her diaper still showed clearly through the form-fitting black gown. It was a bit of a waste, using her limited umbral energy for a slip that barely covered her, but a little modesty was better than none.

She got to her feet, looking around. The congregation stared back. The chapel had no windows, and seemed to be hewn from unbroken stone, save for where natural gems emerged and had been polished, without ever being cut.

Yuelral, Sandra realized. They weren't in a building, they were in a cave, and the sanctuary was dedicated to Hadrian’s deity.

“Eh…” Sandra said, spinning to try to face the whole congregation at once. “Hi. I think we got here by mistake.”

Crouching, she reached to grab Hadrian by the shoulder, pulling him up to a standing position. He was relatively intact–Tarja was still coming out of her snuggle coma, and Quinn was…occupied, as well as still being about half his usual height. The dozen tentacles extending from the amorphous blob of monster that were restraining him and fucking every available orifice would probably make it difficult to speak.

“Tell them,” Sandra prompted, pushing Hadrian forward slightly.

He cleared his throat, glanced around, and cleared his throat again. “I’m no expert on planar travel, but I think it’s my fault we’re here–it’s, uh. It’s a long story. Do–how many of you know about dream realms? I’ll back up…”

Sandra wasn’t sure how many of the congregation were listening to his rambling explanation. Most seemed distracted by the active sex scene taking place on the floor between Quinn and the tentacles. More were politely trying not to notice anything at all, as though they hadn’t seen four adventurers in extremely horny dress and situation suddenly appear in their sanctuary.

By the back of the space, Sandra saw two elves whisper to one another, before one scurried off to the back.

“So, we were stuck, and when I found a cave that had similar energy I decided to try and get us home from there–I’m not sure what caused it, but there was a crisis in the cave, and…yeah. If I’d had more time, I’d have tried to ensure I knew where we were going, but it was a bit of a rush.” He blushed, glancing down at Quinn. “Eh, can we do something for him?”

Sandra hesitated. At least her affliction had been manageable, she hadn’t been totally unable to think or speak. Bending, she reached out for the free end of the cuff, clapping it around her wrist. The tentacles retracted, and a complicated series of ropes sprung out and bound her up in an instant. Quinn relaxed onto the floor, limp and not fully collected, while she tried to decide what to say.

“We had a quest–” she started. Under her breath, she whispered to Hadrian, “You follow Yeural, this is kind of your domain here.”

“So what, we’ve got the same deity and that means I can explain this?” Hadrian whispered back. “What kind of backwards logic is that?”

Sandra glanced around before shooting back. “I don’t know–maybe you know someone here? It’s mostly half elves, so…”

“How’s that supposed to help? We don’t all know each other!” Hadrian snapped back. Their conversation wasn’t really private, but he’d given up keeping his voice hushed at this point. “What–oh, gods.”

Raising a hand to his face, Hadrian turned halfway and tried, rather shoddily, to conceal his identity. Sandra followed his eye line from a moment prior and spotted a half elf coming from the back room, walking with someone who appeared to be a high priest–her robes were more ornate, and she just had a sort of matriarchal air to her. “Do you know him?”

“We were in seminary together, before I became a wizard,” Hadrian grumbled back. “I just hope he doesn’t recognize me–”

“Hadrian!” the half-elf called out, strolling up. “I thought that was you. Do you know what’s going on?”

Hadrian buried his face in his hand, shaking it slightly. “We were doing a quest in a dream plane, some shit happened, we ended up here by mistake.”

The new half-elf glanced between Hadrian, Sandra, and the high priest. “That’s…not it. Come on, we should talk.”

Sandra glanced down at herself. She was running out of umbral energy, and soon her shadowy dress would vanish and leave nothing behind except for a soggy diaper and a whole lot of intricately tied rope. “Do you have something I could change into? My armor got left behind, and…yeah.”

The high priest nodded. “We can work this out in the rectory.”

It took a few minutes to get everything sorted. The congregation was, for the most part, sent home, with many profuse apologies from Sandra. Eventually they all made it to the back rectory, and with a few minutes to recover, Tarja and Quinn managed to collect themselves. Hadrian’s former classmate left to get some clothes, and the high priest was finishing off a few things with the loitering congregation members, leaving them alone for the time being.

Sitting next to Quinn on a long couch, Sandra said, “So… tentacles.”

“Shut up,” Quinn shot back, blushing.

“After all your quips about the rope?” Sandra replied.

“I didn’t–it’s as much a surprise to me as you, that relic might be making a mistake or something,” Quinn suggested. “Really. I’ve got no idea where that came from.”

Sandra rolled her eyes. “Please.”

“Tarja–” Quinn said, glancing to their ranger for backup. “Come on, I need someone in my corner here.”

“You, eh,” she started to say. “I mean…”

“Come on!” Quinn objected.

Changing the subject, Tarja asked, “Uh, which one of us needs a change?”

Sandra took another moment to gloat. “That’d be Quinn, despite him claiming it was one of us earlier.”

He grumbled, lifting the petticoats of his armor to show off the diaper. “Not my fault–the tapes won’t come free, see?” Grabbing the edge of the diaper, he attempted to remove it, and it came off easily.

“I see someone who’s a little too eager to claim everything’s just bad luck and curses,” Sandra replied, basking in his blush. Turnabout was fair play, and in this case, it was particularly sweet. To really hammer it home, she added, “You were supposed to be able to take it off once you’d used it ‘fully’, so what changed in the past ten minutes, hmm?”

“Er…” Quinn said, unwilling to finish the thought. Getting to his feet, which still left his eyeline no higher than Sandra’s midsection, he glanced around and said, “I’m going to go, uh, find a bathroom.”

Sandra smirked. “You do that.”

While they waited a moment longer, Hadrian opened his bag, coaxing out his familiar. The rocky little Ioun Wyrd clambered out, glowing softly. “There you are,” Hadrian encouraged, scratching the clump of sentient stones like it was a puppy. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

Turning the wyrd over in his hands, he hesitated. “Eh…that wasn’t there before.”

Sandra leaned over, glancing in. The familiar had, indeed, acquired a new gemstone, a particularly…clitoral one, there just wasn’t a better word for it, between its two hind legs. She chuckled. “Well, I think we know why the cave got mad.”

Hadrian sighed, setting his familiar aside. “Buddy, we’ve talked about this, you can’t just steal strange gemstones without making sure they’re not cursed first. Okay?”

The Ioun Wyrd seemed to droop, and despite not having a recognizable face, Sandra got a definitive ‘sad puppy’ sense from its posture.

About then, the other half elf came in, carrying a white gown. Sandra needed a hand from Tarja to pull it over herself, since her arms were still tied up, but once it was over herself she dismissed the black umbral dress and sat back, feeling a bit more relaxed.

“I’m Sonwyn,” the half elf said, taking a seat off to the party’s left in a simple wooden chair. “Hadrian and I were friends in seminary–though maybe that’s why he ended up here, if there’s some sort of mental connection or familiarity going on.”

“We were in a cave full of dildo stalactites,” Sandra said. “It’s the closest point between that realm and here we could find, I think someone in your congregation may have been daydreaming about it and that’s why we came through in the temple.”

Sonwyn blushed, ever so slightly. “Ah, well…who can say. Maybe it was a coincidence after all.”

The high priest came in, finally, striding through the room so she could sit in the more ornate seat across from the party. “Now that we’re settled, my name is Minnogan.”

“Sandra,” she replied, “And this is Hadrian, Quinn, and Tarja. We’re with the adventurer’s guild.”

She nodded. “You’re working for Gwyndomere, yes? The Calistrian high priest?”

“That’s right,” Sandra explained. “We’re getting supplies for a counter-curse. Do you know of the Wizard of Paraphilia?”

“I’ve heard legends and rumors,” Minnogan said. “We received a warning recently that he may be trying to create his own school of magic.”

“We’re the people who figured that out,” Hadrian cut in. “Or, we guessed it, anyways, we don’t know for certain.”

The high priest nodded, sitting back. “Well, if you’ve crossed paths with the Wizard and walked away, even…afflicted, that speaks to your competence.”

“I’m surprised you managed to slip his attention, though,” Sonwyn added. “He doesn’t typically let people go, if the rumors are true.”

“We struck a deal,” Sandra explained. “That’s…well, it’s why we’re ‘afflicted’ as much as we are. He promised to leave us alone if we took on a few curses and didn’t dispel them.”

Sonwyn tilted his head. “But you’re getting counter-curse supplies?”

“For someone else,” Sandra said. “An adventurer we rescued.”

“I see.” Minnogan frowned, considering. “Your trip to the dream realm, it…attracted attention.”

“The Wizard is looking for us again?” Sandra sat up straight, alarmed. “How do you know?”

“Not the Wizard,” Minnogan said. “Yuelral.”

Sandra frowned, not following. “Well sure, we’re here–I know that has to draw some of your people’s eyes, but I don’t know why you’re telling me that.”

“Sandra,” Hadrian cut in.

She glanced at him. “What?”

“He didn’t say followers of Yuelral.” Hadrian looked stunned, and when Sandra parsed his meaning she felt that way too.

“We–no, you have to be mistaken,” Sandra said. “There’s no w–a god?”

“Possibly more than one, but I only know of Yuelral’s attention with any certainty, any other gods would just be an educated guess. You’re dabbling with forces above your understanding,” Minnogan warned. “I frankly don’t know what’s going on, why she noticed, but she did. I felt that much when you arrived. Your actions are no longer simply those of a few guild members on a quest, you’re wrapped up in something larger.”

Sandra swallowed. “What should we do?”

The high priest considered, thinking for several long moments before she spoke. “In my experience, the gods will reach out to you if they want something. For now, just act with care, and know that you have an audience.”

Taking in a long breath, Sandra considered the implications. It couldn’t be about them, they were just a few guild members trying to make a living. Was the relic not supposed to be taken? Were they in danger for having retrieved it? That would mean Gwyndomere was either lying to them, or oblivious to the danger he’d put them in.

There was only one other option she could think of. They’d drawn attention because of their engagement with the Wizard.

To Sandra’s mind, that alternative was far more terrifying.

…

In a small stroke of luck, the temple they’d appeared in was only a few day’s travel away from where they’d intended to return anyway. Their return trip with the artifact would be longer than planned, but it wouldn’t require some incredible quest just to deliver it back to Gwyndomere’s particular church.

There was some debate over who should carry the relic while they traveled. Everyone was suspiciously willing to ‘take the sacrifice’ and carry the burden for the rest of the party’s sake, and Sandra suspected that this eagerness had less to do with carrying a burden and more to do with the artifact’s effects on its carrier.

It was, finally, decided that Tarja could carry it during the day and Sandra would take it at night. Quinn and Hadrian’s particular effects when they bore the relic were just too noisy and distracting, Tarja could just be laid down in a cart and left to melt in a puddle of physical affection while they crossed the country, and Sandra was the only one who could realistically sleep while wearing it.

With a borrowed cart and three horses summoned by Hadrian, the party set out to return the artifact.

It wasn’t their most leisurely cross-country trip. They had the money to pay for inns, thankfully, but it was an often awkward and occasionally humiliating process of parading their way up to the rental rooms, garnering looks from other travelers who liked to gawk at their cursed procession.

Sandra picked up some new leather armor as soon as she could, and though it didn’t offer her any more modesty than her last set–the curse that was set on exposing her diaper to the public wasn’t tied to any particular outfit, after all–it’d protect her from a knife or a claw pretty well.

Re-stocked and with no reason to delay, the party montaged their way through the countryside. Her concerns about being on the wrong side of the gods didn’t come to anything, at least not yet–they encountered no trouble on their path, save for odd looks and snickering comments. A week later, they’d made it back to the city they’d started in, one extremely horny artifact in tow.

Evening ‘Service’ was in session as they arrived, so the party shuffled their way along the side to the back. Holy strippers put on their shows with aplomb, though only Hadrian paid much attention; Sandra was too focused on spotting Gwyndomere, Quinn was too focused on carrying Tarja, and Tarja was too focused on the effects of the magical cuff currently conjuring a dozen hands to give her gentle head scratches, shoulder rubs, and affection.

“I don’t see Serendipity,” Hadrian commented. “Do you think something’s wrong?”

“Maybe she’s off tonight,” Sandra replied.

“No, she’s scheduled…eh, I mean I think she’d probably be performing tonight.” Hadrian self-corrected quickly, though Sandra noticed he was a bit too aware of Serendipity’s performance schedule for it to be coincidence.

She sighed. “If you want to go find her–”

“Thanks,” he said, departing from the group to go look around the far side of the chapel.

Truth be told, there wasn’t much else to do but wait. Finding an out of the way place to sit, they passed the time until the congregation finished off their ‘worship’ for the evening and drifted out. Hadrian wandered back after a while, disappointed, having been unable to locate his favorite performer, while the rest of them just passed the time.

Finally, as the last bit of the show ended and the last patrons shambled out the door, Sandra got up and went to catch that performer’s attention. The dancing priest was a tall something-humanoid that Sandra didn’t place right away, wearing little except a belt and codpiece.

“I need to speak to Gwyndomere,” she said.

He didn’t look at her right away, walking along the stage towards a back door. “He’s currently occupied, you can come back tomorrow or speak to another priest.”

“Look at me,” Sandra snapped. “It’s urgent.”

He glanced down at her, hesitated, then said, “Eh–right. You’re Sandra, aren’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” she confirmed. “I’m pretty sure Gwyndomere will want to see us right away.”

He nodded and, contrary to his previously aloof behavior, scurried off to go get the high priest.

Only a moment later, he returned, alone, wearing a vaguely concerned expression.

“Something wrong?” Sandra asked.

“Come with me. He’s busy.”

She followed him to the back, towards Gwyndomere’s rectory. She’d been here before, and the escort felt a little unnecessary, but she didn’t see the need to argue about it. Clearly something was going on that had this priest a little rattled, but she didn’t care what it was so long as it didn’t stop her from finishing her quest.

Reaching the back room, Sandra saw the reason for the back-and-forth, why Gwyndomere had been unavailable–he was in the midst of meditation.

And he was naked.

Sandra couldn’t even pretend that her mouth didn’t start to water at the sight of him. The high priest practically radiated sexuality, giving off a pure sense of sexual power that had her want to take him right there. Even motionless, sitting on the ground with his legs spread out in a V, every inch of him screamed, ‘I will rock your world’. His body was molded with precision–not overdone like a bodybuilder, but toned just right to emphasize his sleek, supple body. His lips had just the right softness to them, and–

You’ve got a job to do, Sandra reminded herself. Leaning over to the priest, she asked, “How long does he typically meditate?”

“He’s not meditating,” the priest replied. “He’s in the middle of a conversation.”

At that comment, Gwyndomere opened one eye, then both, dropping his concentration. “Sandra,” he said. “I’m so glad you’re here, we’ve much to discuss.”

“I–you were talking to someone,” Sandra said. “Was it important? I don’t want to interrupt.”

“Please, interrupt. We were talking about what I need to tell you, now that you’re here I can move forward.” Gwyndomere pushed to his feet, and Sandra had to enforce her willpower to avoid staring between his legs. “Would you be more comfortable if I put on some clothing?”

Sandra hesitated on her answer–it’d certainly remove a distraction, but he did look good naked. She didn’t want to just openly admit to lusting after the priest, but nor did she want to take the step to rob herself of the show.

Fortunately, Quinn stepped in and solved the dilemma, glancing away from Tarja to reply. “Yes, please.”

He took the gown from his desk, nodding and pulling it over himself. “You have the cuff?”

“It’s on Tarja’s wrist,” Sandra said. “Careful, it–”

“It manifests the carnal fantasies of the wearer, I know,” he said. “Some details were filled in after you left. May I?” Stepping forward, he turned his wrist up and extended it towards Tarja.

Sandra hesitated, curious what sexual nightmares might appear–from what she knew, Gwyndomere had dabbled in just about every kink, fetish, and sexual position known to man. She’d experienced a mere kiss with him, and it’d come close to outdoing every sexual experience she’d ever had. He was an expert in all forms of lovemaking, and he was about to expose his true interests to the room.

“Of course,” she said, though she didn’t have to do anything to facilitate the transfer.

Gwyndomere reached down, took Tarja’s wrist, and lifted the free end of the cuff to his own arm. Locking it in place, he freed Tarja, adjusted the fit a little bit to avoid chafing, and raised his hand to inspect the artifact.

Nothing happened.

So far as Sandra could tell, the magic had winked out. She inspected it with her magic detection and saw that the power in the cuff was still there, it just wasn’t doing anything. “But…” she said. “You figured out how to dispel it?”

“Not precisely,” Gwyndomere replied, returning his focus to Sandra. “But it cannot multiply zero. Without any carnal fantasy to manifest, it seems to have gone inert.” Reaching down, he thumbed the lever on the side, and the cuff came free, falling to the ground.

Wow. Sandra’s impression of the priest increased a few more notches, before her attention returned to his earlier comment. “You were talking about me. Who with?”

“Calistria,” he replied. “She’s aware of what’s going on with the Wizard, and with your efforts to stymie his progress.”

“We’re not stymieing his progress, though,” Hadrian objected. “We’re just kind of…surviving.”

“And yet you gathered the relics necessary to undo some of his work,” Gwyndomere said, walking back to his desk and sitting down. “And taken on further curses to accomplish that, I see.”

He glanced past Sandra, at her tail, and then to Quinn, whose change in height still hadn’t gone away. Sandra, to her annoyance, noticed her tail was wagging, something she definitely hadn’t told it to do.

“I think the dream realm messed with magic in general,” she said. “But like Hadrian said, we’re not exactly taking the fight to the wizard. The best we’ve managed to do is convince him to stop going after us, and that only lasts for as long as he feels like keeping his end of the bargain.”

“Would you like to?” Gwyndomere asked.

The question hung in the air for a few seconds, as Sandra assembled the different pieces in her head. They’d drawn the attention of gods, and now a priest with enormous divine influence was asking if they wanted to go after the Wizard.

Her first impulse fell out of her mouth before she could collect her thoughts fully. “We can’t fight him–he’s vastly stronger than us. We’ve barely survived with planning and luck.”

“Power isn’t just raw magic,” Gwyndomere replied, leaning back in his seat. “It’s also resources, and ingenuity, and allies. You have those.”

“He’s not just working on raw strength,” Hadrian cut in. “His magic–I’ve barely scratched the surface in trying to understand it, but my research into his spells shows a lot of “ingenuity”. Emphasis on the genius part of that word. He’s developing his whole own school of magic, that’s once-in-a-millenium levels of intelligence.”

“Should we even be talking about this?” Quinn asked. “If he finds out we’re even debating it, he might change his mind about our arrangement and break the treaty.”

“Mhmm,” Gwyndomere said. “You’re not wrong. It’ll be difficult. But is hiding and scraping to recover really a better alternative?”

Sandra was stunned. Glancing to her party, she asked, “What do you think?”

“I think it’s suicide, but waiting for the wizard to come destroy us is just a slower way of dying,” Hadrian said. “Let’s face it–we’re skating on borrowed time right now.”

“It doesn’t matter how smart he is, a hammer through the skull’s a hammer through the skull,” Quinn added.

Tarja thought for a moment longer. Sandra thought she might still be in her post-headpatting stupor, but then she said, “We were talking about allies–does that include Calistria herself?”

The question hung in the air. Gywndomere didn’t say yes, but nor did he say no.

“Wait, you can’t be serious,” Sandra said. “A goddess–”

“Several, in fact,” Gwyndomere corrected. “None who would be so overt as to call themselves your allies, but…they don’t particularly want a new school in this vein, either. Calistria in particular, as a school of lust would interfere with her own domains, but she’s not the only one.”

“What sort of help would we be getting?” Sandra asked. “Like…magic? Blessings?”

“Maybe not anything so overt, but it opens certain doors,” Gwyndomere said. “I know I’m being coy–I’ll only say, for now, that I don’t have the liberty to be more open. Calistria is fairly frank about her intentions, but not about the means she’s willing to use, and not all are so open. And, for now, there’s something more pressing to take care of. Just think on what we’ve said, for now we’ve got work to do.”

“What work is that?” Sandra asked, moving to follow him even before he answered.

Gwyndomere got to his feet. “You’ve brought back the cuff, and we already have Dranngvit's Ledger. There’s an adventurer who needs our help, and delay only means he’ll suffer for longer.”

…

There wasn’t too much for them to do, as it turned out, but Sandra still would have helped even if she was just on standby the whole time.

Serendipity was, still, nowhere to be seen, to Hadrian’s chagrin, but several other Calistrian priests helped form a circle. Hadrian himself joined in as well, knowing enough of the ritual magic to be of assistance, and he took a seat at the north side of the circle, next to the cuff. Gwyndomere sat opposite him, next to the ledger, and together they formed the poles of the counterspell.

The adventurer, Leon D’arvit, was still stuck in his crib, a shell of his former self. The layers upon layers of curses that rendered him as helpless as an infant, unable to so much as feed himself or get up, would be gone soon. It was unclear if he could even tell what was going on, since he couldn’t speak, but Sandra hoped he knew he’d be free before the night was over.

Sandra, Quinn, and Tarja were on standby as bodyguards. Should the spell open up an unintended door to another realm, they would have to fight off whatever came through. Sandra doubted such an incursion would happen, but there was also the other possibility, that once they undid the spells on this adventurer, the Wizard would come a calling to extract revenge.

If he did, she’d make sure Leon got away. He’d suffered for long enough. The wizard could extract his anger on her, but she’d stop him there.

That is, if she was strong enough to do so.

Just as she was about to ask if they were ready to start, Gwyndomere began to hum.

A gentle, warm light filled the room, and Sandra felt her chest stir with emotion, and then… other parts of her began to stir, too. She felt a surge of boredom and arousal, a rising high of intense need for pleasure and the stifling tedium of an endless customer service line. Those two pitches rose, higher and higher, like competing thrums of sound playing from two tuning forks set with opposite pitch, and she thought the emotion might tear her apart.

But, as it rose, the two notes reached harmony with one another. Their resonant frequencies became equal and opposite, canceling each other out, and Sandra felt a true, placid calm.

The crib melted away, and the clothes, and the curses.

Leon D’arvit, the adventurer so cursed as to be unrecognizable, returned to his true self. His body grew and lost its femininity, regaining a robust, masculine shape. The silk cloth that had bound him simply went away.

He was naked, and as he looked around, at his hands, his body, the circle of priests around him, he began to cry.

It wasn’t unexpected. He’d been so bound up in magic he probably couldn’t even experience his own thoughts and emotions until now. He might not physically have even been able to cry, except for a baby’s wail, which was a far leap from the sort of emotional release he needed.

Swelling with empathy, Sandra rushed to comfort him–

“No!” Hadrian yelped, but it was too late.

She’d crossed into the circle, and the magic seized her as thoroughly as it’d seized Leon, but without any of the gentle, soft changes. A magical fist slammed her into the ground and she reeled, blinking a few times just to recover her vision.

She felt…different. Something had changed. Something…

Her diaper was gone. Or, well, not gone, but it lay next to her on the ground, and it’d reverted to the appearance of plain cotton panties. Next to it, a strip of blue fabric. She still had her tail, but…she’d been cured of her other curses.

She got to her feet, looking down at herself. “I–”

“You fool!” Gwyndomere bellowed, getting to his feet.

Sandra’s eyes widened. “I just wanted to help–”

“Not you,” he snapped. “Hadrian, you broke the magic. What were you thinking, crying out like that?”

“Sandra was going to–”

“She wasn’t going to do anything if you maintained your focus,” Gwyndomere snapped.

“It’s fine, isn’t it?” Sandra cut in. “What’s wrong?”

“The erotic side of the circle lost its control,” Gwyndomere seethed, looking down and back. “It overwhelmed the other relic.”

She followed his gaze and gasped. The ledger, the one they’d risked their lives and spent weeks retrieving–heck, the one they’d promised to give to Darius and Karena after they were done with it–had turned to a blackened pile of soot.

Gwyndomere sighed. “It’ll regenerate, but not quickly.”

“How long?” Sandra asked.

“Ten years and a day, I believe. Until then, the spell won’t be possible.”

“We can find another relic, can’t we?” Hadrian asked, jumping to his feet. “Something to take its place.”

“Maybe,” Gwyndomere said, quietly. “I’ll begin the search, but for now, nobody else can be cured.”

Sandra looked down at herself. She’d been fixed, but her party wasn’t in the same boat. If she hadn’t rushed forward, Hadrian wouldn’t have called out, and the spell wouldn’t have gone haywire.

Suddenly, her freedom didn’t feel like so much of a blessing.