The Ring

You are an ordinary merchant who buys a ring from penniless adventurers that transforms the body into any race or gender you desire. Total freedom.

Plot

Late afternoon tints the walls of Waterdeep orange. The market square is emptying: carts are being covered, street vendors are counting their last coins. Your stall – four shaky wooden planks laden with jars of dried herbs, glass bead necklaces, and a few rusty daggers – is almost deserted. You sold little today: a handful of silver coins for a bag of chamomile and an amulet "against the evil eye" to a superstitious peasant. The fifteen coins remaining in your pocket weigh like a reproach. You are a merchant, yes, but one of those who survive, not one of those who prosper. Three familiar figures approach your stall: adventurers you know by sight. The warrior with the dented armor often buys bandages and cheap potions from you; the thief with short black hair has already "borrowed" a couple of daggers from you without paying; the wizard with the thin beard still owes you five silver for an "enhanced" quartz crystal. Today, however, they seem to be the ones in need. "Merchant," says the warrior, leaning over the counter and lowering his voice, "we're broke after the last expedition went wrong. We're offering you this ring for fifteen silver. We took it from a grave robber in the ruins to the north. He said it brings luck… or at least he swore so before running away. Clean deal, right?" They show you an oxidized silver ring with a dull amethyst stone. It doesn't look like much – you mentally value it at three coins at most if you were to resell it – but the idea of a "grave robber's" deal intrigues you. You pay the fifteen coins without much second-guessing. The coins disappear into their pockets, the ring ends up in yours. The three walk away muttering hasty greetings, leaving you with your new "purchase." You close the stall earlier than usual, dragging the planks into the back room of the shop (a damp warehouse you also use as a bedroom). You light a flickering candle and slip the ring onto your ring finger. It is cold against your calloused merchant's skin. For a moment, nothing. Then, almost as a joke, you think: I wonder what it would be like to be one of those Drow from the caves to the east… elegant, feared, with skin black as night and eyes that see in the dark. I could bargain with them, enter their tunnels without being torn apart… An electric tingling rises from your finger, invades your veins like poisoned wine and fire at the same time. Your heart beats fast. Your skin ripples, darkening to a shiny black as deep as obsidian. Your fingers lengthen, becoming thin and graceful – hands of a thief or a noble, no longer of someone who unloads crates. The facial bones mold themselves: high cheekbones, sharp jaw, full lips. Your hair lengthens into silver-white strands that fall down your back. A stinging burn in your eyes – when you look at yourself in a bucket of stagnant water, two crimson irises glow in the dim light. Your ears sharpen. Your body thins, losing its merchant's plumpness to gain a sinuous grace; your clothes magically adapt, but the tunic pulls across your now soft chest and wider pelvis – yes, the change has also touched your sex, fluid and natural. You pant, touching your face, neck, arms. The skin is cold, silky, alien. You smell amplified scents: the moss on the walls, the clotted sweat on the scattered coins, the rotten wood of the floor. Your step is silent, feline. Then comes the real wave: possibility. Infinite. As a merchant, you have always bought and sold objects. Now you can become the object of desire, of fear, of power. You can negotiate with the Drow in the depths, seduce an elf lord like a dark courtesan, intimidate debtors like a massive orc, disappear into the shadows like a cunning goblin. You can be male, female, human, monster… dragon, if you dare. The world that kept you chained to the stall now seems like an open market, ready to be plundered. A shiver runs through you – pure excitement, mixed with a veil of terror. What if the ring is cursed? What if someone notices the sudden change? You look at yourself again in the makeshift mirror, red eyes sparkling.

Opening scene

The sun is setting behind the walls of Waterdeep, tinting the now almost deserted market square orange. Your stall – four rough wooden planks covered by a worn cloth – is still there, laden with jars of dried herbs, colored bead necklaces, spices of dubious origin, and a few rusty daggers recovered from unfortunate adventurers. Today you earned little: a handful of copper for a bag of chamomile, three silver for a "talisman against rats" sold to a wary housewife. The fifteen silver coins remaining in your pocket feel like a silent reproach. You are a merchant, yes… but one of those who scrape by day after day, always one step ahead of the guild creditors and the innkeeper who looks at you crossly when you pay late. Three familiar figures approach your stall just as you are starting to pack up the goods for the night. The warrior with the armor full of dents – one who often buys dirty bandages and two-bit potions from you. The thief with short black hair and a crooked smile – she has already "forgotten" to pay you for a couple of daggers. The wizard with the thin beard and tired eyes – he still owes you five silver for an "enhanced" quartz that didn't work. "Merchant," says the warrior, leaning toward you and speaking in a low voice, "we're dry after the last mishap in the ruins. We're offering you this ring for fifteen silver flat. We took it from a half-mad grave robber. He swore it brings luck… or at least that's what he said before vanishing. We'll let you have it at a clearance price. Deal or no?" They show you a simple ring, made of oxidized silver, with a dull amethyst stone that neither shines nor hums. You value it mentally: three coins at most if you resold it tomorrow. But fifteen silver is fifteen silver. You pay without much second-guessing. The coins disappear into their pockets, the ring ends up in your hand. The three walk away muttering hasty greetings, leaving you alone with your new "treasure." You close the stall earlier than usual, dragging the planks into the back – your damp storage room that smells of mold and old spices. You light a flickering candle and slip the ring onto your right ring finger. It is cold against the calloused skin of someone who unloads crates all day. For an instant, nothing. Then, almost for fun, you think: I wonder what it would be like to be one of those Drow from the caves to the east… elegant, feared, with skin black as obsidian and red eyes that cut through the dark. I could bargain with them, enter their tunnels without being torn to pieces… An electric tingling starts from your finger and spreads like liquid fire through your veins. Your heart leaps into your throat. The skin on your arms ripples, darkening rapidly until it becomes a deep, shiny black. Your fingers lengthen, becoming thin and graceful – hands of an assassin or a noble, no longer a merchant's. The facial bones shift with a slight creak: high cheekbones, sharp jaw, full lips. Your hair lengthens into silver-white strands that fall over your shoulders. A sharp burn in your eyes. You look at yourself in a bucket of stagnant water: two crimson irises stare back at you, glowing even in the dim light of the candle. Your ears sharpen. Your body thins, losing the plumpness accumulated behind the counter to gain a feline and dangerous grace; your clothes magically adapt, but the tunic pulls strangely on your wider hips and now soft, defined chest – yes, even your sex has changed, fluid and natural. You pant, touching your face, neck, arms. The skin is cold, silky, almost unreal. You smell scents you didn't perceive before: the moss on the beams, the clotted sweat on the scattered coins, the rotten wood of the floor. Your step is silent, as if you were walking on air. Then comes the real sensation, the one that almost makes your knees tremble. Possibility. Infinite.

Tags: Fantasy Adventure Magical Transformation Human Commoner AnyPOV Romance Non-human City

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By: demoping

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