Prelude

The sound of battle rang out across the vast plain as the armies of light and darkness clashed. The tower of the great red witch loomed in the distance, a pillar of wickedness blotting out the sun as the hordes of undead poured forth from the dungeons beneath it.

Across from it the armies of light, an alliance of Elves, Men, Dwarves, and Orcs, rallied, raising their banners as their warriors marched forward. Magical missiles raked the battlefield, landing among each army as they neared, finally crashing into each other like two opposing waves.

Celtric Hammerspell watched with a grim expression as the wind billowed through his dark hair. For years he’d worked to bring the peoples of the world together to oppose the red witch’s ambitions, and it all culminated in this battle.

He turned towards his companions, his loyal knights and followers who had been with him since the beginning, “The hour of the Red Witch is at hand,” he shouted, walking among them as they watched solemnly. “She is even now preparing herself a new body to transfer her essence into, a body said to be all but invincible… We must stop her from completing this ritual!” They cheered, raising their lances high as the battle raged.

“I will lead a strike force behind their lines, bringing the fight directly to the witch’s tower,” Celtric continued, “I must warn you, there will be no retreat, this attack will succeed… or we shall all perish.”

“I don’t care!” a girl’s voice called. Tulip, the orc girl he’d taken under his tutelage, pushed her way to the front, “I’m with you to the end Celtric!” she grinned and clapped her hands together, producing a pair of magical fireballs that hissed in the air.

Celtric’s face softened, and he couldn’t help but smile, “If a girl like Tulip has courage to face the Witch, surely I can count on the rest of you?” The men cheered as they mounted their horses, galloping to the edge of the battle to ready for the charge.

“This is it, isn’t it?” the young green skinned girl murmured, walking up to him, “time to get revenge for mom and dad, and everyone else from my clan…”

Celtric sighed, “Tulip… you’ve been very brave, gods know I tried to find a good home for you after the witch destroyed your village… but you stuck to me like glue.” He smiled and ruffled her hair.

She grinned, “You’re the best magic teacher a girl could ask for, even if you are a stuck up humie!”

“This last mission…” he glanced around, “Tulip, it’s more dangerous than anything we’ve done before, it’s a move of desperation…”

“I know,” she said solemnly, “I’m ready, I’ll stay close to you and- HEY!” she grunted as a massive orc warrior picked her up, tucking her struggling form under his arm.

“Thank you Terrack,” Celtric sighed, “Take her somewhere safe.”

“I will take her far away,” he muttered, “where the battle will not reach us.”

“You can’t do this Celtric!” Tulip screamed, pounding her fists feebly against Terrack’s back as he turned to leave. “You can’t make me stay behind.”

“I’m sorry,” He said, looking away. I’ve asked so many others to die for me today, he thought bitterly as the girl’s protests turned to sobs, I won’t ask you to do it too Tulip.

He sighed, gathering his thoughts and steeling himself. His dwarven made armor clanked ominously as he marched through the camp, and he rested his hand on the pommel of his enchanted blade as he inspected the troops one final time. With a flourish he leapt into the saddle, his dark green elven made cloak billowing behind him as he drew the blade, rearing up his horse.

“Onwards, to victory!” he shouted.

Behind him the finest horsemen of a dozen kingdoms and peoples thundered down the hill, cutting a path to the gates of the fell witch’s fortress. Celtric cried havoc as he cut down scores of undead, trampling the bones beneath his war steed’s hooves. The next wave of defenses was the witch’s black knights, those evildoers who had sworn allegiance to her for the promise of gold, power, or desires too dark to ponder. They were a hardier force than the walking skeletons and zombies of the first wave, but still no match for the furious charge.

Soon the host came to the gates of the witches fortress, and Celtric leapt from his saddle, raising his sword high. There was a boom of thunder, and a second later a bolt of magical energy lanced down from the roiling clouds, blowing the forged iron gate to twisted and glowing rubble.

“Inside! Quickly!” he shouted to his men, forcing his way into the dread fortress while the armies outside surged around them like the waves of an angry sea.

His remaining knights fought their way to him, swinging their swords and hefting shields as they met with the hardened black armored knights that waited within. Each inch was paid for dearly as the attackers climbed the stairs of the massive stone tower, and soon Celtric found at the highest level. He glanced back at his men as he felt the ominous dark magic just beyond it, and with a sigh realized he had to face the Witch alone.

There was a loud *boom* as Celtric’s spell blew the rooftop door open, and he twirled his sword defiantly as he walked out through the smoke. The rooftop was clear save for a raised platform in the center, where a featureless body of clay covered in glowing red runes waited.

Her new form, he realized, a powerful homonculous, unbeatable…

“Ah, Celtric, I’d wondered when to expect you.” She walked out from behind the platform, her high heels clacking ominously on the black stone.

Eliza the Red Witch was a picture of statuesque beauty. She stood over six feet tall, with an ample chest and curvaceous behind that was only made more apparent by the form fitting red outfit she wore, one that clung to her like a second skin, just barely obscuring her pale flesh. Jet black hair fell in curtains from beneath a wide brimmed crimson hat that brought shade to her gleaming yellow eyes.

“It seems you weren’t fast enough,” Celtric said, looking up at the homunculus.

She threw back her head in a mocking laughter, “My creation is only minutes from completion, and the final spell will seal my soul within it, rendering me immortal and invulnerable!” She gave him a lustful look as she stalked towards him, “I could be convinced to spare you and your pathetic friends though Celtric, if you would agree to give me your hand in marriage!”

Celtric scowled angrily, “I would never stoop so low! Your reign ends here!” With that he leapt at her, shouting a battle cry as he slashed at her with his sword and sent waves of roiling green lightning at her with his free hand.

Eliza just laughed, gliding backwards and matching him blow for blow, causing shimmering shields to appear in the air to block his sword and spells. Celtric grunted as the first of her fireballs burst upon his chestplate, the dwarven armor absorbing and dispersing the magic before it could harm him.

“That armor makes a fine crutch for your lack of skill with magic!” Eliza taunted.

“Lack of skill?” Celtric laughed, flicking his wrist and sending her flying across the stone floor with a gust of wind. “I’m one of the finest mages in the alliance!”

“You may as well brag that you’re the tallest halfling!” Eliza retorted, gritting her teeth and rising again. This time there was real hate behind her magics, corrosive slime appeared from the air, stinging his skin, bats made of some shadowy mist flapped over him, trying to fight and scratch at him as he dispelled them one after the other.

“You’ll never win!” Celtric grunted, holding his sword up and absorbing waves of fell energy that radiated from the witch’s hands as she tried to cook him alive.

“I already have fool, look!” she pointed out over the rim of the tower, to the battlefield below. Celtric’s voice caught in his throat as he saw the alliance’s armies were faltering, the lines breaking as the witch’s seemingly endless hordes overran their positions. A second later there was a rumble, the earth shook as a pillar of white light descended from the clouds, lighting the raised pillar in the center of the tower. Eliza grinned, “Your armies have been crushed, and my new body is ready!” she taunted, stepping towards it.

Celtric looked down at his armor, his face pale. It was cracked, the dwarven runes broken and fading, the metal itself seeming to erode like hot wax.

There’s no time to try anything else, he realized, I’ve got to give this one last charge everything I’ve got!

With a roar he sprinted forward, raising his sword high. The witch raised her hands, sneering as she prepared another blast of energy, but at the last minute Celtric turned away from her, bringing his sword down on the still humanoid form of the homunculi body.

“NO!” Eliza screamed, blasting Celtric with every curse and attack she could muster.

Celtric screamed in pain, but managed to twist his sword, killing the homunculus before it took its first breath. As the energies locked within raced along his arms, mixing with the witch’s magics, his body began to disintegrate, blowing away like ash on the wind as the clay homonculous crumbled in turn. There was a final blinding white light, and the magical body exploded, pieces flying in all directions as the last of Celtric’s form disappeared in turn.

One of those pieces of enchanted clay, still smoking from the heat of the combined magical energies, tumbled down the side of the tower, landing in an obscure spot beneath some shrugs and boulders. As the battle raged around it, it cooled.

Slowly, as days passed, months, years, it began to take form, recreating the essence it had absorbed.

…

Chapter One: Recalled to Life

Celtric gasped as his eyes shot open. He sat upright, panting. He was in a cave of some sort, with light trickling in from somewhere. He realized he was naked as the rough soil scratched against his skin, and he stood up right, climbing up the piled boulders and out of the cavern he was in.

“What in the gods name…” he murmured.

It was the field in front of the Red Witch’s tower, only it wasn’t filled with armies, it was overgrown with grass and wildflowers, stretching as far as he could see. He looked up at the tower itself and gasped, it was a burned-out ruin, with no trace of the powerful sorceress who had once dwelled within.

“Impossible,” he whispered. He reached out with tendrils of magic, hoping to detect any sign of the Witch, of any mage, but his probing mind found no other spellcasters.

The next thing he noticed was just how much larger the ruins of the Witch’s temple had become, they towered like mountains. With a nervous gulp Celtric lowered his gaze, looking at the grass and weeds that now towered up over him, and the “cavern” he’d escaped, which was no larger than a rabbit’s burrow.

“Gods above, I’m… I’m…” he took a deep breath, No, he decided, you’ve clearly been cursed with some sort of size reduction spell, not the Witch’s usual bag of tricks to be sure, but it stinks of her! He started as he realized he was covered in strange red runes, and as he experimentally harnessed his magic, they glowed up and down his body. Definitely the witch, he decided, I need to find someone who can remove these runes and undo this!

He started out across the field, walking through the waving prairie grass as though it were a massive forest.

After a moment he chuckled, slapping his own forehead, Walking across this field will take forever at this size… He summoned his magic, feeling it course through him as he called the wind. Odd, he thought, watching the runes glow, it’s almost like it’s… easier? He put it out of his mind, leaping into the air and flying across the field like a grasshopper, covering hundreds of feet… Well several feet, with each jump.

…

Despite his size Celtric was able to utilize his magic to cover a decent amount of ground, but he was quickly finding that none of the villages or camps he remembered from the buildup to the battle remained. Finally, after nearly a day of searching, he spotted a collection of tents, orcish by the looks of them.

He leapt again, slowing his descent and skittering along the dusty ground as he looked up at the towering tents, looming like the massive stone towers of the finest cities on the continent. With a sigh he dusted himself off, strutting proudly into the village.

“Hey, someone used magic over there!” a woman called.

Celtric winced as the earth shook, and a moment later a pair of massive green legs filled his vision. His eyes trailed up, and a pair of armored green women with spears loomed over him like mountains.

Don’t panic, he told himself, the orcs are your allies!

“Hello!” he said with a wave, “I’m-“

“Look at that Turla,” one muttered, leaning over and squinting, “that’s a tiny human!”

“Humans aren’t tiny Betty,” the other one, Turla muttered. She poked at him with her foot, causing him to fall over into the dirt with an indignant grunt. “Also they usually wear clothes, they don’t just go naked like this guy.” Before Celtric could react she bent down, wrapping her tree trunk thick fingers around his body like pythons, squeezing him tight as she lifted him up to her face. “What are you?” she demanded.

“I’m human!” he snapped irritably, “I’m just… temporarily small!”

“I don’t know about that,” Betty grumbled, “He could be some kind of spy from the Witch!”

“The witch?” Celtric said eagerly, “I’m her mortal enemy, Celtric Hammerspell! Mage-General of the Alliance?”

The two orcs just started laughing, “Oh that’s a good one humie,” Turla chuckled, “There ain’t no alliance anymore!”

“N-No alliance?” Celtric asked, stunned.

“And Celtric Hammerspell died fifteen years ago, the witch killed him!” Betty finished.

Dead? FIFTEEN YEARS!?

“Listen,” he said eagerly, “I am Celtric Hammerspell, you need to get me to whoever is in charge here immediately! I can sort this all out!”

“Hey Turla,” Betty asked with a grin, “You remember anything in those stories about Celtric Hammerspell being three inches tall?”

“Nah,” Turla said with a wave, “he was supposed to be a real looker, handsome and tall and all that, I feel like someone would have mentioned it if he could fit in your hand.”

“It’s obviously a trick,” Betty laughed, “let’s bring him to Thundra and let her figure out what to do with him!”

“He does look right about the size for eating…” Turla laughed, licking her lips and letting her warm breath wash over Celtric.

“Whoever Thundra is, bring me to her at once!” he shouted angrily. Maybe their chieftess can resolve this…

Part of him had hoped for something to cover himself with, even doll clothes or a loose cloth and some string would have sufficed, instead the two guards tossed him into a brass birdcage, laughing at how he gripped the bars, looking like a forelorn prisoner as they carried him through the camp.

Where are the men? He wondered with a frown. The camp was naught but women and children, while orc women were known for their ferocity in battle, it was odd to see none of their menfolk back at camp to guard it while the rest were away.

The tent at the head of the camp was larger and more elaborate than the rest, with bison skull totems posted outside and glimmering multicolored beads on lanyards hanging over the door.

“Hey Thundra,” Turla bellowed, “come take a look at what we’ve caught!”

“I thought I told you I was not to be disturbed!” an angry woman’s voice shouted out from the dark tent.

Turla gulped, looking at Betty for support, but the other green woman was backing away, her hands raised defensively.

“I am attempting to divine a course of action,” Thundra growled, staring out at them from the shadows, “I cannot meditate if I am being interrupted for every stubbed toe and skinny rabbit-“ she paused, sniffing the air. She slowly stood up, stepping out of the shadows. “What is that smell?” she demanded, “What is…” She glanced down at the cage, fully stepping into the daylight. “Gods above,” she whispered, leaning close to the cage, “C-Celtric?”

Celtric looked up in awe at the gorgeous green face. It was more mature than he remembered, a woman in the place of a girl, sharp with years and with long dark green hair down her shoulders. She was bigger too, with muscular arms, and a bust that barely fit into the tight leather armor.

Still, there was no mistaking her, “Tulip?” he gasped.

“Nobody’s called me that in…” she chuckled, “A long time…” She sighed, taking the cage, “I’ve been meditating on a solution to our problems… I guess the gods sent me one.”

“Tulip, I don’t understand, what’s-“

“It’s Thundra now,” she said sternly, carrying him into the tent, “and you’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

…

“S-So it’s all over?” Celtric asked, sinking to the ground in shock, “She won, she conquered the world.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it!” Thundra bellowed, slamming her fist on the ground so hard that it shook the tiny man before her. “There are still plenty of us fighting, even fifteen years on, and now that you’re back we can start getting the Alliance back together and turn this resistance into a full blown rebellion!”

“But I’m…” he looked down at his body, “I don’t know how this happened, but I can’t dispel it, I think…” he gulped, “I’m starting to think it’s not a curse, I just am this size now.”

Tulip, no Thundra now, just laughed picking him up by his arm, dangling him in front of her face, “Yeah you’re tiny now, and it looks like your magic is tiny too…” She snapped her fingers, letting a small spark hover over them a moment before wisping out in a puff of smoke, “Still, as strong as you always were, the man I remember was most valuable because of who he was… Teaching us, leading us!”

“And what am I supposed to do if someone simply wishes to flick me over?” he asked despondently.

Thundra shrugged, “I’m big now, and I’ve been practicing magic and fighting for years, I’ll fill in for whatever brawn you lost.”

He sighed, “You’re right, I owe it to everyone to keep on fighting, even if I’m… like this.”

“That’s the spirit, we’ll set out for the Kingdom of Alregon first, they’re the human realm most likely to join us, especially if you’re back!”

“My old homeland,” he said wistfully, “if it’s under the witch’s yoke I’d see it freed first…” He grimaced a moment, “I don’t suppose you have a doll or something I could borrow clothes from?”

“Not a lot of orc girls play with dolls,” Thundra laughed, “but we’ll figure something out…” She leered at him a moment, her enormous eyes rolling over his body with a lustful look. “Tell you what, you take a load off in here while I start getting some stuff ready for our trip.”

“In whe-“ his question was cut off as his tiny body was roughly stuffed in between the orc woman’s massive breasts. He fought for a moment, as if he were treading water on the sea, but her green finger came down and slowly, but firmly, pressed him beneath the surface of the twin mounds of green flesh.

Thundra couldn’t help but giggle a little at the ticklish motions of the tiny man trapped against her chest. She’d always had something of a girl’s crush on Celtric, one that had blossomed into fantasy after his disappearance. The return of the fabled hero, and the man who had saved her so long ago, was igniting a lot of conflicting feelings in the orc.

Celtric might finally bring some hope to this world, she thought, walking out of the tent and barking orders to the nearest group of guards. She watched them go, readying her horse and traveling supplies, still thinking, Celtric… you always had so many girls trying to get your attention, I was like a little sister at best… She grinned smugly to herself, now I have the opportunity to change that, don’t I? She stopped, scowling at herself, Focus Thundra, you need to be his muscle for now… She slowly smiled, then when the battles are all won you can be more.

…

Eliza the Red Witch’s eyes shot open, “Impossible,” she whispered to herself. She’d been meditating over her crystal ball, scrying the land to find any sign of the rebel orc chieftess Thundra, but instead she’d been graced with a familiar essence, a scent on the magical winds that was impossible to mistake for anyone else.

“Celtric!” she sneered angrily, storming out of her room. Her acolytes all snapped to attention, racing behind her as she marched down the halls of the massive fortress, “Prepare hunting parties,” she ordered, “and ready a bounty of one hundred thousand gold coins for a capture or kill!”

“A-And who would be the target?” Tabitha, one of her cultists, asked fearfully.

“Celtric Hammerspell,” she scowled.

Tabitha gulped, looking back at the rest. She was a small woman, made smaller still beneath the looming visage of the statuesque Red Witch. With short cut pearly white hair and pale red eyes, the effects of Tabitha’s own dabbling in dark magic were readily apparent, but her skill paled before that of her mistress, and fear was evident on her face as she broached the question.

“C-Celtric Hammerspell is dead mistress,” Tabitha said slowly, “he’s been dead for-“

“He’s alive,” Eliza growled, “I don’t know how, I don’t know where, but he is alive. I will not let him throw my plans to ruin again!”

“Ruin mistress?” Tabitha asked, “but you’re the queen of all nations, ruler of the world!”

“I didn’t want to be a queen,” the Red Witch seethed, “I wanted to be a GOD! And that fool Celtric destroyed my homunculus avatar, the sorcery put into that can never be recovered!”

“And why is that mistress?” Tabitha questioned innocently.

“Because I killed the wizards who helped me make it, fool, now go! Put every resource towards finding Celtric! Or I’ll have your hides!”

The acolytes jumped to attention, racing in all directions as they scurried to carry out their mistresses orders. Eliza watched them go, glowering angrily at the thought of Celtric walking the earth once more. She giggled suddenly, indulging in the thought of what she would do to him if any of her servants managed to bring him in alive.

Oh Celtric, she mused, you’d make such a good little husband for me, if only I could get you properly under control. She sighed, imagining Celtric with his eyes glazed over in proper adoration for her, rubbing her feet, carrying her things behind her, putting that handsome face between her legs for hours on end. She practically squealed in excitement, part of her almost hoped her bounty hunters would manage to capture him alive… but that was a fantasy, what force could ever overwhelm the mighty Celtric Hammerspell?”

…

“Unhand me!” Celtric gasped, fighting feebly against the orc’s fingers as she easily pinned his wrists with her thumbs.

“I just want to get a look at those runes,” Thundra muttered, “before you cover them all up!”

“T-Thundra, please,” he blushed, “W-We can study them later, perhaps when the entire tribe isn’t present?”

A dozen grinning female orc faces were behind Thundra, jostling for position to look over her shoulder at the handsome human man. Tiny or no, evidently he was quite the piece of eye candy.

“All right, sure,” Thundra chuckled, letting him up and handing him down a small doll’s robe. With a sigh he put it on, it didn’t quite fit him, but it was certainly better than going naked. “Right, let’s get going,” Thundra said, standing up and grabbing him off the small desk. She walked through the camp, barking orders as she went, “Turla, you’re in charge, avoid fighting with any loyalists and keep the tribe out of harm’s way. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but you’ll hear from me soon, I promise you that!”

She stopped as she looked at her horse, then grinned at Celtric, “Okay small fry, do you want to ride in the saddlebags, or up with me?”

“Up with you of course,” Celtric said, raising an eyebrow, “why would I want to go in the-“

The orcish women of the tribe cheered as Thundra once again slid him into her open cleavage, jostling her breasts slightly so he was wedged between the titanic green pillows. This time she left him enough room that his head stuck out at least, letting him see the world as she hoisted herself up into the saddle.

“I know it’s been a while, and I’m the big one now,” Thundra laughed, “but I’m glad to be on another adventure with you Celtric!” With that she kicked the side of her horse, setting it off at a gallop across the plains while the orcs whistled and chanted for their victory.