Giggle Puppy
Chapter 1: The Magician’s Tantrum
A crowd had gathered within the large underground den. Normally ceremonies such as the one taking place were a more private affair, but among the kholo of clan Ekuhlaleni an exception was made precisely for the outburst to come. Most would not look at the diminutive hyenafolk within this burrow and recognize them as what are colloquially referred to as ‘gnolls’, and indeed this clan was one of many splinters of a subgroup that had long diverged from their larger kin in favor of more cunning and safe lives nearby the cities of humanity, but there was still a proud ferociousness deep within them that welled up among a select few every other generation.
Protea was one such individual. 30 years of age with only one word to his name, just above three feet tall and with a tawny brown coat marked here and there with dark spots, a messy auburn mane topping their head and hanging just short of past their neck. Her darkened muzzle was near permanently contorted into an otherwise neutral expression that, combined with perpetually tired brown eyes, dispensed an aura of negativity and exhaustion. The fur that was otherwise covered in colorful robes (primarily blue, with dashes of green, red, yellow, orange, and black) and adorned with various gold bangles, ancestral bones, and scrolls of the priesthood was tattooed with glyphs and artistic designs - most notably two thick ovals on the backs of his palms that were traditionally believed to allow the Brother to better funnel magic through the Bonekeeper’s flesh for the good of the people - and if one were to disrobe her they would find scars where breasts once were, a slightly distended and cream colored belly that Protea despised the ticklishness of, and a not-very-impressive pseudopenis that hung low betwixt their thighs which would have tipped off even the least observant of their kind as to their birth sex.
He came from a particularly prestigous family within the community: one that had nearly always had their firstborn sons serve as the Bonekeepers, the advisors and priests, of the clan’s elder council since its founding. This was her fifth ceremony, all others having ended in rejection of the role, and the second after his ritual transition to be closer to her god. It was his third after the death of Protea’s father and the handing down of the family staff: the bone of a great beast as tall as its owner intricately carved with yet more glyphs and wrapped with blue twine, smaller bones and a wooden bauble hanging from its top knot.
“What did you just say?” She snarled, the tired face shifting to become more akin to a poorly trained and aggressive dog’s muzzle.
The clan matriarch, Baobab Long-Tooth, stood tall in the earthy chamber among the other elders, the bones of those that came before decorating the wall behind her clay pedestal in a semi-circle, the skull of their founder in the center. Her fur was a shaggy matt accented by cream stripes, which complimented her warm features and contrasted the lengthy war spear she carried for what are now mostly ceremonial purposes such as this. A frown of disappointment marred her otherwise cheery disposition.
“I’m sorry Protea, but the decision is the same as the last. We have decided you are not fit to be bonekeeper.” She said in a low tone. Others in the room elicited nervous giggles in anticipation.
Protea bared his teeth and gripped her staff with such strength that it threatened to crack under pressure. The room spun whilst his head hang low. Her breath grew heavy and hot.
A deep inhale was found where gnashing and screaming was expected. Protea closed his eyes and scanned her own body mentally, starting with his toe paws and running the length of his abdomen: to her, a work of dedication and artistry that marks him as the rightful advisor. A fact that they had simply yet to realize. With this thought in mind she let loose the breath and stared up at the council with pleading eyes.
“I would reconsider. Have I not shown my worth time and time again? Have I not communed with the Brother, or our ancestors, well enough? I have molded myself, body and soul, to best serve my people in this role. Does this mean nothing to you?” He gestured to the crowd. “I have forsaken all else but devotion to the Brother, so dedicated am I that among you I have many summers behind me but have only one word to my name! I that I made my body like that of Him, giving up potential prestige and power, for you! So I must ask again -” She turned back to the council. “- Why? What else must I do?”
Protea awaited their response with baited breath, scanning the room with as best a neutral face as they could consciously muster. He hated them. The feeling was mutual, surely.
“We’ve been over this. This has gone on long enough, Protea.” The matriarch banged the floor with the bottom of her spear, sending an echo throughout the burrow and silencing the crowd. “It is true that you are devoted to your role in an academic and spiritual sense. You come from a long line of successful advisors, and it cannot be denied that the Brother has shown you favor to some extent, but...”
Baobab sighed. “I don’t understand how someone as smart as you does not get this. You do not represent what it means to be Ekuhlaleni. You are belligerent, spiteful, and do not work well with others. When offered help you would rather gnash your teeth at perceived assumptions than appreciate sentiment. And while it is true you are very devoted. it has become quite apparent that you have embraced ideals of the Brother that do not fit the lifestyle of our people, most worringly that of destruction.” The last line had a particular sting to it. This was a character assassination, plain and simple, to Protea. Simple minds would not understand the use negative energy had even among an otherwise peaceful people.
“It is the council’s and my opinion that you are far too aggressive in your outlook to lead us to anything but ruin. The answer is no.”
Every word stung like fire. Protea’s fur stood on end, frazzled, and she cackled madly in disbelief. Fury welled up inside him and the crowd watched as the glyphs stained into her fur began to softly glow. Guards moved in with spears at the ready. He could see the fear in their eyes even behind the darkened sockets of their skull-helms and envisioned herself taking hold of one of their wrists and watching the fur burn away to sizzling flesh, just to show them exactly what power they were turning against them instead of smartly utilizing for the good of their people, but ultimately decided against the thought.
“You will regret this.” He spat and turned to stomp out of the chamber.
“If you are truly devoted to your role, Protea,“ The matriarch spoke sternly. “then you will lend your knowledge to the next generation. We will take care of you for your efforts, but we cannot entrust you with our future.”
The priest’s fur stood on end. It did not take supernatural perception to hear the slow cracking of his bones as Protea turned back with teeth bared. “And what, pray tell, do you mean by that?” She hissed.
The elders looked amongst each other and nodded. From within their circle came the pitter patter of little paws on the dirt and soon there was another. It was an adolescent, one that Protea had seen before around the Bonekeeper’s den but paid little mind to, and they nervously looked up at the failure with big, wet eyes. The current Bonekeeper, an elderly man with greying fur and withered flesh by the name of Tall-Grass Hound who was not of Protea’s lineage (a fact the priest resented greatly), placed a gnarled hand on the youth’s shoulder and assured them with a nod.
“Fern here will be your apprentice. They have shown themselves to be a prodigy, much like you were when you were their age, and we think it would do you some good to take on the task of teaching them.” He rasped. “In spite of what you may think we do recognize your aptitude for learning. You live up to your single name in more than a few aspects and we only wish to see you grow, warts and all. Perhaps doing some growing alongside the youth is exactly what you need.”
“When was this decided?” Protea barked. “You think I would so willingly give up my rightful role to a child? All while our advisor may as well be among the ancestors himself?”
The youth shrunk beneath the Bonekeeper’s cloak and the crowd stared at the offending priest with a mixture of insulted anger and expected exhaustion. Protea could feel their judgement in his blood and her eyes went wide with the realization of yet another social faux pas. Anxiety ate away at his chest, heart beating rapidly, a multitude of punishments roiling through her head as she scanned the crowd that seemed to grow bigger and angrier until they loomed over the neurotic magician and he suddenly felt very, very small.
Pouncing from her place like a wild cat, Baobab found herself mere feet away from the offending magician. Rows of sharpened fangs yellowed with age were unveiled by her parting gums, angry spittle dripping from the maw. “Enough of this!” She barked, the gnashing teeth mere inches away from Protea’s throat. “I have likened your behavior to a spoiled pup in the past but I never thought I would actually have to enact this punishment.”
Confusion and fear swirled within Protea’s mind. She wanted to ask what exactly the matriarch meant by that, but he was much too intelligent to question them in this moment. The answer came soon enough anyhow.
“What?” Protea asked in stunned confusion, staring at the thick brown cloth Baobab had produced from her cloak. She smiled evilly at him and pushed her to the ground with one paw.
“You know exactly what this is, pup.” The matriarch held the garment aloft for all the people to see, much to Protea’s horror. A diaper. “You have proven to be incapable of maturity. I and Tall-Grass think it an excellent idea to not only have you tutor your replacement but to be reminded of your new station as a charge of the people.”
Protea stammered, unable to find the words to retort and too stunned by the audacity of the affair to stop her from loosening his sashes and reveal her naked body to the entire procession. Blood rushed to his cheeks as both of her legs were grabbed at the ends in a single paw and lifted into the air just enough to slide the padded garment beneath him and begin the process of tying it around the priest’s waist.
“We said we would care for you, Protea.” Baobab added, her anger subsiding into a sickly saccharine tone that one could only interpret as mockingly motherly. “It was YOUR choice whether or not it would be on your terms.”
“T-this is an insult!” Protea squeaked from beneath the larger kholo. She knew full well he was in no position to truly argue and that this was an impotent bark to try to maintain dignity. Humiliatingly, those around him knew it just as well too, and snickers of a genuinely humorous variety began to flow through the crowd like a wave after the initial shock of the event wore off. Worse still there was the youth: Fern was pointing and laughing to themselves and leaning in to whisper in Tall-Grass’s ear. The elder did the same and very soon the would be apprentice was just barely stifling a full blown giggle fit with their paws whilst the Bonekeeper smiled smugly at Protea.
“This is no insult my dear little priest.” Baobab added, finishing up the diapering and hoisting him back up onto his feet, the front of her robe still open and leaving the infantile garment on full display. Protea jumped with a yelp as his newly padded bottom was given a swat. “It is merely appropriate.”
Yet again anger was brought to the forefront and Protea ground their teeth openly. But where the sight of the angered magician had previously brought fear to their people it now only elicited further laughter. It was hard to look intimidating in a diaper, clearly. This only served to make the priest even angrier.
Tattoos glowed as power flowed through the hyenafolk’s body. Words of power appeared from thin air to swirl around her and magicks that blurred the lines between arcane and divine crackled from his staff. A forbidden word creeped up Protea’s throat and they opened their mouth wide to unleash it upon their tormentors... only to instead let loose a series of uncharacteristically happy giggles. The words of power faded and all power seemed to reverse their flow through their nerves and rush to a central spot in their crotch. There was a hissing and a warmth.
Baobab cackled. “Well, I didn’t expect you to find that part out this quickly either!”
“What have you done to me? Tell me now!” Protea demanded in their most authoritative voice, trying to not mind that they were still in the middle of urination.
A clawed finger playfully poked at Protea’s little wet nose. “We had a feeling you wouldn’t take too kindly to the consequences, so Tall-Grass interwove an enchantment into your little di-dees. Not only will you be unable to use hostile magic whilst wearing them; you won’t be able to take them off either. Only someone else can do that for you.”
Of course. They had been conspiring against her this entire time. Protea couldn’t tell if it was more humiliating that it was happening now or that he hadn’t anticipated it. She shrunk and steadied herself with his staff, the diaper swelling to a point that it caused a noticeable bow-legged waddle which made even standing a concentrated affair.
“This ceremony is dismissed.” Baobab announced. Kholo began to file out of the den to their own chambers one by one. “You may leave now, little priest. You will find more of your new underwear in your hovel, not that you’ll be able to change yourself, and it’s up to you whether you want to ask any of your kin to help you out of that sodden thing.” She looked so infuriatingly satisfied. “If you don’t want to sleep in pissy pants that is.”
Baobab led the other elders and Fern out into the tunnels after everyone else had gone. Leaving only Protea to stand and sulk in humiliation. If they thought they were going to get away with this, Protea fumed, they had another thing coming.
