You were told many things about that derelict city, the fog-coated ghost town.
How a plague of witchcraft and heresy had caused it to rot away, how its core houses an eldritch pleasure unlike anything of mortal comprehension, how the sweet, malicious seduction of whatever fell power took root inside is so rampant, that the sheer depravity has formed a fog of smoke within its walls, permanently coating the entire area in malignant mist, as if to hide the shame of it all.

But it was the confliction of it, that drew your curiosity. To those out of the know, it wasn't even real, just a silly story about a ghost town that the commoners whisper to each other for mild entertainment. But some of those very commoners claim to have physically been there, some of them...even changed. During your stay in the hub of these rumours, in the capital's simple inn, you swear that you've heard cries in the night, screams, roars even. But not of pain, not of sorrow, not of terror, but of....delight. Like the euphoria of an orgasmic climax, like the triumph of a life goal achieved, like the unbridled joy that a simple taste of Heaven could grant. Sometimes, if you listen even closer, leaning your head against a less then ideally thick wall, you could even hear additional noises. The creaking of floorboards, the writhing of large movements, the tearing of cloth, the thump of flesh against the ground, and even the...squeaking of rubber?

That had settled it for you, and the warmth in your loins. You had confronted the occupant of that room the following morning, and through the bright pink blush of their cheeks, they merely pointed you in a direction.
Towards that fog-coated ghost town.

The following trek through the swamp was tedious, the muddy water and swarming pests weighing down your limbs and ruining your attempts at tent-clad slumber. But your motive to continue was only emboldened by the sight of gargantuan footprints in the mushy soil, large puddles shaped like the paws of some bipedal beast, each one swollen and bulbous to unreasonable beauty. So you continue, you travel farther, you delve your way deeper and deeper into the marshlands, well out of sight of society, until at last, you see it. Or rather, you hear it.

Above the buzzing of parasites and croaking of amphibians, the first sign of your goal is an unexpected noise: Music. Distant, enchanting music. But it was not the song of jovial festival bards or furious war drums, but instead a choir, a long, haunting, echo of angelic hymns, the occasional wheeze of elegant pipe organs, all punctuated by the rhythmic clangs of seemingly massive church bells. It was as if, whatever this town was, had completely silenced itself in devoted prayer, so that the echoes of its choir could ripple through the swamplands. But for what? A funeral? A wedding? It didn't sound mournful nor jubilant, just a calm, serene ambience, like that of a lengthy Sunday service. Minutes after the sound had reached your ears, had you realized that you no longer took note of your surroundings. You were no longer keeping track of your directions, no longer bothered by the insects in your path, you hadn't even noticed that you were walking upon solid earth again until you stumbled and involuntarily glanced down.
This chanting, this music, it was...soothing, gorgeous, to the point where, if you sat still for too long, you'd enter a state of such peace that you had to force yourself to stay awake.

This only drove your curiosity even further, fueled by the validation of your questions slowly being answered, and so fighting through the urge to rest and sleep, you pushed through the last of the swamp's treeline, and staggered out to see....it.
The fog-coated ghost town.

It was a walled city, nothing but sand-coloured bricks and crude shapes from what you could see in the clouds. It didn't look wealthy, it didn't look alive, in fact you would've assumed it to be completely abandoned, empty and devoid of any sign of inhabitants, had it not been for two unusual factors:
First, the music, the long, outstretched Gregorian chants and clanging bells, they were coming from the direction of the city. Technology here was advanced enough for music to be played automatically, but even then, someone within those walls had to have set it up.
The second, and more pressing factor, was that there were inhabitants...or at least, things that moved inside. Or rather, above.

Shapes. There were shapes in the sky, gliding across the tops of the buildings, some at varying elevations, others matching the altitude of their fellows. They looked...odd. They certainly weren't birds, they were too big, too round, too lifeless, they couldn't have been living creatures. Balloons, perhaps? Flying machines? Vehicles, decoration, or something far more unnerving? You couldn't tell, and at such a distance, there was no way you could gather any answers.

Fear rumbled in your gut at the thought of getting closer, something about those shapes, that fog, the sheer.....stillness, of the city, it was sending your primal instincts into a panic. But your more lucid thoughts, they argued against your better judgement, citing that the journey had been far too much of a chore for you to just turn around now, and leave with nothing but empty hands and questions to haunt you to your twilight years. And on top of those, a third feeling took the side of your curiosity. A feeling you couldn't really understand, or at least not at this moment. It felt like a...longing, instilling a similar warmth in your soul that the sounds of rupturing cloth in that other room at the inn had done in the nights prior. The music too, the haunting echoes and their soothing rumbles gave the feeling of calm, yet persistent invitation, goading you, luring you, seducing you.
Despite the terror your natural history had forcibly shoved into you, you knew full well that you would never get any explanation for anything you were witnessing, unless you dared to approach.

And so, despite them shaking like gelatin, you forced your legs forward, and you began to step closer.
Towards that fog-coated ghost town.

Soon enough, the smog enveloped you, coating your vision in a hazy miasma until you could barely see your surroundings. Bizarrely, you still found yourself with much more visibility than a fog of this density would otherwise boast, the growing walls of the city still viewable despite the sting of the mist's moisture in your eyes. But you didn't take much note of that, for you were far more distracted by how the fog smelled. You weren't sure what to expect from the scent of the mist, outside of either the dampness of rainwater or the choking disgust of fire smoke, but you certainly weren't prepared for how silky and sweet the air had begun to taste in your lungs. It reminded you of every kind of scent you would otherwise find pleasant, like the dew of sliced grass, the soothing chill of freshly cleaned cloth, all kinds of spices and herbs like lavender or amaranth, and yet every time you tried to properly focus on the smell, it would change, slip out of your focus, as if resisting or avoiding your attempts to properly identify it. All it would let you cling to is a single image, a single concept: An incense burner, a church censer, perhaps a subconscious message to tell you that this place was...sacred.

Holy ground, or rather holy air, that was what you were approaching.
You weren't sure what to make of it.

But eventually, you reached the gates, and find yourself surprised to see them unlocked, ajar even. You didn't even have to push either side, the gap between them was slim, but wide enough for you to slip through. Once inside however, the true scope of what you've come across became crystal clear.

For one, the city actually did seem to be abandoned. You couldn't see anyone on the streets, no lights were on inside the houses, not even rats or bugs were present in even the darkest, grimiest areas. If it weren't for the music, this city would've been deathly silent, devoid of any activity. That is, until you heard something in the distance. Clicking, clanking, a strange ticking sound deeper into the winding, misty streets. Something was moving elsewhere in the city. Towards you, perhaps? Dread crept into your soul at the thought, and you reflexively began to hug the walls of the nearby buildings as you continued, petrified at being spotted. Something was wrong, this place felt unnatural, like there was a presence that wasn't permitted to be in this reality, but let itself in regardless.

Just then, as you scanned your surroundings, you notice your shadow strangely start to expand...and you make the mistake of glancing up.

Hovering above you, drifting like a lazy balloon, was a gigantic hulk of gold. It wasn't a creature, resembling nothing of the sort, instead it looked closer to that of some kind of bauble or...church censer. There was a low buzzing from within its shining chassis, presumably something related to how it was airborne, and dangling from the bottom was a long, pointed banner. You didn't recognize the symbol on the cloth, but you soon recognized the rest of what you were seeing.
It was one of the shapes, those strange round objects you had seen in the sky above the city, this was the true appearance of them. You glanced around to confirm your suspicions, and yes indeed, there were more of them, distant in the fog, but moving and shaped exactly like the machine above you.
What caught your attention even further however, was that you realized the floating construct was doing something to the fog. All across its surface, much like, again, a church censer, there were holes, gaps, vents across the golden plates, and as you focused in on them, you could see the fog seemingly gripping into them...

No...wait, coming out of them.

The mist, it was spilling out of these vents, drifting down from its surface and pooling onto the ground, merging into the rest of the miasma. This thing, it and its fellows weren't navigating or manipulating the fog, they were creating it, curating it, keeping it topped up and ever present, like worker bees processing nectar. In fact, the church censer comparison flashed in your mind one more time, and you realize that this wasn't fog at all. It was smoke, incense smoke, pouring out of these machines and infesting this city, coating it in this...beautiful scent, like how their inspirations would do the same to the halls of a cathedral.

But....why?

You weren't sure whether it was either the smoke literally clouding your judgment, or your curiosity going into overdrive, but you needed answers. And with a loud 'CLOOOOOONNNNG' booming across the city streets, somehow you make the connection in your head. There, in the distance, through the misty streets...sat the town's own cathedral, massive and towering even by the standards of its kin, as the chimes of its bell thundered in the air.

You're not quite sure if the conclusion was your own...but you soon understood where your answers rested.

So you make haste, you hurry through the streets, trying your best to remain quiet, in case there was any malevolence within those floating machines. As you move, you catch some...disturbing sights. To the left, you swear you see more movement. Inhuman shapes were scuttling from house to house, more insectoid then bipedal, their carapaces a similar golden sheen to the floating baubles, as more of the miasma was spewing from what appeared to be their heads...or bodies, or whatever those were. To right meanwhile, you caught sight of a larger home, and nearly trip over your feet as you realize a body was on the steps of the house's doorway. There was no way it could've been the house's occupant, it was far...far too large, the long snaking tail lazily thrashing from its lower back easily dwarfing the door with its thickness alone-

Thrashing?
The body.... wasn't a corpse, it was moving, it was some kind of...unconscious figure. You could only make out the basic shapes of their mass in the miasma, but you swear they were...growing, swelling larger, rubbing themselves into the steps beneath them. Your eyes briefly dart across the other homes, and for a moment you think you see more of them, limbs dangling out from windows and gigantic figures slumped against the buildings, but you don't stop...because you suddenly realize that they were watching you. Eyes burning into your back and lazily tracking your movements. You hear one of them rumble...shift...and see something open a nearby door and move towards you, and your run erupts into a frantic sprint, care for remaining quiet thrown from your mind as panic overtook you.

You couldn't tell if the hulking figures were just getting a better look, or actively trying to chase you, but that didn't matter, you're running as fast as you can.

The cathedral swelled closer and closer in your vision as you hurried towards it, but suddenly, the ground underfoot seemed to lose its solidity, causing you to trip and fall face first into the cobblestone, just a hair's breadth from the entrance stairway. You quickly expected to feel the pain of your skull fracturing....yet the surface you make contact with feels...soft. Bouncy. Pliant.
It still hurt of course, but the sensation was less like being hit with brick, and more like being hit with a football.

Confused, you groaned and tried to pry yourself up, but paused as you opened your eyes. What you saw beneath you was still the city cobblestone you had walked in upon, but these rocks weren't the mixture of beige and grey, but instead...black. A glossy black, with tendrils and veins spread out into the surrounding, still normal stone. It was if someone had spilled an entire crates worth of fresh ink or paint onto the ground, yet despite being dry, it still looked wet and shiny. Slowly, you rose higher onto your feet, and reflexively glanced up at the cathedral before you, and you suddenly find yourself needing to blink out of sheer surprise.

For the same thing had occurred to the entire building.

Contrasted against the grim, sandy colours of the lifeless city buildings, the towering cathedral was a stark, pitch black, its tall spires barely resembling that of human construction, as its stained glass windows seemed to...flex, against its surface, in ways which glass should otherwise be incapable of doing. You're not sure what to think of the sight, but you try to brush it off, knowing that you were still being pursued. So, you start moving forward again, hopping up onto the steps and hurriedly climbing...

...only to feel the steps...squish. Not excessively, but they felt pliant, flexible, not at all like stone and more like clay. Albeit clay that quickly returned to its original shape the moment your weight released. You try to ignore it though, focused more on getting into the building as quickly as possible. And yet, as you ascend the steps and reach the door, one more absurdity greets you.

It was one of the shapes you saw on the streets to your left, the scuttling, golden ones, with the miasma spilling from its surface and onto the stairs, coating your path in mist. Like with the massive, floating baubles, the machine looked nothing like a recognizable creature. Instead it was simply a smaller, more oblong version of what you quickly ascertain was its larger brethren, with a trio of tripod-like pointed legs keeping it aloft, with no banner of its own to speak of. It was just barely shorter than yourself, and it lacked any sort of facial features to give it expression, but as you drew closer, you knew full well that it was watching you.

And yet, it did nothing. It simply waited patiently for you to reach its position, and once you reluctantly came face to face with its metallic sheen....the automaton politely scuttled to the side, moving out of the way, so that you could view and approach the door in full. It was like some kind of serviceman, a hotel bellhop or a palace greeter, and with the same air of dutiful obedience, it did nothing more than stand nearby, waiting for you to enter, so that it could return to its original post.

You take a moment to process the bizarre sight, but, worried that this machine might run out of its abundant patience, you soon hurriedly reach out to the doorhandles, flinch as even they seemed to bend and squish in your grasp, before wrenching them open, and rushing inside.

The interior of the cathedral seemed to ambush you with a completely different sensation, as the dreary skyline outside seemed to create a heavenly glow across the wide rooms, as the light crept through the towering windows of the stained yet questionably glass windows. Here, the music was quieter, but much more clear. In fact, hovering around the gaping, ornate arches and pillars that lined this massive hall, were even more automatons, these ones tiny and flittering like little fairies, spewing out not the miasma, but instead the haunting, soothing chords and chants that you had been hearing this entire time. That wasn't to say the miasma wasn't present of course, in fact the pliant marble floor was coated in the mist, nearly hiding your feet and the pews surrounding you. A glance back up, and you could see the fog drifting down from more baubles, dangling from massive, rattling chains as they swayed gently in the air.
Were these just normal censers, or were they more of the larger automatons, just docked like ships on these lengthy, golden chains?

You didn't get your answer, for a voice yanked your attention away.

"Ah...another traveller..."

By this point, the voice would have been the first you have heard in days since you first trekked into the swamp, and so naturally your gaze whipped over. It echoed across the acoustics of the cathedral, much like the buildings were designed to do, albeit with an efficiency and power that felt too abundant, even for a hall as vast as this. And its texture was...delicious, sultry, soothing, a feminine tone that seemed to be perfectly halfway between the wisdom of an experienced cleric, and the seduction of a highly praised...prostitute.

Despite the spongey flooring, you could distinctly hear the clacks of solid soled footwear echoing throughout the chamber, and, after a moment of trying to adjust to the sheer mass of the interior, your eyes soon fall upon the owner of the voice, as she calmly steps out from behind the preacher's plinth.

She was dressed very conservatively, with a set of long, dress-like robes and a black cloak covering the majority of her frame, with-as you could just barely see underneath the robes-long white socks slipped into finely crafted shoes with golden buckles. The fog that would've obscured her partially seemed to completely vanish as she drew closer, letting you drink in every single detail of her appearance...save for one: Her face.

The hood of her cloak was drawn well over her head, shrouding her face in shadow. And try as you might, no matter what angle you looked at her through, you couldn't ascertain a single piece of her identity. You didn't know what colour her eyes were, what type of hair she possessed, you couldn't even tell if she was human, elf, or some other kind of human-sized creature. All your attempts to do so were fruitless, and as you hear her sheepishly stifle a giggle, you realized that any continued efforts would only embarrass you further.

Thus, you relented, unsure of how this stranger may appreciate your prying. And noticing this, the woman decided to speak again.

"Tell me, my child." She said, her tone as soothing and...inviting, as a person's could possibly sound. "Whatever ails you so deeply as to seek out my bliss?"

Confused at the strangely altruistic tone, you asked if she...owned, this cathedral. To your surprise...she nodded.

"Well...somewhat." She chuckled. "In truth, this building is the home of a fine, beautiful deity. A being well beyond our mortal understanding. To us, we may call it...The Mirrorwell. And to you, I am Sister Astara, its dutiful priestess."

Concern welled in your gut at the strange...glee, that 'Astara' started to display in her description, but despite being unable to see them, you suddenly feel her eyes boring into you. Seeing bits of you that you'd...otherwise hide from others.

"You however." Astara coos, stepping closer. You try to move back, you want to, but can't bring yourself to shift your legs. "...Nor I or my deity know of you. What brings you here, do you seek...delights?"

Not exactly confident at the tone she used for 'delights', you hastily explained that you were just here for answers, exploring purely for curiosity, and that you just wanted to know what was going on. Astara meanwhile...you can feel a smile creeping onto her face.

"....I do not believe that is the full truth, my child."

You gulp.

"The Mirrorwell can sense a deeper longing, and I can see pain in your movements, fright and uncertainty."

She takes another step, and you swear you hear something underneath her robes.

"....But be not afraid." She giggled. "I do indeed have the answers you seek. And so much more. I can speak of them, easily. But I think that will not be as effective as...showing you. You wish to know, my child? You wish to observe a taste of what the bliss of the Mirrorwell offers?"

The eagerness in her tone, the small ripples inside her clothes, and the increasingly sweet, syrupy taste of the drifting fog, it brings a flustered warmth to your cheeks. You're not sure if there was any other answer to use, other than a pathetic, sheepish nod.

Astara chuckled, glad for the excuse.

"...Then watch, my child. Observe my body in full, and do not avert your eyes for a moment, as the beauty of the Mirrorwell...transforms it utterly."

All you can do is simply stare in horror, aroused horror, as the strange woman's eyes finally become visible under her hood, flashing an ethereal purple with sparkling gold...before her body starts to swell.

Sssqqquuiiiirrrrrrrrrkkk

It was not unlike that of an inflating balloon, as within seconds, Astara was already towering over you, her dress sliding up her legs, her arms spilling out of her sleeves, and her hood slipping off her head as her skin was quickly consumed in veiny stains by that same, glossy black plush, her darkening skin gleaming in the glowing light as ornate patterns of pure white spread across her limbs. Once her head was exposed, you half-expected to finally see what type of humanoid creature she actually was, but the visage that greeted you instead was animalistic, a stubby snout that should've been clearly visible in her smaller form, with twitching ears on top of her head, and long trails of white across the glistening black that crept up her neck and cradled her head. Her hands were similar, three fingers and a thumb on each, with the digits fattening, bloating, and even sprouting thick, dagger-like claws, made from what you could only accept as solid gold. Out her lower back meanwhile, something was rippling and writhing inside her dress, swelling and pushing against its confines as you watched it visibly throb. All while the rest of her proportions were bloating, filling up her clothes, her shoes and socks bulging and straining against her changing feet and strange shapes across them, her robes creaking and squeaking as they dug into her arms and legs, as the clasp of her cloak shrank and tugged into her neck, tighter, and tighter, seemingly threatening to choke her until her head came clean off, before with a loud:
PAP!
It suddenly snapped open, the clasps tearing and popping until the cloak came loose and tumbled off her shoulders.

Your blush flared in full this time, as you soon realized that Astara's clothes weren't stretching with her, instead they were pressing into her expanding frame, and straining against her increasing mass. She was outgrowing her attire, and if she kept transforming, her outfit was going to rip and expose her naked flesh. To you utter shock...she was smiling at you, knowing your look.
Bursting out of her clothes was exactly what she wanted, and worse still....she knew you wanted that too.

And so she continued, she rose higher and higher, quickly exceeding the maximum height a human could reach and expanding even further than that. Her clothes stretched loudly in response, and you could only watch as a tiny 'ri-i-i-i-iii-ii-i-i-ii-i' reached your ears, signalling that the seams were starting to give. You were frozen on the spot, and your loins were soon scorching.
Astara meanwhile, she simply giggled at whatever kind of expression you were making, before grunting loudly as she flexed, expanding thicker, larger, bulkier, until:

'RIII-I-I-I-IIIIIIP!'

Across her frame, the seams of her robes and dress loudly ruptured, and you watched as Astara's clothes burst open, massive dollops of her spongey flesh spewing and bulging out of the exploding gaps as the formerly modest attire rapidly shrank and disintegrated, splitting into pieces against her swelling body. Her sleeves were wrenched apart, ripping clean off her arms. Tiny holes in the dress across her back loudly burst and tore wide open, until her dress and robes split across her entire frame. Buttons and clasps sprang off a swelling cleavage with loud pops and snaps. The fringes of her dress ripped in half against her bloating thighs.

Even her shoes and socks were outgrown, your eyes locked onto her lower legs as the silky cloth stretched and tore across her shins, ripping and snapping as glittering anklets and beads were revealed to be the shapes that bulged underneath them, the rips in her socks spreading down her legs until they spiderwebbed across her heels and ankles, holes tearing open across her swelling feet and gleaming toe rings as threads stretched and dug into the gaps between her ring-adorned toes, before loudly snapping. Her shoes struggled to keep her from ending up barefoot, but her feet were rapidly inflating at an alarming pace, ballooning to hulking masses of gleaming, squishy meat, as the leather tightly sculpted around them, cracks forming across their surface as her socks burst off her ankles entirely, whilst the buckles shuddered and creaked, digging deeper and deeper into her inflating arches until 'POP, POP!', they each snapped apart, popping loudly and flopping to the sides, as their breakage gave her neat little shoes one last moment to slowly crack and split open, until at last, with a meaty, echoing:
'PAFF, POFF, BMMPH BMMPH.'
Astara's fattening bare feet swelled and thickened until they burst clean out of their confines, and firmly stomped onto the floor, stretching onto the fat balls of her feet as golden claws glittered on the tips of her toes.

That was enough for you to finally step back in shock, as you realized that not only had her feet morphed and bloated into hulking paws, but as these paws swelled and ballooned out onto the floor, inflating bigger and bigger until the toes were starting to dwarf your entire body...you realized that these were the paws that had left those gorgeous, swollen footprints in the swamp.

Those footprints were Astara's.

BMMPH

Something thick, bloated, and meaty suddenly thumped onto the floor behind Astara's feet, knocking you out of your thoughts. You glanced over, and you coughed, for a gargantuan tail, so bloated and swollen that it was somehow dwarfing her, even as she swelled and ballooned to nearly fill the entire cathedral, was gently writhing and flopping onto the floor, lazily thrashing.

Another chuckle drew your attention back up to her face, and you had to take another step back, as the last bits of Astara's outfit snapped off her frame and tumble onto the ground. Thankfully she had undergarments to cover her modesty, a simple top and waist cloth both decorated in ornate patterns, but they were barely keeping her decent, so much of her body now completely nude and swollen into this glossy black flesh. And worst of all, she didn't mind a single bit, in fact she was clearly relishing how much of her body was exposed, for her smile was wide, eager, proud...and pointed directly down at you.

"Haaaaaaaaaaaaa....." She sighed, deeply, her voice unchanged but now even louder and thunderous in the echoes of this hall. "...beautiful, wasn't it?"

Her massive frame loudly squeaked, and squirked, and creaked as she moved, one hand raising up to grasp at a swollen boob, whilst the other lowered to squeeze and caress a bloated foot. Your mouth was dry, your body weak, your mind in shambles...but you were in full agreement. She seemed to recognize this, and smiled wider, chuckling one last time as she lowered herself to meet your gaze.

"I'm sure you still have questions, my child." She cooed again, her words casting their spell. "And I will be happy to put them at ease. Come... Approach me, drift into my embrace....and all of what you could ever want will be yours...."

You had lost all reason to resist, lost all reason at all, you were entranced, you were enamored...you were even jealous. But you knew not to worry about that, because as the syrupy taste of the blissful miasma coursed across your tongue, you knew that it was your turn to join the peaceful warmth.

"Tell me, my child....what desires do you wish indulged? What pains do you wish undone? Rest, sleep, enter my embrace, and the Mirrorwell will grant you all of what you need, before granting so much more. All it asks in return....is your devotion. Approach, my child...embrace the peaceful warmth...of eldritch indulgence."

You do not protest.
You do not resist.
You don't even hesitate.
You indulge.
You embrace.
You accept your fate, in your new tomb.

Lost within....

That fog-coated ghost town.

---

So, I've been slowly getting more and more acquainted with  LunarKeys's circle of friends, and one thing I have noticed with him and his buddies is that the lot of them share a significant amount of love:
For Skunks.
Rubberskunks, to be exact.
Why? I have no idea. Most of them are tail-lovers so I think it's, y'know, the tail, but many of them tend to love the colours and the shaping of them too. I frankly haven't the foggiest as to why their shaping is any more alluring than those of other animals, but I believe I just simply don't get it.

And I think part of the reason was that I just couldn't really get too invested in the rubberskunk idea. The rubber idea, Keys' classic, I do quite enjoy. But the skunk part....eeeeh, I just couldn't click with it. And I think it's because, well, compared to something like his Lugias or Raichus, Skunk just feels....boring. And that was purely because I couldn't really think of anything not boring to do with them. I don't really like scents, and other creators have already done a lot with Rubberskunks that I felt like there was nothing really "out there" I could do.

That is....until during a chat with some of the friends....I suddenly had an idea.

"Hold on." I said. "Rubberskunk stuff is all based around scent triggers and whatnot, including stuff like fancy little incense. But those are just the matchstick stuff, like little cigars and tiny bottles, home incense that anyone could use. But what about something more...fancy? Regal? More....divine? What about....church incense, church censers are a really cool aesthetic, so having a big dominatrix Skunk priestess convert lowly little subbyskunks could-......fuck me that's actually a really good idea hang on I should draw this-"

And here we are. Say hello, to Astara. (It was gonna be Aster earlier because Asters are plants that represent faith but Aster was apparently masculine and Astra sounded too basic so we're going with Astara).

I actually really, really like the priest character trope, so getting to indulge in all of that cool aesthetic with a very attractive and very huge rubber skunk character is very, very nice.
Backstory wise, I'm currently thinking that she used to be an Artificer that quite literally had a religious experience after a chance encounter with the "Mirrorwell", a creation of  LunarKeys for a short story of his that he gave me his blessing to reinterpret as Astara's own deity. I like the idea of unknowable elder gods beyond comprehension being worshipped in an actual church-like setting, so I settled on the Mirrorwell because I couldn't really think of any other kind of deity that'd like...want its followers to turn people into rubber things.
So, those little robots, the Pastors and Missionaries, are Astara's own creations, and they help her spread the corrupting incense smoke to accompany her preaching and conversions.

I'm not sure what else to do with this character at the moment, but I feel like she can work very well for standalone, indulgent stories, much like Ryujii or Bentley.
I stiiiill don't think Rubberskunks click with me enough, but hey, if you like tails and rubberskunks yourself....uuuuh...here you go, I made one.

....and I might make more.


Mirrorwell is owned by  LunarKeys , thanks mate.