Lord Krawitz is a fencing instructor with a large mansion in the city of Rigard. He is the target of a humiliation quest necessary to enter the Castle and meet Jeanne; old of age, he has never been bested in fencing and prizes his sword above all else. Due to his relative high status in the city, even teaching the heirs to the King and Queen, Lord Krawitz has a trophy wife, called Marlene, is similar in age to his only daughter, called Ginny; unsurprisingly, they are hinted to not be as chaste as they would be expected to be. As a pure-human, he has a distain towards morphs, but hypocritically employs them in his mansion as servants for little pay and hostile treatment. During more recent years, it is apparent that he has had some financial trouble and his estate is close to bankruptcy; as such, Lord Krawitz has been undertaking questionably legal business practices in hopes of restoring his fortune.
The noble is on the short side, and his stomach shows something of a paunch. He is visibly balding, his gray hair leaving a shiny spot at the top of his head. His velvet clothing looks like it was cut to fit him when he was a fitter man, but is still in good condition. Well, that is, unless its purple and orange coloration somehow developed with age. You fervently hope that the garish combination is just an eccentricity of the man, although it is conceivable that it may have simply gone out of style years ago. At his hip, hangs a long slender fencing blade, at odds with his portly stature.
Spiked Food Transformation
After a dozen mouthfuls or so, the old man suddenly twitches, as a shudder runs through his body. He looks like he is about to be very ill. “What in the-” he starts, before his irritated complaint suddenly cuts off, and he staggers backwards, gasping. The lord’s pitiful cry turns into a curious mewling, as a pair of feline ears sprout from his balding scalp. A ripping noise from his bottom precedes the appearance of a long, fluffy tail, which sways about erratically. The confused lord scrabbles about on the floor, panicking as fur starts to grow on the back of his hands, turning them to paws.
Walking along, your eyes are drawn to a man in front of you. He reaches up, to pull the hood of his cloak further down over his face, even though only a hint of his features is visible as it is.
Hold on… now that you look, isn’t that Krawitz? The same paunch to his stomach, the same height, the same ratty eyes. There’s a new slump to his shoulders, however, as he hunches down beneath his hood and hurries along somewhere. You consider calling attention to him, but decide against it. He seems to be suffering enough already