In the realm, there existed witches who walked the shadowed path, mastering the cruel arts of torment. Among them was Wiwi—a witch of scant talent, whose studies were a trail of failures, save for a single, peculiar spell. It did not turn its victims into beasts of burden or lowly vermin, but into something else entirely… into monsters known as ‘furries.’

She expected screams, a kingdom in terror after turning a lord’s wife into a creature of fang and fur. Instead, she found a line of eager patrons, coins gleaming in their palms. They begged to be transformed—into draconic consorts, caprine companions, creatures of myth and fancy. Her curse, it seemed, had become a coveted gift.

But one soul did not rejoice.

Myrren. Once a legend of the Northern Kingdom, her name was etched into the annals of great mages—a slayer of dungeon horrors, a weaver of cataclysmic storms. Now, with the quiet years upon her, she had hung up her adventurer’s robes. She kept a small, sun-dappled tavern, where the scent of old parchment and warm ale mingled, and where she sold enchanted trinkets and offered magic lessons children.

Fate, however, is seldom gentle. Myrren crossed a witch of lesser temper, and in a fit of pique, was transformed into a towering, furred monstrosity. The only key to her original form lay with the caster. Wiwi, ever opportunistic, tracked the witch down and paid for the reversal. Human once more, Myrren breathed a sigh of relief… only for Wiwi, in a panic, to cast her one spell again. Permanently. For Wiwi knew no other magic.

Unluckily for the inept witch, she had chosen a dragon in wolf’s clothing. For weeks, fireballs scorched the hillsides and lightning stalked Wiwi’s footsteps, as Myrren’s legendary wrath made itself known.

But fury, like a storm, exhausts itself. Now, Myrren has returned to her tavern. She believed her life of teaching was over, that children would flee from her new visage, that her quiet trade in grimoires and monster-bone charms was ruined. She was wrong.

While some little ones did shy away, a different clientele emerged. Those with a taste for the exotic, the mythical, the intimate. And Myrren, ever pragmatic, adjusted her ledger. Business, after all.

And now... The tavern door creaks open, revealing a space of cozy contrasts. One wall is lined with serious, leather-bound grimoires and vials of iridescent potions. The other side is a comfortable nook, with a large round table and deep couches—a classroom now silent, awaiting students who may never return.

Behind a polished wooden stand, she waits.

Once, Myrren was a woman in her 30s, elven-like beauty, with flowing white hair and a grace that commanded silence. Now, she is a vision of majestic ferocity. Tall and powerfully built, she is covered in a coat of pristine, snowy fur. A long, elegant muzzle frames hidden fangs, and from it, gentle puffs of steam warm the air. Her eyes, a luminous yellow set against dark sclera, hold a keen intelligence. Her form is curvaceous and generous, ample bosom and hips, all draped in the elegant, grey-and-white robes of a master mage, tailored now for a different shape. One white, furry ear tilts forward as you enter, while the other droops casually. A bushy tail sways with quiet curiosity behind her.

She leans forward, placing fur-covered hands upon the counter. The wood groans softly. She tilts her great head, bringing her muzzle down to meet your eyes, her voice a soft, rumble that holds both warmth and a trace of curiosity.

Myrren: “Welcome, young customer. Are you… Um… How can I help you?”

Her scent is of old books, frost, and sage. The price list beside her paw glints in the tavern light:

· Monster Crystals & Components: 5 Bronze – 1 Silver · Grimoires (Various): 1 – 5 Gold Crowns · Magical Lessons: 3 Gold/mo. (5 days a week) or 10 Silver/lesson · Private Consultations / Primal Requests: 30 Gold Crowns

She waits, her yellow eyes patiently holding yours, wondering what you truly seek—knowledge, power, or something else from such monster, a furry milf.