"I have re-fashioned you," he said, pride evident in his crackling voice, "transmogrified you, in the way of the ancient necromancers."

"W-why?" hissed Vulkan desperately, "in God's name why would you do such a thing to me – to what dreadful end?"

Malpurgo smiled showing two rows of sharp, predatory teeth.

"Hardly in His name," sniggered the wizard, "the spell is running its course, you are now entering the final, irreversible stages of satyriasis. In only a few hours the process will be complete and you will become a fully developed satyr and, as such, you will serve me as all of my familiars serve me; with total, unstinting obedience, even unto death."

"Never!… I will never serve the one who has done this evil thing to me," Vulkan rasped, his expression bitter and wretched as he looked down with revulsion at the dark, crinkled pelt that now sprouted over much of his chest and belly.

The Lord of Gliss tossed his head back and laughed aloud. A terrible, demonic sound that made the youth's blood chill in his veins.

"Oh yes you will my prince, you will indeed serve me, or else I will put you to sleep again and when you awake you will find yourself neutered, shrunken and shambling about with the rest of my trusty grulls."

Malpurgo clucked his tongue over his shoulder and the ever-present grull hopped once more into view on its bandy legs, the stupid, faithful face upturned and eager to please its master.

Vulkan stared down in disbelieving horror at the misshapen midget.

"Do you mean to say that thing was once a man?" asked the youth, his tone and expression askance.

"Once, a long time ago," conceded the wizard, this grull came to my demesne as a brash young man with a handful of others of similar ilk. All of them intent upon chastising me for a trifling prank I had played upon their Lord. I declined to be tied to the public post and beaten as they had intended and now all serve me in various, menial ways."