When one is given a quest by their Patron Goddess, one does not argue. If truly faithful, they will accept their appointed task, journeying towards the stated goal to serve a purpose in the overall Divine plan that their faith told them to do...
...Even if said Patron Goddess was doing it to help another goddess... one that was of the lands further South who merely wished to have her child brought back to her.
Such was how the group that would become known as the, ‘Fellowship of the Kitten’ were brought to task.
They were lead by the infamous Qilué Veladorn, a woman that was better known as High Priestess Eresseae Qilué Silverhand of the Temple of Eilistraee. However, she was also known as the ‘Seventh of the Seven Sisters’, as she was chosen from birth to also serve Mystra, the Goddess of magic, spells, and the “Weave”; the ability for a spell-caster to tap into raw mana wherever they were. As the Chosen of TWO goddesses, Qilué was an incredibly powerful magic-user... but was also the most hated woman amongst the Drow that served Lolth; knowing the Dark Goddess that ruled the Gray Zone would want nothing more than her heart on a platter.
Qilué knew if she was going to make this work, then she needed above all, Náessë Melwasúl, a female Drow Warrior who was better known once as the mercenary, ‘Shas Shadi’ or ‘Black Blade’ in Drow tongue. She was without a doubt, the muscle of the group. Standing at 6’2”, she was considered a giant by Drow standards and stood nearly a head above the others. She put this above-average build to use, especially during her journeying days where she had garnered her reputation as a travelling mercenary. The woman was famed for using a formerly pure ebony long-sword to protect herself and her comrades. Formerly, as while the blade of darkness had been her trademark, her weapon had had been re-forged and baptized; shod with sacred silver that had been left out under the moonlight of a Eilistraee Equinox Festival. It was a powerful holy weapon against the darkness of the Gray Zone.
Next was Sairalindë Oronar who was, for lack of better terms... a bitch. Pure and simple. Slightly younger than all the rest by perhaps thirty or so years, she had much growing up to still do. A former Priestess of Lolth, Sairalindë had initially joined the Temple of Eilistraee for quick Sanctuary as her former home, the House of Oronar had fallen on hard times when Lolth began to show favor to a rival house. It had taken the Drow much time to adjust, and was in fact, STILL adjusting, but because of her former connection, she herself could feel when any scrying spells of magic drone-slaves of the Lolth Priestesses wee near or upon them. She made the perfect warning beacon.
There was also, Lessien Táralóm. She was the odd woman of the group as she was actually a half breed, her father having been a Drow Soldier of Lolth while her more was of the purer Sylvan sort who’d been conquered as part of a village raid. As such, her violet eyes stood out far more prominently that her red-eyed sisters and her hair had a slight blonde sheen to it rather than silver. She had received her name at birth from her mother as a reminder that she herself was of more than Drow blood. While it had been hell on the woman in her youth, Lessien found her place amongst the Church of Elistraee, accepted with open arms despite her mixed lineage. She now served as a healer and was rather infamous amongst the order as a, ‘Dark Elf’ and was damned good with a stiletto.
Covering their backs was Idril Elendil. While she was a Drow woman of no outstanding background or history, the fact of the matter was Idril was incredibly skilled with a bow, being able to take a shot of accuracy at five-hundred yards with a long-bow. It was said she could shoot a fly off the tip of a sleeping dragon's nose without waking the beast... even though no one has attested to her actually managing such... yet.
And finally, there was Luthana Séregon. Like Idril, Luthana didn’t come from any high-standing or noble background for a Drow. A rogue from the start, it was surprising that she followed the way of Eilistraee, considering the path through life she forged was like anything BUT the Drow Goddess’ teachings. Some attributed this to how not only was the woman short stature but even shorter temper and seemed to have an ingrained hatred for males... something she showed off by using her skills with small, sharp weapons on them constantly...
Which was what Genma Saotome had been finding out the hard way.
Perhaps, more correctly with that nore, there were now two more members of the group. The first—and most important, according to the mission profile—was Ranma Saotome, lost and reborn Kitten of the client/Goddess they were in this Fellowship for.
“OW! Quit poking me with that—OWOWOWOWOWW!!”
“Silence, vermin!”
And there was now Genma Saotome aka ‘Bob’, who was also listed in the mission profile... as the first one to trip fn a strategic retreat was necessary.
“Mr. Bob, you really should be more silent,” Qilué said as she walked on, holding the young child’s hand as she kept her staff in the other at the ready for trouble. “There are many a wicked creatures who revel in the darkness of night... a number of which aren’t those who would work for Lolth and merely see us as a way to get back at she who rules these lands... or simply as food.”
The short-haired Sairalindë huffed. She fixed her cloak as she stated, “In other words... while we’re on the lookout for Lolth or her cronies... there are many things out there which may slip past our enhanced senses and defenses... like owlbears.”
Ignoring as Lutha continued to manhandle him in a most painful way for a moment, the man who kept getting called ‘Bob’ queried, “Owlbears?”
Her bow at the ready, Idril snorted. “An owlbear is a ferocious creature, that attacks by hugging you.”
Raising his head, the child of Bastet looked up at the Drow with her long white hair in a ponytail. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” Ranma chirruped
“And then it attacks you in the face with its beak,” Idril finished.
“...That doesn’t sound as nice,” the ponytailed child replied. Maybe his Old Man had been right, and hugs were evil...
But... but that would mean his father was right about something not of the martial arts!
Hmm... this might take a while to figure out...
“...But, there are no owlbears around here, right?” Genma asked, trying to keep up with Luthana, cursing out how she seemed to be able to move fast while groping his junk and making slicing motions.
“Not as likely,” the Archer of the group admitted. “But knowing our luck, we’d run into Bloodhulk... we had been forewarned that undead roam this area the most.”
Genma blinked his eyes once, twice. “A Bloodhulk?”
“A Bloodhulk is a type undead creature. They were originally evil, fanatical, shamanistic or magically-inclined humans—or simply Hogwarts Graduates—whom others had come to worship as false gods, and had too many sacrifices performed in their name. When they died, the gallons of blood from those sacrificed to them would begin to run in their veins, where they would then rise as oozing, hulking, misshapen abomination as punishment from TRUE gods...” Idril frowned as she added, “And if there’s one thing Lolth hates, it’s anyone trying to muscle in on her territory.”
“Is there anything safe here?” Ranma asked, wondering if he could get more candy. “Maybe a McDonald’s?” he asked with excitement. French fries were always good and he heard that they were even better fresh, not ‘recycled’ like his Old Man got for them.
“Nay, young Ranma,” Sairalindë replied sadly. “They were all overrun last decade, when a servant of Lolth failed to return with the proper collectable, claiming they did not have that particular one.”
“Damn it! Thanks a lot, Sair,” Lessien cursed as she kept in time. “I could really go for an Asian Salad right now...”
The tallest one of the group raised an eyebrow. “Asian Salad? Fuck that! I’d kill Bob here for a Big Mac and large French Fries,” Náessë admitted as she tapped a hand on the holster of her currently sheathed blade.
You didn’t want to know what she’d do for a McRib.
“What is everyone complaining about?” Qilué questioned her questing party. “Just because the McDonald’s corporation will no longer come into the Gray Zone for business does not mean there are not others; we still have Wendy’s!”
“Their toy premiums suck!” Qilué’s ladies and young Ranma chorused as one.
“Fine, what about Burger King?” Qilué asked.
“Most of those in this area were overrun by Undead Smurfs,” Náessë replied, shivering as she recalled what the Gray Zone restaurants of the Burger King chain had used to ‘supplement’ their ‘flame broiled patty meat’ with.
She did keep her pointed ears peeled for that dreaded song, sung like the human funeral dirge...
“How about anything?” asked Genma, feeling a bit hungry—damn the boy for not sharing those candies with his Father! He should really get those from him... to protect his teeth!
“OW!!”
Just as soon as the dark-skinned fae with the very pointy sword had it pointed elsewhere.
“You don’t get to choose,” Luthana firmly told the idiot. She then reminded Genma, “You are an afterthought and we’re merely bringing you along because it was stated that your son might be a little upset if we took him to see mommy and he didn’t have daddy anymore...”
She smirked and pressed the short-sword a little harder against him. “Of course, you could STILL be a daddy without having the ‘daddy bits’, right?”
Whimpering, Genma pleaded, “I’d still prefer to have my ‘daddy bits’, thank you very much!”
“Luthana, do go easy on him,” the High Priestess said in all seriousness. “We will be coming upon the Subway past this next hill and we do not want to give people any ideas.”
Genma blinked his eyes once, twice. “You have an underground transit train system?”
The High Priestess shook her head. “Not that type of Subway,” the leader of the Fellowship replied. “I mean the sandwich shop kind.”
“Their toy premiums suck!” the rest of the Fellowship and the son of Bastet chorused as one once more.
Qilué twitched once, twice. “...WILL YOU PEOPLE FORGET ABOUT THE FUCKING TOYS ALREADY!?” the High Priestess snapped in irritation. “Seriously! We’re in the middle of the Gray Zone, trying to get to safety, while avoiding everything that wouldn;t mind making a collectable book cover from our skin, and you people are complaining about toys!?”
“...Toys are very important,” Ranma admitted, as the other female Drow nodded.
“It is a sign that not only will they pander to your children,” Náessë continued. “But ensure that their food must also be top notch to make you waste the extra thirty copper to get the appropriate meal size, despite the fact you could never eat the entire thing in one sitting, let alone risk taking it with you, since it would spoil and attract predators.”
“...They never did reimburse me for all those point tickets I had either,” Genma grumbled. Though, admittedly, he probably should have removed the spindle they were on before taking it to another Subway to cash them in for free food.
Taking a deep breath, Qilué handed young Ranma her staff for a moment so she could use her now free hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. Good Goddess, these people were giving her a headache! Why couldn’t they take this quest seriously? IT WAS THE FUCKING GRAY ZONE FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!
Granted, this was the place where she and her people lived and worked everyday... but that was all the more reason for them to understand how dangerous it was outside the Eilistraee Temple Walls! It was as if the presence of the child was making them go lax or something...
“EEP!”
Well, except for Luthana, who still had Genma well in hand—quite literally too.
At least the Head Priestess of Eilistraee didn’t have to worry about Luthana getting ‘frisky’ with the male in question. The last thing she wanted was an actual delay in their passage through the Gray Zone.
“Hey!” Ranma called, pointing down a side path. “Look at that! Little blue leprechauns!”
Retrieving her staff, Qilué was quick to throw the child over her shoulder. “...People! Triple time!” the leader of the group yelled, as the funeral dirge of, “Fa, la, la-la, la, la!’ rang out in the forest.
Turning away from the road to the local Subway, the Fellowship of the Kitten turned tail and ran as if a contingent of Driders were on their tail. Truly, the Driders might be worse, but nowhere near as painful.
And yet somehow in all the confusion and crisis, Luthana managed to keep hold of ‘Bob’ and kept him from running away.
Qilué realized she was likely going to have to reward the girl got keeping up with such a daunting task. Maybe her own room at the monastery...
When she felt they'd ran far enough, the High Priestess paused and turned around. “Is everyone all right?” she asked as she did a quick head-count. Good. No one missing... all seven of them were—WAIT!
Seven? There were her five Drow, Bob, and while there, she didn’t count Ranma as she had him over her shoulder... SO WHO THE HELL ELSE WAS THAT!?
“Got a cigarette to spare?”
As one, the armed Drow all turned to the voice, swords/daggers/staffs/bows ready.
“I could help too, if you’d just let go~OW!”
...Well... you only needed one hand for a dagger, a fact Luthana was considering when she decided if it might be necessary to cut off said hand when this was over.
“Come on!” whined the zombie. “I’ll even take a crappy generic cig if you got ‘em,” the creature begged.
The High Priestess of Eilistraee blinked her eyes once, twice, thrice. “...No offense but shouldn’t you be moaning and trying to consume our flesh?” Qilué asked, not looking a gift-undead in the mouth.
“Nah!” the creature waved off. “Local Undead 20119 is currently on strike!”
“STRIKE! STRIKE! STRIKE!” rallied the other undead in the cemetery the group had run into, which was surprising.
Not the cemetery—plenty of those all around Europe, as even Undead needed a place to vacation—but that zombies were actually chanting as if they were mortals, and not in a slow, half-garbled tongue.
Qilué tilted her head as she watched at a large click of Zombies circled about in place, holding up signs such as, [No More Unfair Wages: More Brains!]
[Longer Smoke Breaks!]
[More Liquor! We Need to Self-Formaldehydrate!]
[I May Be Dead But My Heart Beats for Justice!]
And most damning... [Stop the Necrophilia Now!!]
“...Do we even want to know about that last one?” the High Priestess asked curiously.
The zombie slowly shook its head. “No. You really don’t... now then... ANY of you got a cigarette?” he held out his hand, causing the pinky to fall off.
Looking down at the detached digit, Qilué offered, “You could try smoking that pinky if you’re that bad for a fix...”
The Zombie made a face that looked like it wanted to retch; a feat considering its undead state. “You kiddin’? That’s like trying to EAT undead flesh. Tastes terrible!”
Leaning over, Luthana whispered, “Maybe we could hand Bob over for safe passage?”
The zombie looked Genma over for a moment before shaking its head. “Nah!” the Undead waved off. “We’re trying to watch our cholesterol.”
Much blinking ensued again. “But... you’re undead,” Qilué stated.
“Wow, nothing gets by you,” the zombie snorted as it rolled its eyes... a full 360-Degrees...
Becoming curious, the Dark Elf of the Fellowship question, “Why are you worried about cholesterol?”
The zombie pointed to the last sign. “Once again, you do not wanna know...” he held up his hands, “And once again, smoke? Anyone?”
“Here you go, Mister!” Ranma chirruped, a smile on his face as he handed the zombie a pack of Marlboros.
“...Child?” Qilué twitched. “Where did you get those?”
“I found them in that chest when I tripped and knocked over that tombstone,” Ranma said, pointing to the now empty chest, a bunch of other zombies gathered around it, tossing up boxes of cigarettes and letting them rain like confetti.
The Zombie looked up from his package of cigarettes, to the chest, and then back at the child. “Boy, you opened a box that has a special seal that keeps undead and anything ‘Evil’-aligned from touching it. That chest in particular was something the boss kept on hand for us... in fact, if we wanted one, we’d have to pay our boss and then he’d hand us a couple sticks.”
“Really?” Ranma chirruped. “Well, I'm not undead... or evil... so...” he shrugged and handed him another package of cigarettes. “I was gonna give this to daddy but I think you need it more.”
Accepting the second package of cigarettes, the zombie smiled, showing off rotted, jagged yellow teeth. “Kid, I promise you: if I remember your face for more than five minutes of short-term memory, I won’t eat you when I go back on duty when the Strike’s settled.” He then gently pat Ranma on the head before using his minimal motor skills to pocket one of his smokes before trying to open the other packet.
The Fellowship of the Kitten just twitched. “By the Goddess, I hate the Gray Zone,” they muttered as one.
“EEK!!”
Except for Luthana, who had another way to vent her frustrations.
“Hey, kid!” one of the zombies yelled. “Here’s another one! Open her up!”
Despite the quick attempts of Qilué to stop him, Ranma slipped from her grasp and opened the chest.
“Awww,” Ranma moaned. “It’s just some stupid yellow coins...”
“Dam—darn it,” the nearest zombie replied, remembering to watch his language near a child. “I was hoping it was liquor.”
Carefully, Ranma reached in and pulled one of the coins out, feeling it in his grasp. “Darnit! It’s not even a chocolate coin either...” he mumbled before tossing it back into the chest.
“...High Priestess...” Lessien spoke up politely. “If we take that chest, do you think we could pay to have some McDonald’s air-dropped?”
Qilué twitched again, a few hairs coming out of place as she glared at the Half-Drow. “You DO know the good we could do with that kind of gold, right?”
“Although we couldn’t rightfully claim it,” Náessë spoke up. As every Drow and Genma turned to stare at her, the armor-clad warrior explained, “The lad found it first, and being the pure soul he is, was able to get past the defenses put on it. It’s rightfully his to take...”
The leader of the group considered that for a moment. “And what if it belongs to the man who runs this graveyard?” the High Priestess questioned, wondering if Eilistraee would allow this.
The tall Drow shrugged her shoulders. “That doesn’t stop ‘Heroic’ wizards and knights from travelling around, breaking into people’s homes, checking their drawers, breaking the locks on their chests, smashing their pots and taking whatever they find that’s not nailed down for themselves. Why should we stop this child when he finds gold in a chest that was clearly out in the open?”
Smirking, Luthana continued for her friend, “Besides, as a force of Good, shouldn’t we take any opportunity to deprive the forces of Evil from any source of power? I figure gold counts.”
“And if this owner is not evil?” asked Qilué.
A chirping undead cricket could be heard as even the Undead were staring at her.
Lowering her head, the High priestess sighed. “...Right, don’t know why I considered that a man with a bunch of undead, let alone striking undead, might be a good guy,” she replied, rubbing her forehead again.
“I found another one!” Ranma chirruped happily as the lid came open. He frowned once more as it wasn’t anything interesting. “Dang! It’s just got a bunch of those brown long-neck bottles I sometimes find Daddy sleeping in piles of...”
“THE KID FOUND LIQUOR!” the undead closest chimed with pure joy... which was the start of what had to be the only instance on record of zombies actually moving at speeds faster than humans as they closed in to partake of what they considered a REAL treasure.
By the time the Fellowship of the Kitten had left the graveyard—including dragging the sulking ‘Bob’, who was not allowed to carry the gold or even partake of the alcohol—the group was up twelve healing potions, a +3 mace, three chests of gold, a case of Ye Olde Bud Light, a chest of silver, and a magical cape with +10 defense... that Ranma was wearing while carrying/dragging the mace.
“...Why don’t we ever run across stuff like this when we go on quests?” Luthana sulked as she kept pace; about the only thing that hadn’t been dampened was her grip on the poor man’s crotch.
“Well, come to think of it,” Sairalindë spoke up, the former Lolth Priestess getting a shifty look on her face. “Genma is supposedly descended from a Japanese Goddess of Good Fortune... perhaps Bastet wouldn’t mind of we kept a piece or three of him for ourselves for later quests?”
Qilué shook her head. “We don’t need to main the young boy’s father. Personally, I’d be happy if Ranma merely is gracious enough to give us one of those chests of gold when we return. The church could stand to have a few repairs...” she said in all seriousness.
Ranma considered that and nodded his head. “Sure. I mean, what’m I going to do with all those non-chocolate coins?”
“...Possibly buy real chocolate coins?” Idril muttered, only to have Luthana elbow her lightly.
“A dragon!” Ranma yelled, making the others snap to with their weapons ready.
“SQUEAK!”
*SQUISH*!
“...That was a squirrel, young one,” Qilué replied, checking herself over for any guts on her outfit.
Squirrels were not meant to be ‘battled’ with a +3 mace.
No matter how much the child’s mother may tell him otherwise.
“...And I take it a few of those coins would go to ‘dry-cleaning’?” Lessien asked curiously, wishing she knew the ‘Cleanse spell that worked on appearance rather than physical ailments, hexes, jinxes and curses.
“Hoot! Hoot!”
“DRAGON!”
*WHACK*!
Wiping her face clean, Qilué looked down, spotting a familiar tag. “That was a Hogwarts PostOwl.”
“...Awwww,” Ranma muttered. When was he going to get to bash a dragon!?
...Although... he had to admit... it did smell delicious...
Watching as the High Priestess bent over and picked up the crushed folder with the stamp [Do Not Bend], the archer of the group cautiously asked, “Anything important?”
Qilué shrugged. “No clue—I can only hope this ‘Malfroy’ guy wasn’t expecting anything. We can’t be bothered to take a side-trip to a post office.”
“There’s one right there,” Indril stated, pointing over a stony red hill to the Southwestern horizon.
“Can’t. Be. Bothered.”
“I’m just wondering if that +3 Mace has an extra enchantment on it for forest creatures,” Sairalindë pondered, as they stuffed the largest part remaining of both animals into a specially prepared satchel—keeps cold things cold and hot things hot. After all, waste not, want not. At this rate, they’d have the rations they needed to make it out of the territory.
“Dragon!”
*SMASH*!
Qilué rolled her eyes. “Now Ranma, just because you want to use that mace, doesn’t mean you shou—”
“OW! WHAT HIT MY PINKY CLAW? THAT REALLY STINGS!” Was the roar as the hill that had made up part of the horizon in front of the post office began to twitch; large wings starting to spread out from it after a few moments more.
“...Oh, frack me,” Sairalindë stated, watching the large beast rise up.
“Hey!” Ranma yelled up at the behemoth creature. “Are you a dragon?”
Blinking it eyes, the towering beast bent down, observing the boy. He then smirked as he realized something, a mischievous twinkle in his bright golden eyes.
The Drow were ready to follow the emergency plan: toss ‘Bob’ at the dragon and run with the package.
“Child. Do you see that guy riding over here in the metal with the big sword?”
Turning around, the boy caught sight of the armored figure and turned back to look at the tall, red-scaled creature. “Yep!” Ranma replied.
“That’s what a dragon looks like.” True, the dragon felt he might survive a brush with a young half-God... but why waste the time of defending himself from Crusades in the brat’s parent’s name that would likely follow as a result... when he could have a little fun?
The armored warrior held his sword aloft. “Forsoothe, yond beast, for today, I shall—”
“DRAGON!”
“What doest thou—”
*CLANG*!
“...Should we feel bad that this lad has just clobbered what was likely the first Paladin to dare brave the Gray Zone in what has to be thirty-years at this point?” the Half-Drow of the group questioned with a note of confused priorities. On the one had, someone was trying to do the right thing..
...On the other hand, this was a body to loot for everything it had! AND a horse!
Qilué snorted. “Don’t be so naive, Lessien. Obviously, this is a gift from Eilistraee, to aid the Fellowship of the Kitten in bringing the boy safely back to his mother!”
Blinking his large gold eyes once, twice, the Red Dragon looked down at the contingent of Drow and inquired, “Fellowship of the Kitten?”
Sairalindë shrugged as she explained, “He’s the son of Bastet.”
“...Ah...” the dragon nodded; yes, right decision. There was picking a fight and then there was picking a fight with a crazy bitch who’d cut you for shits and giggles, bronze the bits she cut off you, and use them for a sex toy.
Of course, that was either a special on the Discovery Channel for what she did to Ptah after he vaporized her last child, or the result of smoking an odd plant growing near his den...
“Anyway, I thank thee, young one from saving me from that mean... dragon... ” Looking around, he tried to figure out what he could give the gullible brat and get him the hell away from his post office before the knight woke up.
He smirked as he realized something. “Ah, take this young lad...” he reached into his mouth, feeling around with a claw. “Huuld onna sec’nd...” he said around his finger after a moment more of feeling around.
*Crick*!
“There we go...” holding up his hand, the dragon spit a tooth into it—a baby one he’d rotted a little with sweets and chipped from knight’s armor on more than one occasion. He’d been meaning to pull it out for awhile but he’d not had pain from it to make it a priority to bother with. “This, young lad is a Dragon’s Fa—er, I mean... it’s a ‘Kindly Gentleman’s Tooth’. It’s a very powerful and potent magic item, and can be used as a spell ingredient or as the core for a magic wand if you so wish to use it for such.”
“Ooo~ooh,” Ranma cooed at the yellow item that was dripping blood onto the ground.
As one, the Drow turned towards Genma, as Luthana looked at what was in her hand. “...You think if I squeeze really hard, Young Ranma might find a portal back to our Temple?” she asked, as the group pondered the pain of ‘Bob’s’ bits and the sheer amount of luck they were having.
“Couldn’t hurt to try,” Náessë admitted, sheathing her sword and wondering if she should use her superior strength to give it a shot.
“Yes it could!” Genma yelped as the Drow Women looked at him expectantly. “It could hurt A LOT!!”
Smiling, Náessë corrected, “Hurt you, not us.”
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(Posted Sat, 20 Aug 2011 05:22)
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