While both Parn and Louie weren’t all that thrilled with their situation, Prince Endymion, crowned prince and heir to the throne of the Golden Kingdom was actually torn, the young man at a crossroads. To be blunt, he didn’t know whether to feel relieved or not. The idea of becoming the slave–the possession–of a dungeon keeper of all things was a terrifying thought. He might be sacrificed, his heart ripped out and his blood spilled on a dark altar in honor of the Dark Gods. He might find his cherry plucked for a spell ritual and worked to the bone as another laborer once his use had passed. By the Gods, he might even be ransomed back to his parents and forced back into the engagement they arranged for him!
Honestly... he didn’t know which would have been more preferably. Death and back-breaking labor were one thing... but the arranged marriage that he’d been roped into?
The prince shuddered again. No. No, he couldn’t go back to that thing! The Princess of the Silver Imperium... she... she wasn’t human! He’d never seen such an ill-mannered, boorish, black hole of a stomach in his life! His folks had sent HIM with a chest of one-thousand gold pieces to tide him over for six months while he got to know the bride-to-be without being a financial drain on the royal family of the lands hosting him. For Endymion, it would have been enough. Sadly, dear old mother and father hadn’t expected the Princess to feel it was his place to pay for her necessities. The Princess expected him to be the gentleman and pay for her dinners... desserts... gifts... shiny baubles that caught her eye...
Needless to say, the coin-purse vampire drained his funds dry in two weeks and was still expecting far more out of him without giving so much as a little peek at what he was going to get while married in return–outside of the treatment he would be receiving when this woman became his problem, that is.
He didn’t care if the marriage was a political maneuver to cement relations between the kingdoms. He was OUT of there! When night fell on the fourteenth day, he took one of the horses from the stable and rode out into the moonlight! He pushed the poor steed to near death in an effort to get back home for reinforcements. His family needed to know what they were getting into! The family of the Silver Imperium would drain their coffers dryer than Lord Antonius “The Constipated” Goodwish’s chamberpot!
Sadly, travelling alone at dark was incredibly dangerous and his luck ran out–even more so than ending up engaged to the Princess of the Silver Imperium in the first place! Taking a cut through the flowery fields of the kingdom of Tulipscent had seemed like a good idea at the time, what with the open flat spaces to ride faster and the fragrant fauna to cover his tracks. Really, how was he to guess that a dark elf Slaver of the Guild with a platoon of rogues would be surface-side looking to add to their caravan’s wares? One prince against a dozen opponents wasn’t a fair match up, and Endymion found himself tagged and bagged, thrown into a cage to be taken to the underdark... where he’d been for two months, receiving all kinds of ‘training’. Still better than having to listen to or feeding the screeching pie-hole of that harpy Princess Serenity... the prince thought.
Now, placed between two of his fellow captives, the three of them stood off to the side of this fruity dark elf’s establishment, watching as the waifish, pointy-eared fellow in black leathers and white silks was straining his arms to wrap the strained measuring tape around the feline woman’s bust–and horribly failing to do so. Dear God in heaven, she’s the bustiest woman I’ve ever seen! And boy, do I mean WOMAN! He really, really hoped this keeper wasn’t looking to make a quick coin off of him by sending him home. He might be able to deal with having to serve someone like her hand-and-foot for the rest of his life. Would be a step up from the Imperium Princess as far as he was concerned.
“Faster! Faster!” the werecheetah growled as the dark elf that had been giving her such a hard-on before was slowing down again. “We’ve only gotten through five outfits so far! Mama wants her wardrobe by nightfall.” Granted, she had no clue when that was as being underground screwed with one’s internal clock, but she was pretty certain such a phrase got her point across.
Sweating profusely, The Tailor was quick to answer, “Two things, kitten. First: You can’t rush genius; my hands will only go so fast with measurements and sewing. Second: this however, WOULD go a lot faster if you’d stop forcing me re-measure you with every outfit so I could focus on the actual creation. I wouldn’t need to do this if you’d just let me slap on a sizing enchantment!” he huffed irritably. “Why, I’ve wrapped my tapes and followed the contours of your body so much by now, I am more than intimately familiar with them than I’d care to be and will need some fine, potent rum to kill enough brain-cells so I can forget afterwards!”
“Oh no, I’m getting my money’s worth out of you,” the feline lycanthrope stated firmly as she stood tall, arms raised above her head. “Which means I want each and every outfit handled properly! You and I both know that means starting from the foundation! And I want underwear and sexy lingerie with each outfit, do you hear me? The sexier, the better!”
Harrumphing, the dark elf grumbled under his breath, “There’s not enough underwear above or below ground that could make you even an eighteenth as sexy as my lovely Crescens...”
Her left ear twitching, the werecheetah growled lowly. “What was that?”
“I said,” the sinister sylvan of the Underdark piped up. “That I’ll give you enough underwear above,” he tightened the tape around her chest. “And below,” he looked down at that spotted ass–suppressing his gag-reflex to keep from retching as he got another eyeful. “To make you as sexy as my lovely Crescens!”
That made Britanny blink her eyes once, twice. “That’s... better?” she queried, not sure how she felt about that. She supposed that was as good as she was going to get out of him verbally. At least he was taking her seriously when it came to fashion now. Granted, such was probably because she had threatened her friend with the worst fashion faux pas since mixing socks and sandals but at least the werecheetah was going to get what SHE wanted now!
The kidnapped Prince of the Golden Kingdom sighed. And then there were times like this that made him realize that maybe there was just some correlation of being a female of any level of royalty and the desire for fashion of high standards. Still, it was a definite plus in her favor that she wasn’t making him pay for it nor was she as verbally abusive as Princess Serenity could get. Honestly, that girl should be GLAD that the best tailors topside could do anything with that obtuse hairstyle of hers!
It was at that point, the apparition of advisement had enough of. As much as he loved taking in an eyeful of his protégé’s nude frame–as looking was about all he COULD do as a ghost –there was still much more that needed to be taken care of. “Keeper,” the ghostly dormer keeper spoke up, calling Britanny by her title to get her attention. “Don’t you think we’ve wasted enough time here? There is still much more to get done!”
“Oh relax, won’t you?” the werecheetah cooed. “I can’t strike fear and tyranny into the hearts of men as a dungeon keeper if I don’t look the part. Ergo, I need the best fashion money can buy!” She then looked over her shoulder at the dark elf kneeling behind her. “Isn’t that right, elfie?”
“My heart beats from the joy of serving you...” The Tailor commented sarcastically as he brought the tape down, measuring where her waist was at its narrowest.
The werecheetah’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think I appreciate the tone you’re using, Mister...”
Realizing there was no way to cover that slip-up, Crescens quickly interrupted the conversation to save the skillful dark elf with the even more skillful hands from getting himself squashed like a bug as the Slavers had ended up. “Can you blame honestly him, Lady Gia? He is focused on giving you his best, but there are only so many hours in the day. I’m sure your slaves are also tired of standing around and could use something to eat too!” She motioned to the trio of men who nodded their heads; the blue-haired muscular one looking the least enthused... but his grumbling stomach proving that he wasn’t against the idea.
Pursing her lips, Britanny considered that. Come to think of it, she was feeling hungry too. “True... but I do want more outfits...” she looked towards The Tailor once more. “That is, if he’ll be professional about this.”
“I’m a fashion designer my dear, not a miracle worker,” The Tailor replied, with much of the sanctimonious prickishness elves were known for. “Still, for Lady Crescens’ honor, I shall do my best to work with what I’m given, no matter how inferior it is.”
Seeing her friend’s fur standing on end and realizing the man she had strong feelings for wasn’t going to make it much longer if he didn’t keep his trap shut, the gaoblin tried once more to distract her friend from delivering righteous womanly wrath upon him. “And what about Horny? He needs to kill things, doesn’t he? Can’t leave the Horned Reaper standing idle for too long, can we?”
Sure, it seemed wrong that she’d be willing to let others die in place of her boy-toy, but as the old saying went, ‘When in Rome’.
What? If Lady Gia could be a dungeon keeper with boy-toys, then she could have a piece of elven sweetness on the side!
Raising a hand, Horny waved her off as he mumbled, “Nah! I’m good!” He was grinning from ear-to-ear, showing off his numerous, yellowed sharp teeth once more. “Keeper Cheetah got me the suit I wanted!” He then twirled about in place, showing off the mint-green crushed velvet three piece... that it fit him to a tee was only thanks to the fact The Tailor put one of his prime enchantments of ‘perfect fit’ as he did all the clothing he created for those who were, to put it nicely, ‘big and tall’. “I can wait as long as need be!”
Staring at the Horned Reaper for a moment, the ex-high priestess of the gaoblins turned back to the woman she pledged her allegiance to. “Lady Gia...”
“Yes, Crescens?” the woman chirruped as she stood on one foot, allowing The Tailor to get the measurements of her raised leg–and doing her best to suppress the instinct she had to kick him in the face. He was just so close and in the right position...
“I thought you said that Horniculus couldn’t have the suit?” the woman asked bluntly.
The Mentor floated up beside the gaoblin. “I must agree with your handmaiden, Keeper. As much as I don’t really care either way, I am curious as to what made you cave in to the demon’s demands for that...” he turned his head, staring at the Horned Reaper that appeared as if he were on cloud nine. “...Thing...”
Taking a deep breath, the werecheetah admitted, “Much as I think it’s a crime against fashion... it got him to stop taking a bite out of everyone and everything, didn’t it? Really, at this point it was about choosing the lesser of two evils.”
The gaoblin woman began to sweat. Well, she couldn’t really argue with THAT logic. It was unnerving to watch the demonic warrior scavenge the battlefield for ‘fixin’s’ as he put it. Even as she thought that, her eyes darted to Horny’s ‘to-go’ bag that was settled down in the corner, filled with charred parts, dragon bits, goblin giblets, and assorted skulls. “You may have a point there, Lady Gia...”
“That’s right, Crescens!” Britanny was quick to reply, “Of course I have a point!” She stared down at the dark elf. “A point which can be very stabby if you continue those smart-alecky remarks, mister!”
Nodding his head firmly, the crimson-skinned warrior whom looked ready for St. Patrick’s Day agreed, “Quite so! Oh, how I love being stabby!” His right hand gripped tighter around the shaft of his scythe in anticipation for the order to kill the dark elf with EXTREME PREJUDICE!
Because really, if you were to go kill with prejudice, it might as well be extreme!
Turning towards the mammoth muscled mass of red and green–honestly, the demon was like looking at some sort of warped, evil Christmas decoration–the gaoblin asked him, “I thought you were good with standing idle?” If being idle meant he didn’t kill The Tailor, all the better.
“Oh, I am my dear... but if a nice squishy killable so happens to be in front of me...” the Horned Reaper licked his lips, eyeing up the dark elf fashion designer as if he were the special on a restaurant menu.
In all honesty, he likely was.
“Believe me, big guy...” the effeminate dark sylvan fashioner piped up as his brought his measuring tape around the werecheetah’s hips. “I’ve been threatened by men bigger than you and I’m still standing...” he paused as he considered what he said. “Well, not literally, as I’m kneeling right now but you know what I mean. You don’t scare me.”
Now Crescens gulped as she saw Horny’s left eye twitching. Oh, she hoped The Tailor appreciated the lengths she was going to save him from his terminal case of foot-in-mouth disease. She really didn’t want to encourage her friend’s current ‘job’ but sacrifices must be made–for the good of future happy times. “You know, Lady Gia!” she cried out suddenly, trying to cut off anything the Horned Reaper was likely to say about literally cutting off something of the dark elf’s. “Perhaps you can do some multi-tasking?”
That caught the werecheetah’s attention. Turning gaze from the dark elf that kept pissing her off as time went on, the spotted blonde feline’s eyes settled on her pointy-eared friend. “Oh? What do you mean, Crescens?”
“Well surely, there must be some things you can get done for your dungeon while you have The Tailor finish your outfits!” She looked around, her mind racing as she tried thinking of something, ANYTHING to get the werecheetah’s mind off of making mincemeat of the artistic sylvan male. Her yellow eyes settling on the dark mistress who’d been silently sorting through the goods they’d gotten from their fallen enemies. “You could check what you actually have as... what do you call them? ‘Loots’, was it?”
“AN EXCELLENT IDEA!” The Mentor shouted, causing the gaoblin to wince. “Well done, Lady Crescens! The Keeper seems to need to be taught in baby-steps when it comes to the management aspects of dungeon keeping and this is a perfect time to teach her a viable skill: inventory delegation! It will get something useful done while the Keeper enjoys something she wants, making her far less irritable and likely to pay attention!”
Shrugging her shoulders, the spotted feline female really had no argument. As long as it shut The Mentor up so she could get some serious shopping taken care of, she was all for it! “Sure. I don’t see why not.” She then tilted her head towards the direction of her first Minion outside of Horny. “So Ayane, what do we got?”
The ex-high priestess of the gaoblins slowly exhaled a sigh of relief. At least it appeared that her friend was no longer intent on offing the dark elf and those magnificently skilled hands of his.
Having heard all this–The Mentor was pretty damn loud when he wanted to be–the dark mistress looked up from the spoils she and the gaoblin woman had stripped from the corpses earlier, her steely stare focused on her new boss. “Well, Keeper Cheetah,” she said as her hand immediately went to the gold handle of the sword. She lifted up the warped metallic, ebony blade. “This is easily the best of the pile. Put simply... it’s a dark gods-blessed Legendary weapon! These things are of immense value, with many of them having been confined to folklore as most of these weapons ended up lost over the ages. These things are famous not only for having been used by the kings, keepers, and great heroes and villains of the past, but also for their powerful and often unique abilities.”
“All right. I was expecting something like that,” the female werecat admitted. God knew how interested that bitch Xin had been in claiming it. “So what do we have for spoils of war besides the Maelstrom long-sword?” Britanny queried, wondering if there was anything of actual use that would help her maintain a working dungeon or at least protect her interests when they undoubtedly came after her for revenge.
Putting the sword down, the leather-clad woman then ran her gloved hand through the pile of gold, gems, and other odds and ends. “Honestly, there’s not much but you do have a few good things that Crescens and I picked off of Keeper Pilfor. For example, you now have my former boss’ prized Qyvaris Cult Leader Ring,” Ayane said with a devious grin as she held up the shimmering ring of metal and ebony.
That made the werecheetah pause in her movements as The Tailor took measurements. “Qyvaris Cult Leader Ring?” she queried. Let it not be said that the woman didn’t appreciate fine jewelry. If this was some sort of fantasy high-end name-brand jeweler’s, then it was all the better!
“Yes,” the Dark Mistress spoke with an excited tone. “It was a personal gift from her father when he bestowed the sisters with their Dungeon Hearts. These silver and obsidian rings were worn by the followers of a charismatic surface wizard named Qyvaris of Mirthshire. A couple of centuries ago, Qyvaris started an overworld cult that revered the dark gods of the underworld in secret, particularly Netheril. Seeking to recreate Netherese culture above ground, the wizard Qyvaris and his followers attempted to quietly excavate a large number of dungeon ruins across Harmonia. While Qyvaris successfully managed to recover many ancient Netherese writings and artifacts that were thought to be long lost, Pilfor’s father, Keeper Maori, eventually put an end to Qyvaris and his entire cult, wishing to gain the favor Netheril was bestowing upon a group of top-siders as his own, believing them to be undeserving of such a gift. The Qyvaris Rings are among the only items that remain from their organization; this one in particular having belonged to Qyvaris himself, hence it being a Cult Leader Ring rather than just a Qyvaris Ring.”
Britanny nodded her head. That made sense and was an interesting footnote... but how the woman initially described it? “So when you say silver, you mean...”
“Genuine silver, yes,” Ayane replied. “The precious metal. Mixed with obsidian, it is a work of art that seamlessly blends both underworld and overworld cultures and sensibilities, much as Qyvaris tried to accomplish with his cult.”
That made the werecheetah frown. While she doubted silver could kill her due to being connected to a Dungeon Heart which upped her natural healing abilities, she sure as hell didn’t think wearing jewelry that was constantly sizzling her finger was a sensation she wanted to experience. “Is there anything else that’s special about the ring besides its obvious historical significance and monetary worth?”
Grinning wide, the dark mistress nodded her head and replied, “Yes, my Keeper! All Qyvaris Rings have the augmentation of Bewitching to make the bearer appear more beautiful than they really are to make them seem trustworthy at first glance, but the wizard also added the Hardwood augment to his ring, allowing him take less damage in combat by increasing his ability to defect blows and resist the full power of magical attacks.”
Humming thoughtfully in appreciation for both the protective and narcissistic benefits the ring could offer, Britanny decided it would be better used as a token of appreciation to get on her new Minion’s good side. Ayane knew enough about it, so her interest in the jewelry was obvious. “Well congrats, Ayane. It’s now yours.”
Those words gave the woman a good startle, pausing in shock for a moment. She looked back and forth between the ring and the werecheetah for a moment, not sure if she’d heard the catwoman correctly or not. Dungeon keepers weren’t known for their generosity, after all. “Excuse me... Keeper? Did you just say that this ring is—”
“Yours,” Britanny interrupted her. She smiled at the girlish squee that came from the leather-clad woman as she was quick to slide it over one of her gloved fingers; it now being apparent the jewelry had a sizing enchantment besides the two augmentations. She allowed the Asian woman to appreciate her gift before asking, “So what else did Keeper Pilfor leave behind for me?”
“Well...” Ayane looked over the other items on the table that served as The Tailor’s transaction counter. “She had some Boots of Avoidance we pulled off her feet.”
“Boots of Avoidance?” the spotted blonde feline looked towards the brown leathers adored with flared cuffed with a speculative gaze. “They don’t look like much...” she said after a moment, her sense of fashion almost dismissing them outright. “What can you tell me about them?”
Shrugging her shoulders, the facial-scarred woman replied, “Not much besides the fact that they came from the surface and that her agility was increased by wearing them...”
Not one to allow a lack of information to stand, the ghostly apparition floated over. “I believe I can offer some insight, Keeper,” The Mentor piped up. “Nicknamed the, “Arrow Avoiders” the magic of these boots was specifically designed to detect incoming projectiles and aid the wearer in avoiding them using the higher-end augmentation of Luck and Skill; allowing greater agility and dexterity for speed and range of motion for enhanced movement as well as taking less damage when a hit would manage to land. They were originally commissioned by the instructor of a surface-world archery academy, who had tired of suffering ‘accidents’ at the hands of his inexperienced students. They were taken when Keeper Pilfor’s goblins raided the school in one of her more noteworthy–and very few genuinely successful–Acts of Infamy.”
That confused the werecheetah for a moment. “Really? Well it sure as hell wasn’t good enough to help her dodge me,” she replied rather coolly. She still had a hate-on for the woman that started all the trouble at the Slavers’ Guild, but a lot of the anger had receded since she got to cut the woman open like a can of tuna. Pilfor had shut up rather quickly as it was difficult for a person to vocalize their bitchiness when their guts were spilling out all over the floor.
“Well, that’s because it was designed to aid the wearer in dodging projectiles,” the spirit was quick to emphasize his explanation. “You were a pure physical force, and had far greater strength than the enchantment the boots bestowed could stand up to. Those boots are meant to avoid arrows, crossbow bolts, catapult rocks, blasts of magic, bullets, and the like... not three hundred-plus pounds of speeding feline lycanthrope!”
The Tailor snorted. “Oh she wishes she were only three-hundred pounds...” he murmured with a great amount of mirth and sarcastic bite. In his line of business, he could tell by looking. Not to mention the measurements didn’t lie!
Her own pointed ears twitching as she caught that, Crescens tried to suppress a wince. Honestly! Did her boy-toy have a death wish she didn’t know about!?
Needless to say, the comments pissed the werecheetah off and she was about to argue that she was twelve pounds under three-hundred... but what the ghost had said before that made Britanny blink her eyes once, twice, thrice. “Bullets? You mean slingshot ammo, right?”
“No Keeper, I mean firearms.” Honestly, did the world she came from not even have that? Her world must have been more backwards than Skumpitt.
The werecheetah’s jaw dropped. Guns. This place had guns? What the FUCK!?
“What the FUCK!?” Britanny finally managed to vocalize. “What do you mean this place has guns!?”
“Yes, Keeper,” the dark mistress spoke up. She rummaged through the pile of coins and small gemstones before pulling a cylindrical creation of metal and wood out into view. “In fact, you now have Keeper Pilfor’s...”
Looking over the device, The Mentor couldn’t help but murmur, “Ah yes, the portable gun. I can tell you, if we had these in my days, I would have been the one in charge rather than where I am now.” Then as an afterthought, he admitted, “Still, to be honest, I probably would have dismissed them as a novelty at the time... a model of the sentry trap for children if anything.”
Britanny stared. Wooden frame with a metal barrel, a spring system for both the hammer and the frizzen latch atop the flash-pan. Good lord! This was so wrong to her. She was so used to “medieval fantasy” with Jade and “modern living” with Earth... to actually witness what was essentially the end of knights and would become the beginnings of an industrial revolution in a fantasy setting was mind-numbingly WRONG! “Son of a bitch...” she murmured. “You people have firearms!”
Nodding her head, Ayane replied, “This in particular is a flintlock pistol; named such based on its firing mechanics. Introduced at the beginning of this past century, the flintlock has rapidly gained in popularity, with the flintlock mechanism being hailed as the second greatest invention in history–sliced bread still being the top innovation–though it has seen competition via more recent firearm designs.” She rolled the firearm that would have been at home in the 17th Century in her hand, allowing the werecheetah to have a good look. “This is a cheap variation being made of iron and yew, but it is still an effective weapon which, like all pistols, has a fast reload speed, though it has a much shorter range and does less damage than crossbows, let alone even longbows are capable of.”
The werecheetah just continued to stare, considering what she went through. “...You mean to tell me that redheaded bitch had a gun and she chose to instead throw knives at me!?” Okay, now she was feeling REALLY insulted. Either that woman had no respect for her or was just someone who was more strapped for cash than she thought!
“Well to be fair,” the spirit that acted as Britanny’s adviser commented as he continued to study the firearm. “Looking over this particular pistol, I can see that the ammunition enchantment has been broken.”
That made the female werecat blink her eyes. “Ammunition enchantment?” she questioned, confusion evident in her voice.
“Yes,” Ayane replied. “Such is how the weapons are able to fire. They use magic to make the bullet and powder. An iron flintlock can get off four good shots in rapid succession before needing a minute or so to recharge. And even then, it will wear off over time with repeated use. This one really needs to be brought back in for a recasting of the ammunition rune if you’re to use it again. As it stands right now, it’s just a fancy paperweight.”
Britanny considered that for a moment before nodding her head. Ah. Things made a bit more sense now. The guns were magic and not pure technology. From what she’d seen with her father’s aura magic, it did not mix with metal... AT ALL. Perhaps that was why armored knights with swords and shields were still in vogue here despite the presence of firearms. It was very likely that while useful against a villager or common thug, these things weren’t too effective against someone decked head-to-toe in thick metal armor.
Still... this was something to look into. “Hey, The Mentor?” the werecheetah spoke up. When he didn’t interrupt her that time–she made sure to use his proper title–the woman continued with her inquiry. “Do you know if there’s a place in Skid Row that I can get a recasting done?”
“If you fancy owning a pistol,” the ghost began. “I suggest forgoing the enchantment rune and buying a better model outright.” When his protégé gave him a curious look, he continued to explain, “Iron and yew, while an effective combination... is as cheap as it gets without purchasing damaged goods. That model does not speak well of your standing. If you’re going to commission yourself a pistol, then go for bigger and better.”
“He has a point, Keeper,” Ayane spoke up. “This is pretty much the ‘everyman’ model. Crude but effective. About two-hundred and fifty-gold, anyone could afford one if they put their mind to it and used their money wisely. You should go high end, Mistress! Obsidian and Ebon Wood! Those things can be augmented too, unlike this little dinky thing.”
Britanny considered the two opinions for a moment. “So what you’re telling me is that I’m better off giving that gun to a flunky while I purchase something better?” She turned her head towards the tallest individual in the room. “Hey! Big, Mean, and Decked in Green!” she shouted to the Horned Reaper. “You want a pistol?”
Snorting, the demon brought his free hand up in a warding gesture before nodding his head. “Thanks, but no thanks, Keeper. Guns are just too impersonal. I prefer my killings to be up close and personal.” He chuckled darkly as his right hand gripped the shaft of his scythe that much tighter. “Very personal...”
The area that contained the Tailor’s residence was a large bustling chamber full of life. Human lowlifes, orcs, dark elves, goblins, along with other races of the Underdark were milling about. No surprise, really, as it was a prominent section of Skid Row. A large stone building that was marked with a large sign out front labeled, [Flop House], a couple of warehouses with armed guards out front, and even a section of stone storefront marked with an angled green and white cross that seemed to be a Healer’s Clinic.
However, the busiest spot in the working level was a small food stand manned by an older, heavy-set troll. A troll that had his massive hands full selling a number of treats and staples for underworlders on a budget, including grilled rats on a stick, grilled cave lamprey eel on a stick, stuffed mushrooms, boiled rock-nuts, and that ever-popular, ever-evil treat of live baby chicks!
A human rogue with a bag of shelled and salted boiled rock-nuts leaned against a wall of the cavern near the stall. He was about to swallow a handful when he caught sight of a face he recognized in the line. “Hey!” he called out to his co-workers who had the day off. “Did you hear the news?”
A male dark elf in black leathers turned his head. Catching sight of a familiar, black-haired scoundrel, he replied, “Yeah!” he called back so the rogue would know he was talking to him. “It’s all over the city. Someone totally PUNKED the local Keepers!” Needless to say, the Skid Row rumor mill was having a field day with that one. The local Dungeon Keepers were respected, but that didn’t mean they were liked by the populous. They sure as hell had embittered the inhabitants against them with the constant abuses they reaped upon the masses.
Another human–a warlock if the robes were anything to go by–who’d been standing in line behind the dark elf laughed. “I heard it was a cat-woman sex-slave!” His lascivious grin was more than enough to state exactly what he thought about that.
“Nuh-uh,” said the lone dark mistress in line as she stood right at the counter; dropping a silver coin to get herself some nicely grilled rat. “I heard it was The Tailor’s new girlfriend.” She used her free hand to thumb over her shoulder towards the dark elf’s establishment.
“I heards,” the overweight orc standing behind the dark mistress piped up, adding his own two coppers into the rumor ring. “Dat dis kitty-woman belongs to Da Tailor’s new girlfriend!” Damn, those dark elves were lucky bastards. What he wouldn’t do to have two sexy women.
The troll who was running the stall snorted as he held up one of the edible, grilled vermin. “Either way, I heard a friggin’ HORNED REAPER got involved!” While the small-time chef took everything from the Skid Row grapevine with a grain of rock-salt, the fact of the matter was numerous dark elves he recognized as members of the Slavers’ Guild were saying the same damned thing: a Horned Reaper killed a dragon. When people claimed to be eye-witnesses, it tended to add a bit more credibility.
Taking her savory rat from the older troll with her talon-gloved hand, the leather-clad dominatrix eyed him curiously. “Okay, what are you smoking and why aren’t you sharing!?”
That got a round of laugh from the others in line and those nearby.
However, all laughter stopped when the door of The Tailor’s shop opened, and out stepped a woman whose very presence commanded attention, causing many of the Skid Row inhabitants to drop what they were doing... in some cases, literally.
Britanny stepped out of The Tailor’s, wearing her new outfit. While pleased to have gotten something exquisite, she was having her doubts. “I’m not sure if this is me...” she muttered. Although she did admit, it did make her feel quite powerful and sexual. After all, the outfit was exposing the top parts of her breasts with the low-cut cleavage and her upper thighs to anyone who looked. Though, she was thankful that no one knew she wasn’t wearing any panties underneath her black skirt, the back of which went all the way down to her ankles, covering her rear the whole way. Considering how big my butt is, that’s an accomplishment in and of itself, the werecheetah thought to herself dryly. The front of her skirt was narrower, showing off her legs, which were covered by thigh-high boots, allowed for full freedom of movement.
“Would have preferred zippers too...” the spotted blonde cat-womman muttered; gazing down at her legs as she made her way down the steps. Or, to be more specific, the laces that kept her boots from getting too loose. “At least they’re fashionable.” Then again, the inner red and outer black on her boots did go pretty nice with the rest of her outfit, considering that most of it was that same crimson and ebony color-scheme.
“Speaking of loose...” Britanny reached for her breasts and pushed them up. “As if mine weren’t big enough already.” She smirked slightly. A corset wasn’t her first choice of clothing, not by a long shot! However, it was at least a fashionable red with platinum-infused spider-silk shod throughout with web-like designs around her breasts. And she positively loved that platinum sun-mark that covered the abdomen on this outfit. Not that many could see it, considering it was half-way covered by a metallic, jewel-encrusted belt and armored tasset around her thighs.
The werecheetah shrugged, causing her chest to do some rather... ‘interesting’ things. She wasn’t sure about the mantle and cape that she was wearing, though it had a nice red back and a black interior, she just had to question whoever decided that connecting a mantle and cape to the sides of a corset was a good idea. At least it wasn’t too uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure about the platinum-infused red-silk collar around her neck, but she wasn’t one to let a little discomfort get in the way of fashion, especially if said fashion had shoulder-length red gloves like this one did! The platinum bracelets seemed to be a bit over-the-top, but overall, she couldn’t complain. It looked good and she felt like she could kick ass in this outfit!
Floating beside his protégé as the others filed out behind the feline lycanthrope, The Mentor was quick to question, “Well Keeper, you have your outfits. Are you happy now?”
Nodding her head, the female werecat was quick to quip, “Much!” After all, she looked downright sexy, had male slaves in tight leather pants and white spider-silk shirts, Horny hadn’t eaten any body parts in over an hour, and The Tailor was wailing like a little bitch from having been overworked. Yes, as it currently stood, all was right in Britanny’s world.
“If that’s the case,” the persistent spirit chirruped. “Perhaps we can do something of genuine importance now? You have your slaves, your fashion... but you are still severely lacking many of the necessities of a successful dungeon. Minions, Rooms, Traps, a Stocked Armory, the works! If you want to survive to take another shot at Keeper Xin, then we need to get what we need and head back to your dungeon to begin plotting your invasion.
Rolling her eyes, the spotted blonde replied, “Oh... very well!” She stood there, bringing a gloved hand up and stroking her chin. “Let’s see... I believe...”
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(Posted Wed, 11 Feb 2015 03:15)
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