Volo, knowing that Amazons were not indigenous to this area, nevertheless breathed a sigh of relief over the fortunate arrival of their rescuers and heard the orc leader mutter an orcish curse as he realized that his band was both outnumbered and outskilled.
One of the orc band, however, was neither as intelligent nor as perceptive as his leader, and with a loud war whoop, raised his blackened blade into the air and charged the newly arrived pack of humans.
An auburn-haired beauty, just slightly shorter than the company's leader, insinuated herself forward, and with lightning reflexes unleashed her rapier, skewering the oncoming orc before he had even realized that he was within striking range. With equal skill and facility, she withdraw her blade from the brute body, pausing only momentarily to wipe her blade on her victim's tunic to remove the remaining black flecks of orcish blood from its silver sheen.
Another equally foolish orc, dagger in hand, unaware that his comrade had already met his end, lunged forward at the bearer of the catlash who had dared to strike his father, the orc leader. His lunge, however, was quickly intercepted, blocked by the intervention of a quarterstaff whose bearer had vaulted herself forward to protect her leader. Thrown off-balance, the orc dropped his dagger and fell forward. He found himself pummeled across the side of his bovine visage by the oaken staff and spun around by its bearer, his orcish windpipe cut off from life-giving air by the staff that was now braced below his chin, his body coming to rest on the redhead's armored chest with his feet three inches off the ground. The former attacker's face was quickly turning white from asphyxiation.
Others in the orc band contemplated joining in when the orc leader barked an order, they all laid down their weapons.
The redhead looked to her leader, who responded with a sharp nod, and released her captive from her breathtaking grip. The asphyxiated orc fell to the ground, his air-starved lungs heaving, forcing the chest up and down, the only movement in his beaten body.
The orc leader focused on the catlash bearer, cruel stare meeting cruel stare.
The catlash bearer didn't bat an eye.
The orcs had met their match, and no further action was required.
The orc leader barked out another order, and two of his band came forward to assist their beaten comrade to his feet, chest still heaving in grateful inhalations. They bore him forward so that his father could face him. The leader's stern visage softened with relief as their comrade came around.
The leader tousled the bristles of his still-weak son's pate, and, turning back to the rest of his band, rapped out another order, at which point the rest of band started to retreat from whence they came. Father and son soon quickly joined them, following a lowly brute who dragged the corpse of their slain comrade.
Now alone with their rescuers, Passepout and Volo faced the band of female adventurers.
'O wonderful Amazons, thank you for your assistance,' extolled Passepout, 'but, of course, Master Volo and myself could have taken care of that loutish band on our own. In fact, I, myself, am well capable of handling twice as many orcs with one hand tied behind my back.'
Volo whispered to his boisterous bond servant, 'You know, brigands and rogues come in all sexes.' Passepout fell silent, fearful that they had just traded one set of predators for another.
The bearer of the catlash came forward and said, 'Smile when you call my band brigands and rogues, or we are liable to take offense.'
'None was intended, good lady,' Volo replied. '1 was merely stating a well-documented rule of the road.'
The bearer of the whip scratched a white sword-scar on her cheek with the butt of the catlash before returning the weapon to its holster on her belt. 'A rule of the road, you say,' she continued, gesturing to Passepout, adding, 'Porky here called you
Master Volo.'
'That is correct,' the gazetteer assented.
'Marco, or the real thing?' she persisted.
'There is only one real Volo, my lady. Volothamp Geddarm, at your service,' he declared, then quickly added, 'and this is my, uh, traveling companion, Passepout.'
Passepout bowed with a flourish, adding to Volo's introduction. 'Yes, my lady. I am Passepout, son of Catinflas and Idle, and master thespian extraordinaire.'
The bearer of the whip ignored the rotund actor's salutation, though several of the adventurers in her band found it very hard to stifle their laughter and amusement.
'Then you are Volo, the master traveler, and author of Volo's Guide to Waterdeep' she persisted.
'Yes,' Volo replied, 'among many others. And whom do I bear the extreme pleasure of addressing?'
'I am Catlindra Serpentar, 'she declared, offering her hand for Volo to shake.
Her grip was that of a warrior, reinforcing to Volo that even a beautiful woman such as this could be intimidating.
'And this,' she continued, gesturing to her comrades, 'is the Company of the Catlash.'
'Wonderful,' Passepout declared, eyeing the bevy of warrior beauties with ill-planned lust as he tried to make eye contact with the red-headed staff bearer. When he did, he gave a suggestive wink and a leer.
The redhead ignored his facial invitation, exit the rotund thespian chose, in turn, to ignore her obvious lack of interest.
Two of her blond comrades giggled, amused at his obvious denseness.
'I have heard of you, and your company,' Volo offered.
'I would expect no less from the master gazetteer,' she replied. 'You may call me Cat.'
'It will be my pleasure. Cat, but if I recall correctly, you and your band are not usually this gregarious. Do you treat all of your rescuees like this?'
'Only those with whom I share a common goal.'
'And what goal is that?' he inquired.
She tilted her head back as if to release a kink in her neck, and shook her luxurious mane of brown hair.
'There is enough time for questions later,' she replied. 'Our camp is on the other side of the city. Why don't you join us for dinner? Nightfall will be here soon, and you probably don't want to be wandering around these ruins then. No telling who or what you might run into during the day, let alone after dark.'
'We would be honored,' Volo replied.
'Wonderful,' Passepout agreed, then quickly turned his attention back to the redhead with the staff. 'Perhaps the walk over there can give us the time to get better acquainted?'
The redhead continued to ignore him and set off at a brisk pace toward the company camp. Soon the thespian fell behind, out of breath.
Volo adjusted his pace to stay in rank with his rotund, out-of-shape companion while keeping track of the company's progress far ahead of them so as not to lose their way amidst the confusion of ruins that had once been a great city.
'You know, Master Volo,' Passepout sputtered between gasps, 'I think that redhead really likes me.'
'Indeed,' said the gazetteer, glad that something had finally taken his companion's mind off food.
'I just hope she can cook,' the thespian added.
Volo just smiled.
After a wondrous meal of hare and venison stew that no traveler on the road had any right to complain about-even Passepout confessed to being sated-Catlindra and her company gathered around the campfire, as was their custom, to wait out the digestion and passage of their meal with conversation, so that bodily functions would not interrupt their sleep later.
Volo listened to tales of the company's exploits, as related by some adventuresses who were probably hoping for a casual mention in one of his books. During a lull in the tale-telling, he turned to their hostess in hope of continuing the conversation from earlier in the day.
'You know, Cat,' he started, 'earlier I asked you about the common goal that you referred to. Do you care to elaborate now?'
Cat grew wistfully melancholy, and began her tale.
'More years ago than I care to admit, before I took to the road and adventuring life, I was just your typical
