Disclaimer; This fanfiction uses existing ideas, characters and or worlds, but is an independent work of art. I own nothing, hence the reason for publishing my writings here instead of in real books where I could make some money.
Jackpot!
After nearly all night of searching, Ranma had found the hideout of the bandits! And it was so simple! It was a hole in the ground covered with a wooden trap door and sticks covering it! And to top it all off, it was abandoned!
Ranma was happy. He finally found shelter, and they had food in it too! Enough to feed an army for a month!
Had he been about three, Ranma would have wet himself with excitement.
The building itself seemed to be an abandoned temple or palace, either sunken or buried in the dunes, only accessible through a hole in the roof. The ground was wooden, and mostly covered in dirt, and there were several rooms set up. Most were barracks for the dozens of bandits, but there was also a treasury, easily twice as big as the Tendo house, filled nearly half way. But in the centre of it all, directly below the opening in the roof, was a kitchen, where the cooking fire was set to vent smoke up the hole. Dry wood was lined along the wall for kindling.
One thing Ranma failed to see the reason for, was a long board held up by several pairs of legs, like a thin table, barely thick enough to be able to balance a mug, with pegs set into the floor at even spacing, and hooks in the ceiling at the same intervals. The fact that there were whips and such set up also made very little sense, as he could not see any prison anywhere.
His sense of smell told him that bodily fluids had been spilt not more than two nights ago along the thin table, concentrated near the pegs in the ground. If these bandits had sex, then whom with? The only bandits he had beaten were men, so with whom did they have sex?
Deciding not to give himself a headache while thinking things over, Ranma made himself some food, to quell the gnawing hunger.
The food was so good, the fire was so warm … Ranma fell asleep nearly as soon as he had finished his large meal.
In the dark alleys of a nocturnal Seer's Hamlet, a form slinks through.
"The Bandits of the Sand have been captured," rumbled a male voice. The speech was thick, making the words sound heavier than they were. "The fools."
The form hurriedly dove behind a rainwater barrel as the Sheriff's patrols walked past the alley with a lantern, looking for signs of trouble. Seeing none, the guard walked on. When the guard was out of sight, the form crept back out, yet remained in the shadows.
"However," muttered the man, "they left their loot in their hideout unguarded judging by the number that was arrested … it would be a shame to let it all go to waste. Maybe I should pay the hideout a visit, to make sure that the treasure is safe, and maybe add to my retirement fund …"
Without a sound, the form went further into the alley and started scaling the wall, looking to use the rooftops to get to the gates of the town unseen.
Mmmm …
Ranma could not remember a more pleasant awakening. He was warm, rested, and he had awoken on his own. Not because his father was starting to beat on him, throw him out of a window or into a pond. Not because Akane was shrieking in his ear to get up. Not because the same uncute tomboy was emptying a bucket of icy water on him. And not because the sun had started stinging his eyes through his eyelids, but because his body had rested enough!
It was such a pleasant sensation, he was sorely tempted to repeat it at the soonest convenience.
However, the tingling sensation along his spine told him there was a more pressing matter.
-Whhhht!-
-Thud!-
Ranma looked down at the gleaming crossbow bolt sticking out of the floor not far from where he had been stretching. Judging by the angle, it would have struck his chest, and would have hurt a great deal. As he started to descend from his hasty leap, he started wondering what he could possibly have done to warrant such a greeting.
As he landed, Ranma spotted his assailant. A short and stout dwarf with stereotypical red beard twined into two braids, reaching his waist. On his back hung a great big axe with golden symbols etched into the surface, and a silvery gleam along the edge of the blade made Ranma's mind tingle.
Wasn't there something about werewolves and silver? He couldn't for the life of him remember what that was.
In the dwarf's hands was a powerfully built crossbow, clearly built for distance, speed and accuracy, already loaded with another bolt that had a complete silvery gleam, like the one embedded in the floor behind Ranma.
"I see yeh found the hideout, werepanther," growled the dwarf, "an' yeh managed to dodge my silver bolt. Yeh have potential, lad … too bad yeh had to meet up with me under these circumstances … ye'd have been a great apprentice to some Weapons-Master. But yeh see, yeh are between me and the treasure, an' I can't leave any witnesses behind to tell the Edge Guard about me. G'bye!"
-Twang!-
As the silver bolt was whizzing towards Ranma at unseen speeds, Ranma realised that the thing about werewolves and silver was an extreme and maybe even lethal allergy towards the stuff!
If he dodged, he'd be OK, but only until he had disarmed the dwarf.
If he snatched the bolt out of the air like his skills were screaming at him to do, he would get burned by the supposedly pure metal, and he would be distracted by the pain enough to allow the dwarf to load another bolt or draw his axe.
Ranma dodged. Into the path of another silver arrow.
The dwarf wasn't as stupid as he looked. There must have been two bolts on the crossbow and two firing mechanisms. Clever.
To avoid getting speared by the bolt, Ranma swatted it upwards, altering its trajectory and embedding it in the roof.
Ranma looked at his hand, waiting for the pain to come, but it didn't.
Nothing.
No reaction at all.
Maybe the silver deal was only in movies, or maybe only for werewolves?
His distraction nearly cost him, as the dwarf had done as Ranma had assumed. He had pulled out his large axe, and was swinging it at Ranma.
Ranma barely had time to duck out of the path of the gleaming weapon.
"Stupid Brunk," the dwarf grunted between swings. "Last time I buy silver bolts from 'im!"
Ranma leapt over another swing, and nearly forgot to pull in his tail before it was chopped off.
"Probably shined and polished steel to look like silver to save money on production!"
Ranma leant aside as the dwarf chopped down vertically.
"Stand still, lad, and face your death like a REAL man!"
Ranma leapt over the attacking dwarf, and poked his back with his tail to signify that he was no longer in front of him. This was fun.
"It'll only hurt for a bit!"
"Nu-uh!" replied Ranma as he leant backwards from a horizontal swing aimed at his neck. "I ain't stupid, ya know!" Ranma weaved through a swift combo of axe and dagger, which had been pulled at some time since the fight started. "I don't wanna be dead, I ain't dyin', simple as that, 'sides, I don't lose!"
"DIE!"
Ranma swatted the dwarf's arms aside and bashed his head into his opponent's forehead, dazing him for a moment.
"Nope!"
Ranma dropped to the ground and spun around, sweeping the legs out from under the man that was barely lower than himself.
"Umph!" grunted the dwarf as he crashed into the ground. "All right, lad, play-time is over, now I'm mad!"
His hand went into a pocket, and out came a ring, which was quickly slipped onto his left hand.
His form blurred, and Ranma suddenly found himself flying through the air with a slash along his chest.
"Heh, speed rings. Cheating in professional battles, perfect to settle a score like this one," snorted the dwarf.
Ranma got back to his feet, hand going for his wound, and finding it nearly closed. It still hurt, but this healing thing was pretty neat.
Ranma cracked a few joints in his neck, and slipped into his best defence stance.
To the dwarf, it looked like he was giving up, relaxing his defences like that. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he charged in, swinging his axe in one hand and the dagger in the other, at near sonic speeds thanks to the ring, apparently.
Ranma knew that the best way to get under an opponent's skin, was to act as though their skills were so far beneath him that he didn't bother to retaliate. So Ranma poured ki into his speed, and dodged and weaved, steering clear of the blades with such ease and speed, it looked like he was standing still and that the weapons were passing through him. This was really his after image, as his speed now far exceeded that of the dwarf, and the eye can only really see things at so high speeds. Only those genetically meant to go at such speeds, or those physically trained to do it, would be able to watch Ranma's movements.
This one sided attack soon stopped, with the dwarf panting slightly from his effort. Ranma felt slightly tired as well, but used the Soul of Ice to keep from showing any signs of it. He was also slowly replenishing his ki supplies by siphoning chi from his surroundings. It was a technique he had learned from watching Dragonball. He theorised that the power of the Saiyan came from being chi-to-ki converters, which was why they became more powerful with every battle. For every battle, their control in the conversion between energies became greater. At certain points, the body of a Saiyan had to change slightly to be able to hold this power, but Ranma still managed to come up with a technique that did something like it, though it wasn't nearly as fast or powerful as the characters he copied it from.
"You've got some skills," grunted the dwarf. Sweat dripping from his brow. "Looks like I have to use another trick!"
With another flick of his hand, he had collected another ring and slipped it on the same finger as the last.
"EAT FIRE!"
A punching motion brought on a ball of fire, headed for Ranma at the speeds of a baseball, speeds Ranma could handle in his sleep.
He leapt over it, pulling up his tail at the last minute as the fireball flew under him and impacted against the stone wall, causing a little explosion.
"You missed by a mile!" laughed Ranma, barely managing to keep his breath from giving away his level of exhaustion.
The dwarf growled and sent fireball after fireball at the transformed Martial Artist.
Ranma leapt around like a cricket on steroids and caffeine, shouting out insults at every stop.
"You couldn't hit a mosquito with the broadside of a barn!" –Swish!- "You couldn't hit the ground if you were falling!" –Whoosh!- "Did you miss me?" –Ffft!- "Oooh, that's going to be difficult to repair!" –Swish!- "Maybe you should get fitted for glasses!"
The furious dwarf had finally had enough.
"THAT'S IT! OUT WITH THE ARTILLERY!"
Ranma wasn't really surprised when yet another ring was pulled out of a pocket, and set on the opposite hand.
What's with that guy and rings? He thought.
"FRY!"
Ranma's eyes widened as he felt a chi line extend itself in his direction. He had only felt this in a thunder storm, just before lightning struck!
Feeling where the jagged line would move, Ranma ducked below it, just in time to avoid getting hit by a bolt of lightning emerging from the dwarf's hands.
It took him some time before he saw the pattern in the dwarf's attacks.
Lightning, lightning, lightning. Swing axe and dagger. Fireball, lightning, lightning, repeat.
Ranma didn't cut down on his banter as he dodged.
"C'mon, I haven't got the entire millennium, stop trying to hit me and hit me!" –Craaak!- "If you were goin' any slower, you'd be goin' backwards!" –Swish!- "I've seen snails go faster than that!" –Bzzzt!- "I know itty-bitty-piggies that have more power behind their hits!" –Whoosh!- "My dead great-grandmother moves faster than you!"
The dwarf, by now nearly on his knees with exhaustion, put on another ring on the same finger as the last.
This was not a good idea.
It appeared that the ring he just put on was of opposing forces to the lightning one, which caused a violent reaction.
-Cra-ak BOOOOOM!-
Ranma shielded his face from any flying debris and waited for a moment before looking.
Where the dwarf had been, a big gaping hole had opened up to a hidden space underneath.
The pained moan let Ranma know the dwarf was still alive.
The pained moan was joined by fearful whimpers, sobs and pleas for help from the gods.
Ranma quickly approached the edge, and looked down.
He couldn't see much except the charred, smoking form of the unconscious dwarf, but there was a sound of metal clinking against metal.
Seeing no way down, Ranma lowered himself down the hole, holding an improvised torch by his tail.
He was not greeted by a pleasant sight, but at least his question of whom the bandits had fornicated with was answered.
The room was about fifteen feet in height and covered the entire size of the construction, going from one stone wall to another and another and another. Cages of about five feet in height, width and length were lined up, some atop the others. All filled with women of varying ages between thirteen to the mid forties. There must have been nearly a hundred of them. Ranma was reminded of the horrifying images he had seen from concentration camps for Jews during the Second World War They had hardly any muscles left on them. Pale and bruised skin stretched over bones. They were covered in filth and muck, but nothing else. They must have been starving for a long time, fed only enough to keep them alive, shackled to the bars of their tiny cages and taken upstairs when the bandits felt like some fun, not even allowed to use an assigned area to relieve themselves, forcing them to live, eat and sleep in their own filth.
Ranma was beyond angry … he was pissed off.
But this was not the time for anger, and there were no proper targets for his emotions. These women needed his help, and he was going to give it to them.
Thropan was having a nice day.
He had awoken to the birds chirping merrily from the smaller branches of the trees found spread across the town.
He had eaten a delicious breakfast, lovingly prepared by the old lady from across the road. She felt like doing her bit for the town by keeping one of its Edge Guard well fed.
On his way to headquarters, as many as three women had winked or waved flirtingly after him.
Once at work, he had been assigned to watch their prisoners, which allowed him to sit and relax by the door while playing a few ditties on his lute. During meals, he had to search the prisoners' food for anything not supposed to be in it, but that was easy, and left him with time to think up a few simple mechanical designs he might be able to integrate with magic. A magical crossbow might be of use to someone somewhere.
After work, he stopped by Dragen's Tavern for a mug of ale, and was hit on by an Amazon breeder. Not in the sense that Tirga had been so often because of his forward ways, with a well placed leg or weapon, but the good way.
If he thought it could be popular, he might even try to compose a song about how wonderful the day had been for him.
The alarm sounded from the North Gate ruined his good mood. An alarm hardly ever meant anything good. In the best case scenario, it meant that someone or several people at once were trying to get in without paying the small tribute to the town of a couple of pieces of copper per person.
As obligated by his occupation, no matter if he was on or off duty, Thropan rushed to the gate to keep things under control until assistance could arrive.
As he rounded a corner, however, Thropan came to a halt so fast he fell on his face.
Skeleton troops! They were under attack by a necromancer! There was no way he could defend against over a hundred skele- hey, since when did skeleton troops have their eyes and skin intact? And why would they be smiling? And now for the big question, why were they dragging behind them the clerk that recorded down the Merchant Guild meetings concerning trade schedules, charred, bruised and in chains?
Thropan spat out the mouthful of dirt he had just tasted and approached the beings.
As he came closer, he noticed the ragged and scant clothing they had on. If their covered areas were anything to go by, they were women. It was difficult to tell when they were so bony.
"What's going on here?" he asked as he came within conversational range of the closest one.
"Are you of the Edge Guard?" asked the woman in a raspy voice, a sign that it had either been over-used or under-used. Thropan nodded seriously. "Then I would like to report myself and all these women as no longer missing, and ask to have this dwarf arrested."
"Arrested? On what charges?"
"Accessory to robbery, kidnapping, rape and murder," the woman answered, followed by a slight fit of coughs. After she had calmed down somewhat, she continued. "We've witnessed him associate with our kidnappers and rapists, the Bandits of the Sand, handing them documents that were used in the staging of the robberies."
"Those are serious charges, indeed," commented Thropan absently.
People were now starting to flock towards them, and Thropan needed to have this under better control.
"Well, if you'd follow me, I think we can overlook the refusal to pay the toll for entering the town this once, as you don't seem to have any pockets. I will take you to the Edge Guard headquarters where you will be asked to give a statement." He took another glance at the dwarf. "Please, allow me to relieve you of your burden."
"Thank you," sighed the eight women who held onto the chains and ropes as Thropan took over.
"By the way," grunted Thropan as he pulled the heavy weight of the dwarf, metal and ropes, "how did you overpower this guy?" he nodded at the unconscious, charred dwarf behind him. "You do not seem fit enough to go up against a healthy and rested dwarf, even if there were a dozen of you."
"We were saved," replied the first woman, a slight choked sob of gratitude and relief in her voice. "There was a battle, and after this piece of scum was taken care of, he released us, fed us, cleaned us, watched over us as we rested, and supplied coverings for our bodies before escorting us to this door."
The eyes of all the previous slaves within hearing range started to mist up with gratitude.
"We owe him our lives," another chirped in. "We would have died within another day if he hadn't come along!"
"Yes," agreed the first woman. "And if he asked, I am certain everyone of us would have gladly gone into his servitude to repay him for saving us, without hesitating."
A slight cheer of "Yes," "Of course," and "Without question," rose from the former slave women.
"When we offered, he said no, that he didn't want to own anyone, and said we should return to our families."
"Bless him!" one of the starved women in the back called out, followed by a series of coughs. This was agreed upon by the others.
"That's quite a story," commented Thropan, idly wondering what he would have done in that situation, and what he would use a hundred women for … "So what was the name of this saviour?"
"He never told us," confessed the first woman, who hung her head in slight shame. "But he had the darkest coat of fur I've ever seen," she added, staring into space with a twinkle in her eye.
"And the cutest fangs!" added another. "Looked almost like a vampire's fangs!"
"And he wasn't one of those giant macho jerks who oil his bulging muscles for them to look better!" chirped in a third.
"I think he was very cute for such a short person!" added a fourth.
"And he had the bluest eyes!" continued the first.
Thropan didn't interrupt, as he recognised the dazed look most of them had on as daydreaming about the person they were describing. And from the way they were describing him, it sounded like the saviour of the last caravan.
When the women seemed to come out of the daydream on their own, Thropan continued asking questions.
"Where is he now?"
"Oh, he said he wasn't ready to face this 'primitive, but nice civilisation' yet," quoted the first. "He just followed us to the doorway, made sure we were safe and inside before he left."
Thropan sighed in resignation. It looked like they had to wait a bit longer to meet this mysterious werecat.
However, their conversation was unguarded, and therefore everyone who had followed out of curiosity heard about the event. Within the time Thropan had escorted the women to headquarters and contacted Nali and other healers to aid them in restoring the women to health, half the town had heard about the rescue, and the events had started to blow up in proportion, until it turned out as a giant werecat with venomous fangs and a deadly glare running about Seer's Desert, slaying bandits and saving people.
This rumour was both reassuring to the public, and frightening. What if this monster decided to abandon the role of vigilante and turn against them? They would all be dead before they managed to mount a defence!
Pleas to the Sheriff were sent, telling her to look into this matter, and see if they could either arrest the beast or drive him away, for the safety of Seer's Hamlet.
The Sheriff found this rumour interesting, and kept the information for the next time she spoke with her boyfriend, later this evening.
Meanwhile, in Nerima, Ryoga crashed through the outer wall of the Tendo compound.
"Where the Hell am I now?" he bellowed to the skies. "Ranma Saotome, this is all your fault! When I see you again, I'll make your afterlife Hell!"
Looking around, he saw Akane, in a dirty and tattered gi, sitting by the koi pond with her hands poised above the reflective surface. Not far from her was a cooking fire.
"Akane, what are you doing?" he asked, anger having vanished upon seeing his love again.
"Catching … dinner … Ssssh!" whispered the dirty Akane.
"What do you mean?" asked the pigheaded boy, and stomped closer. Akane's hands shot into the water and came out empty.
"You scared it off!" she complained.
"Why are you fishing in your koi pond?" asked the boy, sitting down opposite the pond from the fire. "Why can't you just get food from the refrigerator?"
"Because no one bought any food," answered Akane, as though it was the most obvious reason in the world.
"Why not?"
"Because we have no money," snapped the short-tempered girl.
"What happened to your money?"
"Don't know," answered Akane distractedly as she returned her attention to the fat fish swimming around in the shallow pool. "Nabiki hasn't been home for a couple of days, and Kasumi hasn't come back from the market yet."
"She hasn't?" asked Ryoga. "Wait a minute, how will she be able to buy anything at the market if you have no money?"
"Don't know," replied Akane. "Her problem. But I can't cook what little we have."
"What do you mean, you're a great cook!" Ah, love truly does make one blind … or in this case, numbs the taste buds and later makes the stomach complain …
"Nothing works," snapped Akane. "So I had to light a fire out here or we'd have frozen to death last night."
"Where is your father? And Mr Saotome?"
"Out getting some sake to keep them warm," -splash!- "Ha! Got you!"
"Where did they get money for sake if you don't have any?"
"Dad mentioned something about old teachings … and now to fry you, little fishie!" she ended in a cheerful chirp, slapping the still flopping fish on the fire, nearly putting the flaming wood out.
"How long has Kasumi been out?" asked Ryoga, slightly disgusted by the way Akane was handling the fish.
"Couple of days …"
"Oh …"
In Jade, the Arbron's Spine Mountain Range to be more exact, three wererats were climbing down the mountain.
"Who's bright idea was it to send us to the top of that mountain, anyway?" groused Romeo.
"Lord Gothwrain," answered Lydia.
"Like, couldn't he have, like, sent use to a beach instead of the top of an icy mountain?" complained Moisha.
"Of course he f#&ing could," snapped Lydia. "He just doesn't like us, and for him to do that, we will have to kiss some serious a$$!"
"D' you think takin' care of this werecat 'll do it?" asked Romeo, and slipped on a rock, landing on his butt where a particularly sharp edge was. "OW!"
"Nope," answered Lydia flatly. "Not by a long shot."
Credits; The idea of the female slaves at the Bandit hideout was suggested by Dragon Man 180. Thank you, this helped greatly in creating a rumour about the mysterious werecat currently roaming the desert. The importance of this will soon come into play.
