This idea sprang on me when I was browsing through some of the old quizzes at The Attic. Specifically, the one regarding creative uses for magic. You see, there was a comment regarding the bag of tricks, and, well, I'd recently been reading through some of the rec.arts.drwho quotefiles, and had stumbled across something involving Sylvester McCoy and ferrets that had made ma laugh. The two ideas happily mated and spawned this hellchild.
It was such a cliche that they'd both burst into hysterics at the very idea. Some poor slum kid had been roped (or, more likely, bribed silly) into delivering a message to the group of strange mages living in the Planar Sphere. A simple handwritten note, apparently scrawled off in a hurry or by someone to whom learning to write had been a secondary concern at best.
'Copper Coronet, midnight, the rooftop. Don't be late.'
So Imoen and Gwen, the pair of former Bhaalspawn girls, had accepted the challenge. Normally they would have considered ignoring it altogether, but Imoen was between 'projects' with her little guild and Gwen always got a little antsy when Edwin wasn't around, especially when he was in Thay. So they'd pulled on their best combat robes and armed themselves with simple but effective weaponry, and met their challenger on the rooftop.
That was when things had gone rather... wrong.
Their opponent was good. Damn good. A monk, possibly a survivor of Balthazar's men if the tattoos and robes were anything to judge by, and one apparently hell-bent on revenge. Even with a full suite of protective spells, one of his punches had definately broken a couple of Gwen's ribs and another had left her entire left arm completely numb. Only Imoen's superhuman reflexes kept her relatively unharmed, although enough glancing blows had found their mark that she was looking more than a little worse for wear.
Gwen closed her eyes to focus on another spell, one that would call a large fire elemental to her aid, only to hear Imoen's triumphant yell and the monk letting loose a couple of unexpected obsceneties. She stopped chanting, shocked, and opened her eyes just in time to see their foe fall off the side of the rooftop, writhing and yelling like a madman.
There was a sickening crunch as he hit the ground below.
Gwen stumbled over to her sister, who gave her a healing potion that she drank gratefully. They leaned over and looked at the prone body below, which was being studiously ignored by the locals as was so often the case.
"Lathander's Grace, Immy, what did you do to him?" Gwen asked, eyes wide. She'd never seen such a look of desperate panic on the face of a foe before, and that included Amellysan's last terrified moments.
"Aw, I just introduced him to Fuzzy!" Gwen fixed her with a bemused look, and Imoen pointed. A small white ferret crawled from the folds of the ex-monk's robes, and scampered up the side of the building to the pair. Imoen picked it up and petted it affectionately for a few moments before it suddenly disappeared in a puff of startled white fur. "You know how you and Eddie found that Bag of Tricks last time you went adventuring?"
"Imoen, you're twisted."