Legends of Belariath
Kismet
From a very young age in her village, Lesaffi was told that the greatest honor someone like she could ever come to know was to wear the collar of someone with a true destiny. Girls of her age were expected to be pleasing both in and out of the bedroom, and when the wooden carriages of the slaver caravans came it was seen as the next step in the journey of their lives, awaiting to be sold to someone of great destiny.
The black cat herself was quite different, and even from a young age had great dificulty accepting the world she lived in as others did. Never without askign why or railing against rules she though to be detrimental or nonsensical, her youth in her village was a troubled one. Never finding acceptance among her sisters and brothers whom she belived to be greatly taken advantage of and decieved. It was of no great suprise to her than that rather than being offloaded to the typical caravans of slavers she was exiled from the village to face the fate brought on by her own hands. Though it was just as much to prevent her from breeding feelings of unease amongst what had been up to that point a delightfully well controlled crop of eager slaves.
Homeless and friendless the feline wandered, stealing food and clothing to survive as she stumbled aimlessly toward the horizon, the ember burning in her heart not hatred for the village matron that had expelled her, but rather that her people were so boneless that the entire situation could have happened in the first place! Were she born a barbarian or an elf she never would have even been in such a situation. Lesaffi, now calling herself Kismet, made her mind up that her people had lost their dignity, and she would do whatever was required to see some of it returned.
It was some weeks later that during her travels she met a man with a gleaming hand and a half sword across his backpack. John Bryce, a human adventurer with a respectable authority at arms, and quite a penchant for drink. Falling before him she begged him to make her strong, and the months that ensued were some of the best and worst that Kismet had come to know. Hauling hsi things, servicing his tireless sexual appetites and dancing at his whipwhen it would entertain him to hurt her, all in exchange for meager scraps of traning or the occasional pointer about her footwork.
She studied under him for nearly eight months before he declared that he was setting out across the ocean. he told her that the land of Nanthalion is where hard men and women are forged into unbreakable steel, and that should strength be her aim such was the place to do it. He gave her a mask as a parting gift, sneering and telling her that she should wear it in battle, for her opponent will never respect a catfolk, but could be fooled into fearing a mask.