"Bandits?" Cyannne shudders slightly and her skin pales. Dammit, what did those three days of captivity do to me? This kind of pointless fear is unbecoming in one who dares.
Then her eyes meet Lali's and she remembers the strong woman's advice to her so long ago. Lalii's plain speaking had given her courage then, and still givees it to her now. She's no longer alone. She has Luthor's magic, Kaz's ax, Lali's bow and Daen's sword behind her.
Cyanne takes a deep breath, and nods. "Yes, best be prepared for them rather than get caught napping."
Daen's feather touch of his fingers across her cheek makes her heart race. She resists the urge to capture those fingers, and instead gives him a radiant smile.
She considers the question of who should ride with Mizmek. "Mizmek should ride with someone who speaks draconic..." Her voice trails off as she considers the options. Daen had made no secret of how much the little kobold annoyed him, and Luthor was an unsteady rider. For a moment, she fantasizes about letting Mizmek ride by himself, and doubling up with Daen again. The moment passes.
"Or... Mizmek can ride with me. I can keep message spell going with whoever wishes to serve as translator. Would that be acceptable?"
The silvery stag runs before you, heading down the hill toward a small, winding stream. Every so often it stops, turning its head and waiting for you; a good thing, as it seems to be walking on the snow, not breaking through its thin crust into the powder below. Looking down, you can see that neither are you; the going is much easier than it should be, and before long, the stag reaches the creek.
As you arrive, it leaps across a narrow meander and presses through a thick, overgrown knot of trees. Within them, the ground is snow-free and the trees are arranged in a perfect circle, though they've grown wild with time. The floor, rather than being covered in snow, is strewn with leaves from countless falls, which half-cover a little altar with stags' horns carved into the top. The altar seems to be hinged, and the stag taps a hoof at it, looks at you, and bounds away, disappearing into the northwest.
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Thankful to be out of the Mite lair, it didnt take Luthor long to forget about his injury. Mikmeks personality and unintentionally humours antics helped in that regard, causing him to emit a good natured chuckle every time the little lizard spoke.
"I should be delighted to offer valiant Mikmek some room on my horse." He said, repeating the sentence to Mikmek in proficient, if a little formal draconic. Rikka produced something akin to a loud, squeaky exhalation of derision, but didnt seem to mind the notion enough to make an actual protest.
As they traveled, Luthor talked with Mikmek, partially out of curiosity, though mostly in an attempt to counteract some of the less than subtle, dismissive attitudes of the others.
Rising earlier than the others, since he had been first watch, Luthor had just barely managed to finish his morning communion with Rikka when the festivities started. Chuckling and even outright laughing, he sat cross-legged and swayed from side to side, clapping along to the beat of the dance. Rikka scampered about between their legs, trying her best to mimics their dancing and Tangos tumbling. It was less than competent, though noone seemed to care in the slightest.
At the mention of bandits, he managed a rare, serious expression. "More bandits wouldnt be good, but I dont think we can do much other than remain alert and keep moving."
The weather holds through the morning's ride, with a few stray clouds making their way across the sky. The sun beats down off the snow, turning the world into a brilliantly-lit panorama. The snow gradually melts, and rocks, grass, and a few early-blooming flowers poke their tips out from under the blanket of white. Laliytsa is able to spot several groups of tracks along their path; small, two-legged creatures, rabbit, elk, and what looks like a small cat or some type. Mikmek, meanwhile, carries on an animated conversation with Luthor on the various merits of different breeds of dragons.
By the afternoon, Mikmek and Luthor are in the lead, the kobold recognizing various landmarks in the area. He leads the party between a pair of hills down a dried-up creekbed and up a third hill. There, in front of two boulders, sits a cage made from branches, sticks, and strips of leather. Inside is a very miserable looking mite. Mikmek chitters something in Draconic, and a second kobold appears. The two chitter and screech for a few minutes before the new one gestures to the party. "Big hairy ones come with Nakpik. Gotta see Sootscale. Got Sharptooth? Good good. Follow now."
Mikmek: "Brave warrior Mikmek return with Sharptooth and weak, pathetic hairy ones. Saved from the blue meanies. Going to bring to Sootscale now."
Nakpik: "You get statue? Good good. Tartuk asking about. Say wants to fix curse but can't 'till returned. Pbbbbt!"
Mikmek: "Pbbbbt! Do a favor and show hairy ones to Sootscale. Going to talk to lady kobolds. Will be impressed and big strong Mikmek."
Nakpik: "Good luck. Nakpik promise not to steal glory for finding weak hairy ones."
As the stag bounds gracefully over the snow, Kazimir follows behind, somewhat less gracefully, already missing the warmth of the fire and the relative safety of the camp. Glancing down at his snow-covered boots, he stumbles in alarm upon realizing he isn't even breaking though the crust. Is this just a dream? he asks himself, struggling to keep up with the creature, though the freezing cold around his knees as he plunges clumsily through the stream makes him second-guess the thought.
He presses through the trees after the stag, standing stunned for a few moments at the sight of the clearing. He barely even notices when the creature bounds away again, his eyes fixed on the altar as he approaches it, running a gloved hand over the carving in the lid, an all too familiar sign. His mouth dry, his heart racing, he calms himself with a quick, mumbled prayer, before lifting it.
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Throughout the day's riding, Kaz alternately rides in silence and makes small talk with the others, attempting to speak with Mikmek through a translator, asking him about the tribe, but quickly falling out of the conversation when it turns to dragons. He knew little of such things, after all.
Upon reaching the kobold warren, however, his gaze immediately falls sternly on the caged mite. "Why keep it as a prisoner?" he asks of Mikmek. "Why not release it, or kill it? this just seems needlessly cruel!"
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Daen seriously focused on Mikmek before he left, speaking to him in Draconic without translation.
Concerning the mite, the half elf spoke to Kaz. "There's no more reason to use it as bait to lure the mites into a trap, since there are no more mites to lure. We could kill it for them, if you'd like. But kobolds are also traditionally evil creatures as well, although they are far more reasonable than mites are. We shouldn't let our guard down around here."
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Laliytsa shrugs. "Eh. Rather be friendly. Let 'em bother bandits 'stead of us. Don' know 'bout that mite but Mizmek said some'a 'em weren't home. I say let the kobold's keep 'em."
The ranger casually puts a hand on her axe's haft. "Might wanna let 'em know we ain't nobody's prey"
Within the altar's compartment sits a scrap of leather, hard and brittle with age, with what seems to be a hastily-burned image on it. A roughly square-shaped section has ripples, or perhaps waves burned into it, with an arrow pointing to one of the little circles burned around that. Further to the left, a series of lines march to the scrap's end. Along the bottom is scrawled the phrase "Nothing is more satisfying than the fruits of a day's labor". It's a phrase that plucks at the back of your mind; perhaps your grandmother uttered it to you before.
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Mikmek grabs Daen's arm and tries to pull him lower, so as to whisper quietly in his ear.
[spoiler=Draconic, Daen (only)]"Hairy one play along. Mikmek know who did work, and Sootscale gonna know too, but the lady kobolds be impressed if Mikmek tell them he big hero. Please?"
With a wink, Mikmek casts a knowing glance at Daen and then at Cyanne before scurrying off down the tunnel. Makpik reaches out tentatively and puts a claw on Laliytsa's ax-handle. "Tell lady she not want do that here. Will be friendly; hairy ones have god." The little kobold, a grey-scaled specimen scarcely an inch taller than Mikmek, nevertheless puffs himself up as big as he can get and leads the party into the warren.
Inside the warren itself, the narrow cave (which seems to be a mineshaft of some kind) quickly gives way to narrow passageways that seem reminiscent of the mites' filthy lair, though much cleaner and drier. Nakpik points out a series of pit traps (Y1), cleverly concealed beneath dirt-covered hides. As he waits for the party to navigate the traps, he chirrups and squeaks away in Draconic. "Stupid Mikmek. Worst liar in whole Sootscales. Big hairy ones probably save cowardly Mikmek. Worst kobold."
The party squeezes through crevices in the solid rock of the hill so narrow kobolds could only travel single-file (Y2). As they go, a pair of curious kobolds peek out, following the party discreetly in the shadows.
Gradually, the cave opens up again, though the air feels warm and presses against the party. A reptilian stink mixed with burned meat and smoke fills the cavern, and numerous piles of furs lie strewn across the room (Y4). Some of these piles are occupied, and the kobolds there hiss at the party and cover a meager handful of eggs protectively. Mikmek seems to be chatting with one of these, who can only be the 'lady kobolds' he was so keen to meet. To the south, meanwhile, an alcove sits absolutely stuffed with furs, framed with sticks on which the skulls of birds and small mammals, each smeared with ash.
From atop the mound of furs, a dark-scaled kobold wearing some sort of skull as a crown speaks. Surprisingly, everyone seems capable of understanding it save the other kobolds. "You. You have Sharptooth. I am Chief Sootscale. Give me our god, and you will be rewarded. Hold him back, and your deaths will be swift." He flicks his tooth-filled snout at the half-dozen 'lady-kobolds', Mikmek, Nakpik, and the two who followed, all of which seem to be paying attention to the conversation, though all seem equally confused.
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The half elf winked uncharacteristically back at the kobold and whispered back to him.
As Nakpik complains at Daen, he nods as he faithfully renders the thoughts across languages.
In front of the king, Daen takes the death threat somewhat lightly. Who would want a god that can't save itself? Besides, even if they were surrounded, he was well rested and not as cramped in here as he was in the mite warren. It would be easier to kill them now that they have already bypassed their traps. Obviously it was a show of strength, and Daen didn't want to deal with it. There were at least three other members of the group that were better at this, and it was probably good that they spoke first.
Cyanne's reaction to the caged mite was subdued. She didn't like mites -- she thought of them as evil, cruel creatures. But it bothered her, deeply, to see one caged. Her own time in captivity had been horrible, and she had been well-treated.
She liked Mikmek, and had admired the little kobold's spirit. Somehow, in her mind, she had thought of the kobolds as the injured party, tormented and raided by evil mites. Seeing the caged mite made her realize that the kobolds were far from the innocents she'd previously imagined.
Daen and Laliytsa were right. It wouldn't do to underestimate the kobolds.
Descending into the Kobold lair made her feel enclosed again. She didn't like the feeling, but she breathes deeply, remembering that Svetlana was counting on her and the others to find the ring.
"Chief Sootscale, it is an honor. Of course we plan to return your god Sharptooth to you. Why else would we have come?"
Squinting in the moonlight, Kazimir slowly lifts the leather from the recess of the altar, handling it carefully in an attempt to keep it intact. He frowns at the markings, figuring it to be a map of some sort, but not recognizing the layout. The phrase holds more significance - he immediately begins searching his memory for it, finding nothing. Perhaps a good night's sleep would help.
Closing the altar reverently, brushing his fingers over the carving one last time, he makes his way back to camp.
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Kaz sighs at Daen. "I wish I knew what the answer was," he mutters, shaking his head at the caged creature before retrieving the statue. "Let's see what they have to say."
The warren isn't as cramped as the mites' den, but still uncomfortable, and it isn't long before he's longing for fresh air again. He glances around at the scores of kobolds, growing more worried by the minute. At least they weren't hostile - yet.
Before the king, he stands silently, watching as Cyanne takes over the talking. After all, she was better at it than he was.
Cyanne had deliberately kept her speech to the Chief short, in order to allow the others a chance to speak* as well. When the silence stretches out, she speaks again.
"Bold Mikmek told us of the Great Sootscale, and spoke to us of the urgent need to reunite the lost god Sharptooth with his followers. Moved by both his valor in battle and his faith in his cause, we helped him travel here as swiftly as possible, though the journey took us miles out of our way."
She motions for translation, hoping that Daen or Luthor would share her words with the others. She figures the translation might also help the King, whose grasp of common seemed minimal. "We know that we are only hairy ones, not fierce dragon kin. We come hoping for only two things out of this. The first, and most important, is friendship with your fierce warrior clan. The second is a shiny ring, of little cash value but of great sentimental worth to our friend, Svetlana. Some hairy ones mate for life, vowing to love and protect only one mate. The ring is the symbol of that vow."
She pauses. "If you could help us find it and return it, I will tell tales and sing songs in honor of Sootscale's strong and just rule, so that even the hairy ones will know better than to tangle with your fierce clan."
Chief Sootscale looks at Cyanne for a minute, one eye shrewdly staring at her and the other blinking every few seconds. "Give me Sharptooth, and there may be...friendship as long as I am chief of the Sootscales. As for the shiny ring...well. We will see. If we are to talk of such matters, we must be friends first." His common is certainly labored, yet seems to have an almost bookish ring to it. However, as he begins to yip and chitter at his people, his Draconic proves to be every bit as painfully crude as the other kobolds, if quite a bit louder.
The room, once claustrophobically crowded with tiny lizard-things, clears quickly as kobolds scurry every-which way. Within a minute, the room's occupants are down to just the party and Sootscale himself, though it's obvious at least a few kobolds are listening from just around the corner. He quickly drops his posturing, collapsing on the huge mound of furs and looking as dejected as only a kobold can. When he speaks, it's in common, and it's much less angry and aggressive than before. "Sootscale is a terrible chief. Our tribe is under an awful killing curse. As long as Sharptooth is out of our hands, we cannot break it. Give me Sharptooth so I can save the Sootscales, and I will tell you where the ring is."
The plan had always been to return the statue, but Sootscale's words do cause Cyanne to pause.
Still, they had come all this way to return the god. "We cannot have your tribe suffer a killing curse. Save the Sootscales." She nods to Kaz to bring the statue forward. "Is the ring nearby?"
It's exceptionally tough to read kobold body language, due to the differences in anatomy. However, while Sootscale definitely wants the statue, and he seems genuinely worried about his people, he's not being entirely truthful about something.
Sensing that Sootscale is not revealing everything, Cyanne gently probes for more information.
"May I ask, Chief, how the statue will remove the curse? Or how the curse was triggered in the first place? I've studied a wide variety of magics, as have Daen and Luthor. Perhaps we could assist you?"
They are under a curse? That wasn't surprising if they were worshiping a demon. "Demons like this aren't known for curing curses. They are far more likely to inflict them. They make large promises but fail to deliver. I doubt this statue will be useful to you. More likely you lack the strength to defeat that which is killing your people, no?" The half elf tapped his belt.
Mikmek had mentioned death when they found the statue. There would be death here today, he just didn't know whom or where.
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As the group was brought before Sootscale, Luthor once more found himself with that strange mix of nervousness and curiosity. He looked at their surroundings, turning his head this way and that, all the while smiling like a child. Rikka did the same, though for much more prudent reasons, and with something more akin to a scowl plastered on her face.
He dutifully translated everything said by the others, trying his best to match the kobold "accent" though not having much luck. As the chief mentioned the curse, he stepped forward, pushing past the others to stand in front. "Excuse me, did you say Killing Curse?" He said, puzzlement evident in his voice. "How exactly does this curse kill your people? He continued, looking curious once more. "There are many curses out there, but more often than not, what people think are curses is something else entirely."
A demon?
Cyanne looks at the statue, but it still looks like a dragon to her. Still, if Daen said it was a demon, then demon it must be.
Chief Sootscale glares at Daen, replying with a hiss. "That that back. Sootscales are strong, and Sootscales aren't afraid of anything we can fight. Can't fight the curse, though." He turns toward Luthor, who seems much more reasonable, and continues, his voice full of barely-contained anger (though whether it's at Daen or his circumstances is hard to tell). "The curse turns kobolds' scales a sick shade of yellow when they die; what else could it be but a curse? It is not a curse on one of us, but on the tribe. The blue meanies stole Sharptooth from us, and in retribution, he has delivered the curse to us. Tartuk says if we don't return our god to him, the Sootscales will wither and die. We sent stupid worthless Mikmek because he was second-best warrior we have left after war and curse killed so many. Give Sharptooth and I can show you how the curse will be lifted." He reaches out his clawed hands toward the statue.
Laliytsa throws her arm out in front of
"Up-bub-bub. Wait" She watches the Chief out of narrowed eyes. "Ain't all of it. Somethin' you ain't sayin'. Don' like it. Best fill us in."
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"Sounds like a disease to me honestly." Luthor said flatly, a slight hint of disappointment in the tone of his voice. "You know diseases, right?" He added, finding it almost impossible that the kobold would jump straight to curses with such symptoms.
Reptiles in these environs tend to die of two major diseases. The first, shell-rot, affects kobold litters, causing the eggs' shells to become extremely brittle and break when the time for burying comes a few weeks before hatching. Most other lizards' shells collapse under the weight of the earth piled atop them as the shells grow weak underground.
The second, scale-crack, is similar to leprosy in humanoids. It's characterized by pussy wounds on the body-side of the afflicted area, which withers and dries out. It's almost always fatal and is highly contagious in the warm, dry warrens.
Neither disease leaves the afflicted kobolds yellow.
"Noooo. I can't." Sootscale's voice shifts from anger to a miserable whine of despair and drops to almost a whisper. "His bird might tell him, and he can't know." His eyes shift away toward the tunnel to the southwest, narrowing into a glare as he sees Mikmek's red tail poking around the corner. A series of unrepeatable expletives follow, and the tail quickly vanishes.
He raises himself up to his full, defiant height of just over three feet, staring at each of the partymembers. When he speaks, it's in a loud Draconic. "Am done negotiating. Give Sootscales Sharptooth and be friends, or don't and be dead. Hairy ones choose."
His shift into loud Draconic seems like an obvious ploy to pressure you into giving up the statue, but the desperation and fear in his eyes is certainly real.
Damn. He has an audience to play to, one that he is terrified of. Probably one with a bird familiar of some kind. A caster gone wrong? This Tartuk person we keep hearing about... Maybe there is a reason Mikmek wants to kill Tartuk?
She mutters what sounds like elvish epithets within Daen and Luthor's hearing. "!"
If only she could warn Kaz and Lali in a simliar fashion. They would have to work on code words after this, if the group didn't kill her first or leave her permanently at Oleg's.
Cyanne plays along, trembling and nearly swooning before the mighty Sootscale's wrath. "Oh, don't hurt us! Give us a moment!"
She points a trembling hand at Sootscale as if begging for mercy, and whispers a command word under her breath, and then looks away while falling into Daen's chest, sobbing.
She whispers, interspersing her words with occasional noisy and terrified-sounding sobs. "I'll hear everything you say if you whisper. Shout for your audience, whisper to me. Is it Tartuk that cursed you all? If so... take us to him and we'll solve your curse. You can even be ferocious and grab me by the hair to make it look good."
Sootscale looks back to Cyanne, tapping the tip of his snout and narrowing his eyes suspiciously as his jaw opens and closes slightly. Every so often he pauses to rant in angry Draconic for a moment.
...Some days, it seems like he has all the power and the chief is just there for show. Tartuk is a loyal priest of Sharptooth, though. Got to weaken their bond somehow. Let them give me the statue, and I think I can break the curse. Then you hairy ones can help me get rid of Tartuk and I can go rule again and we can be friends...
...Otherwise, we will have to try to kill you. I am sure that the kobolds here could do it, but it would end the tribe, so that is not so good for either of us."
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Daen felt like he got a bit ahead of himself. His comment was not well taken, and it wouldn't be useful to make more at this point. It also wasn't good for him to apologize, at least, not for his pride. Thankfully, Cyanne took control of the situation.
Performance? The half elf was thinking that she'd start dancing for the chief, and he was utterly confused. But then she got afraid and clung to his chest. The swordsman's response was genuine, and his eyes narrowed at the chief. He wrapped one arm around his angel protectively, and kept his sword hand free in case it needed to come to blows. But then he's able to see what she's doing and wonders about a possible spy or someone keeping tabs on them. Perhaps they should just hand over the statue, and quickly. He didn't like Cyanne crying, not even if it were false.
"There there," he said woodenly. "There's no reason to fear. The chief has honor, he will not hurt us if we hand over the statue." It was obvious that the swordsman needed acting lessons, but his next line was more sincere. "But even if he does betray us, I'll make them pay dearly before I'd allow them to harm you." He looked over at Kaz, and motioned with his head to hand over the statue, then at the chief with his intense blue eyes.
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"Hmmm, I cant remember anything like yellow scales being symptomatic of any disease that might kill kobolds." Luthor muttered under his breath, pausing to look sideways at Daen and Cyanne, a smile on his lips. Whether he smiled because of the flowering love or Daens acting struggles was anyones guess. He continued in a hushed tone, meant only for the others around him "There may actually be such a thing as a killing curse, though im still unconvinced. Suppose this shaman is using poison of some sort on his own people? Trying to undermine the chief for his own gain?"
It takes a few seconds for Laliytsa to figure out Cyanne's plan. She mulls it over, then gives a mental shrug. Cyanne seems to know what she's doing. Laliytsa's first inclination is to go find the shaman and threaten him into fixing the kobolds. But she's self aware enough to know that's a bad idea.
Luthor's theory is interesting. Maybe there's something poisonous that would cause this?
"My best guess would be Nitharit dust." Luthor said after falling quiet a few moments with a thoughtful frown on his face. "It attacks the liver and turns the skin yellow. Im not entirely sure whether it would do the same to scales though." His eyes shifted from side to side as he scanned the room, as if expecting someone to be listening in. If he was trying to hide the fact, it wasnt showing, everything from his face to his posture giving it away. "More importantly, afflicting someone with it would be discreet, seeing as its applied through the skin."
He fell silent as the statue was brought forth, eager to see what would happen next.
Cyanne lifts her head from Daen's chest just long enough to nod to Luthor's theory. She then kneels back in, partly for cover and partly because she's reluctant to leave the protective circle of Daen's arms.
Continuing to whispers, she says,"Sootscale, listen to me. You have suspicions of Tartuk, right? That hunch should not be ignored. I don't know what you plan to do with Sharptooth to loosen Tartuk's bond with it, but I have a guess. You're going to make a sacrifice, aren't you? That blue meanie you've got caged... that's why."
She pauses, waiting for his answer, hoping that she hasn't just planted this horrible idea in his head. "Sootscale, once you start down the path of blood there is no turning back. The god will demand your own people next, the very people you desire to save. Take us to Tartuk first. I don't think the curse stems from your god, but from Tartuk's cunning."
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Sootscale glances at Cyanne again as the statue is brought forward. "Far too late for that now. Tartuk has been trying to appease Sharptooth for weeks with sacrifices. The blue meanie would not be enough, though; my finest warriors either died to the curse, the war, or to stop the curse."
As he grabs the statue and lifts it up to look at it, staring into the demon/dragon/thing's eyes with a an intense look of concentration. Finally, he shrieks in triumph, hoists Sharptooth over his head, and smashes it into the stone cave floor at his feet, where it smashes into a dozen pieces. There's a collective gasp from the kobolds down the various tunnels, followed by muttering in Draconic.
Panting and grinning frantically, Sootscale looks from one member of the party to another before continuing to talk in a low voice. "Well, that is done. Hopefully, the curse is lifted. Now, we must pay Tartuk a visit. Probably we'll need to kill him. Tartuk has that ring, I think." He looks the party over again, winks, and switches back to Draconic. "Hairy ones kill usurper. Do for powerful Sootscales, or Sootscales kill hairy ones!"He heads off to the southwestern tunnel, beckoning the party to follow.
Laliytsa looks at the broken statue on the floor, shrugs and then follows after Sootscale. Better to kill one kobold and gain allies than to kill all and gain nothing. Besides, if this shaman is poisoning his people then someone needs to deal with him.
As they walk down the tunnel Laliytsa looks over their surroundings
At the sound of the crash, Cyanne wipes her face and looks up in surprise. Wow...I like this king. He thinks.
She nods, still pretending to be terrified. "Yes, anything you say, mighty Sootscales! Just don't hurt us!"
The tunnel down which Sootscale is leading you seems to be made of solid stone, the walls hewn in places to be a bit wider than the entry-passages. A few crude paintings adorn the walls, done in berries and grass-stains, but aside from that, the passage is unadorned save for a few cracks in the ceiling stone.
Noticing the direction of her gaze and look on Laliytsas face, Luthor quickly spotted what she was looking at. Gulping audibly, he moved to the center of the group as they advanced, unwilling to chance another bodily injury. One had been quite enough. "Though with your current employment, you might as well get used to it." He thought to himself. On his shoulder, Rikka hugged his neck, trying to reassure him.
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After several confusing minutes, during which he attempts to follow the conversation (parts of which were in another language), struggles to fully comprehend what's happening (diseases? Curses? Poisons? Usurpers?), and finally has the statue taken from his hands and smashed, Kazimir gives up on trying to follow the proceedings. Everyone else seemed to trust the chief well enough (well, Laliytsa seemed to trust him as much as she ever trusted anybody), so he goes along with the plan. Though as the group heads after the chief, he does turn around occasionally and ask Luthor to sum up what's happening. After all, it didn't hurt to double-check things, right?
Daen sort of smirked at the chief, and followed him into the other room. If this was the sort of leader this Kobold was, Daen was pretty certain they could be friends. Cyanne still acting scared sort of unnerved him still, but for the time being, he had purpose. Go and kill this Tartuk. That was something he could get behind. Also, if he had the ring, then it would be a pretty good day for the group in accomplishing their goals.
The cave that Sootscale leads the party toward is richly decorated, in contrast to the rest of the warren so far. A rickety frame of sticks lashed together with guts and twine wraps around the room, with banners of hide and old blankets hanging from it. The banners are painted sloppily with what look to be primitive icons and mystic symbols, and a cauldron sits over a fire-pit (the fire currently out) near the center of the room. Sootscale stops at the door, whispers "Good luck..." and spouts off a string of insulting and demeaning Draconic about the party's fear and weakness to impress his people.
The purple kobold in the room is just finishing a chant when the crow sitting astride his shoulder quarks in Draconic. He whips his head around, but it's too late; members of the party are already in action!
"Time to shine!" Luthor thought excitedly, pushing past the others and launching into the motions and words of his sole offensive trick. Finishing his chanting and motioning with practiced easy, he tossed a handful of sand towards the shaman, the spells magic carrying it further than would normally be the case.
Tartuk looks at Luthor and yawns slowly, but the spell doesn't seem to have any further effect on the purple kobold.
Kazimir steps into the room, axe and shield up, and rushes toward the purple kobold. He lands a decent blow on Tartuk's arm, causing a hiss of pain and what could only be a curse in a language none of the party seem able to understand, though it certainly has a touch of Sylvan in it.
The remaining kobolds watch apprehensively from the edges of Tartuk's chamber, uncertain how the fight's going to resolve and what the consequences will be. Sootscale himself brandishes a club, while a few of the others have little knives and short-spears.
Cyanne begins a fierce leaping dance, rousing the hearts of her allies to battle.
Tartuk takes a step away from the angry paladin, begins casting a spell, and promptly disappears from sight. As he does, Kazimir comes under attack by...something.
The creature winks into existence, its head eerily similar to the statue that Kazimir had, until a few moments before, been carrying. Its silvery, serpentine body trails out behind it, ragged wings tucked against it, as it extends its toothy maw toward the unprepared paladin.
Cyanne starts as Tartuk simultaneously vanishes and brings in what appears to be the demon Sharptooth. Already knowing that she's dealing with a liar, she narrows her eyes as she tries to remember his last gestures.
What spell was THAT?
The half elf comes forward, meeting the strange creature as he pulls his sword. He makes it glow it's eldritch blue energy glow and guardedly casts with his off hand before reaching out with his sword. As he swings it in, the blue darkens to near black and threatens to blacken the flesh it cuts.