It has been 8 days since the disappearance of Splitscale, the head sorcerer of the Drake Fang tribe of forest kobolds. At first, no one was worried, as the green-and-black kobold was prone to bouts of wanderlust. But, as the days went on with no signs of him and the goblins of the hated Facemuncher tribe growing even more savage in their suicidal raids, the chief and his circle of advisers grew more and more worried. What had become of Splitscale? What had happened to provoke the goblins? How long would it be until the goblins broke through the wall of traps surrounding the tree-village?
...
You are allr standing outside of Chief Drakemaw's opulent hut, having received scolls marking you as the new champions of the tribe. The sounds of heated debate ring out from the hut. The doorguard looks at you with thinly veiled exasperation. Sorry. Chief Drakemaw wishes to see you, but you need to wait until after the meeting. Shouldn't be long." With that, he pulls out a flint and starts filing his claws.
"Ssssssss, these others will see! Always making of fun of me. I will show them my true power. Soon,... I will become the dragon I know myself to be! All I need is a chance to prove myself..."
Garrlak stands outside of the chief's hut mumbling to himself, giving the others around him furtive glances. He knew most of them, after all they were part of the same tribe. He didn't hate any of them, however no one believed him when he said his mother was a dragon and that one day, he too, would grow into one as well.
Garrlak was red in scale coloration and in temper. He stood at the average height for a kobold, but he was always slightly hunched over, making him appear smaller and not at all grandiose, like a dragon should be. His claws were slightly longer than average, and could grow more vicious when he was angry. His snout was always covered in soot, and he tended to sneeze, a lot! He carried no weapons, and wore armor made of scales he claimed were his mother's (masterwork scale-mail armor). He wore a warriors garb underneath it, as well as a hood that could cover his entire head.
Urzan is a lean, black-scaled kobold with a bone-pierced snout. He wears a chain shirt, buckler and fancy backpack that he pillaged from a dead gnome. Across his body, he shoulders a multi-pocketed belt with hangers for his cold iron Terbutje, shortspear and dagger.
He squats near the chief's hut drawing shapes in the dirt with a claw. When Tarka arrives, he tries not to stare and mumbles, "Hi Tarka."
Neemer slings his crossbow over his back and adjusts his beret over his purple headscales. "Very well, we can wait, I guess..." he mutters, looking unhappy about it.
Klyx's scales are red, but smudged with black from his pyrotechnic experiments. He has a bit of a crazy look in his eye but his demeanor is sensible enough, if somewhat absent-minded at times. "Hail brothers, do you know what this is about? Something to do with the goblin raids?"
Klyx's scales are red, but smudged with black from his pyrotechnic experiments. He has a bit of a crazy look in his eye but his demeanor is sensible enough, if somewhat absent-minded at times. "Hail brothers, do you know what this is about? Something to do with the goblin raids?"
"It says here I am one of the tribe champions. That must be a mistake." Klyx pulls out his formula book and begins trying to solve a mathematical equation.
"Bah,... sssss. Champions. We are nothing more than lambs about to be sent to the goblin-house. Chief has need of us skills for something dangerous, methinks..."
Garrlak is very suspicious as to why they have been assembled. Nothing good can come of this. Except perhaps an opportunity to show off his strength.
Tarka walks up to the others, her blue-green scales flashing in the sunlight. Her tail sways gracefully behind her, and she flashes them a beaming smile. "Good morning, boys. Father making us wait as usual, I see?" She waves at Urzan in response to his greeting.
"Well, I do have some skills in making things explode." Klyx grins. "Probably need some defenses against the Stinkfaces."
Klyx, distracted by the graceful Tarka, drops his book, and then picks it up again upside-down.
"Tssssk"
Garrlak snorts in derision.
"Silly kobolds. What chances have they with daughter of Chief? Should spend more time sharpen nail and kill stinkfaces. Maybe if they turn into dragon they catch attention of Tarka. Mother always said dragons had the pick of the lot."
"I'm glad to see the Chief gathering us for a counterattack. The stinky gobbo Facemunchers won't be held back by our traps forever." he nods in acknowledgement to Tarka.
The angry noises inside the hut grow more heated, until the deep voice of the chief rings out from the hut. SILENCE! MY DECISION STANDS!
After a few seconds of silence, three hunched, robed kobolds shuffle out of the hut. They give the doorman a curt nod, and shoot an unmistakably bitter look at each of you in turn as they walk past. The doorman looks slightly intimidated, but motions for you to enter. ...The chief will see you now, I guess. Good luck.
Urzan returns the bitter looks with bewilderment. He watches the robed kobolds leave and stands up. Slapping the dirt from his hands and claws, "Guess it's our turn. Tarka, do you want to lead?" Urzan asks and stands ready to follow her inside.
"Finnaly, we can see why Chief call us here."
Garrlak starts to advance, eyes still locked with the robed figures, and bumps into Urzan who was waiting to see if Tarka wanted to lead. Cursing under his breath, he waits for the others to move forward.
Urzan frowns at Garrlak when he bumps into him but leaves the situation at that. Garrlak is known to be slow-witted and easily enraged, so Urzan does not provoke him on the doorstep to the chief.
Klyx puts his book away and follows after the others, anxious to hear what is said.
Tarka shrugs and walks into the hut. "Sure," she says. "I'm as curious as the rest of you."
Neemer slips in after Tarka and flashes Urzan a quick, uncomfortable smile that exposes all of his teeth.
Upon entering the Chief's hut, Garrlak bows deeply in respect and says:
"What have you for us, oh Chief-iness?",
his eyes not leaving the floor.
Urzan returns Neemer's uncomfortable smile with bewilderment and follows the group inside. He performs the proper respects to the chief and hopeful father-in-law...
The inside of the hut is slightly smaller than most would expect from the outside, but is nonetheless opulent. The walls are smoothed wood decorated with trophies from skirmishes with the goblins, with dogslicers, horsechoppers, and the preserved heads of goblin dogs all carefully nailed in place. The chief's mount, a tatzlwyrm of famous speed and strength, looks at you sleepily from its coil at the chief's feet. On his throne, wearing a complex crown of gold and tatzlwyrm teeth, sits Chief Drakemaw himself. He puts on a slightly forced smile as you enter. Welcome, heroes. He says in his strangely deep voice. Sorry about the delay. I suppose you're wondering why you are here today? Yes, of course you are. He looks all of you in the eye as he talks, and clears his throat noisily. I have chosen you to be the champions of our people. I have chosen you specifically for your talents, and I am happy with my choices, no matter what some...dissenters may say. He shoots a pointed look out the door as he says this.
As you know, our sorcerer Splitscale is missing. Despite our 'revered elders' saying he's a lost cause, I think it is vital that we fin him and bring him home. He looks around the room at all of you. Do any of you know Splitscale personally? Do you have any idea how big a loss a sorcerer of his power is to the tribe? Without him making those magic traps of his, our defenses are weak. Without his fire, the Facemunchers could swarm us. We need him back, and that is why you stand before me today. Come forward, and ask me anything you need to know. I will tell you what I can.
"I know him, yes very much. I try to copy his magicks of fire. It not going so well..."
Once the chief is done his initial speech, Garrlak rise from his bow to look the chief in the eyes.
"Oh, esteemed Chief, ruler of all that is scaly. Do you knows where Splitscale go? What direction? We can follow. My nose good."
At this he sneezes, small flames spewing from his nostrils, giving off a foul odor. Everyone in the room can tell that his nose is nowhere as good as he says it is.
The chief looks down at Garrlak, and speaks. That's a good question. We don't know what direction he went in, but we do know that he had been taking trips to the Central Swamp before he went missing. I'm not sure why he would go there, though. The swamp has nothing that can't be found more easily in a less dangerous place.
Urzan looks around at the group and asks some obvious questions, "Who was the last to see Splitscale and when was that?"
Neemer instantly begins wracking his lizardy brain trying to remember every dangerous animal that normally inhabited the Central Swamp, imagining what could have possibly harmed a sorcerer of Splitscale's power.
The chief turns to Urzan. His daughter, Maika. She saw him about 8 or 9 days ago.
tribe
splitscale
facemunchers
A nervous Klyx takes a deep breath before speaking.
"It was Splitscale who recognized my talent for alchemy. I will do anything I can to help find him. Have you looked in his hut for clues?"
Yes, we have. We found something that might be of some use to your search. The chief searches through his pockets for a bit, and pulls out a small book. This book was turned in by one of the searchers. It appears to be Splitscale's diary. He tosses it to Klyx.
Neemer blinks as he looks over the shoulder of whatever kobold is reading the diary. "Can anyone read that?" he asks.
Garrlak looks over the pages, eyes furiously darting back and forth.
"Words, what are these words?! Make sense book!" he yells in his mind at the inanimate object.
Klyx turns the book sideways and upside-down, attempting to see some pattern.
"Maybe words make sense if we set it on fire?"
"That's a stupid idea, you can't read them if they're burnt up!! We should dip the book in acid..." Neemer rubs his chin thoughtfully
The chief's face is completely serious as he looks at Garrlak and Neemer. I wouldn't put that past Splitscale, but the reality is less pleasant. Our scribe looked over it, and even though he couldn't read it himself, he recognized a few characters. The last few pages are written in an old tongue he called "Aklo." Apparently, it is some kind of ancient language used by monsters and madmen. I have no idea where Splitscale learned it, and frankly I'm not sure I want to know.
"Chief, do you have any other things of Splitscale? Otherwise, we should speak to Maika next. Right Tarka?" Urzan suggests and asks.
"That sounds like our best bet at this point. If she was the last one who saw him she might know where he left from. There could be tracks we can follow or something else she knows," Tarka says.
Klyx pulls the book back possessively at the mention of fire and acid.
Neemer nods. Investigating the last known kobold to speak with Splitscale seems the obvious first step. "It's wise to gather as much intel as we can before we visit the Center Swamp. Besides the dangerous local beasties, there's a risk of trapssss." He hisses the last word slightly.
"Ha, trapss! I break traps with teeths and nail!"
Garrlak puffs out his chest, ready to run off on their first lead.
Neemer makes sure Garrlak isn't looking at him directly before rolling his eyes.
"We have our lead, friendssss! We off to save Splitscale?"
"Yesss, let's go see Maika"
This book is all we could salvage before Maika forced us out. She was pretty upset about the whole thing. If you're going to see her, she lives in a cave west of the village. The chief clears his throat, and looks to all of you with an unreadable expression.
Now, I want you all to know something. I have selected you for this task based on your own skills, and I'm happy with my decision. The elders, unfortunately, had their own champions in mind. I think you are more than qualified, but don't be surprised if the elders look down on you, or even try to shame you. Just remember that you were chosen by Chief Drakemaw himself.
Neemer snorts derisively at the mention of the other elders.
HP 13/13
bombs 6/6
extracts: firebelly, CLW, [one open slot]