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Seraphina’s spell shows no trace of poison on the letter.
”I did not travel to the Medvyed holdings, Empress of All She Surveys,” says Kesten with a wink, the corner of his mouth curled up into a wry smile. ”The missive was given unto my care by my artful brother, who has spent considerable time in your halls. I did not invite him along with me, but neither did he seem eager for the trail. ‘Let her work her fancy out in the wilds’ he said, ‘I shall court her when she’s hungry for civilization once more.’ Perish the thought his smooth and supple backside be marred by blisters from the saddle!”
The knight-errant turns to his men. ”Form up lads. Suck in your guts and wipe the damn fool looks off your face. You stand before Lady Seraphina Medvyed, Dutchess of these lands.” The soldiers fall into a more or less straight line and stand at attention.
”Artus, Gael, and Dhavik you know. The new fish are Arkady, Stanis, Ashaj, and Maksim, all of Grayhaven. They are retainers in the employ of my Family who desired a little more action than manning castle walls, and some better coin regardless. The other three are Elwich, Astram, and Bellwyn, sellswords who were in my command during the campaign against kobold-kind under the mountain. I have spoken with them about the matter which comes to mind, and they have agreed to obey my command to keep swords sheathed.”
Ghael and Dhavik receive Maja’s greeting with goodwill. ”Just to home,” says Gael. ”Saw the missus, I did, and collected my pay for her to spend.” Dhavik rubs his stomach. ”Missed being out this-a-ways, that inkeep’s wife cooks a better grub than the barracks slop for sure!”
Despite the simplicity of the impromptu celebration, the Havenites take to it quite well. It seems Erastil blesses the festival as well, as hunting parties reap rich harvests of game and foraged food in the days prior to the holiday. Many of the settlers are game to try their hand at bending the bow, and Milo finds no shortage of willing students. The newly-constructed kitchens of the first dwellings work overtime in preparation, and the day of the event is full of laughter and plenty that washes away a layer of sadness and loss from the refugees, who are refugees no longer.
Azur nods at Maja, unbuckling the scabbard from his back. Although he doesn’t wear his armor daily, you’ve noticed that your councilor is rarely to be seen without his massive blade at hand. ”I’ve had my fill of fighting, by the gods! I’ve seen enough death and horror to last me ten lifetimes. I’ll not raise hand against them with your voucher towards their character. Once I’ve seen them myself I’ll represent them to my – our people.”
The Kobold delegation isn’t massive. In fact, it’s a solitary dusky-scaled kobold that waits to greet you at the shoreline.
”Again we meet, Lords of Your Selves!” chirps Mikmek. ”You work swiftly on your defenses, like a kobold would.” The diminutive engineer is impressed with Seraphina’s transformation. ”Your grasp of magic is formidable! To bend a body like that is marvelous indeed. Your scales are too gaudy, though. Better to blend in and not be seen. I have been sent by our Chief to welcome you back to these lands and to inform you that we’ve gathered the goods for trade with your wood-road-fort. We travel in two days and wish for you to be among us for the meeting. The Council of Dragons postulates that with you for introductions and mediations our first trade with the humans will be smoother.”
With the practicing targets set Pretty tries a few shots herself, just to make sure she still knows how to use her bow. She seems very skilled with the shortbow, and shows off a bit, but when she tries the longbow it was not quite as good. She is not used to such a long pull, and the effort to do it make her hands tremble and waver, making her miss the most difficult shots. Still, it was fan, and she could observe which among Kesten's soldiers were good archers.
Something was off on this. It could be the way the kobold greeted them, or maybe this thing about the Council of Dragons, but either way she got a bad feeling about the kobold's future and feared what would happen if they just wanted to be like the humans for a change, that is, trading with others and building their own economy, which would probably affect their economy, as they had plenty of silver to mine. Pretty started to imagine bad things if the Sootscales started to claim hexes...
Kivan shows up only for the archery competition to fire off a few shots with the longbow before leaving.
Kivan seems happy to meet Mikmek though he's disappointed that Mikmek is impressed by such a low level of magic.
"Good to see you again Mikmek. What is this Council of Dragons you speak off?"
Milo is impressed by Mikmek's speech and Maja's mention of the watermill. Pretty had explained that the kobolds were friendly and had advanced technologies, but he hadn't expected so much. "Nice to meet you, Mikmek, I'm Milo. I've seen the Sootscales snares and tracks in the forest. I'm glad we're finally meeting face to face."
Seraphina rolled her eyes comically at Kesten’s teasing new nickname for her, but she laughed lightly all the same. It was certainly a marked improvement over being called an overgrown jackdaw. ”I see. Kol has returned home then?” She said with tentative hope. ”And was he relieved to learn you had made my acquaintance in your travels?” She scoffed to hear Kol’s dismissive assessment of her current endeavors. ”Bah! We are women of substance and means… is that not so my Lady Weatherseed and my Lady Gormun? If we hunger for civilization, we raise one!” She declared proudly, holding her arms aloft to indicate all that they had built so far.
She walked the line with Kesten, greeting each man in turn while she observed them. She became much more cordial upon learning that Lord Garess knew and had worked with them all in the past. ”Mountain men, eh? With such hardy forces, we will be hard-pressed to find you suitable challenge in these temperate lowlands. But we shall do our utmost. Come, it’s nearly dinner time now. I can’t promise anything as delicious as Svetlana’s cooking, but we must make do… roughing it as we are.” She shot Kesten a grin over her shoulder and called for the gates to be opened. She gave them the perfunctory tour on their way in, asking the nobleman. ”So… what do you think of Haven?”
Sera followed Maja’s example and helped make the day joyful for everyone. She shot her light crossbow in the tournament, demonstrating to everyone that she was most definitely NOT good at everything. But she was good-natured about her lack-luster performance and cheered on the contenders. She spent a good deal of time tasting the dishes everyone had prepared and offering extra compliments to those who were rather heavy handed with the spice. It seemed her palate was skewing toward the more savory and hot seasonings, lately. Finding a particularly flavorful stew of venison with a substantial amount of heat, she engaged the cook in a culinary discussion. ”This is delicious, tell me… do you know any good recipes for preparing rattlesnake? I discovered I’m quite partial to the meat on the trail, but I don’t know any methods beyond roasting it over an open fire.”
She spoke with as many people as she could, eager to hear from their own mouths how well the former Westwinders were settling into their new home.
Milo is curious about the kobolds. He'd never heard of them being friendly towards outsiders, and he hoped that the groups of settlers and kobolds would be able to get along, given the prejudices of the different races involved. "How do you know they're here?" he asks Sera, surprised that she noticed their arrival, yet neither he nor Nix could detect any sign of them.
Seraphina chuckled at Milo’s question, raising an eyebrow dubiously as she contemplated any implications of sharing this information. But ultimately, she trusted the Hunter and decided he ought to know.
”I can hear them. They have signaled me with a type of flute that only dragon-kin can hear. It’s rather a shame you cannot hear it, they make such lovely sounds.” She had never said it out-right to him before but there had certainly been signs. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, seeing how he reacted to the information. ”I am dragon-descended, you see. From a Copper dragon, I am sure, though I do not know the specifics. It is the reason for my particular… talents as well as the reason the cultists acted so strangely toward me.”Sera was somewhat relieved to see it was only Mikmek at this meeting, he was certainly the best option for introducing the kobolds to Azur Brey as gently as possible. Though she was a little embarrassed over launching into a grandiose speech without an audience. She resumed speaking in common, ”Mikmek! I was expecting a larger party… ah well, speeches can only get better with practice. How have you and your fellow Sootscales fared these past weeks?” She laughed jovially over his assessment of her kobold appearance. ”I am afraid I stand out in every form… and blackening my scales would have no lasting effect when I change again. I must resign myself to my visibility, alas.”
”Certainly we will be present at the trade-meeting! I wanted to make sure we did not miss it. I have accumulated quite a few things that might be of interest. I tried to keep you in mind, of course, and brought back a number of books on a variety of subjects. We have no one among our people with the sort of ingenuity and expertise as you have shown, Mikmek. Would you consider consulting with us on matters of Engineering? We would be blessed and honored to benefit from your talent and intellect, Master Builder." Still in kobold form, she bowed her head deferentially.
Recalling some of the past events, Milo begins to connect the dots. The strange action of the cultists, Seraphina's scaly-looking skin, and her claws that manifested during battle. "A dragon? Now that you say that, it makes sense, but I didn't see the forest for the trees..." His tone changes from thoughtful to joking. "I'll tolerate you sleeping on a pile of gold coins and priceless gemstones only if I can live in a tree house and babble about the natural order."
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”Kol has indeed returned to our holdings,” says Kesten. ”He learned of your assignment from your mother, from whom he received this letter to convey to you. I saw no harm in mentioning I’d encountered you on my travels, and he pressed the letter upon me to deliver in his stead. Typical.”
”I should judge a liar most cooks who claim themselves Goodwife Leveton’s equal,” he comments as the gate raises. ”Yet you’ll not find me a critic – this week was Dhavik’s turn as cook. I’ve considered relieving him from the rotation, but do not wish to reward burned biscuits and watery stew with more leisure time.”
The knight looks around at the fortifications. ”A little rough, but serviceable. Some sweat, granite block, and a fresh coat of paint would go a long way for your keep, but the position is admirable. You can see for quite the distance, and hilltop fortifications are a kick in the codpiece to assault. A walled and crenelated dock in the lake would provide resupply against any siege, and the plentiful water is sure remedy against flaming arrows and the like. I suppose you shall merely have to be more aware and less inebriated than the previous defenders!”
The preparer of the stew which warmed Seraphina’s palate turns out to be Westwind’s former butcher, one Joerg Sprader. Once a man of substantial heft and girth, the months of hard living have stripped the excess from his frame. He grins at the compliment, showing a missing tooth. ”Glad ya like it, Yer Grace. I’ve a liking for heat in game-meat. I jest shake hotroot into the stew ‘till it hurts a liddle. Can’t say I’ve had rattlesnake before. Mayhap I’ll brain one with a sling-rock out here and give it a try.”
”Our leadership council, advisors to the Chief,” Mikmek reminds Kivan. ”Good eve, master Brey, master Silverbrush. Our Wood-Sage, Yatpank, has always appreciated you not taking from our snares and lines.”
”I’ll be. It speaks common! Uh, I mean no offense, Master Mikmek. I’d not met one of your kind before, but my old master taught me that kobolds are a race of dangerous savages. I am happy to be shown the error of that statement.”
”Your old master was not wrong,” replies Mikmek with a shrug. ”We Sootscales, however, dig a different tunnel.”
Turning back to Maja, the diminutive engineer shakes his head. ”No, the waterwheel still occupies me. The bearings where the shaft supporting the wheel turn against the frame keeps wearing down. Some shaking at first, but left untended the waterwheel drops into its channel and stops working. I’ve been busy carving replacements as fast as I can. I sorely await the iron from our trade, as Kivan has shown me it will be a far superior bearing surface.”
”Thank-you for the books, o copper one. I am obliged!” When Seraphina invites Mikmek to join in the development of the realm, he swishes his tail with slight agitation. ”I should very much like to,” he says, ”But I cannot neglect my duties to the tribe. I shall ask the Chief when I return, and perhaps with the iron components made for the waterwheel my duties will decrease… In any case, two evenings from now our trading party will depart to your wood-road-fort. We travel at night, and will arrive in the morning four days from now. Should you wish to travel with us you may, or await our arrival at the wood-road-fort.”
Sera’s eyes unfocused introspectively as she considered the implications of this news. If Kol was unwilling to follow to her ‘wilds’, it might be easier to untangle herself from this near betrothal than she thought. ”Well, he has his own duties to attend to, no doubt.” She shrugged, trying to seem more ambivalent than she actually felt. In truth, she was only relieved. ”I trust your family fares well?” She asked Kesten, adhering to the expected courtesy.
She cast a sympathetic look in Dhavik’s direction, she had noticed the nobleman tended to have more negative things to say about the fellow than he did the others and she wondered if the man’s apparent ineptitude was the sole reason why. ”They say cooking is an art, perhaps he merely lacks the passion and suffering soul of an artist. You are quite right, leisure would not help with that deficiency. But eating burned biscuits regularly may make artists out of you all!” She grinned, hoping to alleviate some of the sting of the criticism.
Kesten’s critical eye certainly had its uses, though. She listened closely to his advice about the protected dock, nodding as she saw the wisdom in the plan. ”I expect it might be more difficult to reach and maintain that level of inebriation than to avoid it. The pitiable fool was completely soused. We are far more moderate.”
The meal was indeed a simple one, much of it gathered fresh from the surrounding summer lands. Roasted meat and root vegetables, dandelion salad with wild onions and other greens, round loaves of crusty bread with a crock of herbed goat cheese and a jar of blackberry preserves for spreading upon it. Simple, but filling and nutritious. As they sat down to the meal, she looked to Maja to say the blessing. Once they were enjoying their dinner, she inquired as to their plans for the future. ”So what is next for Lord Kesten Garess and his Free Irregulars? Has Restov sent new orders that will carry you away from our burgeoning community?” She watched the men expectantly, waiting for the right opportunity to offer Kesten the position of General.
The preparer of the stew which warmed Seraphina’s palate turns out to be Westwind’s former butcher, one Joerg Sprader. Once a man of substantial heft and girth, the months of hard living have stripped the excess from his frame. He grins at the compliment, showing a missing tooth. ”Glad ya like it, Yer Grace. I’ve a liking for heat in game-meat. I jest shake hotroot into the stew ‘till it hurts a liddle. Can’t say I’ve had rattlesnake before. Mayhap I’ll brain one with a sling-rock out here and give it a try.”
”Definitely stalk them from a distance if you do… they have quite a nasty bite, a branch with a split is helpful for pinning down the head if you must close upon it while still active. I find the bigger ones are easier to skin and debone. Be sure to let me know if you find one, I would be interested in your findings.” She had another bite of the spicy stew and turned the conversation to more personal things. ”How have you been settling in, Master Sprader? Are you eager to resume your former trade with a proper store front?”
Recalling some of the past events, Milo begins to connect the dots. The strange action of the cultists, Seraphina's scaly-looking skin, and her claws that manifested during battle. "A dragon? Now that you say that, it makes sense, but I didn't see the forest for the trees..." His tone changes from thoughtful to joking. "I'll tolerate you sleeping on a pile of gold coins and priceless gemstones only if I can live in a tree house and babble about the natural order."
Seraphina laughed at Milo’s joke. ”Agreed!” She cried jubilantly, immediately put at ease by the attempt at levity. ”Although I can’t say I have experienced such urges thus far, you will be the first to know so you can make the necessary preparations.” She winked conspiratorially and then reached up to squeeze his shoulder as well as that of whomever walked at her other side, it did not matter who, she cared for them all. ”My treasures are generally of a warmer, more comforting variety than gold and jewels.” She said with a happy smile on her face.
Her eyes flickered to Azur Brey with a disapproving look as he blurted his shock, but she said nothing, allowing the man to attempt to salvage his own first impression. She found herself feeling glad they had not made the fallen paladin their Diplomat.
”Do not fret, Master Builder. We don’t mean to take you away from your duties. As I understand it, we would only need to call upon your expertise for seven days out of the cycle of the moon. Perhaps we could do some of our consulting by correspondence if necessary. Of course, we will not be offended if the answer need be no, but I hope Chief Sootscale will be in favor.” She then resumed speaking Draconic with a mind toward limiting the people that would know the specifics of their plan. ”I thank you for the invitation to travel alongside the trading party, I would indeed wish to join on the journey. Shall we arrive at dusk on the appointed day?”
"Do you mean the wood-road-fort two days journey due north of here?" Milo points in the direction of Oleg's distant trading post. Aside from Haven, that was the only fort he could think of, and Haven did not have a road yet. He smiles at Mikmek's comment about the snares. "Will Wood Sage Yatpank be part of the trading party?" He would like to meet this wily kobold.
Milo is glad that Seraphina responded well to the joke. It was a sign that she didn't take things personally, and was comfortable with herself. "I'm glad to have a leader who finds people more important than things."
Pretty is paying attention to every occasion, but she does not speak much on this meetings.
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”Mhmm,” is Kesten’s only reply to Seraphina’s inquiries towards his family. Such a noncommittal answer certainly doesn’t adhere to the formality, and he quickly changes the subject. ”Artists all, we happy bunch. I call this piece “getting the trots after a forty mile march from water which was heated yet not boiled. Young Dhavik has very little skill outside of combat, but the lad fights like three men. Eats like three men too. I’ve yet to decide whether his sword or a ladle is a more deadly weapon in his employ.” For his part, Dhavik doesn’t seem to mind the criticism, smiling toothily as Garess jibes at him.
The repast is well received by the Free Irregulars, who tuck in with gusto and banter with the Havenites. Kesten takes a spot next to Seraphina for his meal. ”I march on Absalom on the morrow,” he proclaims. ”The world shall tremble before the might of Warlord Kesten the Terrible!” He pauses for a sip of water. ”Truth be told, there’s not much in the cards for me. There’s no place for me in the halls of my family, unless it be the doting husband to whichever of Surtova’s nieces is being bartered in the market for political alliance. Restov has no work for me and it’s late in the year to go campaigning, though Galt offers mercenary work even in the dead of winter. I should like to tarry here at least a while, if you’ll have me. I suspect you’ll not turn away fresh hands for the moment, and I’ve an eye towards defenses.”
”I’ll see t’find one wandering around here, and have a go at it when I get one,” promises Joerg. ”Cain’t complain about much, Yer Grace. Awful nice to have a home again. I’m afeared it’ll be awhile afore I can start up proper-like. Takes quite a few rancher types to keep the beef n mutton stocks up. Alls in good time, though. I keep meself busy helpin’ with puttin’ up houses and cookin’ up vittles. One thing I heard said though, would be nice to build a liddle memorial fer our old buddies and kin. A nice liddle fountain or such, mayhap with a bench or two, some flowers. Somewhere we can go to think about the old times and share a drink or two.”
”Yes, the wood-road-fort with the fat man and his mate. Yatpank will guide our way. He knows the hills and plains better than any other among us.”
Mikmek looks relieved when you tell him he can still attend to his Sootscale responsibilities. ”That is much more possible. I shall ask the Chief for his blessing when I return.”
To Maja, Mikmek replies somewhat slowly, obviously chewing things over in his diminutive, scaled head. ”There are none among us now who can call upon His power. Tartuk killed our old priest, and forbade any read the Parables. I hid the book within another and pretended it destroyed. No priest was found in the last several Hatchings. Each Sootscale is tested shortly after Hatching to see in what role we will serve the tribe. If you were present you could search for such a spark and give instruction. It is customary for every Sootscale to be apprenticed to the elder of his craft, in which role you could perform. It will of course be for the whole Council to decide but I cannot see them declining such an offer. The whole Council is never assembled except within our meeting chamber, so that if attacked not all of us could fall at once and the tribe so endure. Dusk on the appointed day is a good time to meet, but if you desire to speak with the Council and the Chief you are welcome earlier.”
"A wise strategy," comments Azur Brey. "An absent councilman - councilkobold - poses no threat to the operation of your tribe, where a large absence would cause great confusion and dismay. I do not think one would fashion a society thus unless often faced with great threats; I presume the Sootscales have suffered much in the past."
Mikmek nods. "The full story must wait for less busy times, but you are correct. Until these Lords-of-Themselves arrived, the Sootscales were in danger of dying out entirely. They rescued me from certain death and have brought many blessings upon us."
"My people have suffered greatly as well, Master Mikmek. We are likewise indebted to Lady Medvyed and her companions for our continued survival. May we speak further at a later time? I would hear more about the history of your tribe and share the story of mine."
"That would be good, Master Brey. After this trade is completed I will come to find you."
At Archerfest, Idris asks Bara to join her in the archery competition, and later, if there's any drink to be had, gets a little drunk before retiring.
Hmm, she thought to herself, family business must not have gone well. Her curiosity bubbled up, but she decided that was better left for a more private moment.
Seraphina ate little, finding that her eyes were the hungriest part of her just now as they swept over the wealth of new and familiar faces. But for all the novelty of observing how the Havenites greeted the Free Irregulars, her gaze was continually drawn back to Kesten’s countenance. Although he japed and joked as usual, she thought she detected a mordant edge to his humor. Rather that engage in her usual practice of the verbal riposte, she merely watched him with a serious demeanor until he was done explaining his prospects, or lack thereof.
”You suspect rightly. In fact, I was prepared to beg a favor of the Lord-Mayor Sellemius if your orders proved problematic. It seems I have become a woman apt to prevail upon her friends… I have had you earmarked for a position likely since before you made it home.” She popped a morsel in her mouth and smiled, reveling somewhat in her audacity. ”Our Salvaged Lands have need of a General, you see. I could think of none more qualified for the post. However, we should speak more privately before you agree officially...” She held his gaze significantly, implying there was much to impart.
Sera nodded somberly, ”Of course, I have been thinking of something to that end myself. Thank you, Master Sprader, enjoy the rest of the festival.”
Still speaking in Draconic, Seraphina finalized the plans and bid Mikmek goodbye for now. ”A bit before dusk, then. Thank you, Mikmek. Safe travels to you and we will see you soon.”
"I'll go with you and the kobolds. I'd like to meet them and get to know them if we'll be neighbors," Milo decides.
"I'll ride on ahead and talk to Oleg about the trading party."
Seraphina looked increasingly anxious as everyone announced plans to go in different directions. She did not want to imply that any of her highly capable friends needed extra protection, but they were so much safer when they could rely upon each other.
"Maja, it might be prudent to bring someone along who speaks Draconic. Mikmek will likely be too busy to serve as interpreter for you. Perhaps Pretty or Idris would come along with you? If not, I will make the effort to follow you as soon as I can."
She turned to Kivan, surprised he had cast himself as messenger. "Oleg expects the trading party, but it would be courteous to let him know when specifically. Should I arrange for some of Lord Garess' men to accompany you? They would likely jump at the chance to enjoy Svetlana's cooking..." She lowered her voice as she said this next part, a look of concern on her face. "... and the bandit Xen is still at large."
Idris volunteers to go along with Maia to translate Draconic.
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”General! Kesten snorts. ”A lofty title for the commander of fewer than a score of men! There are some who travel the path of the mercenary campaigner who style themselves such. You’ll find them more possessed with funds than strategy, parading their poor bastard footmen in peacock uniforms at drill before sending them into some fray to perish as sacrifices to their lord’s vanity. His Lordship the Major General watches from afar through the looking-glass, of course. I do not tolerate such men in my company, and more than a few have learned the hard way to steer clear of my camp.”
Kesten raises an eyebrow. ”It’s pure amusement to observe the mad scrambling retreat some ‘Master and Commander, Supreme Warlord of the Host of Wherever’ after you’ve cracked him across the teeth with the hilt of your sword in front of his men. No, ‘general’ I shall not be. If you mean to raise troops, I shall willingly train them, and lead them if need be, but let me not have such rank until such time as I have a force to suit. ‘Captain’ is a mantle which rests easier upon my shoulders. It is a title from Old Taldor – ‘head man’, if translated directly.”
Later, Kesten finds Seraphina at a quiet moment in the keep, atop the wall with none within easy earshot. The scent of his cigars precedes his arrival, as does his deliberately heavy tread atop the fresh construction of the watchtower. ”Lady Medvyed, you had more to say. I should like to hear it.”
Mikmek chirps in amusement at Maja’s enthusiasm. ”The next Hatching is several lives of the moon away yet! The hatchlings are then given time to strengthen and grow before being tested. Each is presented with a series of obstacles to overcome to join the tribe. It is in how the hatchlings overcome their challenges that their paths are divined. I made a ramp from a board to get over a boulder, and passed over a pit with a rope tied to a rock. Spur-Spur claimed me then as an apprentice, and under her I learned my role. When she died of the scale-rot I was put in her place. I have watched each hatching since, and seen none to claim for my student. Those who show no outstanding talent become the miners and warriors, as all kobolds are clever and fierce. Under Tartuk, none of his red-scales were allowed to take the test. The next hatching will be a bountiful one, and I am hopeful that each of the Council will find a student. You will of course be allowed to choose a student. You are always welcome among us and need no permission. It would be a good idea to ask for a guide through the entrance, however. Our defenses change constantly and do not know to spare you!”
You arrive at the domain of the Sootscale tribe as dusk falls on the appointed day. The usually undetectable lair is marked clearly by the wooden waterwheel, which creaks and thunders merrily around as the swift waters of the Shrike pound and spin the heavy wheel. Your arrival is heralded – to Seraphina’s ears – by the soft tones of the Sootscale flutes. The next acknowledgment of your presence is a watch-kobold slipping down the cliff face from the old mine entrance to your approach.
”Chief and Council say to meet on north edge of hill!” is his greeting, and you are lead in that direction by the warrior.
Chief Sootscale turns at your arrival, flanked by the Council of Dragons. ”Self-Lords – all is ready. We have assembled the goods needed to pay our side of the trade. I owe you a debt of gratitude for arranging the trade, and for escorting our party. Never before has Sootscale willingly approached tall ones, and your presence is proof against ill fortune befalling us in this new endeavor. With the success of this expedition, the voices which protest the change of our ways will fall silent, and all Sootscales will live more easily with these items which we cannot produce of our selves.”
Behind the leadership, a gaggle of Sootscales stands beside their trade goods. Ten wicker crates have been assembled, each suspended from a pair of wooden poles. Two kobolds stand by each crate, ready to bear the load on their shoulders. Yatpank is facing north, away from you, muttering and flinging a handful of grass into the air. He stoops and observes their fall, poking at the arrangement on the ground with a long finger for a moment before straightening with a swiftness that belies his age. At his whistled command, the crates are hoisted to kobold shoulders and the party sets out over the gently rolling hills of the Stolen Lands.
all the kobolds are the dusky blue Sootscales. None of them are the red-scaled kobolds hatched under Tartuk. Additionally, none of the expedition are young kobolds. In fact, their ages tend rather sharply towards the elderly side.
The trade party isn't the only group heading north from the Sootscale lair. Trailing the party by ten minutes or so, and hanging well back and to the side is another group of kobolds. These are also blue-scaled, but younger. The group numbers ten, and all are armed with spears and wearing leather armor. They're attempting to move stealthily, but your supernatural darkvision parts the gloom and your keenly honed senses alert you to their presence.
Kesten details four of his men to accompany Kivan. "My men are at your disposal," he informs you. "Should you not require their services they will return to me."
The ride to Oleg's is several days in length, but utterly uneventful. When you draw near the trading post, the large wooden gates are shouldered aside as usual by Oleg with a grunt. "Master Corsan! To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? Please, come in!"
"The safe one dies of age" - thinks the rogue aloud. Pretty wondered what happened to the red scaled kobolds left, but she was afraid to ask. If any of the kobolds from Chief Sootscale's group seems friendly, she will talk to him to try to get to know more about what is there south of their hideout.
Kivan gives a small nod to Oleg in greeting while replying.
"I just came to tell you that soon Lady Medvyed will be arriving here to negotiate with some old kobold acquaintances. They should be here in a few days around dawn."
Kivan will glance at the men behind him. "If you wish to rest feel free. There shouldn't be too much trouble here."
Milo had heard Mikmek and Maja talking about the water wheel, but to see it was certainly something else. It was an odd sight, spinning alone in the wilderness, no mill-house or other buildings nearby. He isn't sure what to make of the situation. He'd been hunting in the woods for months and hadn't seen a single kobold, yet here were a dozen of them, ready to take a stroll to Oleg's Trading Post. Milo is skeptical that everything will go as planned, but hopes for the best.
"If we're to be neighbors, this is a good start," Milo agrees after Chief Sootscale's proclamation.
Nix surprises Milo by immediately trotting over to Yatpank to sniff him. Usually, the wolf was cautious among large groups of people, but for whatever reason, she is interested in the old kobold. Following after, Milo greets Yatpank. "It's an honor to finally meet the Sootscale tribe and their wily Wood Sage. What do the grasses and winds tell you today?"
Once they are underway, Milo ranges ahead to check for any signs of bandits, monsters, or anything else that might trouble the caravan.
Idris is somewhat quiet and moody on the way to the Sootscales, which if she is asked, she explains as being 'that time of the month'. She brightens up when they arrive, greeting their friends and seeing the successful results of their labors. Hearing of the test for the hatchlings, she wonders aloud, "What if one of your little ones wishes to do something when she appears to be a better fit for something else?"
While traveling, she also speaks in private to Seraphina.
"Sera, something has occured to me. We can't expect your bloodline to remain a secret from the rest of Haven for too long. Even if your appearance doesn't change any more -- no more pretty scales than you already have -- enough people know that it'll start to spread soon. Maybe we ought to get out in front of it, by, maybe, starting a rumor -- a true rumor -- that you have a dragon ancestor and that's a good thing. Get the idea out there that having a dragon in your family tree makes you an even better person to rule over these lands."
Seraphina chuckled over Kesten’s opinion of the title she offered him. ”We may be few now, but that will change in time. But if you do the job, you may arrange the hierarchy and assign the rank as you see fit.”
She stood looking northward as Kesten approached. The southern view, overlooking the lake was more picturesque, but she had come to prefer this perch where she could set her sight upon the stretch of land that led toward New Stephen, where the usurping tyrant Noleski sat upon the Dragonscale Throne. ”Indeed, I need to make clear exactly what I am asking of you. This is not a commitment that should be entered into lightly... Soldiers must put their full faith in their commander… if he were to abandon his post at a pivotal moment that faith would be irrevocably undermined. I ask more of you than to bind your fortune to ours and defend these people and lands from those who would do them harm. Some day in our future, one that will likely come too soon, the precarious peace that binds Brevoy together will break. And when the call to war comes, we must be ready to answer. Even if it puts us across the line from family or friends. If you accept this posting, I need to know you are prepared to face that possibility.”
She turned to face him then, meeting his eyes with a searching look.
Sera bowed her head in respectful greeting before the Chief and the Council of Dragons, speaking in Draconic. ”We are honored to oversee this auspicious event. Too long have the Sootscales stood alone, limited to only subsisting off the land. The virtuous path your tribe has chosen is an arduous one, made even more so by isolation. Human communities have long known the benefits of relying upon each other for aid and trade goods they would not otherwise be able to obtain. May our mutual fortunes and lives be enriched as our alliance grows stronger through this venture.”
She sought out Mikmek before they departed, dropping quite a substantial book bag off for him to peruse at his leisure. "I made sure to pick up some volumes on Engineering and Architecture, as well as a text on Mathematics and Trigonometry to help make sense of the units tall folk use. There is even a volume of poetry inspired by the wonders of nature that surround us, I thought that a form of artistry you might appreciate."
She approached Yatpank more warily this time, not wanting a repeat of his last answer to her hail. ”Wood Sage, this expedition is under your leadership, I expect? We are at your service.” She expected the old kobold might have a particular way he wanted things done and wished to be as accommodating to their way as possible while they traveled.
While traveling, she also speaks in private to Seraphina.
"Sera, something has occured to me. We can't expect your bloodline to remain a secret from the rest of Haven for too long. Even if your appearance doesn't change any more -- no more pretty scales than you already have -- enough people know that it'll start to spread soon. Maybe we ought to get out in front of it, by, maybe, starting a rumor -- a true rumor -- that you have a dragon ancestor and that's a good thing. Get the idea out there that having a dragon in your family tree makes you an even better person to rule over these lands."
A rueful smirk came over Seraphina’s face as Idris spoke. ”You are more right than you know, my friend.” She reached up and parted her hair with a hooked jade claw, sweeping her coppery locks aside to reveal the metallic tip of a ridged horn which had emerged just above her temple. ”It will likely not be long before it is glaringly obvious to all whom look upon me that I am something other than human. I suppose I expected necessity would force me to reveal the full extent of my powers at some point in defense of our people and given the circumstances, they would be looked upon favorably. In the meantime, I have not been making the same efforts at concealment as I did in Restov. In truth, the robe proclaims what I am to any who can comprehend its nature, although I realize it is unlikely to be discerned by any who have not had magical instruction. I am somewhat hesitant to reveal my nature to the people at large before I have done so to my own family, but I have had news they will travel to visit us soon. Did you have any thoughts about how we go about concocting such a rumor?”
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Kesten cocks a brow at Seraphina. ”You mean to press combat against the Surtovas? Sera, you need a general for that. Perhaps three – with the proper troops for the title. Perhaps you’ve not been through New Stetven of late; they’ve come some ways since their days of petty robbery and piracy on the Lake of Mists. Noleski’s a jackass, but he’ll make an example out of those who threaten his power. I don’t see him marshalling his forces and marching, he’s living too high on the hog for that, and his first step on the warpath will unite his enemies to challenge his rule. They say a pirate only runs for plunder, and public office. So long as the Aldori keep their collective manhood fast within their cod-pieces and refrain from waving them in Noleski’s face, the peace will hold. Sellemius does not strike me as a rash or stupid man.”
The mercenary knight pauses to take a deep drag of his cigar, blowing smoke from his nostrils before stubbing the end out on the wall and flicking it over. ”Should it come to that, I’ll have you know I’ve never walked off of a post. I understand why you must ask, which is why I forgive the insinuation – but I’ve drubbed men for saying similar. One does not succeed as a sell-sword with a reputation for quitting the field. Your family and mine are cordial and no friends to Surtova, though my fool father would welcome a political marriage for myself or one of my cousins. I do not see my sword crossing with my kin or yours, but if such arises, then so be it.”
Mikmek shrugs in response to Idris’ question. ”It is not forbidden for a Sootscale to do things which strike our fancy. If I desired to fish, I could fish. We must first complete the day’s work in our assigned field, however. There is no sense in depending on fisher-bolds who cannot fish or a builder who cannot build. The tribe comes first, always. It is our way.”
”Winds say let elf-man and wolf see Yatpank after many year. Winds say elf-man have green-spice-drink, grass say give wolf rabbit-meat!” The old kobold fishes in a pouch and produces a morsel of rabbit jerky, which he pops into the waiting mouth of Nix. ”Grass say elf-man see why elf-man not see Yatpank after many year. Wolf see, wolf friendly for rabbit. Elf-man not friendly for rabbit, elf-man friendly for grass and leaf. Many grass and leaf, not need Yatpank. Yee-hee!”
Mikmek eagerly sorts through the book delivery, small claws clutching the tomes with all the possessiveness of a little dragon on its horde. The poetry book doesn’t seem to be getting much attention, but the cover is already open on an architecture book before the engineer thinks to chirp his thanks to you. ”Yes, these are exactly what I need. I must learn to say things the way tall races do if I am to build things with tall workers. You have my thanks, again, as always.”
Seraphina’s speech is well received, with some of the kobolds who had not spoken with you on previous visits surprised at being addressed in their native tongue.
Yatpank sizes Seraphina up as she approaches, taking in the new changes to both body and dress. ”You are right, copper-born, I am guiding the way. Recall our last conversation. I do not like this path, but I am commanded down it so I shall see the journey through. If this is the destiny of the Sootscale tribe, I will see it done well before I’m called to Kurtulmak’s lair. We move at night, sleep in concealment during the day. No fires will be built, all waste is to be buried, and tracks erased behind us. When we arrive at the trading post, you will introduce us.” The old kobold pauses his brusque briefing and softens slightly. ”A fine robe you gather around you. A lesson well learned.”
The first half of the journey is uneventful. The Sootscales move like ghosts across the land, leaving hardly a sign of their passage. Though conversation is kept to a minimum, Pretty finds one of the crate-bearing kobolds to be talkative enough. Yill-Yill is a weaver, proficient in both baskets and cloths, and despite her middle aged frame is sprightly and energetic. ”The red scales are safe,” she assures you. ”We did not bring any along, as they have too much fire in their blood and might act rashly. A shame though, they are young and strong and make good warriors.”
On the dawn of the second day, as the night’s journey winds down and the Sootscales start looking for places to bed down, Yatpank suddenly sits bolt upright. ”Hide!” he hisses out, and the message is passed by flute swiftly through the ranks of the expedition. Within a few moments, what was a hillside full of burdened kobolds has become a pile of crates abandoned in the wilderness. The dusky hue of the Sootscale’s adopted color blends remarkably well into the shadows and the grass. Yatpank remains out of hiding to pass on information to you.
”Listen very hard,” he chirps out in his pidgin common. ”Hear wind-run in big feather. Big bird, eat Kobold.”
After a few minutes, you do indeed hear rustling in the gloom of the early dawn. The sound builds rapidly – a large avian is apparently approaching at some speed.
”That’s all well,” puffs Oleg. ”Like you said, I ordered that list of goods awhile back, they’ve been sitting in my stocks. I’m ready. Come on in, have a drink, wash some of that dust out.”
You are still enjoying the Levetons’ hospitality later that day when more visitors arrive. One of Kesten’s men informs all from the wall that a party of riders approaches from the west. With a few minutes to close the distance, you see that the riders are unusually short, and riding ponies rather than full-sized horses. As they draw near the fort, you can make out the forms of three gnomes.
Oleg pushes the gates open for them as well, and the riders make the courtyard. The lead rider, a stocky gnome woman in a leather and canvas explorer’s outfit with wide-brimmed hat, swings off her pony. ”Julietti Narthropple,” she introduces herself. ”Ponies need water and shade, we need water and shade.” She flicks a gold coin to Oleg, which he accepts and takes reins, pointing out the guest house and common room. ”No need for a room,” Narthropple says, ”We’ve got many miles yet to go today. I could kill for some of that bread I smell baking, though!”
Inside the common room, the gnome introduces her companions as Jedd and Tessa. ”We’re all three archeologists. They’re classically trained, I’m self-taught, but I’m too damn smart for these book learner types anyway. Ha!” Between mouthfuls of bread and stew, Narthropple makes small talk with Kivan.
”We came out this-a-ways to do some digs out east of here. Seems to be quite the cyclops city out this way some time ago, mayhaps we stumble across something with real information in it, maybe something that’ll fetch a good price to collectors. Gotta eat, right? What brings you out these ways?”
"The Roc!" Against her better judgement, Pretty draws her shortbow and loads it. "I think we just have to show it the meal won't be for free!" But of course, judging by the size of the one they saw the other day, this would be very, very dangerous. "I'm listening if you have any other ideas!"
Idris draws her bow and nocks a flaming arrow.
Milo listens in disbelief to Yatpank's explanation. "You took my elvish brandy? How is an elf-man supposed to stay warm in the winter without something to drink? When we get back from this trip, you owe me a glass of kobold spirits!"
Shaking his head at Nix, he adds with feigned disappointment "And you were in on it this whole time? My own wolf's loyalty bought by rabbit meat!" Nix's ears prick up at the mention of rabbit, and she wags her tail, taking no notice of Milo's tone.
Milo is looking for concealed sleeping spots when Yatpank's cry goes up. He scans the hillside to ensure that all the kobolds are well-hidden from the bird before examining the early morning sky for the bird Yatpank hears. He hadn't thought to fight the bird, but he draws his bow and knocks an arrow at Pretty's suggestion. "I might be able to convince it to leave if it comes close enough. Failing that, I think you've got the right idea, Pretty." Nix circles around the group, hackles raised as she senses them readying for combat.
Idris blinks in surprise when Sera reveals her growing horns, and then smiles. "Something more than human, you mean! Gotta keep the attitude positive. How to start the rumors, though, that I'm not sure. I'm not that good at controlling rumors -- a lot of damaging rumors got spread around about me at the academy. I think we should talk about it with everyone when we get back to Haven. Bara might know a thing or two about it, possibly. Hmm... The former crusaders might have a fairly positive attitude towards dragons -- I remember hearing a couple of them talking about a time they fought in a battle where a silver dragon was aiding them."
Kivan eats a bit while talking to the group of gnomes.
"Well me and my group cleared out this area for colonization about a month ago. I was just coming here to trade with some locals who we met during our journey. The others are with the locals currently. Though I must say that I am very interested in any expeditions to the cyclopean ruins. If you find anything interesting feel free to stop by."
Kivan thinks back on their adventures and decides to ask a quick question of the group.
"This may seem odd, but do any of you know a gnome named Tartuk?"
Seraphina watched the nobleman with a serious expression as he processed what she had said, or implied, actually. She extended a finger as if listing a point, ”If you’ll remember, a General is what I requested… and I was looking at you, Kesten Garess, none other. Should you fear yourself short of measuring up to the mark, then shore up, Captain. Time is on our side for now, for as you correctly suspect, it will take much to draw him into open war and that is our best chance of drawing our kinsmen to our side. I know you can do this and whether you liken my draconic ancestry to a blessing or a curse, you cannot deny that I have an eye for value, or talent, if you will.”
Her face softened, looking somewhat apologetic. ”It was not my intention to imply you were such a one to abandon your men, in truth, I expected you would not. But all the more reason to inform you now, rather than spring our endgame upon you in the eleventh hour with your honorable reputation on the line. We need to trust one another, Kesten. I will not tell you any falsehood. The Lord-Mayor Sellemius is no fool, he plays a long game and gambles much in the process. He will choose his moment carefully and we are committed to aid him, when the time comes. Until then, we must keep the end goal in mind while we make our preparations.” She again turned her gaze back to that northward stretch.
”Of course, we do have more pressing and timely enemies. Our travels to Restov proved rather more eventful than expected…” She went on to tell him about Pretty’s disappearance and the mad masked cultists they encountered on the road, the strange and grisly offers of stolen second hearts when they recognized her draconic nature, how Pretty freed herself and two other tieflings the cultists had imprisoned and intended to harvest in their dark initiation ritual. She described to him what they had found in that farmhouse and shared her suspicion that this Cult of Ashardalon was more widespread than just this cell, plus there was that distressing infant-eating outsider that had eluded them. She also shared how they encountered Knight-Captain Makarov and his team of Dragoons and narrowly avoided incarceration.
By the time she got around to describing the ordeal with the assassins, she had tapped her dramatic impulse dry and glossed over most of the details unless pressed for them. ”We saw the end of them all before we were gone from Restov, but we may see more come in stealth or in force before this business is done. Bara and Idris would likely have some ideas on how to detect and defend against them.” She reached up, massaging her temples tiredly. ”That took longer in the telling that I had expected, but I think that’s all the relevant news since the last time we talked. Still no sign of Xen and the remaining bandits or the mysterious nymph said to haunt these lands. So unless there is more on your end to impart, that is the end of my tale.”
Seraphina arched an eyebrow at the old kobold, ”Oh I am not likely to forget that conversation as long as I live, Yatpank. My father raised his daughter to hear her elders when they speak.”
Sera shrugged, smiling placidly over the positive spin. ”It is true that metallic dragons are fairly well known for aiding a valiant cause. I read a passage reporting that when it became clear that the diabolical House Thrune would emerge victorious in the Chelish civil war, copper dragons came from all over Golarion to fight for freedom. Granted it might be a better story if they had turned the tide of the battle, but many gave their lives in the noble attempt. But perhaps it is a mistake to try and manage this with too heavy a hand. Pretty is accepted for who and what she is now, without any need of propaganda. I will give it some more thought before we discuss it with everyone. But I appreciate you thinking of me, we’ll figure out the right thing to do.” She gave Idris a companionable squeeze.
The low rumbling hiss that had come to signal her displeasure sounded deep in her throat. ”That Roc is about to bite off more than it can chew!”
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It is indeed the roc which you saw previously - a gargantuan avian form silhouetted black against the bright stars of the wilderness night sky. It descends from a dizzying height at tremendous speed - you have only a dozen seconds or so to prepare. The kobold expedition is as good as vanished, but the redoubtable Yatpank remains in the open to defend his kin alongside you.
The enormous talons of the oversized bird of prey are open, ready to grasp a tasty meal or two. Legends speak of elephants carried off as prey by rocs... woe be the creature targeted as a meal.
Pretty gallops a few meters in the direction the Roc is coming from, then gets down from the horse and cuts the bags with their stuff so they would fall to the ground. She hides behind the light horse, to use it as a shield when the monster appear. "Maybe it will go away if it gets a horse!"
Yatpank nods at Maja's wisdom.
"Being prepared, good."
Yatpank having said so pulls out a potion and drinks it causing his skin to harden even further. Then he prepares for the roc by readying a spell to bring it down to the ground if it doesn't take the horse.
Five mirror images spun out from the sorceress and six Seraphinas moved to shelter behind a large outcropping of rock. A swift breeze whipped up between her copper scaled claws, it swirled around her, imbuing her with increased speed. She then sent it to similarly enchant her friends.
Milo watches in awe as the roc swoops closer. It was a shame to kill such a beautiful creature, but something so enormous has an equally enormous appetite and would be a danger to their settlement. "It's best we put it down, or else it will be back later for the cows and horses in Haven. "
Touching a hand to Nix's head, her fangs grow longer, gleaming in the light of Maja's spell. He points towards Yatpank and commands "Guard." The wolf races to stand next to her favorite kobold, should the roc swoop down to sweep up the little creature.
Send an ally to weaken my foe, he prayed. There will be much to feed on, he promised, envisioning the insect he sought.
Posting from my phone, I'll update the map when I have access to my computer tonight.
-Posted with Wayfinder
Idris stands behind the horse relative to the Roc, and nocks a normal arrow on her bow, recognizing that the bird is far away and losing the flame arrow would be likely. After a half second to let the swooping bird get closer, Idris releases the arrow.
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Idris' arrows fly true, but do little to dissuade the gargantuan avian from the pursuit of its prey. With a deafening rush of air through rippling feathers, the roc blots out the stars with its wingspan, talons extended for the strike.
The ground shakes as the roc slams into Pretty and Idris' horses. Bones snap from the impact, and hot blood spurts in jets from around the deadly talons which impale the unfortunate equines.
Screaming in panic, the other horses cut and run, galloping in any direction that takes them further from this horrifying beast.
An instant after the impact, Seraphina invokes the latent power of her blood and disgorges a spray of caustic acid that spatters against the roc, burning away feathers and flesh with a horrific stench. The roc screams, its piercing shriek nearly deafening.