The chief dodges Leng's chain, but in the process steps right into Spitter's lightning. The small bolt slams into his maw and electrical sparks fly from the sorcerer's face. For the first time, he looks worried by the situation. "Fools! If you slay me, my god will raise me up to get my revenge!"
"Well then, I guess we'll just have to take you alive" Pavo bellowed.
Chief Roaghaz weaves and the net barely misses him as a result. Considering Pavo's words, he grabs at the remaining bead around his neck. Examining the bunched webbing and the amount of blood Pavo is losing he shakes his head and releases it. He then grabs a potion from his belt and quickly consumes the contents. Some of the electricity burns turn pink and fresh scales begin to grow over the wounds.
Leng does his best to make it really not worthwhile for the chief to reach for his magical devices.
Maellyra struggles mightily against the sticky tendrils that hold her captive and in moments is able to slip free of her bonds. Mindful of the strands that still cover every inch of space around her, the pallid hexer reaches into her robes and pulls out her dagger.
The kobold standing guard doesn't notice Maellyra draw her weapon as he is too busy watching his chief holding off two dangerous pinkskins, one of which is a giant!
Whack! Chief Roaghaz gets another one right in the gut.
With a flick of his enlarged wrist, Pavo brought the net back towards him. As it floated through the air, he snapped his arm forward and sent it back towards the chief.
Reduced to using basic spells, Spitter fires a ray of cold at the chief!
"You speak, but you do not listen!"
The blast of cold fails to strike the chief, but one of Leng's swings slams into him hard and Pavo catches him with his net. "Finish him, you fool!" He barks to the dumbfounded kobold zealot as he works to cast a spell despite the predicament he is in.
Between the net and dodging Leng's assault, Roaghaz is just unable to use his magic to charm Leng.
Maellyra reaches into satchel once again, this time to withdraw a flask of viscous, amber fluid. Attempting to take advantage of the guard's inattention, the witch lobs the glass phial at him.
Maellyra's throw is a little short. The zealot is splashed with the flaming liquid which spreads small fires throughout the webbing, clearing a significant area of it and causing the zealot to shield his face from the flames.
The kobold turns to her snarling with pain and tries to stab the witch.
Despite the recent pyrotechnic display affecting his sight, the kobold's spear finds it's mark and leaves her with a nasty puncture wound.
Spitter moves forward to thump the chief with his small staff.
Holding the net up with one-hand, Pavo smacked his shield into the wiggling creature inside.
"Heh. Fish he muttered with a grin.
Pavo's shield bashes into the chieftain, eliciting a howl of pain and anger. He thrashes against the net for a moment then attempts one last time to place Pavo under his control.
He very nearly manages to finish the spell despite his predicament.
"Heh. Fish" he muttered with a grin.
Maellyra clasps a hand against her side as fresh pain blossoms from the wound. Looking down, she is unsurprised to see it come away slick with blood. But what does surprise the witch is just how steady her hand is despite the fact that she can feel herself fading. Cutting her eyes at the zealot again, Maellyra snarls back, "Serqet anerjea wa qedret." She flicks her hand at the kobold, sending a spray of blood drops at him as well as a crackling beam of necrotic energy.
The green-black beam saps the kobold zealot's strength to the point that he drops his weapon, then drops to his knees. He falls face first clawing at his armor's straps and laboring to breathe.
Spitter swings again...
The chief continues to receive a beating now that he is cornered and wrapped up in Pavo's net. Though Spitter's staff does little damage, it is obvious he scored a hit on the zealous sorcerer.
One shot of Leng's weighted chain manages to connect.
Chief Roaghaz grabs at the last bead on his necklace. "Aeteperax will raise me from the dead, just as He is risen!" the kobold shouts preparing to smash the bead at his feet.
Then Leng's chain flashes out in the darkness and cracks Roaghaz' sternum. Blood drips from the kobold's mouth as he begins to bleed internally into his lungs. He collapses in the net with the bead still in his claws.
The western section of the cave is Roaghaz's sleeping quarters. A large, soft pallet lies here, along with two locked chests.
Maellyra shambles over to the last living zealot with her dagger clutched in a white-knuckled grip. If Belhaim and the Blood Vows stand any chance at lasting peace, then the chieftain's poisonous ideology needed to be weeded out from the tribe, root and branch.
Seeing the white witch approaching the remaining warrior, Spitter tries waving her away.
"NO! Wait pink-skin!"
Spitter quickly clarifies.
"He was just following orders pink-skin! He was following his CHIEFTAIN. My culture is NOT yours. We can now help establish a new leader here...one who will understand what is best for the TRIBE as a whole. Kobolds are...followers. It is our nature to be lead by the smartest or strongest! He was obviously insane, but a decent sorcerer. Such power comes from our dragon-blood. It is respected and feared. Considered a gift from our ancesters and gods! You should not condemn the warrior for merely defending his chieftain! His tribe? Who knows what lies he told the poor fool?"
He then calms himself.
"Please. M-Mael-lyra. I beg you give him the chance to live here."
While Spitter looks to prevent bloodshed, Nighttail arrives beside Hak. She points to the zealot and issues a kill command. Hak leaps forward and tears the kobold apart with sharp claws and powerful jaws.
"You have a good heart, Spitter of the Pinkskins. But, I will need to issue a challenge of dissolution and a rite of renaming. Those adhering to the ways of the original Bloodvl Vows cannot be allowed to stand in the way. That one," she says pointing to the remains, "accused the old shaman of heresy. He was personally responsible for the old man's torture and death. Thank you, outsiders. I should have come sooner to help, but there was a lot of confusion I needed to address."
Spitter wraps himself in his meager wings and sighs as he admires the raptor's natural abilities. His realization however is that that Kobold life is overly harsh sometimes. Perhaps harsher than it should have to be?
"Do you plan to be the next Chieftain Nighttail? What are your intentions towards the pinkskins in the place above ground? Will you honor the truce they offer?"
Without waiting for an answer, he limps over to look at the chests in the back of the chamber, his greed and curiosity overruling his need to hear an answer soon.
"No need for sentiment to stand in the way of personal gain...right my friends? Knowing how paranoid the chief was...these are probably trapped."
"I think it is best for those remaining if I take charge," she answers as she inspects all the fallen, slitting the throats of any still breathing. "Likewise, I think it best to make peace with the tribe of humans. They can be dangerous foes, as you can see. Tell your pinkskin friends that they have a right to claim spoils...She stood with Roaghaz?" Nighttail asks when she comes across Churgri.
Spitter glances at the kobold indicated by Nighttail.
"She did, although it was hesitant. She did not WANT to help him, but did so anyway."
He then points at the chests.
"I son't see any traps, but I'm no expert. Does the chief have a key or two on him Pink-skin Pavo?"
Saved from having an uncomfortable debate with Spitter by the timely intervention of Nighttail and her pet raptor, Maellyra quickly rises and backs away from the kobold as he's savaged by the overgrown lizard. She cleans the spatter of blood from her face with the tattered, singed sleeve of her robe and looks toward the downed priestess. "She was just following orders," Maellyra says, borrowing a phrase of Spitter's. "But not with nearly as much fervor as the rest of them. I can't say for certain, but I believe she was bewitched. She did warn us of his enchantments."
"Following orders," mutters Leng under his breath. "The excuse of lackeys to tyrants. But also the plea of someone given only death as an alternative."
Spitter shrugs.
"Kobolds are usually taught to follow orders from their hatching...or are threatened with being cast out or killed if they don't. Obviously most choose to accept following orders. Don't judge them too harshly my friend."
A quick search of the chief turns up two keys which look to be the right type for the chests in the back. He also had a small leather scroll case, within which are two arcane scrolls, the wand he used on almost everyone, and a curious looking cloak. Teeth from a variety of animals hang from the cloak's ivory sleeves. The bead remains in his hands, glowing from within as though it were the flame of a candle encased in glass.
The priestess likewise has some interesting items.
Her chainmail is unremarkable, but she has a scroll sticking out of it. Two potion bottles hang from a leather thong, as does a gold unholy symbol. Finally, her cloak and quarterstaff both appear to be made with care and craftsmanship.
Spitter opens the chests with the keys. Everyone can see his eyes widen and glitter with a reflection from the first which contains a rather large pile of gold coins. The other holds six large green scales and an even larger black scale.
Rather than join in on the discussion of morality with her companions, Maellyra hobbles over to check on the fallen priestess. There was little sense in trying to argue the kobold's case if she had already shuffled off the mortal coil, after all. Kneeling over Churgri, Maellyra stretches thin fingers out toward the priestess's neck to search for her pulse when the bit of parchment peeking out from underneath her armor catches the witch's eye. Drawn in by the oddly soothing sensation, Maellyra momentarily forgets about checking on the priestess and instead unfurls the scroll and tries to decipher it.
Leng slowly draws his chain back in over his hand, looping it carefully about his waist and then tucking the weight back over. The blood stains the sash that he wears about his waist, adding to the sweat and dirt stains, darkening it in spatters. Apparently that is how one becomes a 'black belt.'
Pavo frowned as he shrunk back to normal size. "Well that was fun while it lasted."
He shook the kobold corpse from his net and set to refolding it. He glanced around the cave as his hands worked. Once finished, he stood up and walked over to Maellyra.
"You okay miss? You don't look so good...you too Spitter. You okay little guy?"
Spitter smiles a toothy smile as he runs his hands through the treasure chest full of coins.
"I feel much better now that the chief is gone, and this tribe is now in better hands. Come! Help me with dividing this up and we can leave sooner than later."
Leng hesitates, then says, "Doesn't that money... represent the entire future of the tribe? If we take everything... they will have no choice but to raid and steal. They will have nothing with which to engage in trade with the townspeople, and thus no way to uphold a better bargain for both sides."
"Well, it is your right as the victor to claim what you will. Perhaps...leave some as a show of good faith towards future negotiations with the pinks-" she stops herself and grins, "excuse me, the humans."
"Leng's right. I got enough gold anyway. If I need more, I'll hunt more men. Come on little buddy" Pavo said as he slipped his arm around Spitter.
"They need it more than we do. Now that shiny stick on the other hand, that's right about your size..."
Frowning, Spitter shows he does not understand the pink-skin's sentiment.
"You would refuse to take the gold from our enemies? The tribe does not EAT gold. Kobolds...collect it. Take it from our enemies! We horde it! Show it off! Occasionally we use it to trade for prisoners, or gift it in worshipping..."
Looking like an almost petulant child, he trails off while crushing a cave bug with his newly acquired staff.
"But, I LIKE gold...and I don't have much..."
Still focused on deciphering the scroll in her grasp, Maellyra doesn't look up at the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. But Pavo's concern does make her briefly look down, taking a moment to reevaluate her physical state. After all, the pallid witch was used to not looking good just based upon others' reaction to her; for Pavo to come right out and say she looked in poor shape, she must look a sight indeed. Glancing down at herself confirms it, all tattered robes and patches of pink, blistered skin peeking out from spots where the chieftain's fire spell burned through—not to mention the stab wound to her side. Still, her lips twitch in what might be considered a smirk as she answers in a raspy voice. "I've had worse."
Tucking the scroll into the folds of her robe, Maellyra rises to look over Pavo. "But I see you've suffered no ill effects from my magic. No weakness, no unconsciousness. No bleeding from the eyes. No tail," she notes with a certain detachment. "It appears that spell will be safe to use in the future if we find ourselves in a similar situation." Maellyra pats Pavo on the shoulder much like she did when she initially cast her spell, muttering a quiet "Good to know" to herself before going on to suss out the magical properties of the kobolds' goods.
As talk turns to money, Maellyra finds herself quietly siding with their avaricious kobold friend. While she doesn't want to leave the tribe with nothing, she also isn't the altruistic sort. And now that her friend Xemne's potions have proven unreliable at best, the witch would need money to purchase the materials for brewing her own concoctions. Maybe there was a way neither side would be left empty-handed. "If the gold represents the future of the tribe, what do those dragon scales represent? Maybe something less important but equally valuable?"