Shark chases after the creature, looking to pin him before escape…
…and the eagle takes a bite at the fleeing kobold before screaming and flying off into the sky.
...at the same time Nme'an bolts forward, intent on preventing the Kobold's potentially disastrous escape. With the small lizard creature pinned Nme'an easily runs it through with his sword.
for
The last kobold dies in the deadly hold of Shark, picked apart by the eagle and run through by Nme’an’s sword. In a few moments, the raptor takes flight high overhead, lost to sight. The air is quiet once more, save for the heavy breathing of Mot, who wavers in place from his many wounds and burns. The bodies of the scaly creatures lay strewn over the stone. A few minutes later, the pool of grease dissipates to nothing.
Looking over the dead warriors, the four find small spears and slings and leather armor sized for the scaly creatures, along with a total of five glass vials of alchemical fire. On the leader’s shawl, a collection of five thumbs, seven gold pieces, four silver pieces, an amethyst embedded into a platinum ring, about a dozen feathers and an uncountable number of bones from various creatures.
Beorae sifts through the collection of things, picking up two of the alchemical fire vials. She then examines the ring, holding it out for the others to see, “Any thoughts on this?”
As she's pocketing the vials, Beorae finds that she still has both of her healing potions. That's odd… Thinking about the terrible taste, she realizes that Themp must have used his potion. She palms one of the healing potions and hands it to the rogue with a sheepish smile, “Thanks.”
Mot, still bruised and bleeding from the battle, squints at the upheld ring. With a tired, playful grin, he pokes his thick, calloused finger at the jewelry, stopping short at the first joint of his finger. “Dinnae fit, metheenks.”
He stoops and returns the dropped greatsword to the sheathe on his back. Limping over to his unconscious captive, the highlander turns the body over to inspect it for any further wounds. Finding none, and feeling faint breathing from the kobold snout, he nods and slings it over a shoulder. “This lettle wun looks liek he maght waek up soon.”
He flinches when the scaly body slaps against his shoulder and back, and the pain spurs him back to the druidess. “Effin’ ya dinnae mind, lass, ya haef teh heelers tooch. Coold ya halp me close me woonds?”
Nme'an stares up at the sky and tries to determine the current time of day.
"I can help with healing if need be, though it may be best to save my power if your wand is still capable, Bi Sevenstone."
"Help you close your wounds?" Nme'an asks Mot angrily. "You abandoned her half trapped under the rocks! You endanger us with trying to own untamable creatures, by depriving us of our weapons, by threatening to play your so called music in a place that it is clearly inappropriate, you leave us for dead to charge headlong into an enemy ambush... and now you wish to be healed?!
Nme'an grits his teeth and limps angrily up to the wounded barbarian and grips his shoulder tightly.
"Done," the angry knight apprentice says with finality before brushing past to inspect something on the ground beyond.
“Och! Ahbaendenin ‘er?! AH WUS PRAHTECTIN ‘ER!” the highlander booms with a reddening face, “Ya think Ah liek gettin’ hoort? Do ye remembar whoo got to her faerst? I thought she bea dead!”
His ham-sized fists shake with anger, though an attentive observer would notice that his otherwise clear blue eyes hold a glassy surface, the thought of a dead Beorae summoning strong emotion. Mot’s forearm wipes dry his hairy face and points at the knight. “Where were yoo? Ser braev knite o’ teh Donfleu’er, hidin behind a sheeld ageen? Ya dinnae got a rright tah lay yer words as law on meh joost cuz Ah don’ hesiteht tah stoppin mah foes from hoortin’ mah fren’s!”
As the knight reaches to touch his shoulder, the Casns flinches back. “Doon touch meh ye mooderin gomeril! Eff mah askance fer healin’ is a crahm in yer holee eyes, then yer ‘onar ess a farce!”
The highlander’s hackles are raised and his body tense, and he casts about for an outlet. Palming a head-sized rock with a large hand, he hurls it with a roar at the cliff face, well away from the others. The stone shatters into smaller pieces. He turns a scowl back to the Knight and spits on the ground.
Nme'an lowers his hand, but does not back away.
"I did not hide behind my shield, I placed it on the ground so that I could better help! You only reached Bi Sevenstone first as you were the closest. Do you believe I or Themp had any less desire than you to reach her? Nme'an responds angrily.
"And if there is law being made here it is your own. You wished to ride that half owl half bear that very nearly killed both yourself and the tiger? Then the rest of us must go along with it to the point that one of my weapons wound up in a river!" Nme'an says, imitating Mot's throwing motion from that day. "You wished to play your bag instrument? It takes two of us to un-suade you despite we are in enemy territory with dangers all rounds us," Nme'an says, gesturing to the multitude of fallen rocks and felled enemies at their feet.
"You do not lack courage or skill, but you more than make up for them both with your all too often only thinking of yourself! Protecting others is not so simple as doing well in battle and doing whatever it is you please any time else, the rest us be damned, yet that is what you do! You speak of getting hurt, yet you were the one to leave an ally bloodied and buried so that you might charge headlong into the enemy's spears alone by yourself!"
"You are not the only one to be wounded over these last few days..." Nme'an reminds Mot. The half-elf shudders slightly as the memories the party's injuries flash in his mind. He sees Shark lying broken at the paws of the OwlBear, Mot trapped within its death grip while its beak tore at his flesh, Beorae vanishing beneath the tumbling boulders, and once again feels the pain of his own neck being near fatally slit by the werewolf. "...you are simply and fortunately the only one of us to have suffered of your own recklessness and need for self glory. So far." he concludes.
"Sure thing, Red. It's no fun having you lying down unconscious", answers Themp, with a curt nod of gratitude over the handed potion and a playful grin over his own remark.
The glitter of jewelry and glass quickly catches his eyes and Themp can't help but move hungrily over the scattered loot.
His attention, however, is quickly diverted by yet another bickering between Mot and Nme'an.
Not these two again...
"Freckles", calls the scoundrel after wearily sitting down, "got any ideas of how to stop this this time? I'm still worn out of the last time..."
He raises an accusing finger when Nme’an mentions the owlbear. “Ah tossed yer mace so yoo’d learn not tah moorder a halpless craeture, not cuz ye dinnae want me tah haev a rriding baer. Dinnae think Ah’d heffta taech that to wun who ess haff forestfolk…” he spits on the ground between himself and the knight.
When the half-elf again brings up the druidess’ plight a few minutes ago, Mot shouts, exasperated, “Exakleh! Ah took teh foight tah them so she woonnae be hoort by ther speers and slengs, yoo dense sohd! Themp's a good lad an' fex'd 'er up queck wit' t'lixer!”
As the knight states his conclusion, Mot adds, with a sweeping motion to Beorae, Themp, and Shark, “An’ we’ve all suffared frum yer hoighty-toighty…ness! Duz yer knite code dahmand a poleshed silvar stick up yer arse, ya gleamin’ grumpus? Et explehn why yer so full o’ shoite! Yoo want e’erywun tah bea liek yoo, all stuffy wit’ yer false parfect weys, yer milkdrinker’s coorage and ne’er smilin’, straet-toothed shilpy, gether-uppin’ blate maw on yer fish-haerted, stumpy shtoner, bleetherin’ yer wormy-eyed hootin’ golfah liek et was teh mornin' sun!”
The highlander ends his own tirade with a sneer, stooped and heaving with anger. His wild, clear blue eyes stare down the knight in front of him, teetering between mockery and belligerence.
Nme'an maintains a frown throughout Mot's tirade, but is unable to stifle a chuckle once it finishes.
"I thought that, 'a true man only casts insults than anyone can understand'... the half-elf replies in clear, unbroken common.
While he was able, with difficulty, to keep a straight face through Mot's rant, Themp can't help but burst a single, loud "ha!" at the knight's mockery.
"Sorry, big man, but that last sentence was kind of blurry to me too.", the scoundrel remarks with a beaming smile on his face. Pushing himself up, he continues. "Now, you two, lets not get this out of proportion."
"Nemo", he beckons, turning to the armored half-elf. "The highlander clearly needs a fight or two to keep his wits sharp. The long trip is probably boring him out of his senses. He can't be entirely trusted with our sort of boring business, but he is obviously a lot of use in brawls. Try to be less... agitated with his manner, will ya? We're all in this extremely stressful quest together, like you or not. Say, why not keep him busy with small talk or thumb wars or something?"
"And you, big guy", Themp continues, doing a heel-spin to face Mot. "Mr. Protector-of-All-that-is-Noble-and-Fair is a knight apprentice. For all that I've seen back on the streets, he was probably brainwashed with these weird concepts of discipline and order, whatever the hell they mean with that. As far as I know, the Guard's order is a very big baton that hurts like hell..."
"But I digress! Mr. Shiny Pants over here isn't doing it out of spite. He simply doesn't know better. It is up to you and me to teach him how the real, gritty, outside world works and, while he is learning, we have to be very patient with him."
"Now", Themp adds, stepping back to address both of them simultaneously. "Mommy and daddy here are busy checking for traps and ambushes. Would you kids mind not slapping each other out and blowing our cover?", he wraps up, playful smile on his face.
Nme'an's moment of levity is cut short by Themp's comments. To Nme'an, the thief's words sound like little more than a backhanded confirmation of the highlander's barbed curses.
"Is that what you think of me? All three of you?" he asks, turning to look questioningly at Mot, Themp, and Beorae in turn. "That I am... just... a coward who does nothing but make demands you be perfect?"
"All I have tried is keep us all safe as we walk this dangerous path," he attempts to explain, sounding truly wounded now, "yet I get little more than the names of milk drinker, and brainwashed, and half-witted yak herder. I left my home to leave behind such treatment by my own kind, never did I expect I would receive it again whilst on a royal quest to save the king."
"*sigh* No, you're not all that. But we're not all knights and bastions of purity and knowledge and combat and seriousness either. It's like you get extremely angry every single time you perceive that. You know, it's really hard being nice to you all the time when you do it..."
"Is our quest important? Obviously. Is our quest simple? No. Is our quest stressful? Well beyond our wildest dreams. I certainly appreciate your effort to keep my sorry butt out of harm's way, but your attitude towards our... 'failures' makes us edgy. I'm quite glad Mot turned to name-calling over smacking you up to relieve his temper. That wouldn't do us any good now, would it?"
The wrath that began to boil over at Nme’an’s comeback is derailed by the city man, and the highlander’s anger-contorted face suddenly breaks into genuine laughter that looks to have even surprised Mot himself. He regains his composure in time to answer Themp’s rhetorical question.
“Aye, et wunnae…” he cracks his knuckles absent-mindedly. His tone lacks the fiery anger from before, replaced by utmost seriousness. He regards the knight with a quizzical look but adds nothing else.
If Mot's grudge against Nme'an concerns the killing of helpless creatures, promising to refrain in the future will be a step towards reconciliation.
"When have I asked anything of you except basic practicality? When ever have I made mention of a failure?" Nme'an asks in confusion.
Mot crosses his arms and furrows his heavy brow in thought, and after a moment answers flatly, “Well, yoo seem tah think Ah abaedin’d teh druidess… an’ yoo mistaek mah toss o’ yer mace as a greevince...”
"I do not have to think it. I saw it." Nme'an says confidently, burying his wounded feelings away. "You rushed into the midst of six foes without so much as making sure she could free herself! I do not care what badly spoken word you choose to put to your actions, they are what happened."
He sights and then speaks somewhat more calmly, saying, "I do not scold you only for her sake, but for your sake as well. Alone, with a small measure of good fortune, either you or I could best a group this size. I did so not two nights before, but at great injury to myself. If not for this healing gift I have been granted I would likely not be here now. The same goes for you. You have come away from nearly every scrape so far in needings of our healing as you refuse to work with us. There is a flow to a battle... there are tactics that together we can... the knight begins to say, letting his enthusiasm at being able to explain strategy make him forget just who it is he is talking to.
Nme'an stops mid-sentence and instead finishes with: "From our first meeting all you have done is mock and disrespect me. If you still cannot grasp why I have done what I have done or why depriving a man of his weapon in the midst of enemy territory is wrong why then should I expect you will listen now? Get on with your insults that I am sure are coming. I will guard the rear and suckle my milk or...or whatever new falsehood you decide to throw back at me," he finishes, unwilling to think up additional insults for the big man to use against him.
“Yoo asked. Ah ansured,” he replies tersely when the paladin reviews his perceived faults. When Nme’an is finished, the highlander keeps a hard glare at the knight for a few silent moments, punctuating the silence with another loud snort and spit to the ground. It splats close to the half-elf’s boots. “Yoo alrreadee know wut Ah thenk o’ yoo.”
His gaze softens somewhat over Themp, Beorae, and Shark as he turns back toward the mouth of the large cave. Limping over to the bodies, he drags the leader closer and palms a kobold head he severed in the battle. Grunting as he kneels to the ground, the wild man draws his dagger and works its edge against the tough scales.
Next, the others see him cut a short leather strip from kobold armor. After a few more minutes, he rises, standing a bit straighter than before, with two scaly snouts pierced and threaded through a leather necklace swinging across his broad chest with each step.
While Mot is making (yet another!) ornament, Nme'an ventures into the large opening in the cliff wall and peers down the tunnel the Kobold used to make their attack.
Beorae is at first confused by the argument, especially since she appears to be at the center of it. After a moment of silence, she interjects, “If the both of you are quite finished, I'd like to say something,” looking Mot and Nme'an in the eye as she sums up their attitudes.
“First, and I apologize if this is off-base because I was unconscious at the time, but it would seem that Mot was pulling rocks off of me and stopped doing so when the kobolds arrived, leaving Themp to revive me, yes? To be honest, I think that was probably a good decision, seeing the imminent danger we were in and his capabilities as a fighter. Considering we're all in one piece and they,” she indicates the kobolds, especially the decapitated one, “aren't, I think everyone acted appropriately.”
The druidess winces away a fresh wave of pain and pauses for a second to heal herself with the wand, taking a deep breath as her wounds close a bit more
“Now, Mot. You and Nme'an obviously don't see eye-to-eye on many things, but that's no reason to throw insults. They don't get us anywhere and only serve to separate us. And out here, I don't want to be separated. Nme'an has legitimate concerns about the safety of this party, and I think it's important to hear him out. And Nme'an, Mot obviously has much pride in his victories and battle prowess, so let's see what we can do to encourage that while keeping things… sane. We need to listen to each other.”
I may be new to fighting like this—and goodness knows I need some practice—but you and Nme'an aren't. The things I've seen you two do this last week are impressive, to say the least. Maybe you two can find common strength in that.”
Beorae scoops up the seven gold coins and turns back to the troupe with a smile. She flips two coins to each of her companions and pockets the last one. “And I'm buying beers at the next inn for whoever kills the most kobolds between now and the far side of the pass. And these don't count! Now, let's get a move-on, shall we?,” she finishes, calling Shark to her side.
Both tunnels at opposite ends of the shallow cave are too small to walk comfortably -one of Nme’an’s size would have to crawl on his hands and knees to make any progress in them. Neither of them are lit, and even his elven eyes have trouble seeing far into the dark. Of what he can see does not strike him as significant. His nose detects the musk often carried by scaly things, and no noise from either tunnel reaches his ears. It could be that the rockslide and following skirmish was not noticed by other nearby kobolds ...for now, at least.
Mot nods like a scolded child at the reprimand from the druidess, looking down and not meeting her eye -a peculiar sight for such an imposing figure. As she turns her words to Nme’an, he lifts a glare to the knight under his bushy eyebrows. He twists his mouth in dislike at the thought of a commonality with Nme’an, but the thought is quickly banished at the mention of ale. His large hand move uncannily fast and catches the coin as he nods at the idea. He points two thick fingers at his clear blue eyes, and then turns those two fingers at the paladin.
“Noo cheetin’...” he squints.
The Casns warrior inspects his pack to confirm that he still has everything he did before the rockslide trap. He tugs on the greatsword slung over his back to ensure an easy draw, and indicates that he is ready to go with a slap on the backside of the kobold that slumps over a shoulder.
"Lazima sote kupuuzwa katika neema ya Kobold, Bi Sevenstone? Hata kama ilimaanisha moja iliyopita alitoroka kuleta nyuma wengine?" Nme'an asks, rhetorically. "Hata hivyo, una kuomba msamaha wangu kwa zaidi ya kuchochea yake. Ni tu... ni wewe ambaye aliondoka chini ya miamba..."
"No need," Nme'an replies to Mot, as he flashes the big man a sly, challenging smile.
'If such a game can keep us from each other's throats while it keeps us safe then I win either way!'
"Should we all have ignored you in favor of the Kobold, Ms. Sevenstone? Even if it meant the last one escaped to bring back others?" Nme'an asks rhetorically. "Still, you have my apology for further provoking him. It's just... it was you who he left under the rocks..."
“You seem to be ignoring the fact that Themp appears to have had the situation under control. Now, I'm not upset about it, so please let it go,” Beorae responds. She approaches Mot and places a hand on his shoulder, healing wand in the other.
Turning back to Nme'an, she says in a quieter voice, “Na kama mimi kukumbuka, wewe ambaye alikuwa ataondoka na mimi kwa Crossing. Hivyo mimi nadhani wawili wa wewe ni hata.”
Beorae closes her eyes and inhales deeply, rolling her shoulders back. Exhaling, she opens her eyes and looks back at Nme'an, “Mimi kuomba msamaha, kwamba alikuwa kabisa halipo-kwa. Crossing ilikuwa hali tofauti kabisa, na Mimi najua wewe walikuwa tu kujaribu kulinda yetu. Mimi si kama hisia wanyonge; lazima kuwa akampiga chord, nadhani.”
At first, Nme'an is unable to find the words to respond he is so stunned and confused by Beorae's equivalence.
"Ni haki ya wote. Sisi wote ni chini ya mengi ya dhiki," he says with a slight, accepting bow
"It is all right. We are all under a lot of stress."
Satisfied with Beorae's intervention (and put off by all the Elven), Themp finds himself rummaging through the loot. He quickly pockets the silver coins and carefully stashes the remaining 3 vials of Alchemist's Fire in his bag. Scowling at the severed fingers, he picks himself up and idly checks the trap that took them by surprise.
The four continue through the pass, and it is not long before Miss Sevenstone notices a boulder that seems to be out of place. Searching further, she finds a part of the ground engineered to lower under pressure, causing the great boulder to roll onto and crush anything that might step into that pressure-sensitive area. Circumventing the hazard and pressing on, the group continues for an hour, over the course of half a mile, before Themp sees another covered pit trap. The four carefully edge their way around it, and proceed on their northern path.
A whimper from the highlander draws eyes of his quiet traveling companions, to see him turn a suspicious look to the kobold hanging over a shoulder. The suspicion turns to surprise when the lizard creature suddenly springs to action, attempting to leap free of the Casns’ broad shoulder.
But the kobold is still slow from waking up, and the men and half-elves are quick to react!
“Ho-ho! No yoo doon’t!” chuckles the big man as he brings up his muscular arms to close around the escaping kobold.
And before the scaly critter get too far, Mot pins the creature to his chest in a bear hug. His great, snaggled-tooth maw smiles at the small kobold face inches from his own.
“Yoo aen’t goin’ nowhere!” he beams to the shrieking captive.
"As long as you got it there you may as well question it..." Nme'an suggests. "...about what it knows of the Prince and his men," Nme'an adds quickly, to make sure he and the big man are on the same page as to which kind of questions to ask. "Perhaps you can tempt it to answer with this," he says as he retrieves then tosses one of his wrapped trail rations over to Mot.
A meaty arm tightens around the small lizard like an iron vice as the other, now freed, swings out and grabs the food out of the air. In one smooth motion the big Highlander shoves the rations, wrapping and all, straight into the open mouth of the panicking Kobold, muting it's frightened cries.
"Wha doo yoo know aboot tha keengs soon?!" The Urlghain growls to his captive. Spittle flies and snaggle-teeth flash as the hair-covered face contorts menacingly.
Nme'an brings the palm of his hand up to cover his eyes and face as he shakes his head. "Kwamba alikwenda kuhusu vizuri kama mimi inatarajiwa ..." he mumbles to himself.
"That went about as well as I expected..."
To think I'm starting to get used to this…
“Hey, Mot. Can we kill this one yet?,” Beorae asks, although not very menacingly.
The kobold struggles against the stuffed mouth, eyes wide from his wild eyed captor’s demand. His tiny pointed teeth work the food until he has enough movement to spit it out onto the ground.
“Not!” the small, scaly one gasps, “Know not! Very! Only men. Horses with…”
He trails off as he looks around at the rock face, trying to discern where he woke up. Gears turning behind his tiny yellow eyes, he adds, “Dumb men. Ride into…” he pauses, appearing to search for a word, “tarps. Such deads. Not escapes many.”
Looking over the four, he levels his lizardly head with as much pride as one could muster while pinned to a great hairy wild man. “Me ready is, to be the execute. Very.”
"They rode in here with horses? Little man... Err... lizardfolk, something smells fishy in your story."
"What did you do with them, then?"
“Not man!” the kobold spits at the thief, “Not lizard! Very Kobold! Dragon in blood!”
Visibly offended, the small reptilian warrior looks to the highlander angrily. “Let go! Not run. Will talk.”
Nme'an heals himself while the Kobold gives a surprisingly astute rant.
Then, speaking slowly and simply, he addresses Mot's captive, saying, "Kobold. We are not here to kill. We only wish to pass north and then return to our land. Can us show us safe places to hide? Safe places to camp? Safe ways around traps? If so we will heal you and set you free."
The kobold dusts himself off after he is released by the wild man. Taking a few steps back, he pays close attention to the words of knight. When he is done, the kobold squints in suspicion. “What know you at north?”
Mots characteristic grin plants itself on his face as he looks down on the stunty-creature. "Wea knoo thars ae book that'll cure tha keeng!" He leans down bringing his face close to the lizard-man. "Ahn wea knoo Ah'll bea tha oone ta find et!" The behemoth straightens and plants both fists confidently on his hips.
"What we know does not mat..." Nme'an begins to answer the Kobold only to have the big man reveal their mission without giving a thought to the implications. "What does matter is if you will help," Nme'an continues after giving Mot an unhappy look. "We did not come here to kill but we will have to kill more without help. Our task is too important to let anyone to get in the way of it..." the knight apprentice informs their captive.
"Now, Kobold. Are you going to get in our way? Or are you going to help us pass safely?"
The reptilian captive takes another step back from the highlander, his expression a confused mix of dislike and fear of the big man. “...book...?” He takes on a calculating look when he listens to the knight. The unspoken threat moves him to a more defensive posture, and after a moment of consideration, the kobold hisses, “Me warrior low. Not command. Knows not all trrraps. Use we holes in rock, not accidents, not remember traps. Holes such small to men. Command remember very trap, every. Safe places I know.”
“Me help. Will judge be to mining for help,” the kobold gulps, “if not the execute.”
The small warrior suddenly bites hard onto one of his claws, and dark blood beads where his tiny sharp teeth punctured scale. He meets the knights eyes again, and says with utmost seriousness, “Praw miss,” he holds out his bleeding claw, “you will not kill in trade for help. You will not betray me sleeping. Me fight not for you. Me help safe places to you only. North go, not killing dragon kind. Praw miss.”
The blood of dragons drips on the dry ground between the kobold and the knight.
This kobold still clutches to pride even while captured. Nme’an doesn’t think he will take kindly to bribery. The kobold clearly weighed many options before answering the knight; enough for Nme’an to guess at the high risk involved with aiding an enemy to the kobolds. Moreover, the severity of the offered oath lends evidence that this kobold will not go back on his word.
"What you say sounds good but for two things. One, we will defend ourselves if we are attacked no matter by who, and two," Nme'an raises his voice so the others can hear him, "I do not speak for all here. We must all agree to these terms or they mean nothing."
The druidess has heard of this custom among other “uncivilized” people, when a solemn agreement is struck by two parties. Both draw blood on their hands and then join hands, but whether the kobold expects a handshake, forearm clasp, or simple interlaced fingers, is unclear to Beorae.
The kobold nods slowly, understanding. “If found, me hide. Not fight. Not fight if capture of dragon kind.” He looks around to the other three in turn, but keeps his claw extended toward Nme'an. "You..." he tries to think of the right words, and fails, then gestures that only Nme'an needs to join hands. "...for every."
Beorae sizes up the little kobold, satisfied with the severity of his blood custom.
“Well, I for one promise,” she says to Nme'an and the kobold.
Themp's eyes narrow in suspicion.
I didn't make it this far in life by trusting anyone...
"Aye, wee lizzrd boyo! Wealcoom ta tha teem!" Mot smiles down on the bleeding creature.
While he sees that the kobold is given little choice, cooperate or die, the thief's suspicion catches on what this reptile isn't promising: not calling attention to the group for his kobold friends. He could be liable to announce their presence if the bargain is stuck it is now. Aside from that detail, this kobold seems earnest in doing what he must to not die.
"Not lizard!" the kobold shrieks at the big man's welcome.