The druidess hears Nme'an's call and waves a sign of recognition across the field. “Kuna ufunguzi mwingine juu hapa juu ya mwamba huu katikati,” she answers, signaling the opening she just discovered.
"She says that the large group of rocks between us and her has another tunnel exit," Nme'an relays to Mot.
A toneless grunt acknowledges the healing touch as half-blind eyes look to the boulder the paladin indicates. Pushing off of one muscle-bound leg the highlander begins sprinting, until at the last moment he launches himself off the ground directly into the side of the rock.
The kobold does not show himself right away, and the Casns’ pounding steps set a ground-eating pace across the ravine. Olp stares with wide eyes at the bloodlust that drives the mountain of a man. The captive, now understanding the pointing and running, breaks for the side of the huge boulder as well. He squats with his back against stone, changing his cover from any arrows that might come.
Mot flinches and redirects his course slightly, with an instinctive snarl at the patch of gravel he nearly stepped into. “Yer lyin’ ground…” he growls.
The highlander reaches the boulder and launches himself into the air, his roving boots clearing five feet high. His chest slams against the side of the boulder, and his thick fingers scrape over the rough stone, unable to find purchase. Mot’s bulky form begins to slide down, and he lands on his feet, leaving a bloody streak on the great stone in front of him.
With the big man gone, Nme'an again retrieves his bow and moves back down the incline intending to help cover the west side of the small valley.
The silence persists...
Nme'an double times it to get to the nearest boulder for cover then begins searching, alternating his gaze north, then east, then south in a repeating pattern looking the dangerous Kobold archer. The growing pain caused by even just a few of the repetitive movements sees the knight apprentice absent mindedly touch his arrow wound with his free hand. To his surprise, the pain abruptly ceases.
'Not what I intended...' he thinks to himself as he glares at his hand unsure if he hadn't just used the last of his still new gift on a manageable wound.
Glaring at the bloody streak on the rock face before him, Mot hefts his greatsword and stabs it straight into the cliff face. Using this new purchase he simultaneously pulls himself up and stabs higher, repeating the process until the giant of a man has reached the top of the boulder. Feet planted firmly on the boulder-top he glares around for the foe.
Spotting a hole in the top of the boulder the Highlander looks down the 15 foot tunnel to see the Kobold archer at the bottom of a ladder. With a devious, bloodthirsty grin the warrior ducks down out of sight of the holes opening and prepares to strike.
Spotting a hole in the top of the boulder the Highlander looks down the 15 foot tunnel to see the Kobold archer at the bottom of the ladder. With a devious, bloodthirsty grin the warrior whistles down at the Blood Arrow.
"Yoo hoo! Speshal deelevery!" Hefting the massive blade over his shoulder like the oft used spear, the big man hurls the weapon down the Kobold-hole.
Even though the heavy Casns’ blade was not forged for flight, the kobold still must dance out of the way of its incoming point. The clanging of steel against stone is nearly drowned out by an exasperated shriek from the Blood Arrow. “Why you everywhere?!”
The wild man sees the archer kobold disappear through an underground tunnel at the bottom of the hole. The tunnel mouth goes west, but it is unclear where it leads from beyond that.
Shark’s fur bristles as the big grey tiger lowers to a crouch. The druidess sees her companion’s eyes blacken and nostrils flare in the direction of the hole at the top of the ramp where they waited. While she doesn’t hear the kobold herself, she knows her tiger can smell that the Blood Arrow is close.
Beorae knows Shark's body language well enough to know when he catches the scent of prey. The druidess gently grabs the scruff of the tiger's neck and, lowering her head next to his ears, whispers to Shark to stand his ground. For the moment, at least.
Beorae flexes her other hand and it fills with flame as she allows the spell she had been holding back to finish casting. Trying to slow her heart rate and stay calm, she readies herself for attack at the first sign of the kobold.
"One for you then?" Nme'an shouts to Mot upon seeing the big man's powerful throw into the tunnel. Still, the half-elf waits for Mot's confirmation before letting down his guard and breaking cover.
Mots head jerks up sharply at the sound of his name. His red-gaze tries to focus over the distance and he spots the paladin. Barely perceiving the question his snaggle-teeth bar in an angry frown. Without any sort of comprehensible word the beast of a man practically tears a dagger from his belt as he leaps for the hole, feet first into hell.
The wild man falls out of sight of his companions, down a hole scarcely wide enough for his muscular form. The hewn rock walls batter him on the way down, and with no room to roll, the highlander’s feet land hard on the tunnel floor, sending pain shooting up his legs. The tunnel goes in two opposite directions, though the barbarian saw which way the kobold escaped. He would need to lower to his hands and knees to go through either tunnel. Peering in that direction shows only utter blackness, for these dragonkind need no light to see.
The small sound the shattering clay precedes an explosion in Shark’s face. While most of the chemicals burn the walls of the tunnel for only a moment longer, the big grey tiger still snarls at the minor burns on his nose. The archer does not show himself.
Based on brief sounds of movement after the explosion of alchemist’s fire, it appears that the kobold is not far within the tunnel system.
Biting down on the blade of his dagger the crazed warrior drops down and scampers through the tunnels on all fours, pursuing the hated enemy.
Spotting Mot's jump down into the tunnels and Beorae's hands ignite. Clearly they have spotted the enemy so he hurries to support them.
Beorae lies down above the tunnel entrance and peers into the dark, ready to ignite the kobold should he appear.
“Shark, stay!”
Shark’s enlarged pupils look up at Beorae, then into the black tunnel, his tense body crouched and ready to spring.
The light from the druidess’ hand carries into the tunnel, and her elven eyes catch the glint of two beady reptilian eyes peering back, a mere twenty-five feet away. Suddenly, a crawling Mot appears behind the kobold with a dagger clenched between his large teeth. The Blood Arrow turns at the sound of the wild man and yelps.
Trapped and desperate, the kobold takes a step back from the bloodied Urlghain. In a single motion smooth and quick, he draws an arrow, pulls back the string, and releases the shot with a cry in his native tongue. “Sos, yol, ahrk zin!”
The red arrow misses the highlander’s great hairy head by inches, burying deep into his shoulder. Somehow, this does not stop the Casns warrior. His reddened vision sees silhouette of the Blood Arrow a short crawl away, thanks to the light from the distant entrance of the tunnel.
Beorae pitches the handful of fire and it splashes against the kobold’s back. The stench of burning scales fills the tight space and a howl of pain echoes out from the tunnel. It does not kill the him, but the archer still has no where to run.
Nme'an continues towards Beorae.
Still crawling forward Mots arm nearly falls out from under him as the arrow hits. His roar of pain is deafening in the close quarters of the tunnel. As he screams in rage the dagger falls from his mouth into a waiting hand. Looming over the archer the warrior stabs with what strength remains to him.
Realizing his companions have narrowed down, if not trapped, the aggressor, Themp moves in to help. The path he chooses, for no particular reason, passes right by Olp, who has wandered far too away for the scoundrel's comfort.
As he runs by the kobold, Themp makes a point of narrowing his eyes at the little creature.
As the fire leaps from her hand, Beorae directs Shark to attack the kobold.
Without missing a beat, the tiger moves in on the cornered prey, teeth bared.
Shark’s sharp teeth bite into scales, but the burned and bloodied archer pulls away with a defiant sneer.
Olp looks terrified at the shrieks and roars echoing out from the underground tunnels. At the draconic words shouted by the Blood Arrow, Olp blinks, and his reptilian features form what could be a sad expression. He repeats the words quietly to himself. “Sos, yol, ahrk zin...” When he meets the eyes of the thief, he looks down, preoccupied by a solemn thought.
Themp spots a covered pit trap hidden amid the chunks of rock, and diverts his course somewhat.
The blood from many wounds makes the berserker’s hands slippery, and he nearly loses grip of the dagger when the Blood Arrow dodges the attack.
Finding it impossible to escape, and confined to close quarters, the archer drops his bow and pulls a spear from the pack on his back. Thinking that Mot is too weary to fight on, the kobold faces his new assailant and lunges the spearpoint at the big grey tiger.
But the stab is slow and Shark dodges it easily.
Mot swings with furious force.
"The words. What does they mean?" Nme'an asks gently as he replaces Themp in watching their Kobold guide.
Beorae reaches forward, placing her hand on Shark's back. “Lumos!” As soon as she makes contact with her companion, the gray cat instantly becomes his own light source. “Finish him, Mot!”
The kobold's eyes shine brightly in the bluish light and Shark lunges at his foe.
The frantic grunts of battle speed Themp up.
Olp looks up at the paladin and shakes his head grimly. “Not help…” he struggles in Common, “you of knowing, w-words not help ...you. Very.”
Themp ducks just inside the small tunnel, to find cramped, chaotic combat. The grey tiger wraps tight around his foe, and the kobold snarls and snaps as he tries to twist himself free.
But Shark is too strong! The Blood Arrow is unable to escape.
Mot squints and stares at the tiger with it's grasp of the small lizard man. His heart still pumps furiously, but the majority of the blood seeps out of his many gaping wounds. He inhales sharply as some of the pain makes itself felt. Gripping his knife tightly he shifts his weight and makes a stab at the archer prone on the ground. The effort forces him to his knees as the big man works to force his face to glare even as the color starts to leave his eyes.
"If you are sure the words will not help us, or hurt us, I will leave them alone," Nme'an assures Olp.
The big cat tries to maintain his hold on the Blood Arrow.
Meanwhile, Beorae sees Themp come up to the opening. Stepping out, she lays a hand on the rogue and channels magic of focus into him.
At the sight of the carnage, Themp drops his bow and draws his dagger. In one swift, fluid movement, he lunges at the ball of fur and scales and stabs the kobold.
Still in the grip of the young tiger, the Blood Arrow manages to dodge Shark’s chomping fangs. The feline’s claws catch in the archer’s leather armor, and do not pierce his scaled hide.
Themp’s blade buries into the kobold’s chest, up to the hilt, and the Blood Arrow slumps in the clutches of Shark. The Blood Arrow is dead.
The ravine is silent once more, much to the distress of Olp.
The draconic words appears to be a mantra, or perhaps a battle cry, used by the kobolds. Battle cries, at least in Nme’an’s experience, usually stir the courage of the crier. Olp is quite likely feeling a lot of guilt over the lack of courage he’s shown thus far, on top of feeling partially, if not wholly responsible for the death of a Blood Arrow. Based on the reverence or fear Olp showed when the archer was known, Nme’an can guess that the Blood Arrows might be an elite group of kobold warriors, much like the Order of the Dawnflower.
Seeing Themp appear, as if from nowhere, and plunge his dagger into the Kobolds side causes Mot to lose what little grip he still held on his fury. Bloody and haggard, the big warrior slumps where he is, still on his knees in the tunnel. He tries to smile at his companion, but there is no more strength left. "Wheel doone, Boyo." he says as his own knife falls from now limp fingers.
"Red, Nme'an, quick!", shouts Themp out of the cave, as he rushes to bloody mess that Mot is on the floor. To the best of his, admitedly lousy, abilities, the scoundrel tries to stop the bleeding.
Nme'an observes Olp in the moments of silence. Clearly the battle is over and while the Kobold is sworn to help them for a time it is clear that in reality it was his side that lost today. "If there is any ritual or burial that should be performed explain it to me and I will see it carried out," the Paladin offers sincerely.
"Coming!" Nme'an shots back when Themp's call for help rings out a few seconds later.
Beorae pushes her way back into the tunnel, trying to avoid the kobold corpse and growing pool of blood under the two. “Here, let me try…”
Placing her hand on the Highlander's shoulder, the druidess says a small but indecipherable prayer and channels healing energies into the big man.
Withdrawing her hand, Beorae holds her breath and keeps her eyes on Mot, watching for any sign of life or movement.
Mots eyes flutter open and he coughs up a lungful of blood. The bleeding seems to stop as some of his minor wounds start to close.
Increasingly heavy clanking proceeds Nme'an's arrival at the tunnel's entrance. "Is everyone all right?" he asks.
Then, after seeing that his three companions are all alive and that the archer is not, he asks: "Who got the kill?"
Olp shrugs as the paladin departs for his comrades.
The deceased kobold wears scuffed but well-crafted leather armor fitted to his small frame. A strange eyepiece is strapped to his head, conically shaped with the point shorn flat. The hollowed inside of the eyepiece appears to be a few layers of glass that magnifies what the user sees through it, from a certain distance. The cone-shaped lense housing seems to be made of horn. Over the leather armor, a necklace of eight thumbs hangs from the Blood Arrow’s neck. Around the waist a black leather belt is clasped; the belt looks wide on his small body, and new holes punched further in the leather strip suggest that this belt originally belonged to someone larger than a kobold. The belt buckle is polished iron, shaped into the head of a panther with bared fangs. A quiver of arrows and three belt pouches hang from the black leather, and one of the pouches secures a corked potion. The other two belt pouches are empty. A darkwood ring adorns one of the kobold’s clawed digits, and closer inspection reveals elven engraving along the band: Kulala na njaa mapigo msafiri. Kamwe zaidi.
Sleep and hunger plagues the traveler. Nevermore.
The spear dropped from the Blood Arrow is crudely made, like many of the spears used by the lesser kobold warriors. However, the Blood Arrow’s bow retrieved from the tunnel appears to be made for a man’s hands, and expertly so, despite the kobold’s small build. It is unclear how long the composite shortbow was in possession of the Blood Arrow, but its wood is well-oiled and the string recently waxed.
In the pack on the kobold’s back, a drawstring pouch containing one hundred gold pieces in various denominations is found among climbing gear, a bundle of rope, a small bedroll, flint and tinder, and three smokesticks.
Back in the midday sun, Beorae lays out the five magical items on the rocks. She focuses on each item one-by-one, turning them over in her hands, inspecting the magic emanating from within.
“Themp, you might get some use out of those smokesticks.”
The druidess knows for certain that the five items possess magical properties, but how the magic works is unclear. The potion is labeled on the side, in the draconic tongue, Kem karaak. Asking Olp the meaning, he says that drinking the potion will toughen the drinker’s scales.
Beorae’s inspection of the wooden ring reveals that it grows or shrinks to fit the bearer, but she does not think that is only use of its magic. Trying it on soothes any pangs of hunger, along with any thirst brought on by the half day of travel already. Anyone who buckles the belt around their waist feels more limber, their joints less stiff and a greater control of precise movements. Testing the eyepiece reveals that the lenses are fixed to magnify objects between thirty and sixty feet away. Being too far to be a jeweler’s eyeglass, and too short in range for a surveyor’s telescope, its usefulness is obscure until Themp takes a look through it.
If he were to use a bow while looking through this eyepiece, he is fairly certain he could pinpoint vital areas as far as sixty feet away.
Drawing the magical composite bow does not reveal anything unique or unusual. Perhaps its magic will be evident when fired at a living target.
While Beorae is occupied, Nme'an takes a moment to inspect the gold within the pouch chiefly looking to determin its origin.
Oy, I should have paid more attention when Ferwald was talking about the Arcane…
“Well… I'm sorry to say that I don't know what these things do for certain, but I think most of them are pretty evident. This bow, though,” she says, trying to draw back the string, “is still a mystery.” She lowers the string back to its standing position, careful to not dry fire the weapon, and hands it to Nme'an. “Mawazo?”
While she waits for the paladin's reply, Beorae turns back to Mot, inspecting his wounds. She draws the wand from her pocket and puts a hand on the Urlghain's shoulder, “Hold still a minute…”.
Currency has a way of traveling far and wide, and even in Brakton, it was not a surprise to find gold of dwarven and elven mint mixed in with coins of the king. Nme’an finds gold coins imprinted with the five-pointed crown representing Andreat rule, as well as gold from elven and dwarven dominions. The dwarf gold is marked with in bold runes, and a tree with branches and roots fanning out to opposite ends of the round elven gold piece. One mint that is encircled with a strange language along the edge of the circle, neither dwarven nor elven, and most of the face is smooth, lacking any symbol. These unusual coins are the majority of wealth carried by the late Blood Arrow.
The strange coins are of kobold make. For most merchants, the weight and authenticity of the gold are more important than where it comes from. In large trade markets like in Thaleniel and Port Elam, kobold gold can be found among the currency, though it is something of a rarity in comparison to human and dwarven gold. While the elves do mint a currency for foreign trade, they tend to prefer the exchange of goods over precious metals.
While there is no law against using kobold-minted gold in business, some in noble and high society refuse to use such coins for fear that they could be implicated for treason. Overall, most folk assume someone carrying kobold gold didn't actually do business with kobolds.
"I do not object to using the Kobold's weapons or potions," Nme'an speaks up after a long frowning moment of thought. "His overlarge bow in particular seems to itself be stolen and the way this last few days have gone it seems we may need them. But the money? What right do we have to loot the corpse of a soldier inside the borders of his own nation?"
"If a Kobold were to kill a Vyrenian soldier near the Crossing and take his money purse we would all call it wrong, would we not?" he asks sincearly.
“True. But I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that these Elven, Dwarven, and Thaleniel coins were procured in the same way that bow was. Not sure about these flat ones, though,” she says, holding up one of the strange coins to the light.
"Not at all. Given that the kobold has already killed the soldier, taking the money or not would certainly add no more wrongness or righteousness to its deeds. As I see it, by participating in a conflict, you forfeit anything you're carrying to the winner of the conflict, unless you run away. And don't forget, the kobold initiated the conflict."
"Those flat coins are kobold in make. I've... seen a few back home. Merchants don't really care where the money is from, as long as it holds its weight."
"You make a fair point, Themp. I did even try and... speak with... him," Nme'an recalls. "However, I want no share of the gold. It still does not feel right to me."