Meneas settles in for the night, sitting just within the trapped area, with Veil squeezing in as well.
After conferring with Lina on the location, Brental's brow furrows.
"If the Narlmarches are the opposite direction of Mekmek's home, then let's stay here at the Sycamore for the evening. It is a defensible position. We can still post a watch."
Lina nods, “It’s not that we don’t have ample time, I imagine, but too much to-ing and fro-ing would be a bit tedious. We could see if we can find Tyg and Peri on the way back to the trading post, though: they were fun.”
Eventually, the witch finds herself a comfortable hollow in the tree and ensconces herself with her spellbook, disappearing into arcane dreams.
The party take their turns in watch and resting off the days events. Brental manages to get the traps set up with some help from Mekmek who is surprisingly addept at the placement and construction of such things.
Eventually, sleep takes you all.
"Don't listen!" a strained female voice calls out to you. And you feel a warm hand on your own. "Don't listen to him please!"
The dream fades and Brental's sleep is at peace thereafter.
On Lina's watch, all seemed quiet until about an hour in when there is a loud yipping and screaming noise from just further down the tunnels.
One the the snares Brenal and Mekmek have set seems to have found its way around the leg of a mitflit trying to creep back into his home.
Two other mites syand behind him when the group appear. Smacking and attempting to shush the screaming mite when they notice the adventurers and turn on their heels to flee.
Lina wakes for her watch rather frazzled, a frown soon settling over her features as she tries to hold on to her dreams, or at least the good parts. The flowers were lovely, but then the mental shadow of that black nightmare bird appeared. A dream within a dream, or something like that. The subject itself is perhaps unsurprising, given where she’s spending the night, but it still makes her skin crawl.
She is roused from her musings by something blundering into some of the traps set around the perimeter, and she quickly snatches up her bow and moves to rouse the others.
“Trouble,” is all she says before she moves down the tunnels, giving them time to collect themselves.
Calling up a magical light and then nocking an arrow as she goes, she stops short as she sees the mites retreat. Her features harden, and she threatens harshly, using simple Elven words to try to cross the language barrier, “<Go now, and don’t come back. Or die.>”
She repeats the last verb in a hurried cycle through every language she knows, and adds a warning shot to boot, aiming just beside the snared mite.
Almost as soon as she’s released, she realizes that she's given it too merciful a margin to be particularly threatening, so she reaches for another arrow to show she’s serious.
She waits for the others, ready to follow their lead as to whether it’s best to pursue the creeping things into the last of the night, or just try moving and resetting the line of defense and letting the others get back to their rest.
Meneas jerks awake from his sleep when Lina speaks. Always more blood. Standing, he grabs his sword and shield before joining Lina. He also grabs his cloak and pulls up his hood. "What's going on - ah." He gazes down on the mites from within his cowl. "Well, I guess you were right, Brental." The knight-errant says.
Fitful sleep gives way to a grumbling wakefulness. Brental's mind is troubled, perhaps as much by the previous day still feeling unfinished as by dreams that he can't shake. He knows better at this point in his training to ignore the portents of the dream world, even if they have an orher-reality to them.
Brental doesn't like being right in this case. He frowns as he sees the trapped mite, left behind by its fleeing brethren. Vodnykel shuffles nervously behind. He's tired, too. Wonder if he had dreams...
The druid does not draw a weapon. Instead he takes a looming step forward, allowing his head and shoulders to touch the ceiling instead of crouching. He adds to Lina's quick quip.
"Your war is over. You do not have to die as well. Leave while you can."
He tries to translate this into undercommon as well, hoping to find the right balance of menace to ward them off.
He fixes his gaze on the mite, uncertain whether it had used it's innate magic for the day or not. He was prepared to let this creature go, if it indicated readiness to actually flee.
The druid begins paying close and careful attention to the demeanor of the mites as they answer, listening for lies and half-truths.
The mite flails wildly against the trap and glowers up at the pair addressing it. "Multar! Vocês, altos, tiraram tudo de nós! Agora me liberte para que eu possa vagar sem rumo até morrer, sacos de carne!" The creature spits, kicking Lina's arrow over to demonstrate its point as Mekmek slowly approaches from behind the others.
Brental hears the spite before he registers the meaning of the words. His chest thumps once with a single, near-involuntary half chuckle. Not amusement: just acceptance.
"His language is colorful, but he claims we to everything from him and ways to go. Fatalistic at that."
The druid now bends down into a crouch several paces away from the trap. He hadn't detected any obvious lies or obfuscation.
Brental first thinks to enter into debate with the creature. Having taken everything seemed like a gross overstatement, but maybe there was more history in the area with humanoids than Brental thought. Otherwise...yes, he and his companions had cut a swath of death here and were prepared to remove valuables to take with them. Could they negotiate to leave something behind, or would that perpetuate this cycle?
Then there was the point that they had tried to negotiate, only entering when their friends were taken. It was tragic, perhaps, but they had their reasons for violence.
Finally, this war with the kobolds, however it had started and whatever the motivating factors on either side, needed to be over.
But this was too much, too complex to attempt to translate.
Brental looks at his companions before addressing the mite again.
"If I release you, will you go quietly or try to attack me?"
This is the part of the story that Lina doesn’t like as much: the fall of the city, when everything sinks in. She talks a big game, but at the end of the day, while she may have learned some tricks with sword and spear and spell, in some ways she’s still a young woman who it’s a lot easier to see in a back room or parlour plaiting wreaths than cutting a bloody swathe through the front lines.
There’s something brittle in the forced lightness of the new role she’s settled into of a cheerful ruffian as she tries to scare the mite into backing down.
It was a savage mess of a day, but at least she and her friends didn’t chain anyone up to die of thirst and other tortures. She hopes this last mite won’t be stupid, and she places her arrow back in her quiver as a sign of her good faith, but she can’t imagine not understanding if Mekmek goes rather wild. For now, it’s not her place to restrain him.
The mite starts gnawing at his bindings and grunts. "Me deixe sair! Deixe-me sair agora ou então! Devemos caçá-lo para sempre! Você nunca vai dormir profundamente de novo saco de carne!"
Mekmek growls and lowers his spear at the mite. "Let go? No ugly mite needs to die-die. Mite is evil-bad! Will try to hurt-kill friend-kin again!"
Meneas looks to his companions, his blade still at the ready. "I'm not sure they're smart enough to learn the lessons, now that they've come back after we killed their leadership and most of their pets."
He pauses. "Mekmek, I don't think they'll be able to kill any more of your tribe. They don't have much of anyone left, and their pets are dead."
The mite starts gnawing at his bindings and grunts. "Me deixe sair! Deixe-me sair agora ou então! Devemos caçá-lo para sempre! Você nunca vai dormir profundamente de novo saco de carne!"
Given some of her most recent training, Lina can see Mekmek’s point. It’s not that she’s paranoid, exactly, but even with such pathetic wretches as mites in pursuit, the greater pressure to set watches and so forth goes far beyond rankling. And that’s not even beginning to touch their disgraceful treatment of prisoners.
Calistria’s grace sends a horrifically apposite thought flashing across her mind, one that she resolutely shakes off. Could chain the little bastard up down below and leave him hanging there to take his chances. Now that’s justice, at least in poetry.
She’s just not that cruel. She translates for Meneas to be sure Mekmek understands their line of thought, before adding,
She’s not expecting much good will from the warped little fey, but with Brental’s help and hints of fossilized cognates in the language, she’s pretty sure that she and the other “meat-bags” have just been threatened. Her contempt hasn’t been exhausted to the point that she’s moved to arrows or cantrips yet, but neither would she grudge the kobold an execution, under the circumstances.
Like most people, Brental doesn't take kindly to threats. Whether it's coming from a place of fear or malice, being told that he would be hunted forever is a bridge too far.
He shrugs and stands up.
"He's an unrepentant, spiteful creature," he says with a turn of his head. "We could trade threats until he gnaws his way through the snare. I'm not keen on lending aid."
The druid switches to the party's secondary language after Lina addresses their kobold companion.
He sighs and walks back away from the mite to join his companions. He places a hand on the hilt of his cold iron dagger, frowning at the circumstances.
Watching Brental retreat back is all that Mekmek needs as a sign after what Lina had to say to him.
With a knowing nod at the witch Mekmek advances towards the trapped mite. There is a short scream, the a brief gurgle, followed by a thud and silence as the helpless creature's body hits the floor.
"Mekmek take last watch." The kobold chirps at his friends cleaning the tip of his spear on the corpse.
....
The rest of the night passes peacefully and you awake refreshed, if still haunted by the instances from the day spent sleeping in the Old Sycamore.
Upon waking, Brental undoes the traps and then excuses himself to go find a nearby spot that feels less haunted and filled with death to practice his morning rituals. He creates a small circle with rocks and sticks and works to quiet his mind. It takes longer this day to enter into his meditation, but soon the sound of a chorus of cicadas and the rustle of the wind through the trees takes the druid to a place of heightened awareness. He reflects on the previous day's events and considers what to ask the world for. Although he prays for no violence this day, the last few days have taught him to expect it. Better to be prepared.
0th: create water, detect magic, grasp, guidance
As he returns to the rest of the group, Brental is quiet and contemplative, or at least more so than usual. He is worried about Signy and Wisp, thinking about that dark bird from the First World, and feeling like he has stumbled into more twisted plots than he expected from a nature expedition to rout bandits and reestablish trade. He hasn't forgotten about Meneas' lineage either, but has pushed it to the back of his mind for now.
Brental gathers their equipment, placing the bulk of it on Vodnykel's strong back once they're outside, and then gets on his horse.
"Mekmek," he says at last. "Can you lead the way to your tribe's home?"
Meneas awakens the next morning, feeling more relaxed and healthy than the previous day. After donning his armor, taking care of Veil, and preparing for the day, he joins the rest of his companions. "If we're heading to his home, are we going to take the time to explore and survey the areas on the way there?" The hood turns to Brental and Lina.
"I suppose that's up to Mekmek," Brental responds noncommittally. "We may have time to explore after meeting the Soot-Scale Tribe.
"Mekmek: nos sunt explorandum regionis. Possumusne nos nunc questus est domum tuam, ut statim est vel quid tibi vis?"
The light of early morning helps to cheer Lina up a bit, and the eternal ritual of consulting her grimoire for the day’s work. After some thought, she settles on merely adjusting some of her cantrips, making sure that she can bring out the aura of any magical phenomena she encounters.
The past couple of days have been a bit surprising on that front, especially since they have reached close to the edges of the Shifting Lands, but then again, it is a comparatively undisturbed region, and the wildwood. Unpleasant interlopers aside, she decides she likes the Narlmarches.
“Otium habemus,” she says, gathering her things and swinging herself up onto her steed, “sed certa sum quod ad tuum populum redire desideras.”
She lets Mekmek set the pace. After all, they'll have to retrace their steps to return to the trading post, so if their friend is in an understandable rush, they can just explore more carefully on the way back.
Mekmek shrugs and looks into the distance appearing to barely notice his new friends' questions. "Friend-kin can travel slow if want. Not much to look-see at between here and there. Only take a few hours Mekmek think." The kobold's golden eyes stick to the horizon as he distractedly rubs at the diabolic idol in his possession, clearly distracted.
Meneas switches to Sylvan.
"Either way, I don't mind going directly there, or taking a more circuitous route. We'd have to visit them one way or another, might as well come with some of their possessions and the good news about their foes."
"Let's go directly then, not waste the light."
To Meneas' query, Brental nods, especially noticing Mekmek's distraction.
As for Mekmek's demeanor: Was it being away from home? Seeing his companions die? Being tortured? Or was there something else? Brental remembers feeling wary of the mentions the first kobolds had made of the purple shaman.
"Videris vexatus, Mekmek, etsi tribulationis esse videtur post tergum nos. Quid est anima tua?"
Meneas' hood turns to look at Brental. Shaman? I really need to start learning Draconic. He pats Veil's neck, leaning back in her saddle.
He replies in Sylvan.
Mekmek turns with a start and smiles awkwardly up at Brental. "Pudet Mekmek est parum est quod non ... tribus usus est. Non tantum reliquisset nobis quoniam ... Anyways! Mekmek optet amicus novus, status proximam sanguinis sui non judicas etiam acriter est de lacu eductusque est veritas ... et paulo nervous Mekmek mihi loqui ad flaminis ... ille magnus et potens Princess! Tribus ad multa; Ut bene nobis ex gratia, sed diaboli scaled Mekmek ... certus non ... suus 'ferreus dicere quid in faciem ei. Quam admirabile est nomen eius ... pergant interdum." the young kobold tries to explain.
Brental listens to Mekmek's explanation with set, cold eyes. He glances towards Meneas and Lina. As Brental suspected, this shaman sounded like he could be trouble.
"Nos erit in bonis amicus convivae, Mekmek. Sed fabulas flaminis anxietas mihi. Sit et recens coniuncta in tribus, non est novum membrum? Quid est quod factum est, quod bonum est? Et tu adoremus Vetus Venenum Dentis ante adventum flaminis vel quia Deus nouam fidelitatis?"
Though friendly, Mekmek might need more convincing to spill additional details. Brental tries to probe without making the kobold feel more nervous, hoping that Lina jumps in. He feels bad about leaving Meneas out, but thinks that the kobold likely feels more comfortable speaking in his native tongue. There is a spell for that, but Brental had not asked for it this day.
Lina knows at firsthand how charming even a dangerous sort of cultist can be, and she can imagine that whatever his morals in the strict sense, the kobolds’ shaman might be quite ‘good’ to his tribe on a more practical level. Especially if there’s a vulnerability he can latch onto and soothe – and exploit. Regardless, she tries to find a slightly more indirect approach than Brental.
“Num, aut iste flamen est qui deum tribus tibi reddit, aut tu?”
She smiles and tries to encourage Mekmek with a jovial boost that she hopes isn’t too disparaging of the shaman, just reminding the young kobold of his own worth. As they ride along, she asks about other worthies and points of interest among his tribe, trying to get a sense for the community. In the back of her mind, she also begins to mull over how to interpret her group's charter to all parties' satisfaction but, she admits to herself, her advantage.
Mekmek's chest puffs out proudly at Lina's encouragement."Mekmek is bring back god! He and new friend-kin will receive much honor!" the young dragon-kin hums proudly.
"Shiny-Eyes should not question shaman! Ol' Sharptooth will curse-kill us if disobey... He does come-arrive more recently though... and Old Sharptooth with him... But he say-speak Old Sharptooth has always been here! And he angry we no give him proper respect-worship! He prove this when kobolds started to die-die of scary yellow-scale! We make many sacrifices since to keep Old Sharptooth happy... that's why tribe was losing war with mites... so many dead kobolds. But! We must do as shaman say-speak or more plague-disease! He know will of Old Sharptooth even if he is hard to understand sometimes. He say-speak things very funny." The kobold divulges now in common as best he can. Seeming to sense that they had been leaving Meneas out.
Meneas looks at his companions, before glancing at Mekmek again. "Mekmek, what about other powerful kobolds in your tribe? Who are they?"
Mekmek looks up to the cowled cavalier and scratches at his chin-scales deep in thought. "Mmmm... that be just father-spawner... he tribe chief! Big strong kobold like Mekmek! But not so good with magic like shaman... Mekmek think he no like shaman very much but he no say-speak so out loud." The little kobold's eyes are crossed as he contemplates the implications of this before cocking his head to the side in confusion and shrugging his little shoulders. "Why Dark-Savior ask?"
"Just getting a sense of who we should respect most, Mekmek, that's all." Meneas says, almost entirely truthfully.
Brental increasingly dislikes the sound of this shaman, rolling over some of his previous reflections from the moonlight radish patch with the new information.
Old Sharptooth may or may not care one way or the other about the idol, but at some point a few things happened. There is a purple shaman that the kobolds fear and respect who demands sacrifice. The Soot Scales are also undergoing a plague of some sort that is decimating their numbers. This shaman could be the source of that plague, or simply using it as an excuse to manipulate them. Many with some source of magic could reliably cause foul blights. Many unscrupulous types would then turn around and offer a cure, in some magical hustle.
Many of his initial impressions still held and were now bolstered by the confirmation of sacrifice. A new "god" and his supposed divine servant leading a crusade and getting large numbers of kobolds and mites killed. For what? It was hard to say. Although he had stayed far away from the cursed kingdom, Brental had heard enough stories of the nearby Razmiran and their supposed living god-king to know what happened when a charismatic leader spun magic over the eyes of their followers. So a cleric true? An oracle? A shaman in the actual magical sense? Some true agent of divinity? Or like the rumors from Razmiran whispered, some kind of arcane trickster?
Brental is no theologian, however. He can only venture guesses.
There was also a clear power struggle between Mekmek's father and this shaman. Brental thinks that the knight has the right idea of it. Not wanting to get into the midst of a power struggle but walking straight in between would be dangerous. Choosing the right allies in this case would be important.
"Mekmek," Brental starts, adding a bit of praise to dig in: "Savior of Old Sharptooth: who will you return the idol to? Who deserves it? Your father-spawner, the tribe chief? Or the shaman?"
Or perhaps someone else? Brental thinks but does not add. He hopes that the little kobold is enough like the rest of his king to recognize and respect hierarchical structures. This shaman sounded like he had come from well outside the traditional structure and caused significant problems. Did Mekmek see that? Or was Brental interpreting everything incorrectly?
Brental begins to wish he had prayed for a slightly different selection of spells this day, but knows that what he has prepared can still be useful.
Mekmek slowly nods his head at Meneas, appearing to take everything he has to say at face value.
After listening to Brental's question, however, the brave little kobold's eyes cross so hard the group could swear they switched places.
After a time a loud groan is heard and Mekmek pounds the floor with his foot like a toddler throwing a tantrum. "MMMMMmmmmAAAAAAaaaa! Mekmek no know! Is confuse and hurt Mekmek's head from think too hard!" He looks up at his friends beseechingly. "What you think Mekmek should do? No like weird purple shaman but... shaman is one ask for Old Sharptooth and he get very angry-mad when don't follow order-demands exactly as he say."
Lina doesn’t like the sound of any of it. At best, the shaman is leveraging the fear of the gods to his own ends, more likely has some nasty little patron that disgraces the name of divinity, and, at worst, is nothing more than some cut-rate Razmir. She can appreciate a well-crafted lie, even if she’s not a confidence woman as such, but she’s extremely choosy about the circumstances that she thinks warrant an extravagant, elaborate falsehood. It is true that there are some extremely spiteful powers out there, but it seems awfully convenient for this shaman.
She contributes her art-historical and iconographic observation lightly, as if merely making conversation, but she's brought up short by the one in Common as Mekmek erupts in distress.
“Maybe,” she says carefully, not wanting to cause offense, “things will get better once and for all now that you’re bringing Sharptooth back. Or maybe there’s another way that we’re not seeing. The gods move in mysterious ways, after all, and sometimes it takes a while for us to see what they ask.”
While the piece of piety falls easily from her lips, she wonders what the odds are that she’s about to be dragged into a battle for hearts and minds and casts about for something more helpful. She squelches an ungenerous generalization about priests that her anxiety feeds in her thoughts. A delightfully wicked idea occurs to her, "Hmm. Your shaman didn't ask us, and we naturally want to meet your father, so ... could you let us present Sharptooth to him? You could say that we found Sharptooth and then, after we found you, realized how important he was to your people, and that we thought it would be a good way of introducing ourselves to your chief. Let the shaman gnash his teeth and be angry with us instead, since we'll be moving along anyway."
It's a reasonable, if tendentious, way of framing the sequence of events, she thinks.
"If you're worried, I'm willing to take an oath to deliver Sharptooth directly into your father's hands," she says seriously. After letting that possibility dangle for a bit - however she may privately consider that the force of that is more reliant on her sense of right than any particular attachment to the idea of promises, it should also let Mekmek off the hook - she returns to her efforts at disarming optimism, “Maybe, once we've arrived, we’ll be inspired over a meal together. The others tell me that they have a recipe for moonlight radishes that they owe some of your fellows.”
Mekmek considers Lina's words for a while and nods his head slowly when he thinks he can agree to her words, though you doubt he can understand them in full. "Mekmek can let you present Old Sharptooth to father-spawner... He doesn't want new friend-kin to have scary shaman mad-angry at them but... might be for best... Mekmek trust you and will keep you safe. You tribe-kin now too!" The kobold smiles reassuringly.
....
The trip to the kobold's den takes only around two hours with Mekmek leading the way out of the woods and into more hilly terrain.
It is in one of the hills that the party spies an outcropping of large boulders emerges from the weathered face of a nearby hillock. A narrow opening in the rock leads into darkness below. A fallen sign leans against the side of the cave entrance which reads, 'Oaktop Silver Mine.'
Mekmek turns to the group and nods. "This it! This where all tribe-kin live. It very nice down there, nice and cool during hot season."
That’s interesting, Lina muses upon arrival at the kobolds’ home. I wonder if they’ve continued the work, and if they’d be willing to come to some sort of agreement once we settle, well, whatever it is we'll have settled once we fulfill our charter. The original prospectors were certainly even more innocent than I, if they announced their findings in a place like this.
“You might want to get rid of that,” she tells Mekmek, pointing out the fallen sign as she dismounts. “It could attract unwanted attention if any determined bandits stumble by. Do you think we could have a moment? I’ve just had an idea.”
The past few days have been good for her, and she feels both an unexpected amount of energy and rather hopeful this morning. Retrieving her grimoire, she leafs to some of her more experimental notes, flopping down onto a convenient rock, already murmuring an unfamiliar incantation.
It takes a few minutes of obscure witchy gestures and mutterings, but eventually she snaps her book shut and rises again to approach Meneas.
“This should make the day easier,” she offers. Her brow furrows and she speaks the necessary words with less confidence than she normally does, but sure enough, the scrap of paper she pulls from her mysterious pouches evaporates from her hand and, as she clasps the knight’s arm, she switches cheerfully into Draconic for his benefit. “<Welcome to dragon-tongue! The spell should last until this time tomorrow, so for now you can gossip without having to worry about losing out on nuance between languages.>”
With that, she makes sure Old Sharptooth is safe, and waits for Mekmek to announce their arrival.
Brental smiles lightly at Lina's recommendation, especially as Mekmek acquiesces. That could work...
...
At the entrance of the once-Oaktop Silver Mine and now den of the Soot-Scale Tribe of kobolds, Brental stops and dismounts. He considers casting a spell to bolster his defenses, but also recognizes that they could be facing a spellcaster soon. Having too many magical auras could rouse suspicion.
"Thank you for leading us to your wonderful home, Mekmek! I am ready to go in if the rest of you are."
Brental dismounts from his horse and ties it, along with Signy's horse and then-Wisp-now-Mekmek's pony to a nearby tree. Vodnykel would be able to come with them, but the druid did not want to risk their horses here. He reorganizes a few items to ensure that he has potions, scrolls, and wands available in his pack, and then steadies his breathing as he turns to the mine. It's hard to know what to expect, but that's why he prepares each day.
Meneas looks at the kobolds' den. A mine. Wonderful. Yet another place for Veil to wait outside of. He slides off of his mare's back with subdued grace, before nodding his gratitude at Lina. "That helps a lot. Thanks."
Checking over himself, he makes sure his various alchemical tools are within easy reach, and his javelins are close by. The bow he leaves with Veil - it won't be very useful in the mine - at least, he assumes not.
He gestures at Veil briefly, indicating for her to stay. "We'll be back soon." He says soothingly, more to assuage his own fears that she'll panic than out of any sense she understands his words.
"Alright. I'm prepared."
After taking a moment to prepare themselves the party descend into the mine. It is dark down here and so the spellcasters take a moment to accommodate Meneas and his lack of low-light vision with some cantrips to brighten the dark atmosphere.
A few feet down the group is halted as a voice calls out to them.
"Who goes there?!" a light-grey kobold bedecked in all manner of bones and colorful rocks demands of them in draconic while pointing the tip of his spear at the advancing party.
"Nakpik! It's okay it's me! Mekmek! I bring these travelers who carry Old Sharptooth backto us!" Mekmek announces running to the front of the group.
Nakpik stands bewildered for a moment as though he can't believe what he's seeing. "Mekemek? MEKMEK!!!" He tosses his spear aside and rushes to embrace his friend who hugs him back heartily in return. "We thought you die-die in ugly blue mite tree! Nakpik cry for three days! Completely lost hunger-appetite. Only ate seven fish today!"
Mekmek audibly gasps. "Only seven?!
Nakpik nods. "And three birds!"
Mekmek hugs his friend tighter and cries, "Poor starving kobold! My new friend-kin and I brought lots of tasty bug meat and eggs so will share with you."
It is now that the party notice a small cage made of branches, sticks, and roots in the back of the cave, next to a tunnel leading further down. Within is housed what would appear to be a young half-elf man who looks to be in good condition other than his apparent captivity.
When the new kobold known as Nakpik notices the party staring he waves a scaly hand dismissively at the captive half-elf and reassures the party. "Pay no mind him. That Dumb-Dumb. He stumble in here yesterday and Grand Shaman Tartuk identify him as spy-thief unlike you heroes! He tell silly story of fey and birds but has no birds to show so is obvious liar."
The kobold then shakes his head and holds his hands up to you smiling. "I am called Nakpik so you know! Very greatful for you to return friend-kin Mekmek and Old Sharptooth! Will certainly receive great praise from Grand Shaman Tartuk! Have saved whole tribe! ... May I see-hold Old Sharptooth new friend-kin?"
|
Upon seeing the group, the half-elf looks at them hopeful. Then, he seems somewhat disappointed. After a few moments of sadness, he looks at them again with pleading eyes. He stays quiet, not really knowing how his captors are.
The half-elf starts studying the group. He seems to be looking at particular things such as weapon, build and spell components. He seems to want to talk to them, but stops himself before doing so.
Meneas turns his hood to look at Brental, then at Lina, before sighing inwardly. Draconic. I wonder if everyone in the Greenbelt speaks it but me.
Brental listens intently to the conversation between Nakpik and Mekmek, albeit with some clear amusement at their banter.
In his best draconic, he pipes up at the end of Nakpik's introduction.
<"Well met, honorable Nakpik of the Soot-Scale tribe! I am Brental Fenson of the Oakstewards. We are happy to be your guests!"> He looks over at Lina, who was carrying the idol last he remembered, before his eyes fall on the half-elf in the cage.
Well, being in a cage was a sight better than the state that they had found Mekmek in with the mites: tied to a wall and tortured. Still, being held captive was deeply unpleasant. Nakpik seems dismissive of the situation, but Brental suspects that he is following this Tartuk's orders.
Not wanting to ruffle any feathers or scales, but hoping to understand the situation, he speaks to the man in the cage in a language he hopes he understands (given his heritage), but which the kobolds probably don't.
"Γεια σου, μισή ξωτικό. Μπορείτε φαίνεται να είναι σε μια ατυχή κατάσταση. Fey και τα πουλιά παρά, είσαι καλά?"
As the half-elf looks at Brental, he sees a tall aasimar with weathered skin and cropped, starkly white hair. Despite the color of the hair, he seems quite young, likely somewhere in his early to mid twenties. The half-elf likely recognizes the name 'Oakstewards' as a prominent druidic organization based in the nearby kingdom of Sevenarches. The druidic associations are evidenced further by a deeply green cloak speckled with the dirt of the road and bearing the holy symbol associated with the Green Faith. Brental walks in with a large, gnarled oaken club and has a matching oaken shield currently strapped to his back, though he also has a few other sheathed weapons strapped elsewhere on his person. At his heels is a young mastodon calf with tusk blades still strapped to his ivory and decked in leather barding.
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Upon closer inspection, the half-elf looks to be physically weak. He has a somewhat fleeting attention span it seems. His black hair and white skin are not particularly tidy, but he does seem to take some care of them. He looks a little disappointed, maybe a little embarrassed.
He replies in Elven.
One can tell his Elven does not flow naturally, as if it's not his mother tongue.
Meneas keeps a careful eye out for any potential hostility from the kobolds - those who might not appreciate Mekmek's rescuers being present.
Fey and birds? As the one that stole our fellows? The knight-errant's cowl turns towards the half-elf, surprised.
As Meneas glances around, he doesn't notice any signs of hostility amongst the kobolds.
Nakpik glances curiously between Brental and Morof. "What you speak-say? Taldane? Nakpik no speak-say that... Does he speak-say of birds again Brental, friend-kin of Mekmek? If yes make him speak-say of where bird is! Sounds delicious!" The kobold licks his chops and pats his belly.
Mekmek shakes his head. "No-no Nakpik. They speak-say about..." Your friend stops and looks up at Brental as if suddenly understanding the need for secrecy. His mouth hangs open for a moment before he turns back to Nakpik and he stammers, "Errm... Mekmek mean... Bright-Eyes speak-talk about big bird but speak-say they think it probably is no tasty cause is made of dream-stuff."
Meneas offers some insight here, the enchanted gift of Draconic aiding him. "It was allied with the mites that captured Mekmek, from what we can tell. A threat, to be sure."
I don't think it fits in with any known sorts of fey... gods, I hope it's not a tarn. That would be catastrophic.
Lina smiles to see Mekmek greeted enthusiastically by a friend, happy that he’s back among people who clearly care for him. She’s not disarmed so entirely that she doesn’t maintain the composure to parry Nakpik’s request, though she’s brought up a bit short by the apparently somewhat sheepish captive.
Looks like someone’s been dallying with perishable flesh, the thought flits across her mind unbidden as Lina notes the human contributions to the prisoner’s features. Ah, well. We none of us choose our parents. And now the poor fellow’s been captured by kobolds through what must surely be a misunderstanding.
"Pay no mind him. That Dumb-Dumb. He stumble in here yesterday and Grand Shaman Tartuk identify him as spy-thief unlike you heroes! He tell silly story of fey and birds but has no birds to show so is obvious liar."
The kobold then shakes his head and holds his hands up to you smiling. "I am called Nakpik so you know! Very greatful for you to return friend-kin Mekmek and Old Sharptooth! Will certainly receive great praise from Grand Shaman Tartuk! Have saved whole tribe! ... May I see-hold Old Sharptooth new friend-kin?
Silver mine notwithstanding, she can’t easily imagine that anyone would be that deathly curious about the Sootscale lair as to try to sneak in on their own. And more fey (and) birds? She’s eager to chat in her mother tongue, but Nakpik’s perceptiveness, as he shoots a glance at Brental, encourages her to muster all her diplomatic training, and she restricts herself to Draconic for the time being. She puts a hand on the pouch where she’s carefully stored Old Sharptooth.
“<After we found Mekmek, realized he was the son of your chief and how important Sharptooth was to the Sootscales, I swore an oath that I would deliver Sharptooth directly into the hands of Mekmek’s father,>” she explains, adding an apologetic touch as she stretches a point here and massages there. “<Could you take us to him right away? I’m sure the chief would let you escort Sharptooth to see the grand shaman.>”
She follows up on Meneas’ opening, “<Also, I know it’s a strange and large thing to ask, but could you bring your prisoner with us? I’m afraid he might well have been telling the truth. Mekmek can tell you about the monstrous black bird we saw ourselves, in league with the mites, before it disappeared through a portal. There’s something larger at play here, and I doubt that bird would leave a good taste in any of our mouths.>”
Moving to let Nakpik lead the way, she positions herself to give the half-elf a quick encouraging look over the kobold’s head. The prisoner can easily conclude from Lina’s delight in carefully chosen words and her spell component pockets and pouches that she’s some sort of witch, though rather heavily-armed for one. At least for a characteristically slender young elf woman too, though even a second glance would reveal that her weapons are elaborately traditional, designed for finesse rather than raw strength.
Brental looks back and forth with the half-elf, who seems less fluent in Elven than perhaps Brental would have expected, but can still converse. That's what I get for assuming.
Thankfully, Mekmek gets the idea of trying for a bit of subterfuge, and Lina is well prepared for the situation. Brental has little to add to the elf's overtures; he stands resolutely and tries not to let out some nervousness.
"<Not real bird?>" Nakpik grimaces, looking all the more confused as he tries to digest this new information. It looks like it's giving him a stomach ache.
"Nnnnnngah!" He groans holding his head in one hand in his stomach in the other. "<Nakpik no understand. Bird not real? But Mekmek saw it? But not real so can't eat... But real like Dumb-Dumb say is real?! This make no sense and make Nakpik tummy grumble!>"
Mekmek interjects, "<Is true-real Nakpik! Mekmek saw it with own eyes! It was in ugly blue mite tree and look real spooky-scary!>"
Nakpik's golden eyes open wide in fear. "<Spooky-scary?! To Mekmek?! What monster is this?! Not even common decency to taste good for being spooky-scary fweh!>" He spit and walks back towards Morof's cage with a simple key in hand. "<If Mekmek say-speak he saw bird then Nakpik believe him! Mekmek is good, honorable kobold! Son-spawn of Chief Sootscale! Mekmek's word is good as fish and eggs to Nakpik.>"
As the grey-black kobold smiles and unlocks the cage Mekmek looks low at the ground and kicks a rock aside clearly embarrassed. "<Nakpik say-speak too much! Mouth should be used for much feast-gorging not say-speaking so many big words of Mekmek! Nakpik is great defender of whole tribe-kin after all!>"
"<Fweh!>" The little kobold cries out as he leads the half-elf out of his cell. "<No hard feelings Dumb-Dumb? Nakpik share his portion of gooey bug meat with you so we even! Now come-follow! Nakpik take tall ones to Chief Sootcale!>"
Nakpik leads the party further down the path and stops in front of a trio of strange, noose-like contraptions and pulls them down to rusty metal hooks below. As each rope is pulled a locking mechanism can be heard before Nakpik gestures for you to follow him deeper in.
Mekmek turns to the party and whispers, "<Traps.>" before they continue down the dark tunnels.
Even for kobolds, these tight tunnel openings are cramped. Mekmek and Nakpik can move through the tunnels in single file, while the rest of the party must squeeze through. In separate alcoves the group notice several kobold guards hidden in ambush, looking on curiously at the group. Had you not been escorted by Nakpik and Mekmek you can already imagine how differently this would have played out.
Eventually the group are led to a trio of divergent paths and go straight down the middle to arrive at a much larger open space where the party can finally spread back out a bit. The air in this large cave feels warm and close, thick with a reptilian stink mixed with smoke and burnt meat. Numerous beds of furs lie scattered throughout the room amid smoldering cookfires, while to the south, a ten-foot-wide alcove contains a large mound of furs framed by dozens of sticks on which are mounted the skulls of many birds and small animals, all smeared with ash.
Throughout this cavern are many kobolds huddled to the sides of the cave and staring in awe at the new arrivals. There are men, women, and even a few timid kobold children clutching their parent's legs and looking up in shock and fear at the large people clambering into the den. All the kobolds are black or grey or somewhere in-between but one in the dead center of the room is the exact same dark ebony as the kobold by your side.
Bedecked in ostentations bones, feathers, and colorful stones and wearing what would appear to be the skull of another kobold this man stands tall among his people, his golden eyes glowing in determination. He holds up his bone club in one hand and raises his bird-skull scepter in the other as the group approach. "What is meaning of this?! Why tall-things come here?! If think you can come to kill-slay tribe-kin Chief Sootscale must say-speak to you that you actually come to die-die! Prepare yourse->" The bold chieftain's voice raises then is suddenly drawn to silence.
"<Mekemk?>" The chieftain's strong voice sounds close to breaking as he utters his son's name.
Despite what certain parties – in Daggermark, especially, and among a particular coven active mainly along the Sellen proper upstream from Sevenarches – might have you believe, Hyalinnea Kyrithra is not actually a monster, and she lets father and son have their moment in peace. Besides, if she wanted to live down to people’s worst suspicions, she could use the time to arrange her words anyway.
As she does so, she gives the half-elf another glance, and inquires, sotto voce, with just a hint of persiflage,
Lina is able to gather herself shortly, and when she feels she isn’t likely to intrude, she addresses Chief Sootscale (in his own language of course), “<Indeed, great Chief. Our explorations took us to the old sycamore infested with your enemies, the mites, and we could not let their wickedness pass unpunished. We found your son a prisoner within, and he repaid our kindness amply when we were hard-pressed by a monstrous beast the gremlin-kin kept. He has settled his life-debt in a way that does honour to his line and his entire tribe.>”
She’s still not entirely sure how to describe her group. In the main, how much will the kobolds actually care about their charter? So, she considers talking their individual affiliations up a bit, so they don’t sound like three – four, now – explorers possibly in over their heads.
But first, and while Lina’s not a monster, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a terrible weakness for the dramatic. She reaches into the right pocket to retrieve the infernal statuette, and adds, “<He was also able to tell us that someone else we found also belongs to you, and I am pleased to return him to you into your own hands.>”
Matching deeds to words, she presents the ugly little thing to the chief ceremoniously. She can’t see the appeal of the carving herself, but she doesn’t need to, to do the right thing. Alaïs would probably be able to tell me if there’s something about how it’s been made that makes it more interesting, but… Kyonin is rather far away.
Chief Sootscale's eyes are wide as he takes this all in, now clutching the statue of Old Sharptooth in his claws after Lina so graciously offered it up to him. After a time he speaks, "<Is this true Mekmek?>" His voice atremble.
You can tell that Mekmek wishes nothing more than to rush forward and embrace his father but decorum holds him back, this is not the place. "Yes-yes father-spawner... Chief Sootscale. These tall things rescue-saved Mekmek and heal-cared for Mekmem after the ugly blue mites had torture-hurt Mekmek for many days... no other tribe-kin survived but they all die-died honorably! Then a mighty bug beast appeared and Mekmek threw himself upon the beast and kill-slayed it right there! Then Dark-Savior cut ugly blue mite leader to fleshy chunks, Bright-Eyes smashed his big bug to pieces, and the Fair-Dragon torch-burned all the other ugly blue mites in the hold! They- they insisted that they return Old Sharptooth to you fath- Chief Sootscale. They most good and honorable, they tribe-kin to Mekmek now.>" the young kobold looks up to his new friends and smiles at each of them genuinely as he recounts their heroics in the mite den.
Chief Sootscale ponders this for a time. His scaly fingers running along the length of Old Sharptooth. "<If what Mekmek say-speak true... you have save-rescued not only Chief Sootscale's son-spawn but whole tribe! Ever since Old Sharptooth and his purple shaman arrived the omens have been very poor. When Old Sharptooth went missing we were scare-afraid of the yellow-scale plague that would descend upon whole tribe-kin and wipe Sootscales out... and then we had to sacrifice so many to keep him appeased that we had so few warrior-fighters to send that even Chief Sootscale's own son-spawn was forced to fight-die for tribe-kin... and yet still Grand Shaman Tartuk demand's more! Says all kobold will die without more sacrifice even when we already so few!>" The chieftain grips Old Sharptooth hard at this point, his frustration's breaking through his attempts at temperate stoicism.
"<Whole tribe-kin would surely have die-died in this war-battle or to yellow scale where it not for you all! Sootscale tribe owes you all! You have save-rescued us!>" at this point there is an audible gasp throughout the whole den as Chief Sootscale falls to his knees and prostrates himself before the band of adventurers.
Even Mekmek's eyes are wide as his father bows before their saviors but soon this gesture is followed suit by every other kobold in the den who proceed to bow at the party's feet in gratitude.