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Race: Kobold

Bloodline Powers: Strength, Rending

Greater Mysteries: Fire (Noble) 2

Lesser Mysteries: Heat 4, Good Air 4, Embers 4, Pressure 2, Current/Flow 2

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“I don’t have anything to say to you,” Samazzar said, a frown creasing his scales as he crossed his arms in front of him. “I know that you sabotaged my ritual on purpose in order to deny me my birthright. Worse, you’ve been wretched to Crone Tazzaera for all of these years.”

“Did I sabotage your ritual now?” Lellassa asked, flicking an ear in amusement. “The way I remember it, you were given the same monster blood as every other pup. For whatever reason, it didn’t take. That’s hardly my problem.”

“A drop or two of a tincture made from Rumira’s Crown and Paint Blossom petals mixed in with the blood would cause any kobold to reject it, regardless of the strength of their bloodline,” Sam replied defiantly.

A brief look of exasperation and displeasure flashed over Lellassa’s face before it settled back into a sickly sweet smile.

“I can see why you’re Tazzaera’s favorite,” she crooned. “Already you know more alchemy than many of the apothecaries from the ‘civilized races.’ Of course, it’s a shame, everything that’s happening.”

He paused, trying to make sense of the encounter. Outwardly, Lellassa’s words and actions were supportive and friendly. Even after he accused her of interfering with his ritual, she hadn’t lashed out at him. Still, there was something unsettling about the way she talked to him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was patronizing him, like the entire conversation was nothing more than a single move in some much larger game she was playing.

“What do you mean it’s a shame?” Sam asked cautiously.

“Crone Tazzaera is sick,” Lellassa responded, her face a mask of faux contrition and superficial concern. “Blood lung isn’t a pleasant way to go. Unfortunately, we’re a poor tribe living in a dangerous area. We don’t have the wealth to pay a life magic practitioner, and even if we did, I doubt one would willingly climb the foothills to meet us.”

“And so you and your goons are here to rub it in?” Samazzar winced slightly at his failure to keep a hint of bitterness out of his voice.

“Maybe a little.” Lellassa’s gentle laughter was almost musical. “But that isn’t my primary goal. I’m here to talk to you about solutions and extend an olive branch.”

Samazzar glared at her dubiously. Beneath her bright smile, Lellassa was up to something. He knew that he was isolated. Outside of Dussok, Takkla and Tazzaera he really didn’t talk to anyone on a day to day basis, instead spending all of his time on improving his understanding of the mysteries. The very monomaniacal focus that let him soar through the ranks of magical knowledge crippled him here.

Every word out of Lellassa’s mouth had some element of nuance or spin to it. Even if he understood the individual words she was saying, Lellassa didn’t make sense in the same way that good air or heat did.

“What kind of olive branch are you suggesting?” He questioned, unwilling to commit without more information.

“Simple,” she replied smoothly, “I know the location of bleeding heart mushrooms, everbloom berries, and purified water.”

Sam froze. Those weren’t common ingredients. They weren’t the most potent reagents mentioned in Crone Tazzaera’s books of alchemy, but at least half of the entries that he had lovingly memorized were for substances that a kobold trapped in a cave system could never really dream of getting their claws on.

“Bleeding heart mushrooms…” He trailed off, the words almost involuntarily torn from this throat. “Those are the primary ingredient in draughts of detoxification and regeneration.”

“More than enough to cure a case of blood lung,” Lellassa agreed, wriggling the bait in front of him. “In fact, according to the reports of scouts, there should be almost five times what you would need to put together a proper remedy.

Finally, Samazzar recognized the nagging feeling of unease that Lellassa was giving off. She was fire. Warm and hypnotizing to watch, but capable of burning anyone foolish enough to actually reach out and engage with it.

“And why are you telling me?” Sam asked. “Those are all valuable ingredients, and if a scout already found them for you, I don’t know why they aren’t already collected and in your claws.”

“So suspicious!” Lellassa recoiled coyly, a manicured claw to her chest as if taken aback by Samazzar’s response. “I come to you with the solution to all of your problems and you act like I’m trying to trick you into a snake pit.”

Sam simply stared at her, tapping a foot against the cavern floor. The silence dragged on for a couple more seconds before Lellassa grew impatient and continued speaking.

“Fine, I might have an interest in the matter.”

“Don’t try and spin a story about how you just want to help Crone Tazzaera out,” Samazzar responded sternly. “We both know that’s a lie. Just tell me honestly what’s in it for you.”

Rather than respond directly, Lellassa eyed him up and down appraisingly. Sam held his breath as she pondered her next move, the only sounds in the mostly empty corridor the soft jingle of the bells attached to her tail.

Finally she shrugged, her pleasant smile transforming into the toothy grin of a predator.

“As you wish little dragon,” Lellassa’s words slithered across Sam’s scales, drawing a shiver from him. “My interests are twofold. Firstly, the ingredients in question aren’t entirely undefended. The bleeding heart mushrooms were growing in the chest cavity of a massive monster, slain deep in the forest. Reaching them means braving the plains and fighting off the carrion beasts that have come to feast on the corpse. The everbloom berries and the purified water are in a nearby valley that’s known to be thick with evolved snakes and lesser hydras.”

“In short,” she chuckled, “not places that any sane kobold would go. Luckily for me little dragon, you are far from sane. I also have my uses for the objects in question, and I would be happy to trade you the information I have on them in exchange for half of whatever you manage to recover.”

“You said there were two reasons?” Sam questioned, nodding slowly. If all Lellassa wanted was half of the ingredients, that was a small price to pay for saving Crone Tazzaera.

As for the danger? That wasn’t something dragons shied away from. More than that, hydras had a draconic bloodline. Rather than an impediment, they represented another chance to improve his weak bloodline.

“The second is a bit touchier,” Lellassa grimaced. “As you may or may not know, our tribe shares territory with the Greentoe Goblins. They aren’t a particularly intelligent race, but there are a lot of them, and the average goblin is about your size. In short, they are bigger and stronger than the average kobold.”

“Worse,” she grumbled, “there are thousands of them and they raid the humans and elves frequently. Their equipment isn’t generally in good repair, but over the years most of them have been able to loot some sort of patchwork armor and iron weapons. It doesn’t matter how much smarter we are than the green idiots, slings against bows, picks against swords, and scales against armor, they outmatch us on every front.”

“That doesn’t seem ideal,” Samazzar frowned, claw tapping against the scales of his arms as he pondered the situation. “But can’t Chief Duromak simply train our guards more? Even if the goblins are bigger and have better weapons, the proper use of traps and magic should be enough to make them pay a fightful price if they try anything funny.”

“He does train the dozen or so that have drive,” Lellassa replied unhappily. “The rest are content to sit around collecting merits and bullying their peers. The Chief has decent numbers, but nothing like the discipline or loyalty he’d need to actually fight a foe as fearsome as the Greentoes.”

“Instead,” she spat out the word, “every year we must pay them tribute to the wretches. They show up in a forest clearing and we pile goods in front of them until they are satisfied. Usually a show of force from the Chief is enough to keep the ransom light. He generally conscripts the ten or twelve strongest kobolds, including myself, to stand beside him and look menacing.”

“If we look weak, the goblin chief will demand more,” disdain dripped from Lellassa’s voice as she continued, “but if we can convince him that our tribe can defend itself, then he generally leaves us alone after leaving with a cartload of pelts and semi precious stones.”

“Unfortunately,” she curled her tail around, fiddling idly with one of the ribbons tied to it, “For the next week or so, I will be occupied with this… unpleasant task. Right now there is a short window where the bleeding heart mushrooms are blooming. Soon they will go to spore, and we will have to wait until they take root in another piece of carrion before we can make a second chance to collect them.”

“Even if you wanted to,” Sam filled in, nodding thoughtfully, “you couldn’t get out of the caves to collect them. You’ll need a proxy.”

“Brilliant!” Lellassa dropped her tail, clapping her claws together. “I can see why Crone Tazzaera likes you so much. It’s a shame she’s poisoned your mind against me, otherwise I might just eat you up.”

Samazzar took a step backward, eyes widening.

“Oh lighten up,” she said with a laugh, waving a manicured claw in his general direction. “You’re safe from my nefarious clutches for today. The other reason I want to send you off is that you and your friend Dussok would ordinarily count as two of the biggest and strongest kobolds in the tribe. Ordinarily, as a matter of tradition Chief Duromak would have to offer you a spot in the war party, but alas, you aren’t a part of his faction. Selecting you would upset the balance and offend some of his deputies. It would be much more convenient if you were… simply not around when the time came to rendezvous with the Greentoes.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Sam responded, shaking his head in confusion. “Chief Duromak is stronger than any of the tribe’s warriors. Everyone in the tribe owes loyalty to him because he keeps us all safe. It just isn’t logical to try and undermine him. Either a kobold can beat him in an open fight and become the new chief or they can’t and they should obey him.”

“Oh darling,” Lellassa giggled, claw over her muzzle. “You’re positively adorable. If only things were half that simple. It’s a shame you’ve sided with the old bat, I’d love to teach you the dirty little secrets behind how the tribe truly operates.”

“Not interested,” Sam said evenly, rebuffing the other kobold. “I have my goals. The time and effort needed to involve myself in tribal politics would be a distraction from them. Chief Duromak can lead until the end of time for all I care. I have no desire to challenge or undermine him.”

“Of course little dragon,” she cocked her head, fluttering her eyelashes coyly at him. “So then, do we have a deal? Do you think you’ll be able to make yourself scarce for the next couple of days in order to bring back half of the ingredients?”

Samazzar bit his lower lip, worrying the chunk of flesh between his fangs. He almost had to take Lellassa’s offer. Crone Tazzaera wasn’t doing well, and over the past week or so her condition had only deteriorated more. What worried him was that she knew it.

Lellassa’s reasoning seemed sound. He didn’t think she was lying about the Greentoes, but at the same time, it seemed foolish to trust her. Sam might have more talent in learning the mysteries, but he knew better than to test himself against Lellassa in the realm of intrigue. Not only did she have years of experience on him, she had a knack for manipulation that he couldn’t hope to match.

Still, even as he wracked his mind, thinking of the dozens of ways that things could go wrong, he couldn’t see another way out. Crone Tazzaera needed his help. It didn’t matter that the plan was risky and probably an element of some sort of nefarious master plan on Lellassa’s part. Tazzaera was dying.

“I’ll do it.”

He looked up, squaring his shoulders as he made eye contact with Lellassa. “I’ll make sure to leave in the next couple of days, and you’ll get half of the water, mushrooms and berries. Just tell me where to go and what I will be tangling with.”

“I’m glad you’ve decided to be sensible,” she waved a claw behind her, drawing the two other kobolds from the alcove where they’d concealed themselves. “Kallarot will provide you with a map. Unfortunately we don’t know much about the creatures guarding the bleeding heart mushrooms. The scout reported that they were huge canines, so it could be anything from dusk striders to scale wolves, but beyond that I’m in the dark.”

“That’s hardly a lot to go on,” Sam frowned. “Scale wolves are bad enough, they have draconic bloodlines and half of them breathe fire, but dusk striders have an almost supernatural sense of smell. There’s no way I’ll be able to sneak past them.”

A large male kobold, only a hair shorter than Samazzar himself, stepped past Lellassa. He was a brute, bulging with muscles with scars creasing his dull orange scales. Without comment, he reached into the pouch at his waist and pulled out a rolled up cave rat pelt covered with a map and scribbled notations.

“It’s what I’ve got,” Lellassa said, nodding toward her attendant as she extended a claw. “There are only a couple of days until the bleeding heart mushrooms go to spore and become worthless. Take it or leave it.”

Samazzar sighed. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was making a mistake, but Crone Tazzaera was counting on them.

He reached out, taking her delicately manicured claw in his own huge mitt. With a single pump of their fists, the agreement was sealed.