“Gitup animal!” I heard before a heavy strike hit my ribs and upper thigh, slamming me into the wall before the blanket was ripped away. I blinked owlishly, still somewhat exhausted. It was too bright, and I realized that I hadn’t slept nearly enough, and now there was a huge, angry-looking human towering over me, that looked like he was about to kick me again, holding onto the blanket I had been curled up into before. The blow had hurt, and Mnemosyne informed me that I had taken 21% of my damage. I knew it would heal up soon, but I started to prepare to tail-lash the bastard before he killed me.

I woke up enough that when he said “I said gitup!” and tried to aim another kick my way, I slid out to the side so his boot hit the wall instead. The oversized boy was younger than MacMalcolm, and either hated kobolds or had a cruel streak. He was slow, though, and wearing one of those surcoats over some kind of leather padding that identified him as one of the commander’s men. I [observed] him, and I guess he was a newbie or my skill was improving because I got a lot more information off of him than usual

Sev Kelman (tough)

Human

Junior Private

Health: 92%

Disgust, superiority

Junior Private Sev Kelman has always been mocked for his laziness, unfitness, and general cowardice. Unjustifiably proud of his mediocre mind, he considers himself vastly smarter than his peers and tries constantly, often unsuccessfully, to prove it.

He was forced by circumstances into the guard but is learning that it offers privileges and power over civilians that reward his being a worse bully than the ones that made his life miserable growing up, and he’s happily exploiting this ability to abuse civilians to feel like he is getting even.

Reputation: Snitch, Arrogant know-it-all, bully.

To be fair, I probably just made up that information myself, but I had seen his type hundreds of times before, and it was very easy to guess. Bad skin, overweight, lack of personal hygiene, general unfitness, and a sneering smugness that screamed that he felt it was time for payback against all the people that ignored him growing up.

The only thing worse than a casual, selfish jock-type bully with a sense of humor was a bully’s target given a little bit of power. A lot of casual bullies even honestly believe they are trying to get you to ‘man up’ or are just joking with their cruel pranks, and once a casual bully leaves high school or college, he generally doesn’t give a damn about the people he used to pick on, but an ex-target was vindictive, irrational, and carried around a chip that ruined their personality for the rest of their lives.

Bullying was a vicious cycle I was very familiar with, but I had been lucky to find a father figure to help me fight my way through the powerlessness and endless cycle of rationalization and intellectual arrogance it tended to spawn. Oh, and beating a casual bully into unconsciousness did amazing things for your self-esteem and status in high school, giving the justified anger a chance to fade away before you let it destroy you. Long-term rage and helpless indignation even borderline cases like I had trouble letting go of. There but for the grace of coach go I.

I hissed loud enough to attract attention from one or two of the other soldiers that looked like they were getting ready, and then said, “Your commander will probably punish you for damaging a quest asset, SOLDIER.” Sometimes it helped to remind an idiot that he was supposed to look like he had a job. Sometimes, but I’d still watch myself around him.

“Move ahead of me, KOBOLD,” he said with a curl of his lip, probably thinking he was clever for reminding me of my status after I had just reminded him of his, although he did look momentarily surprised when I spoke. He put his hand on a wooden cudgel at his waist, and I realized that I probably had just accidentally complimented him by calling him a soldier instead of trainee, recruit, or maggot. Or maybe I confirmed my stupidity in his mind. Well, whatever prevented more damage, and breaking his kneecaps would probably be responded to unfavorably by the rest of the troopers. I was still a monster, after all, it would be easy to justify killing a monster that just hurt a recruit, no matter how much he deserved it.

I quickly moved ahead of him. I wasn’t particularly afraid of his wooden faux weapon, but unless I could get some range and safety I didn’t want a fight. This was exactly why I needed more power, because some people only respected threats, and I would need allies in the future. Not this guy, though, unless he proved to have some sort of a special ability, but despite my sympathy for what he must have dealt with his whole life, he was not worth the effort of cultivating as an ally. The risk versus reward simply didn’t support appeasing this nimrod.

I could barely see in the bright sunlight outside of the barracks, and winced painfully, my eyes almost completely closed as I half-covered them with my hands. It was actually painful out here, and I wished again that I had sunglasses, especially since it made it more difficult to keep an eye on happy feet behind me.

He ‘guided’ me with grunts and pointing out of the assembly area and towards a large building past the inne that had a large woodcut of crossed swords and a sign that said “Quester’s League” dangling from a second-story balcony above a broad porch. There was a very very large green-skinned man sitting on a stump beside the doorway, with a heavy-looking ax leaning against his hip, who looked like he could have bench-pressed an armored car with one hand. I noticed that his countenance was almost piggish, without a snout, and out of his enlarged and underbite lower jaw, a pair of heavy tusks protruded upwards, yellowed, one with what looked like a golden ring drilled right through it.

He grunted, “Stable” at private Kelman as I ascended the two steps, and I tilted my head as I stopped, “Why?” I asked the orc, or half-orc, or whatever he was. I was going to assume half-orc.

“Sure!” said Kelman with a leer “Go around back to the stable, animal.” he snickered, pulling out his club and pointing it at the side of the building. The half-orc, however, lifted his hand and peered at me. “You talk?” he asked, his voice almost stereotypically deep and gravelly. He momentarily glared at Kelman, who paled and almost took a step backward.

“Yes, I talk. Thank you for asking.” I replied politely, kind of half-bowing to him. “I have been enlisted to help with a quest, and plan to become an adventurer.” I looked up at the sign meaningfully and then back down to him. It would not do to act terrified, even though the guy could probably crush me with nothing more than a look. Fake it till you make it.

He nodded slowly, looked at Kelman meaningfully, and then stated. “Tell Sergeant job finished. I got ‘im. Go away.” His look was whithering, and for a moment I was surprisingly grateful until he turned his head and bellowed, incredibly loudly, “Crib! Post! Break over!”.

He got to his feet and slid the ax into his belt, showing off a broad bare chest over a pair of heavy leather pants with pads sewed into it, perhaps a sort of brigantine. For a warrior, I could understand the pants, but the lack of upper armor was rather confusing unless he was specifically trying to impress someone. To be fair, I was impressed, as the musculature displayed a dedication to training I had never had time for. I imagined many girls would overlook his somewhat terrifying features for a chance to run their fingers over that torso.

Out of a pair of swinging, almost western tavern-style doors with bronze hinges stepped a figure that made this guy look like a goblin. Nearly seven feet tall, stepped a man that looked like a Hanna-Barbera caricature of a gladiator. Barrel-torsoed and with muscles that showed even through the light leather he wore, he quickly flopped onto the stump the half-orc had vacated, and explained the stump instead of a chair… I wouldn’t have bet against this guy weighing over five hundred pounds, almost entirely muscle. I couldn’t be envious, as he was just impossible, and he had large, curved horns on either side of his head that I at first took to be some kind of helmet, but eventually realized were actually implanted into his temples.

With a final glare at Kelman, the half-orc stepped through the door, holding it for me. Both of the imposing figures had bands, but the orc’s was heavier and seemed almost like a bracer with the small green, red, and yellow stones set into it on his left wrist, while his right forearm had an almost identical copper band without the stones. They were both far more ornate than usual, and I wondered if he had earned a special sort of band or something, as I carefully slipped past him through the swinging doors.

Once inside, the light was much dimmer although still slightly painful. I was able to lower my hands and observed the décor. The lowest floor looked a lot like a tavern without an actual bar, three long tables with cafeteria-style benches, and a stage at one end. There were several people at the tables eating or just having conversations, and the room looked like it took up about half the lower floor’s space, with a stair and balconies leading to upper stories and a good fifteen-foot clearance for the ground floor.

“Welcome to the quester’s league.” The orc behind me stated quietly, and I turned to see that he was slipping on a thin gown of some sort, kind of a robe, over his bare chest. “Excuse the introduction, but half of a guardian’s role involves being impressive, and intimidating everyone is part of the job.”

His voice was higher and far less gruff, and he grinned, the expression surprisingly less than terrifying compared to his earlier scowl. “Excuse the stable comment, even though I noted your armor, you’d be amazed at what people send as quest rewards if you were intended to be a familiar or pet of some kind. People have sent goblins in plate mail, even though they could barely move, and fellow even offered an ostrich with a monocle and top hat, wearing a tuxedo, as a mount. Sometimes I just don’t get these people, but the immortal who snagged the ostrich seemed utterly delighted at getting something unique. At least, I imagine he was delighted until he had to clean the damned thing.”

I smiled a little without opening my mouth, since my particular dentition might be considered more of a baring of teeth than an expression of joy, and mentioned, “Speaking of speaking, you seem considerably more erudite than your initial impression. My name is Brantley. Might I request yours?” Considering his sudden vocabulary change, he appeared to be the sort that enjoyed dialogue. I couldn’t be particularly clever, but I could certainly sound educated.

His smile broadened, “Ahh, you ARE a well-spoken kobold! It is my absolute pleasure to meet you, Brantley. My name is Grimalkin, and I am the Thaumaturgy trainer and manager of this particular branch of the Quester’s League. I was informed that a kobold would be sent this morning as a quest asset, but I truly didn’t expect a sentient. Most intellectually-gifted kobolds tend to be shamans or chieftains, and rather attached to their particular clan, but as I mentioned, an asset can be either an assistant or a reward… Many of the more chaotically-aligned mages would love to have something with the facility and potential intellect of a kobold as a familus or a familiar.”

“I am not supposed to be a reward, I was sent to assist with locating a goblin raider’s camp I discovered yesterday and perhaps help with clearing it. I am unfortunately unfamiliar with what a Thaumaturge is, or a familus, but isn’t a familiar sort of like a wizard’s slave?” I asked him, a little concerned. It might be time to consider running again.

“No! I mean, most creatures, prior to becoming a familiar, are not exactly self-aware. I guess you COULD sort of consider a familiar a slave, the same way a cat is a slave to the person that regularly feeds and cares for it, but familiars are more like… magical pets and helpers for a spellcaster. Plus, as a kobold, you have hands, which would make you more of a familus instead. A Familus is like a familiar except that they are natively sentient, and thus the bond is only for a limited time, and they often wind up as apprentices afterward and powerful mages in their own right.”

He sat down at one of the tables, looking resolved to gather more information, and motioned with his hand. “Thaumaturges are more like alchemist wizards rather than traditional casters. Most of us start as alchemists, but we specialize in channeling magic through magically reactive substances rather than incantations.”

He tugged a small, clear potion bottle from his belt and showed it to me. “We mix reactive reagents and invest them with magic before using them. Yes, that means we are much more reliant on substances than a normal mage, and our career path requires vastly more practical knowledge rather than the willpower that most mages rely upon, but we can create far more powerful effects than most, and have access to abilities, like heals, that mages can only wish for, without all the complications of gods and nature other healing sages bring to the table as baggage. Who wants to hear a rant about thanking Tellius while they are struggling with a sucking chest wound?”

He chuckled a little, “At any rate, we already have a party bidding for the job. They have an immortal, and goblin raids are well-known for looting and experience opportunities, and assuming there are no other bidders, you should meet them shortly. I apologize for the rapid departure from your guide, but when you spoke, and he referred to you so condescendingly, I felt we had to separate you before you caused a problem for the unit by killing the foolish bastard.”

I tilted my head curiously, and mentioned, “You assumed I could defeat a fully-grown human?” to which he replied, “Oh, intelligent kobolds, especially ones capable of showing such restraint, are a bit of a legend around here. There was one chieftain, known as Tucker, who was well-known for leading his crew. His clan would regularly dispatch up to level 20 teams that dared invade his lair, and he led a crew of relatively average kobolds. The traps and clever dodges he would employ until his final defeat by an actual raid made his name one whispered with fear by even level 50 teams. Despite their fragility, a smart kobold is a very dangerous opponent, especially when riled up and not giving in to emotional blindness. I think you could have destroyed that dumpling had you been so inclined.”

I agreed with his assessment, I had already figured out three ways to easily disable the wannabe bully during our short walk, but I probably would not have done more than knock him around a bit, since being a stupid asshole is not necessarily a terminal offense in my opinion. “Good call, although I was going to tolerate him a bit longer if I had to. I want to be an adventurer, not an outlaw.”

He nodded, “Right. Pardon my assumptions, but are you considering becoming a Thaumaturgist? Considering their gifts and your general lack of… size, I would think your gifts would mesh remarkably well with the class. There is even a legend that they founded the class since their scrounging and trapmaking abilities are the first skills most of us need to simulate in order to qualify. The differences between setting up a runework and setting up a trap work are very minor.”

If I had a band, I would seriously consider that offer, but apparently, it was impossible as I was right now. Still, picking this guy’s brain for formulae or magical techniques might prove extremely valuable in the future, and I didn’t want to burn any bridges, especially with him being so friendly. “The idea certainly has merit and is something I am seriously considering, but I think I need to complete this quest and get a few levels before I delve into something that might…” I made an educated guess as to the hazards of a chemistry-based class, “burn my eyebrows off.” I didn’t have eyebrows, just ridges, but the orc nodded understandingly.

“That is one of the downsides of the class, and the idea of building up a health pool before attempting it is very, very smart. Just remember that those who can both heal and dish out damage are considered extremely valuable to parties, and I will be here for quite some time. In the quester’s league, we don’t do apprenticeships, but I would be happy to extend you a training discount when you return.”

“For the time being though, I have heard your stomach growling and assume your thoughtful guardian didn’t bother stopping at the ration tent?” At my nod, he smiled, “I will let Miriam know that you need some food, and since you are a quest asset you won’t be charged. Assuming all goes well, your party should arrive to collect you shortly.” He got up and waved his hand in an elaborate and half-mocking bow, smiling again and then departing.

After a few minutes, I was eating more stew and bread almost identical to that at the military pot. Was the recipe a secret shared among all public cooks? The stuff wasn’t bad, but there was only so much ‘Irish cuisine’ one could tolerate in the long term, and while it was tasty enough for a meal, it didn’t provide eating buffs. I remembered hundreds of recipes, many of them depression-era treats, and I bet I could work them into the local diet if I had the chance and the supplies. I wondered if there was a way to get soy sauce or ginger? I hadn’t seen any, but it was not particularly uncommon.

I put the idea of selling herbs on hold as I ate. Loot from goblins might offer better rewards without depleting my foodstuffs. I honestly could not wait to meet my party.