Blood of the Dragon [IC]

[Eldan]

The sun has already set as the horn rings over the fields, quickly followed by the crack of a whip as a wolf-mounted overseer calls out: "Alright, maggots! To the barracks!"
It has not rained in two weeks and between the mud of the pump-irrigated fields and the dust of the dry paths, everyone is caked in dirt half an inch thick by the time the last kobold has entered the low barracks.

There is no light and the only comfort is a foot of old straw on the floor and some tattered blankets, serving as the bedding for the fifty kobolds who live here. At least officially. But the estate is far from the capital, the family has not come up here for half a year and the overseers have become lax in enforcing the rules. From woven straw and dried mud, some of the kobolds have begun to build low walls separating the long hallway into what are almost rooms, giving them a little privacy. Others have dug shallow holes in the dusty ground beneath to hide their belongings.

And Vargle... well, Vargle had more than just a hole. He had a cave.

By law, a kobold who was too old to work was to be put down, often in the arena. Not only for economic reasons, but also to prevent too much organisation or oral history among the kobolds. But Vargle was special. His clan loved him and they had dug and dug and reinforced with the broken handles of shovles and branches dragged in from the garden outside and other detritus until they had a small cave to hide their warren eldest, entrace hidden under piles of straw and an old blanket.

Another seen has been comitted, down here. The walls are dried mud and Vargle has written on them. A simple writing system that he has invented and thought to some of the other kobolds, not much more than lines and dots. On one wall is a blanket and behind that, you know, are the diagrams and seals to call up the spirits he sometimes summons. But these, he won't show to you, you know.

The old kobold is leaning against the wall, sitting in front of a tiny fire of straw and thin sticks that barely gives off any light. His breath is thin and wheezing, his limbs atrophied even for a kobold, but his eyes are still bright.

He has called you down here, tonight. Not to tell tales of old times, as he does in other nights, to the entire clan. Just you three. For a message. There is a weary smile on his face as you arrive and he nods, as if to himself.

[Jötunn]

Saadi is the first to slink in, wary of hobgoblin eyes.

She stops at a respectful distance from the fire and sits, cross-legged and aware that after the hard days work in the stables she is in desperate need of a bucket of water and whatever soap she can lay her hands on, if she's lucky.

She's a wiry thing, relatively strong for a kobold and nimble. She's neither the smartest nor the wisest kobold, but she's good at keeping the others on their feet in order to spare them lashings, and people - that is, other kobolds - listen to her.

She says nothing, noting the smile on the elder's face and waiting for her hatchmates to arrive.

[Auroc]

Tryx follows in after Saadi, hunched over to make his already small frame appear even smaller. A stolen scrap of hobgoblin cloak is wrapped around his upper body, masking the whip scars spread across his back.

Finding a corner of the elder's lair to rest in, Tryx slumps against the wall in exhaustion and closes his eyes. Coiling what remains of his tail about his body, he awaits the elder's reason for summoning them.

[Morbis Meh]

The recent drought had been nearly catastrophic causing the hobgoblins to reallocate funds to compensate for the lack of rain. The consequence of such actions had been the reduction in water rations for his people... Just enough to keep those scaly worms kicking A small frown form over Zood's face as a dark thought passed through his mind. He himself had not been forced to feel the intense heat of the fields these past two weeks but he empathized with his brothers and sisters. With another form done, this one specifically a request for a greater portion of the local water supply, the tiny kobold scribe stands up, stretching out his sad excuse for muscles as he hears the evening horn sound. The elder had sent word that his presence was requested this evening, an odd event since he was there every night tending to his mentor, something must be happening.

Looking out at the dusty expanses of the plantation, Zood ponders on the purpose of the gathering; Vargle had already shown him everything he knew in regards to binding and that wouldn't be something he would make public anyways. Maybe... just maybe Vargle was officially naming him as his successor! A flood of thoughts danced through Zood's brain, visions of grandeur clouded his eyes as he walked directly into the wall of the barracks. Stunned momentarily the tiny kobold shakes his head and rubs his snout to ease the pain, he hoped no one was watching him. Now with his ego sufficiently deflated, Zood entered his home smiling as a swarm of hatchlings rushed him asking for sweets. Despite his taskmaster being extra watchful over resources, Zood was able to smuggle a tiny offering for the children. "Remember hatchlings: You are to be kind to one another and share this or I will not bring you any more. The day will come where you will need to rely on each other and our greatest strength is our unity!" The children chitter a vague agreement before snatching the candy and running away again. He walks by his own tiny corner of the barrack and squirrels away his findings: a few scraps of used paper and a semi functioning ink quill. The others wouldn't steal this contraband for it wasn't of any use to him but if a hobgoblin found any of this he would be murdered brutally on the spot and in front of others to serve as a warning. Zood had designs for the mass of paper he had collected these past few years, he intended to physically write the history and lore of his people a crime far more dangerous than most.

Sighing deeply, Zood continued walking towards Vargle's cave, his snout still throbbing from the recent injury. He stopped briefly to watch the fair Slithia walk by him, a dreamy expression crossed his face a second time as he imagined a season as her mate. The thought died as his face made sudden and rather forceful contact with the dirt floor. "Don't even think of it Squib, she is already called for this year and every year. If you know what's good for you you will keep your eyes where they belong." Zood heard a burst of laughter and he knew what had happened, Deekin and his gang of thugs had caught sight of him. A momentary flare of rage ignited within the tiny kobold's heart, this was what was wrong with their people: bullies! Certain kobolds thought they were superior because they were larger and Zood was tempted to use the voice on this creep but he restrained himself. Deekin was a bootlicker, if Zood revealed his talents he would be ratted out immediately to the overlords and that just wouldn't do.

Picking himself off the ground, Zood keeps his eyes forward and ignores the brute and his lackies. Arriving at his destination, Zood nods at today's guard before entering the tiny but well structured cave. He notices two of his hatchmates are here before him: Tryx and Saadi. Great Vargle is going to reprimend me for being tardy... AGAIN Choosing his usual spot by the fire, the kobold apprentice waits for his master to begin speaking.

[Eldan]

Vargle coughs. Not a dry sound, like usual, this one is bubbling with phlegm deep down in the kobold's bony chest.
"Everyone is here, then."
He pauses to cough again, then looks up, eyes golden in the light of the tiny fire.
"Good. We'll make this short. I'm dying."

[Morbis Meh]

Zood was too shocked to properly show emotion... Oh know... what if the gods have cursed me for my foolish desires? I want to lead our people but I didn't want it to happen like this! It took a while for his senses to return to him but slowly a gloomy expresion clouded his golden eyes "Do the others know yet master? How are we to handle the eventual uproar over this event, we cannot allow certain members of our brood to seize control once you have left us! What would you have us do, WE MUST DO SOMETHING!" Zood sadness was gradually turning into panick, he was picturing Deekin seizing control of the warren and if that tragic event came to pass Zood had better find a way to leave.

[Eldan]

Wukel only smiles, weakly.
"You still want to control the tribe, little Zood? A great leader of the kobold people?"
He shakes his head and sighs.
"I don't think you will be. You have a good head and a good heart. But the others won't listen to you."

[Jötunn]

Saadi speaks for the first time since entering the room, taking care not to interrupt.

"Is there no medicine, elder, no herb or root which can ease your illness? To be helpless in the face of such, it is terrible, yes?"

She puts her hands to her head and shakes in a paroxysm of grief at the thought of the tribe losing their precious secret.

[Morbis Meh]

Zood lowers his head, the sting of truth still lingering in his heart. Sure he dreamed of being a great leader but everyone brushed him off as a house pet nothing more. "What is your true purpose for calling us master, I have known you long enough that you have some other motive for calling us here otherwise you would simply make a public announcement. "

[Eldan]

The old kobold's laugh is raspy, dry, more like a cough.
"Too smart for your own good, little one. By far. Yes, that is not all. Though I wouldn't want to worry the warren unnecessarily, either."
He pushes himself up higher against the wall.
"I have talked to the spirits again. They gave me one last vision. The elves of the Stormdiver and Lightweaver clans have made peace for the first time in two centuries. They have joined forces with the Eastern duchies. Last night, they sent raiding parties over the empire's borders in four places and burned several border forts.
These names probably won't mean anything to you. But the short version is this: the Empire will go to war. And I'm sure you all know what that means. Conscription."

[Auroc]

Tryx shudders at the thought.

"Still master, what can we do about it? If the hobs want to take some of us, we aren't strong enough to stop them".

[Morbis Meh]

Conscription... The word caused an instaneous build up of panic for Zood, he by NO means a warrior and he sure as spit wasn't indisposable. If anything his task master would get sick satisfaction at sending him to the front lines to be butchered. Though he may not be sent right away, it would be more cruel for the hobgoblins to make Zood write out and hand the conscription notices personally before throwing him out like trash. The only way to get out of this was to flee... an equally dangerous prospect that held more uncertainty than dying on some stranger's spear. "So... Master what would you have us do? Rebel? Die here and take a few of the Hobs down with us? Would you have us run out into the wastelands to die in the heat? No matter what we choose our kind will always lose."