>>5341605>>5341453>>5341451>>5341443>>5341340>>5341336>>5341334>>5341312>>5341307You survey your expectant allies, and nod to the Thief.
“You have my cloak,” you tell him. “If you encounter resistance, may it preserve you.”
The Thief bows his head low, and hurries to leave. With him, he brings the four Drow, the Bogbarri (save their grumbling Boss), and Paeris—your stealthiest member of the retinue, next to the Theif himself, or the currently-cocooned Glowie.
Glowie… Your thoughts briefly turn back to her. The strange caterpillar-woman, ‘princess’ of a hive-queen of an insectoid race, concocted as some fallback plan to replace your own Reptilian Master Race in case of your failure and extinction. Instead, she became a… Friend. Now, she is in the safe-keeping of a dark elven, also of some unknown ‘princess’ pedigree—Jazkarmel. Far from replacing your bloodline with her own, she is a its preservation: she is metamorphosing in reparation to lay eggs which YOU fertilized, mixed with the pure bloodline of the Red Dragon king by the fleshweaving magicks of the Novice.
You have the brief, perversely-amusing thought that, if you fail and die here, you will at least have heirs to avenge you.
You shake off the sudden foreboding, retreating to your chamber to meditate for a time, and to restore your mana in preparation for the campaign ahead. You steady your spirit and strengthen your resolve. Eventually—you can’t say how much later—the Bastard calls out to you:
“Dragonborn, Superior One! The sun will set in three hours.”
“Then it is time,” you respond. “Good.”
You find your forces gathered, waiting for you. The Novice, the Merchants, and the Translator are armed with ranged weapons—bows, crossbows, slings. Oluwadamilare, the Degenerate Archer, is with them; his own great bow—a new one, of elven make, you notice—puts theirs to shame, but so well might his skill with it. Paeris, his fellow degenerate and a half-elf skilled in bardic magic, strums his lute, tuning it, and quietly hums; the notes carry a power that sets your sixth sense atingle. Many of the kobolds have been armed with spears, axes, and knives, but a few twirl swings in practiced motions, readying their arms to aid in the ranged assault—they form the bulk of your force by numbers, and fill in the midsection of your column. The Cartographer, by necessity, shall be accompanying you, your fire-lizards, the Bastard and the Pit-Guard and his Apprentice at the head of this marching army.
