>>5311550When you return to the kobold encampment—realistically, more of a village, but they have lived apart form this place for so long, among their stolen human amenities, that it requires great rebuilding—it is to a heroes’ welcome. Sadly, much of this welcome is not for you, but for your kobold minions. They are welcomed with open arms by the comrades they left behind, by females, by hatchlings. It is… Unsettling, to see such camaraderie and physical proximity in a reptilian race. They do not embrace, per se, but they clasp arms at times, they chatter excitedly amongst one another, they have clear… Bonds, beyond strategic alliance.
“Undignified,” the Translator notes.
“Slaves,” the Cartographer says, with a shrug.
The kobolds snap to attention and quickly assume a more rigid and proper deference when The bastard merges from an adjacent tunnel. He bows his head low, and the kobolds you tasked him with corralling and marshalling do likewise.
“I was gone only twenty-four hours!” you remark. “How did you manage such discipline?”
The Bastard looks surprised, and is uncertain how to reply. Under your expectant eye, though, he explains that you were gone for almost two whole days.
Well, THAT explains your exhaustion. You, as with all your race, have always had a natural talent for telling time below-ground, however. You are uncertain how you lost track… Perhaps an anomaly caused by the magic of the region? Maybe it was just the thrill of the battle, for that matter—you’re certainly tarting to feel it now.
“The Infiltrators, are they back yet?” you ask wearily.
The Bastard shakes his head.
“They have another day or two in which to make their return journey,” he says. “then, we will learn something of the local humans, and what to expect of them.”
You nod.
“And you, Superior One?” he asks, though you know he has seen the eggs extracted, and the full packs of your scholars.
You tilt your chin up proudly.
“A full success,” you say, “with only acceptable losses.”
The Bastard seems concerned when you tell him of the skirmish with the barbed devils (“Not true devils!” you tell him. “Perhaps a spiny race of dwarves?”), and doubly so when you tell him of Hapo.
“A persistent wretch, that one. Too stubborn to die. Twice over now, he survives you!”
You give him a stern look, and the Bastard looks downwards… But you sigh. He isn’t wrong.
“they will bother us no time in the near future,” you say. “The kobold may even be dead.”
“One can hope,” he replies.
