The dwarf came down from the mountains, as dwarves are wont to do. There’s nothing strange about that, of course. He came bearing ore and gems, to trade for fur, food, and fabrics from the humans below the Bloodrise. This, too, is typical of the relations between the dwarven corporations who lease the rocky crags above and the humans who dwell in the baronies of Blackpine, Unset lake, Undershadow, and Redwell.

“What I want to know,” says one of the human males playing cards in the corner of the trading outpost and saloon, once the dwarf is gone, “is how he’s getting to and from. You know, past them kobolds and all?”

Every man, woman, and child under the mountain has heard the stories. There are kobolds in the mountain—not a few scurrying sneak-thieves or isolated raiding-parties, but a warband who captured and conquered an entire settlement on the westernmost side of the Bloodrise Mountains. They struck suddenly and en masse, slaughtering or driving off the settlers and taking their homes and possessions.

“I hear they’re gone,” one man whispers. “Burnt the place up. Must’ve gotten bored, I guess.”

“I hears that any adventurer who goes up that way gets his throat slit, THAT’S what I hears,” says another.

“Bullshit. Who told you that? Who saw it happen?”

“Well… Nobody. That’s the idea, isn’t it? Adventurers and other mercs goes up. They don’t comes down.”

“So NOBODY who saw anything SAID anything, so you figure that means anyone who saw anything is dead?”

“Makes sense, though, don’t it?”

The skeptical man throws down his hand of cards.

“Don’t make any sense at all, Jasper. Just play.”

The three men tally their points. ‘Jasper’ comes out ahead; the skeptic is none-too-pleased.

“Well I hear that the Paladins are sending someone to check in on the kobolds,” says one of the other men in the store, drinking a watery beer at the counter of the saloon portion of this outpost’s general store.

Jasper and the skeptic both look to him, surprised. The third player at the table doesn’t turn, but sits up a bit straighter, clearly interested as well.

“What?” the skeptic balks. “Paladins? Fuck, they make me antsy.”

“Why?” Jasper sniggers. “Done something ya’ shouldn’t’ve done?”

“Always feels like it when they’re hovering like they do,” the skeptic mutters. “Why’re they sending their likes for kobolds, anyhow?”

“Way I hear it is there’s some knight who came from south and east. Wandering type, adventurer or demon-hunter or some such, all in green. He showed up in Hawksong and revealed some kind of… Disguised lizardman. Looked just like a normal guy, but then this adventurer strings him up and starts poking at him with his sword, and BAM! Lizard.”

“What do you mean?” the skeptic demands. “’Bam! Lizard.’ Just like that, huh? What kind of disguise makes a lizard look like a man?”

“Magic, obviously,” Jasper reasons.