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Race: Kobold

Bloodline Powers: Strength, Rending

Greater Mysteries: Fire (Noble) 2

Lesser Mysteries: Heat 4, Good Air 4, Embers 4, Pressure 2, Current/Flow 2

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Sam simply stood there, staring into the night sky for the first time. The two moons hung on either side of long delicate threads of stars, draped like silk across the empty blackness of space. In the distance, an owl hooted as it hunted its prey.

His vision grew misty for a second, the glittering points of light blurring together. Samazzar smiled, his tiny fangs gleaming in the moonlight as he took a deep breath of the cool night air.

How could he not look up into that great expanse and see himself, a colossal and well muscled predator blotting out the moons and stars as he hunted? He closed his eyes, imagining the feel of the crisp wind under his wings as he glided past foothills and valleys, the unchallenged master of the mountain.

“Are you sure we can trust her Samazzar?” Dussok asked, the heat in his body giving him a dull orange glow as he stood next to Sam in the chilly night air. “If it’ll help Crone Tazzaera, I’m willing to give it a shot. I owe her more than I’ll ever be able to repay, but this is a tip from Lellassa. There’s a reason the Crone told us not to trust her. She’s more snake than kobold.”

“I double checked,” Sam replied, still staring up into the cloudless night sky. “Bleeding heart mushrooms are a key ingredient in four recipes that can cure Tazzaera, and a suggested ingredient in eight more. They only grow in soil that has been recently fertilized by the blood of powerful beasts, and tend to have a short gestation period before going to spore and becoming dormant once again.”

“I don’t think that’s what he meant Sam,” Takkla said softly, stifling a yawn as she leaned the side of her head against Dussok’s scaly shoulder. “Lellassa isn’t trustworthy. She’s almost certainly playing the situation off to her own advantage. Not every opponent is some rampaging monster from the deep tunnels. Some use finesse and batted eyelashes rather than muscles and fangs to get their way. You need to be careful when making a deal with her.”

“I said that I double checked.” Samazzar looked back at his littermates, a bright smile on his muzzle. “Purified water and everbloom berries are part of one of the easiest panaceas in Crone Tazzaera’s book. I’d just need to collect firemoss as a stabilizer, and she’d be as good as cured.”

“Plus,” he continued. “I talked with Pakklan. The tribute meeting with the Greentoes is real and a big deal among the warriors. Every year the strongest kobolds in the tribe spend weeks engaging in feats of strength to try and draw Chief Duromak’s notice. Being selected is a major status symbol. Many of the guards are betting merits on who will end up going with the Chief, and it would lead to an uproar if Dussok and I made the number.”

“While helpful,” Dussok responded with a weary sigh, “that is not what I’m worried about. Lellassa is an alchemist. Her knowing the recipe for a cure isn’t surprising. I would be more concerned with whether or not the scout actually spotted the bleeding heart mushrooms. She could be doing nothing more than sending us off to chase our tails while she handles more important business at home.”

Sam looked back up at the night sky. The stars twinkled at him like ice-cold diamonds, impossibly far away. Pensively, he bit his lower lip, worrying at the chunk of flesh while he stared at the soft, white-yellow light of the moon.

Finally, he shifted the strap of his travel satchel slightly on his shoulder before turning back to his friends with an apologetic shrug.

“What’s the alternative?” Sam asked quietly, his usual exuberance muted. “Even if Lellassa is lying, that doesn’t mean we can just give up. Crone Tazzaera isn’t just some stranger. She’s the only family we have. Without her help, all three of us would have died of cold and starvation during the long winter that marked our time in the creche cave. I owe her too much to just give up because the plan to help her is risky.”

Dussok and Takkla didn’t respond, silenced by Samazzar’s sudden introspective candor. Takkla put a claw on Dussok’s bicep, nodding quietly to the big kobold as if urging him to say something. Just as Dussok opened his mouth to respond, Sam continued, livening up noticeably.”

“Of course, it’s not all bad.” Sam smiled at both of them. “We always needed to explore the outside world. The tunnels contain some of what we need to evolve, but they’re secluded. Every piece of knowledge we learn passes from one person to another, losing details until it's as accurate as one of the shadow puppets we would make in front of the fire.”

“You never would have been content to stay in the caves and become the best magic-user in the tribe, would you?” Dussok asked rhetorically, shaking his head.

“How could I?” Samazzar questioned back, starting down the grassy embankment that hid the entrance to the creche cave where the three of them had left the tunnels. “There are only a couple types of monsters that we can use to fuel our evolutions, and I don’t think anyone but Crone Tazzaera and Lellassa have books. Out here, there’s a wide world full of monsters to slay and new things to learn.”

“Lead the way then little dragon,” Takkla replied, releasing Dussok’s arm. “I’m not entirely sure about this plan of yours, but you’re right. Crone Tazzaera needs help, and I don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t at least try to get it for her.”

The next four hours passed in relative silence with Sam occasionally stopping to collect a plant or root that couldn’t easily be sourced from their tribe’s cave network. Once or twice, their entire party froze as a rabbit or some other critter rustled in the waist high grass, but unfortunately for Sam’s growling stomach, the tender little mammals were too smart to approach.

Finally, the sun crested the horizon, its too bright rays stabbing into Samazzar’s eyes. They were still probably another five hours from the forest, but fumbling around through new territory, half-blinded by the unfamiliar daylight didn’t seem like the best strategy.

Instead the three of them curled up next to each other, quietly sharing dried cave rat. Periodically, one of them would pop their heads above the grass line to ensure that no predators were nearby, but eventually the three of them grew tired as the adrenaline and excitement of their late-night escape from the caves began to wear off. After an hour or so of quiet conversation, Samazzar tucked his muzzle under his tail and tried to get some sleep.

It was hard. Every time he felt himself starting to drift, a new smell would tickle his nose or a bird he didn’t recognize would startle Sam with a singsong call. Eventually, he was able to slip into a fitful slumber, awakening with a start every hour or so as his body reacted to the strange environment.

He woke again just before sundown, shaking Takkla and Dussok into some semblance of consciousness before sharing another round of dried rat. The meat was salty and tasted like the smoke used to cure it. Better than the fare he had survived on in the deep tunnels, but hardly appetizing.

Once the sun fully submerged itself below the horizon. Takkla popped her head above the grass, surveying the plains before leaning down to give Dussok and Sam the go-ahead.

Sam joined her, taking a second to review his map. There weren’t many landmarks for him to grab hold of, just the mountains their caves bored into and a handful of shallow hills overlooking the rest of the grassland. He did his best, trying to determine which smears of ink corresponded with each of the lumps of dirt in an attempt to orient himself, but ultimately, Samazzar rolled it back up, even more confused than when he started.

He knew the general direction of the bleeding heart mushrooms, and for now that would have to suffice. Once they got closer to the forest, there would be streams and ridges he could use as points of focus, but for now, the unchanging ocean of grass didn’t give him much to work with.

Putting the map back into his satchel, Samazzar began walking in what he thought was the right direction, dry grass swishing around his waist. Overhead, a clawful of puffy clouds floated through the sky, occasionally obscuring the twin moons.

They had walked for just over a half hour when a rustle in the grass ahead of him drew Sam’s attention. He frowned, raising a claw as he scanned the brush, trying to locate the source of the noise with his magical vision.

The surface world made that process more difficult. Although the air was cool, the dirt and grass was significantly warmer than Samazzar was used to in the deep tunnels. Moreover, the constant shifting pressure and flow of the wind made his airborne senses borderline worthless.

Behind him, Takkla and Dussok shuffled to either side, flanking Sam in case he needed support. He heard the quiet noises as they prepared their weapons, a club studded with sharp chunks of flint for Dussok, while Takkla clutched a carefully woven and weighted net made from treated grass stalks tightly in her claws. The three of them barely knew what they would encounter outside the confines of their caves, but preparedness was a minimum. Every kobold pup grew up learning the dangers of the outside world.

Samazzar relaxed as the shifting yellows, oranges and reds of his magical vision finally settled. Their unknown assailant was a snake, only a little bigger than Takkla’s forearm. It slithered away drowsily, struggling to keep its energy levels up despite the cold night air.

He didn’t bother pursuing. The snake wasn’t all that large, but then again, neither was Samazzar when he’d killed the salamander, otter, and millipede. A venomous snake breaking through his scales and crippling him was just the sort of delay that his time-sensitive journey to save Crone Tazzaera didn’t need.

“Sam!” Takkla’s shout broke the night’s relative silence. “Down!”

Without thinking, he threw himself below the grass, digging his claws into the soil beneath. Something swooshed through the air above him, displacing the regular current of the gently circulating wind and leaving a low pressure front in its wake.

He rolled onto his back, staring up at the night sky in time to see a blot of heat, almost twice his size flap its wings as it tried to accelerate away from their party. Takkla hopped to her feet, net clutched helplessly in her fists as she watched it sail up into the night sky.

Samazzar rolled to his feet, tracking the animal by the way it slipped through the air currents as it wheeled about in the night sky. Even as he watched, the good air surrounding the creature flowed past its wings like water, almost taking on a life of its own as it moved to help lift and maneuver the beast.

HIs eyes widened as he realized what that meant. Magic. He wasn’t sure if it was a bloodline ability or if their attacker could access some of the mysteries, but whatever it was, the creature was much more than a simple beast.

“What was that?” Dussok hissed, pulling himself to his feet and squinting blindly at the night sky. He didn’t have Takkla’s bloodline eyesight, and his magical senses weren’t nearly as developed as Sam’s, leaving him practically helpless to locate the bird.

“Stormcrow,” Takkla whispered, eyes gleaming in the moonlight as she tracked its movement between the twinkling stars.

The name stole Sam’s breath, sending a torrent of ice water down his spine.

Stormcrow. The fierce birds were the leading cause of death amongst kobolds venturing out of the caves, but beyond their name and a vague description, the animals were shrouded in myth.

Only a handful of living kobolds had survived encounters with a stormcrow, and every one of their stories had a common thread. The bird struck from nowhere, invisible against an overcast or night sky, and there were casualties.

None of them bore the scars of struggle against the terrifying birds because no one had actually fought a stormcrow. Any kobold that stood against them invariably died, pulled up into the dark air by the sharp gleam of cruelly hooked talons.

Sam could see why. The stormcrow cut through the sky with a level of grace that denied the massive amount of air it displaced. His magical sight couldn’t make out specific details, but even if the tales vastly overstated the sharpness of its beak and salons, the bird’s size and agility were more than enough to make it a critical threat.

“Run.” Dussok said the word calmly, back straight but claws trembling as he hefted his club. “Take Takkla and get to cover Samazzar. I can’t see it, but it has to close into club range to grab me. I can assure you that I will bloody its beak enough that it doesn’t have the appetite for another pass.”

He opened his mouth to reply, only to sense the stormcrow pull its wings tight against its body and begin a dive.

Fast.

Wind whistled past the giant bird as it flung itself toward the ground, faster than any thrown javelin Sam had ever seen. There wasn’t any time to speak. He lowered his shoulder and slammed into Dussok’s side, pushing his big friend to the ground a fraction of a second before the crow’s claws grasped the empty air where he had once stood.

Sam’s eyes widened. The tales didn’t exaggerate the stormcrow’s claws. Each scythelike blade was as big as his forearm and sharp enough to cut through the cured rat leather the tribe used for armor like it wasn’t even there.

Dussok pushed Sam off of him, spitting out a tuft of grass as he got to his feet.

“Samazzar,” Dussok said quietly. “Do not try to stop me. We both know that there isn’t any other way. We are fighting a stormcrow, so at least one of us must die here. You have a future that the rest of our tribe does not. Protect Takkla. Share that future with her.”

“No,” Takkla whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears in the moonlight as she shook her head empathetically.

“Stop it you two!” Sam snapped, jolting their attention to him. Above them, the bird turned a lazy arc, lining itself up for another pass. “Kobolds might not be able to beat a stormcrow, but for a dragon they are barely even pests.”

“Theatrics and dreams will not save us,” Dussok replied, squinting uncertainly at the night sky as he tried to find their assailant once more.

“Then it’s a good thing I have a plan,” Samazzar huffed back, frantically ripping up clawfuls of dried grass and packing it into a ball. “When I give the signal, close your eyes. Takkla will need to be ready with her net to hold it down, and you will have to stun it with your club, but this fight is far from over.”

“But-” Dussok cocked his head. Sam ignored him, closing his eyes as he sunk deep into his magical senses. Far above them, the stormcrow drew its wings to its sides, preparing for another dive.

He reached out with his mind, grasping hold of the heat in his left claw and wrenching it free, sending a shiver down his spine as a small ball of light yellow hovered just in front of him.

Samazzar focused on the mote of energy, bending the heat inward to keep it from escaping into the cool night even as he fanned it with his mind. It transformed from yellow to orange as it grew warmer.

Next to him, Takkla gasped, her sharp eyes tracking the diving bird, but Sam couldn’t let her worry distract him. Just as the ball of energy turned red, he threw the large clawful of dried grass into the air, expanding the mystery of good air beneath it to create a pressure front that buoyed the tinder.

“Dodge, now!” He screamed, throwing himself to the side even as he willed the claw-sized sphere of blazing energy into the floating grass.

Even as Samazzar bounced off of dirt, he pushed with his mind, magnifying the heat further. Then, his magical senses blossomed into a bouquet of fire and ember. Good air bent, feeding the burning grass, and briefly, for a fraction of a second, the night sky was lit by a flash of flames that had the white hot heat of a roaring forge.

The stormcrow squawked in surprise, too stunned by the sudden flare to pull out of its dive. It slammed into the ground with bone snapping force, sending Samazzar flying through the air.

He landed awkwardly some dozen paces away, pain flashing up his left side as he bounced off of the dirt once before landing on his back. Stars, far closer than the distant night sky, swam in Sam’s vision as he blinked drunkenly.

In the distance, Dussok screamed a battle cry, the sound followed a moment later by the sound of his war club thumping into something. The stormcrow squealed in pain, followed by a crunching noise as Dussok managed to find one of the creature’s fragile bones.

Samazzar sat up, the world spinning around him and his left arm not responding properly. The stormcrow was on the ground, still entangled in Takkla’s net as its claws shredded the braided grass in a frantic attempt to escape.

Dussok grunted, bludgeoning the struggling bird with his club hard enough that it paused. Takkla darted in, shoving her cave millipede stiletto in between the bird’s hardened feathers and leaving the weapon lodged in the creature’s upper back.

It squealed in pain, wings flopping haphazardly. Its former agility and majesty robbed of it by the net and broken bones.

The club fell in the moonlight again, this time shattering the stormcrow’s other shoulder and leaving both of its wings drooping uselessly. The crow staggered under the force of the attack, falling beak first into the grass only for Dussok to spring onto its back, pinning it there.

He lifted his club high, swinging it with enough force to break the weapon against the struggling bird’s skull. With a sickening crack, the stormcrow went entirely limp.

Sam stood up, wincing from the pain in his left leg as he hobbled back toward his friends. Dussok was bleeding from a talon slash across his chest, his tough scales shredded like they were made of wet leaves, and Takkla shaking uncontrollably as she stared at the dead bird.

“See?” Sam lisped, the ground tilting uncontrollably under him. “I told you I had a plan.”