As the day went on they sat, rested, ate, and continued on their way until the evening sky highlighted the smoke of a village on the horizon. Scritch lifted her head, sniffing at the air of interesting scents wafting their way in the breeze.

Baldir was still contemplating a life of servitude versus his vagabond ways. He was growing tired of the travels and constant bar fights. There was little honor in what he was doing, and despite traveling with a kobold and its dragon, he suddenly found that honor was something he valued.

As they approached the town, Blast sat up high and proud on his helmet, giving passerby’s dubious and threatening glares. It was an adventuring town so people tended to not give them beyond a cursory glance. People were surprised to see the toddling kobold and the infant dragon, but if they were shocked, they didn’t say so.

The local pub was beginning to fill and bustle for the evening meal. Baldir was hungry for actual food and salted potatoes, things that his kobold and dragon companions wouldn’t know how to enjoy. He pleaded his case to Blast about giving him a few of the potions and the bird, taking a small piece for himself for a drink, some food, and enough coin to woo a potential party mate. Blast scrutinized him, but Baldir let her keep the gold to herself to guard, so she was much more interested in trusting him.

For safety, and the fact that they were a rarity, Baldir walked them to a grassy courtyard to sit and wait for him while he made his way through the bustling bar. He assured them that he would be back and while Scritch was very trusting, Blast was suspicious.

At that, Baldir made his way towards the market to sell his goods and then to the bar.

-

Scritch sat Blast onto the ground and set about tending to her. Scritch groomed her dragon with scratching claws and gentle massages down her neck, body, and tail.

In their native setting, Blast would have been hatched alongside her littermates and been likely eaten or killed by a sibling. Each Kobold guarded a nest, each nest produced one dragon, though there were many eggs. Blast was small, but Scritch knew that there were good things in store for her. The annoying letters told her so!

Scritch tickled the Dragons’ belly, moving to scritch her from chin to belly in eager little tickles that had her chirring in a strange little purr.

“See, all is good. We will have lots of slaves and you’ll be a good draggin,” Scritch promised.

From somewhere near them a strange scent met their noses before a voice met their ears.

“You say that’s a dragon?” it said. They halted in their spot and looked to the source.

It looked to be a small older human, about a foot shorter than Baldir, but strange in proportion. He was shaved bald, unlike Baldir, who had naturally been wearing thin. He was blessed with a long white beard that smelled, for lack of a better word, pleasing.

Scritch found herself sniffing at the man before she nodded.

“Far out,” He said.

“But we’re right here. Close in,” Scritch said, her eyes blinking in succession as her head canted. Blast squinted at the man.

“Man, I’ve seen dragons before and that’s so small for a dragon,” He said before taking a seat on the grass from them, uninvited. Blast chittered and growled to him.

“I will grow big one day and you shall be the small one,” Blast said threateningly.

“She says-,” Scritch started, but the man only held up his hand and smoothed down his robes.

“I heard her. I already am small. I’m a gnome after all,” He said as he searched through his pockets, of which there seemed to be suspiciously many over the things he wore. There were leather pouches, hidden pockets, bottles on strings, and the pleasant smell, cloying and attractive, grew more so.

“A druid that knows draconic? A gnome even?,” Blast asked.

“I can’t speak it, but I can understand it. No need to sully yourself with common,” He said as Blast began to raise her hackles and creep slowly over towards the gnome.

He looked down at her and his old face stretched into a wide white grin. He had all his teeth, and that was a strange sight for a man of his age.

“We’re looking for slaves!” Scritch said in draconic to him, puffing her chest out proudly.

He considered her words. From what little she spoke earlier, her common sounded sharp and unpleasant to the ears. He expected her to sound regal and learned in Draconic, but her voice was just as grating in the series of clicking chirps that kobolds made to be their own dialect. He wondered why her dragon didn’t correct her but merely morphed his grin into a strange one as Blast approached and bit a bulge in one of his pockets with an indignant growl.

“Woah there! My name’s Leoric. Tell me yours and I’ll share,” He said, laughing as he caught Blast’s angry gaze.

Blast was dignified, regal, far above meager acts of pilfering, but whatever was in his pockets, she refused to let go. With his robes gathered in her mouth, she huffed a threatening noise that Scritch interpreted.

“Her name is Blast. My name is Scritch,” She said proudly.

“Maaaan…How the hell did you get a kobold name?” Leoric asked before he waved his hand at the stubborn dragon to access his pocket and pull out a small leather pouch with tooth indentations in it.

He stared at it and laughed, “Not every man can say their dragonweed pouch was bitten by a dragon,” He said as he opened the neck of it to let the strange spicy odor waft over to the two.

He pulled out a long pipe, a tinderbox, and flint.

He emptied some of the pouch into his pipe and then poured out a little bit onto the ground before Blast. Blast immediately began to snuffle anxiously and scratch at the ground with fervent noises of pleasure and happiness.

“Potent stuff,” He said before offering some to Scritch. She held her little hands out and she happily collected a pinch of finely ground herb that she licked slowly from her fingers.

Her eyes went wide, dilated to large black orbs. She fell back onto the ground and began to squirm as a euphoric sensation writhed over her body.

“I feel as if my body is full of bees and they’re happy little bees,” Blast said in wavering tones as she squirmed around. She was incredibly pleased.

Leoric lit his pipe and took a long draw as the two experienced their own little waves of pleasure.

“Hmm, happy little bees,” Leoric agreed.

“So, how is it that a dragon like yourself has a kobold name?” He asked.

“My slave absconded with me and named me so. It may be kobold, but I shall make all fear, BLAST, FIRST OF THY NAME, HARBINGER OF HAPPY GRASS,” She said.

“That’s the ticket,” Leoric said before taking a long draw on his pipe.

There were different names for the plant across the kingdoms. The kobolds and dragons referred to it as ‘happy grass.’ Humans called it ‘lizard thistle.’ Those who knew its true value, though, called it DragonWeed. It heightened the senses, relaxed the body and had a thousand and one medicinal uses that none could verify, and generally was regarded as a slovenly man’s pipeweed.

Leoric held no stock to others’ opinions. Though, he did emphasize that the weed boosted his charisma. Seeing the dragon and kobold lounging at his side in the grass, he couldn’t argue with his own logic.

Scritch flopped onto her front and scooted herself through the grass to feel the gentle tickle of each blade along her tummy.

“Yes, this has made today’s arduous and pitiable journey more tolerable,” Blast said to Leoric as she wallowed and scratched at the patch of dirt that he sprinkled the dragonweed onto.

Leoric nodded, “Yes, must be difficult to find slaves in these areas.”

“INDEED! I have just the one kobold and a dwarf at this time. I need more,” Blast said with a spark in her throat and a threat in her voice.

“Well, Blast, First of thy name, Harbinger of Dragonweed. I wish you all the best luck. I’ve got my own mission I’m on,” He said before doling out another small pinch of the herb to each of the creatures in turn, then himself. Scritch was wallowing in the dirt making nonsensical noises and Blast went after her tail, pouncing with angry little threats to it.

“Since you have been polite and indulged me. I shall indulge you. What is your quest?” Blast asked the gnome.

The gnome’s eyes unfocused, then twitched. His mouth fell slightly slack and he blinked a few times before looking back to the dragon. He mouthed a few words to himself and blinked in that tell-tale way of someone having just received a message from the gods

Congratulations:

You have received an accomplishment:

For successfully getting both a child and an infant inebriated,

You have been given the “Bad Influence” title.

You have received an accomplishment:

For befriending a Dragon, you earned:

Order of Ash

The gods have noticed you!

Because of your proximity to a creature of divine luck,

You are granted a foresight.

The path you are on is chosen. Follow it wisely and you shall achieve your wildest dreams. The dragon knows the way. Beware the wareless merchant.

“Well, I was going to look for a nice piece of land to call my own, grow some dragonweed, settle down, find a woman, not marry her and spend the rest of my days as the old cad I was meant to be,” Leoric said.

“Why not anymore? Is this not what would please you?” Blast asked.

“Nah, man. The gods just had hella things to say. You said you needed another slave?” Leoric asked.

Blast nodded sagely.

“Sign me up, man,” He said and laid back to sprawl onto the cool and soft grass.

“You are an old creature, but filled with much wisdom and a bearer of happy grass. I shall allow you this honor,” Blast said before climbing up onto the gnome’s belly and sprawling across his midsection.

“You may stroke me five times, no more, or I shall promptly rend the flesh from thy bones,” Blast said before preening over her small sharp claws.

“Sounds good, long may you flame and all that,” Leoric said before stroking down her back exactly five times. This pleased Blast.

“Okay, you may do it two more times,” She said, and Leoric did.

“So tell me. Where would a gnome as yourself come from, volunteering to join my regal army?” Blast asked.

“Well man, just traveling around. Don’t have any family, war orphan and all that, decided to become a druid because I had a knack for it, ended up in a couple of cults, you know the jazz,” Leoric said and Blast nodded. She did understand the cries of orphaned children and the perplexing behavior of humanoids to worship nonsense.

“Ah, yes. Cults. I find it intriguing how the lesser beings so readily want to pray to idols and chaos when the very gods themselves speak inside your head,” Blast said.

Leoric raised his hand to stroke her once more and Blast shot him a warning look that made him retreat his hand once more placatively.

“Hell, the gods come down here to party sometimes. It’s one thing to worship some kind of death beast nobody’s ever seen but to ignore the fact that AmRag and Leffir literally impregnated so many women in the eastern aisles that they can’t marry for fear of being related,” Leoric said with a dry chuckle.

“This amuses you how?” Blast asked.

“The women there really like foreigners,” He mused.

“LEERIC, you look so old. You’re really really old, aren’t you? How old are you?” Scritch asked as she scooted herself by the two.

“LEE-OR-IK,” he said.

“That’s not an old. That’s a name,” Scritch laughed.

“Two-hundred and ten, or so. I forget sometimes. I’ll have to check my stats at the temple next to tell you for certain,” Leoric mused.

“Okay grandpa,” Scritch said before rolling onto her back for a minute to wallow around.

“Well, how old are you two?” Leoric said with a laugh.

Scritch stopped to think about it and shrugged.

“I think four or five,” She said, counting over fingers.

Kobolds were fully grown at eight years old and lived long lives. She was on par with a six-year-old in human intelligence and Kobolds didn’t go much beyond that. Leoric had this nagging feeling that he probably should feel bad for giving them the dragonweed, but somehow he was too proud of his ‘bad influence’ award and wanted to go to the temple to see what boons it gave him.

In their world, the gods sent messages that the average man could see, but the messages, skills, boons, and statuses that everyone had were controlled by the temples. You had to pay a gold to enter, standard, to receive a piece of parchment in the handwriting whatever decrepit old bastard they had manning the seeing crystals that told them what they were. Leoric couldn’t remember the last time he made a trip to a temple. His parchment was crispy and falling away at the edges, so he would need a new one anyway to continue his journeys and make money along the way.

“I AM THOUSANDS OF YEARS OLD. I HAVE SEEN RACES BORN AND CRUMBLE INTO ASH. I AM-,” Blast started, but paused as scritch, as usual, interrupted.

“She hatched yesterday,” Scritch said before flopping back onto her frontside once more.

“Neat,” Leoric said with a sigh.

Scritch continued to root around in the grass, pushing herself belly-first along the fine lawn. It felt nice and scented of the dragonweed. Her legs propelled her, arms flat against the ground until her snout hit an obstacle clad in leather and smelling much like whiskey.

“SCRITCH! I need yer help!” Baldir said as he darted his eyes around madly.

She looked up at him and raised a single clawed hand before batting playfully at one of his beard braids.

“Shh, come on,” He said, grabbing her hand to set her up on unsteady feet. She canted her head, catlike and quizzical.

His eyes wandered and met the gnome and Blast laying out in the grass.

“Oh gods, did she kill someone?” Baldir said, color draining from his face.

Leoric held up an arm and gave a thumb’s up. Baldir sighed.

“Hello fellow slave,” Leoric said with a chuckle. Baldir’s expression turned to bewilderment. He shook it free.

“Okay, I need you to come in there and vouch for me. Whatever I say, you just agree to. I told them I taught a kobold to speak,” Baldir said excitedly.

“Kay,” Scritch said before looking over to Blast hesitantly.

“I am safe to stay with the purveyor of happy grass,” Blast said, giving Scritch permission to leave.

“She said I can go,” Scritch said.

“She said it’s cool,” Leoric said at nearly the same time.

“AND HE SPEAKS DRACONIC!?!” Baldir asked, his befuddlement knowing no end.

“UNDERSTANDS, big difference, dude,” Leoric said while wagging a finger from his spot.

“Okay, whatever. I don’t have time for these silly games. Come. We’ve got lots of gold riding on this,” Baldir said before dragging the kobold away towards the pub.

“Bye, Grandpa!” Scritch said before toddling away at Baldir’s grip.

“It’s Leoric,” he corrected, but she didn’t respond.

“She’s not going to ever call me by my name, is she?” He asked Blast.

Blast gave him a harried and grave look.

“Didn’t think so,” He sighed, “want me to stroke you again?”

Blast stretched out languidly, flicked her tail, and gave him a general jerk of her head that was consent for him to continue the pets with no warning of retaliation. They were bonded comrades, unified under their undignified names.

“You are a fine grandpa,” Blast said. Leoric pursed his lips, closed his eyes, and gave a sigh of defeat.

“Balls.”