Nobody in the camp could remember the Elder Chungotlus ever being a young kobold. Even the other elders occasionally told stories of him teaching them of the laws of Thlabifis, the stirring war songs of Chlombujrer Rapiddelights, and the wondrous poetry of The Nameless Lady. That Chungotlus would one day near death had never occurred to any of them. But there came a day where he did not arrive at the nursery to teach. The children sought him out and found him still in his furs.
The shaman was called to do her work, but Chungotlus sent her away with a firm reprimand. “My death has not come, child. There is no need for herbs or magic,” he barked out with his usual command, but thinner, reedier. “There are stories in me yet. The slaughter of Threedlaflradrum. The conquest of Neldrumdras. The occurring of Jreengus. Have you heard the story of Sruchlofisjlufruyus? Of those flames who burned so bright they could melt the lands with their courage? Settle in children... And listen to my story of Nobletongues.”
The other children were gathered and a bucket of water was brought to the failing kobold. His eyes remained shut until he let out a blustering cough that waggled his moustaches. “Nobletongues begins as many stories... With a quest for that greatest pursuit. Food.”
The Flames of Dripping traveled far for their quest. They knew the animals to make the greatest feasts and the berries to make the finest drinks would be in deep forests. Yes, there is danger in the forests, but their pursuit was too important to be dissuaded from. They avoided the heat of the southern lands and the cold of the north to find the perfect balance between the two. And they came prepared.
Their leader was a ‘bold who knew his way about an axe whether cutting down foes or chopping corpses. Taz Crumblemastered had been trained to lead a warsquad, but this was simply a slightly different challenge.
Of course, no one kobold can hunt alone. Splinter Beakrhymed would lead in times of hunting. His boundless energy promised success, though some of the Elders had pointed out that he was perhaps too willing to take risks.
Though just barely fully grown, Corai Standgrind was built like a clay wall with a punch like a mule’s kick. True, he may not have been the kobold to sing the sweetest or pound his buckler the loudest, but the cries of his enemies would echo about the valley.
Previous camps with similar missions had difficulty with birds and giant, horrific flying bugs. The Flames of Dripping had learned from this mistake. Drix Untowardrevere’s bow was their solution. And once he was done filling a hide with arrows, he could patch it up into something useful.
Once the skin was cut away, the animals would go to Sen Roughmurder. Never was there such a poorly named kobold. She was a creature of peace and could make a drink or a meal like you would never believe.
Of course, no grand industry of cooking could be achieved without a hut in which to work. But the kobolds had spared no expense on this journey. They had found a kobold who could work with clay to make bricks, jugs, and all manner of wonderful artifact. True, some did say that Aseaheru Heldsmiles only came along because of her love for giant otter leather, but her earthenware buildings were a promising next step in kobold civilization.
There was something about the seventh that unsettled the other kobolds. She possessed a musculature that made her tower over the others. Though she was only five she had a presence of age about her. She was to be their spiritual advisor, the rightly named Kalras Swordflinch the Bone Priestess.
The Elder coughed and shook his head when the bucket of water was offered to him. “No, there is no need. Rest. Rest is what I need. I will tell you of these seven and of the story they carved for themselves.”
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Topic: Non-Running Kobold Community Camp and Questions About A New One (Read 24549 times)