Dream III - Chapter 2 (Patreon)

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Race: Draconian

Bloodline Powers: Improved Strength+, Rending, Firebreath+
Greater Mysteries: Fire (Noble) 6, Wind (Noble) 4, Sound (Advanced) 2
Lesser Mysteries: Heat 4, Oxygen 4, Embers 4, Pressure 4, Current/Flow 4

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Samazzar marched down the row of kobolds, doing his best to look like a chief while they did their best to look like soldiers.  There were about twenty of them.  Half with crude short spears and half with simple bows.  In the archers’ belts were nostalgic daggers fashioned from the legs of a cave centipede.

One of the kobolds holding a spear shuffled slightly, and Samazzar did his best to ignore the slight tremor of the warrior’s hand and the white of his knuckles as he clutched his weapon tightly.

“Kobolds,” Samazzar said, turning as he reached the end of their line.  “We were born small and weak, only fit to hide in the barren cracks of the world that our betters leave abandoned because they are not worth their time.”

“I only see twenty of you today,” he continued, motioning with a still tender clawed hand.  “Can anyone tell me why our entire tribe can only muster twenty warriors?”

The kobolds shuffled backward a half step as one, none of them willing to be the individual standing out as Samazzar looked for a volunteer to answer his question.

“Tarxis,” he barked, singling out the kobold that had assisted Tazzaera earlier that week.  “Can you tell me why there are only twenty warriors in our tribe?”

A furtive shove pushed the quivering kobold out into the open.  Tarxis frantically looked over his shoulder at the ranks of his companions, spear clutched tightly in his hands, but there ranks had already closed behind him.

“Answer the question Tarxis,” Samazzar prodded.  “It doesn’t have to be right.  I just want to encourage you to think beyond what ingredients will be in your next bowl of rat stew.”

“Err,” Tarxis mumbled, glancing back at the impassive kobolds behind him for a second time.  “Is it because we only have twenty weapons?”

Behind Samazzar, Takkla snickered.  Despite his best efforts, Samazzar felt  a smile creep onto his face as he responded.

“Not the answer I was looking for, Tarxis, but not entirely wrong.  We only have twenty real weapons for the same reason why the tribe rarely has over one hundred members.  We are poor.  Each clutch of eggs hatches eight to fifteen new pups, and there are usually two to three clutches a year.  Despite that, every winter almost half of those pups die due to cold, predators or malnutrition.”

“If we try to farm,” Samazzar continued, “larger creatures come and take our crops.  If we manage to bring down a game animal, a predator will drag its body away from us before we can turn its hide into warm clothing.  We are stuck scavenging and scraping for food, and a hungry kobold doesn’t have the time to mine or forge weapons.”

Tarxis shuffled.  The small kobold was trembling like a leaf, and Samazzar was fairly sure that he wouldn’t be able to stand without the help of his spear.  He paused for a second, taking pity on the terrified kobold.

“You can return to the line Tarxis.”  The kobold scampered back into the cluster of other soldiers, taking comfort in their numbers as Samazzar continued pacing in front of them.

“But that is what we are here to change,” he said, trying his hardest to make eye contact with the smaller reptiles.  Only Paklen had enough courage to actually meet his gaze.  The rest of the soldiers did their best to stare at their claws and feet.

“Both in our tribe, and in the tribes that surround us.”  Samazzar stopped, spinning to face all of the kobolds at once as he pushed on with his lecture.  “I don’t expect you to understand it today.  The lot of you are just trying to survive and that is commendable.  What I want is for you to remember this moment in a year or so.  When that day comes, you will have roofs over your head, tools in your hands and proper food in your bellies.  This dream isn’t simply a gift that I mean to share with only this tribe.  It is something that we have a duty to spread to our neighbors.”

“Takkla,” he finished, nodding to the smaller draconian.  She hopped down from the rock she had been sitting on, striding out in front of the crowd of kobolds.

Samazzar took a step away from the warriors, smiling at Takkla’s back as she spread her wings slightly to look bigger than she was.  It made sense, she stood as tall as Samazzar’s chest, just above Dussok’s waist and a handspan or so taller than the bigger kobolds.  Where the bigger draconians’ bodies were thick with heavy scales and muscles, Takkla was lithe, more suited to agility and quick movements than overwhelming strength.

“I have spent the last month scouting the area,” she began, crossing her arms in front of her chest.  “In that time I have managed to identify three other kobold tribes, all roughly the same size as ours.  None of them have much presence on the surface, but their cook fires are visible while flying overhead.  They are just like us, scattered, scared and hiding in holes.”

“I’ve tentatively named the tribes by the landmarks they are settled next to,” Takkla continued.  “The Dirt Gulch Tribe lives in the banks of a dried riverbed, the Green Cliff tribe all live in the same cave network carved out of a cliff face about ten leagues away, and the Mineral Spring tribe have dug burrows into the dirt near a natural water source.  None of them appear to have real weapons or organization.  A single blow to their hierarchy is all it would take for them to fall into line.”

Samazzar held back a sigh.  The kobolds looked like they were an equal part bored and scared.  Without Dussok and him glowering over Takkla’s shoulder, at least a couple of them would’ve likely tried to walk away already.  Evidently, his time in Vereton hadn’t changed the fundamental nature of his kinsmen.

“We are going to divide into three groups and provide that blow,” he butted in, walking up beside Takkla and putting a hand on her shoulder.  “Most of your job will be to look imposing and protect yourselves.  Takkla, Dussok and I will do the real work, but remember that the goal isn’t to kill these tribes.  They are our brothers and sisters and their lives are as miserable as yours were before we returned.  Just like here, we are there to help them despite themselves.”

His words didn’t have much impact.  None of the kobolds were making eye contact with Samazzar other than, once again, Paklen, but none of them seemed particularly inspired.  Rather, they were more afraid of the draconians than they were of the other tribes.

He sighed.  It would have to do for now.  One day the tribes would see the wisdom in the course he was charting for them.  Right now he would have to settle for scared obedience.

“Please report to Crone Tazzaera,” he continued, expression softening.  “We will be dividing up into three groups to hit each of the tribes simultaneously, and she will be in charge while we’re gone.  More importantly, the Crone has satchels packed with three days of food for all of you.  Specifically, dried berries and meat that will taste significantly better than rat stew.”

That perked them up.  Samazzar didn’t even have a chance to tell the kobolds they were dismissed.  Rather, they scattered like songbirds fleeing the approach of a screaming pup.

“That went well,” Dussok rumbled, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  “I can already see the patriotic spirit swelling their little chests.”

“They haven’t seen Samazzar work miracles yet,” Takkla chided, elbowing her mate in the thigh.  “You and I were skeptics at first too.  The little dragon didn’t give us a choice.  At some point, if you doubt a person five times and they prove you wrong five times, you don’t have much choice but to believe in them.  If Samazzar says he’s going to build a new culture in the North, he’s going to do it.”

“I know he will,” Dussok replied, reaching down and placing a large hand atop Takkla’s head.    “It is simply humorous to watch our former companions, kobolds that tried to cast us out of the tribe to curry favor with their regional overlords, tremble at our feet.  They are fearful and suspicious.  Every time we try to help them, they act as if we are trying to steal the soup from their spoons.”

“And that is why we give them jerky to replace that soup,” Samazzar said, his expression fading into a frown as the rest of the kobolds ran off.  “For now, they don’t believe in us.  That much is clear.  The effort it took to force them to start building farms and outdoor buildings, even with the grass camouflage weaves that Takkla put together, was the first sign.”

Takkla snorted, shaking her head as she responded.

“That was actually a lot harder than this.  Various chiefs would put together war parties for ‘battles’ from time to time.  Nothing ever really happened, someone would win and ‘claim’ a valley or hillside that both sides were too afraid to actually visit due to stormcrows or mountain lions.  At least with ‘wars’ they’re used to them.”

“That will change at the first harvest,” Samazzar replied.  “Once the kobolds see how useful farming is, I doubt they will be willing to go back to rat stew.”

“I know I can’t,” Dussok rumbled in agreement.  “I know we were hardly rich in Vereton, but after returning to the caves, it sure began to feel like it.  The last day that I am forced to sleep on a rock that some idiot claims is ‘soft’ after eating a bowl of congealed rat soup cannot come soon enough.”

“We need more workers,” Samazzar said with a sigh.  “Buildings and fences aren’t hard to make, but I can count the number of kobolds with proper work ethic on one hand.  We get maybe three hours of work a day out of each of them, and only when one of us is walking through the area.  Even then, they are incompetent and incurious.  They don’t do a good job, and it’s clear that they don’t care enough to learn how to do a good job.”

Takkla stepped away from Dussok, placing a comforting hand on Samazzar’s forearm.  He turned back to look at his sibling.  There was a soft smile on her scaled face.  She shook her head gently.

“You don’t understand little dragon.  From the first day you opened your eyes as a pup, you were born with a rock hard understanding of your place in the world.  You knew who you were and what you were going to do to become the best you possible.  There have been stumbles and challenges, but none of that changes the fundamental fact that you have always had purpose in your life.”

“It’s true,” Dussok replied.  “For as talented as you are Samazzar, one of your biggest weaknesses is your inability to imagine what the world looks like to those you are flying above.  The average kobold is afraid and hopeless.  They refuse to work and build because they know that they could die at any minute.  In a precarious world, why strain yourself when a passing stormhawk could cut your efforts short without notice?”

“But I don’t understand,” Samazzar said, almost vibrating with frustration.  “The world is cruel and dangerous.  I’m not going to argue with that.  But that is why we prepare.  If the kobold tribes band together and a town and walls, we will be better ready to face any challenges that are thrown our way.  It’s simple logic.”

“That’s the thing,” Dussok responded wistfully.  “If you don’t have any hope for a better life, none of that matters.  The difference between the kobolds of the tribe and the three of us isn’t just a matter of our bloodline being purer.  It’s a matter of hope.  Over the last year, Takkla and I have learned what you’ve had since you hatched.  Hope for a better life.  We’ve seen it in your growth and in Vereton itself.  I know that it will take decades to accomplish, but after our time together, I believe that it will happen, little dragon.”

“Don’t hate them Samazzar,” Takkla said softly.  “They’ve been beaten down by the world.  They don’t even know that a better life is possible.  Squalor and fear is all they know.  That’s why you’ll have to show them a better way.  Once they understand what you’re actually trying to do, they’ll come around.”

He looked around the cave.  Other than the clamor of the warriors pestering Tazzaera for food, the rest were milling around listlessly.  Some sat in the doorways of mud huts.  Others tended small fires, burning the moss that grew near the top of the caverns that the tribe called home.  Only the children showed any life or energy, squealing and running through the hallways of the cave system as they played a raucous game of tag.

Samazzar smiled.

“You’re right.” The children screamed with joy as one of the smaller kobolds caught up to a bigger one.  “Even if the adults are lost, children grow fast.  Here and in the other tribes.  If we show them a better life, they will jump at the chance.”

“So,” he turned back to his siblings, gentle smile morphing into a wild grin.  “Are you ready to pick up your weapons so that we can spread a little hope across the mountainside?”

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