Chrovan took another glance down at the map in his hands and mentally aligned the various markings on the parchment with their actual corresponding landmarks. The pathway had become sparser the further he climbed up the mountain, as anticipated. He had paid a sizable amount of gold for this map, but there was a growing vexing doubt at the back of his mind that it might not have been worth the investment. Regardless, he trudged on, having gone too far to turn back now.
The road had become precariously narrow, so Chrovan hugged the nearby rock face as he advanced. To his left, there was sheer cliff that jutted upwards into the sky with nary a stable foothold or viable shortcut. The earth at his feet was strewn with jagged rock shards which crumbled under his boots as he shuffled carefully forward. And barely five feet to the right, there was a sudden drop to certain death. The view was nothing he hadn't seen before; the usual landscape of distant greens and browns stretched across the horizon were impossible to discern from the last dozen similar views he had seen during his many travels. The surrounding mountains were barren, save for the occasional prickly brown shrubbery that stubbornly clung to the life despite the scorching heat and scarcity of water. Chrovan took a moment to retrieve his waterskin from his satchel and savored a quick drink of cool, fresh water.
If it's really there, then this will be worth it, he thought. Just a bit more to the top of this wretched place. Over the past several days he had heard intriguing rumors alluding to a mysterious artifact that some mischievous kobold cultists had acquired. After a thorough investigation among the commonfolk, he was able to discern that it had a draconic nature, which caught his attention. Probably just some primitive idiots worshipping another totem. It would be a shame for something with such historic significance to rot in a cave in the middle of nowhere. He continued his ascent up the dry dirt path.
At the end of the road, there was a large plateau. The narrow path widened further ahead, and was flanked on opposite sides with blackened and rounded stones. It eventually ended at the maw of a large cave. From within the darkness of the enclave, Chrovan could hear muffled, indistinct chanting in some primitive tongue. From his extensive university studies, Chrovan quickly discerned the root language, but not the specific dialect; it sounded like a slurred and more guttural version of draconic. He inspected the earthen path between the plateau and the cave, and noticed that the ground had been recently disturbed. He perceived closer, and could make out the faint outlines of rusted metal teeth jutting out from underneath the dirt. Predictable. Traps everywhere. There may be more in there than I had anticipated. His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of approaching footsteps grinding against gravel. He turned towards the direction of the sound as his right arm reached for the mace secured at his hip.
About twenty feet away, another figure arose from an alternative path and onto the plateau. It was a bulky and hunched-over creature with black and red scales where there would usually be skin. On one end, there was a think reptilian tail, and on the other end there was a ferocious looking snout. The dragonborn was clad with sun-eaten leather armor, and equipped with a sword tucked away inside a nicked scabbard. "Are you a friend? Or a foe?" He beckoned to the silent stranger.
"I'm neither." The dragonborn stranger replied nonchalantly, and proceeded to drop his knapsack onto the dirt. He then knelt over it and started rummaging through the bag for some unknown item, ignoring Chrovan entirely throughout.
Who is he? Another cultist? Is he planning something? Chrovan inched closer, watching the dragonborn's every move.
"I'm not here to fight you," the dragonborn spoke as he continued to search for through his belongings.
"What are you doing here, then?" Chrovan inquired, not dropping his guard. "Are you looking for the artifact as well?" The dragonborn's monotone made it difficult to discern his true intent.
"I'm here on personal business," the dragonborn snapped back dismissively. He pulled out a scuffed-up sunstone and wiped it against his sleeve, partially revealing the reddish-orange brilliance underneath. "I have no use for trinkets or treasures."
"Then we'll get along just fine," Chrovan replied.
"We?" The dragonborn stood up, secured his knapsack and slung it onto his back once more. "I work alone." He unsheathed his longsword.
Charming fellow, Chrovan thought. In his past experience, dragonborns were never a particularly friendly race, so this one's surly attitude was no surprise. "Judging by the commotion, there's at least a dozen or so in there. If you march in without backup, I doubt you'll make it past the entrance."
The rude dragonborn gave him a sneer. "I didn't ask for your opinion."
"It's not an opinion. It's a fact," Chrovan chided back, growing more annoyed with the stranger's obstinateness. "Look, I don't look forward to your company any more than you look forward to mine. But I assure you, if you go in there alone, you're never coming out." He attempted to appeal to the dragonborn's rationality, knowing full well of how prideful his race tended to be. "If we work together, we can both accomplish our goals, and go our separate ways afterwards."
The dragonborn stranger impatiently ground his teeth for a moment. "Fine," he growled. "Just don't slow me down."
Pompous bastard, Chrovan thought, growing increasingly irked at his reluctant new travel companion. Let's see if you can keep up with me, tough guy.
The duo began slowly navigating past the wide earthen pathway, taking great care to avoid the concealed snares that had been laid in advance. A few minutes later, they arrived at the entrance to the cavern, and peered into the darkness.
Chrovan couldn't see much beyond where the sunlight could reach, but his nostrils detected the faint scent of burning flesh further down into the cave. As his eyes adjusted to the low light, he picked up the faint outlines of intermixed skeletons and other hunting refuse, which had been scattered all throughout the ground of the first chamber. The cavern narrowed into a single stone corridor, which was guarded by a single sleeping kobold.
The dragonborn walked briskly past Chrovan's side, making no effort to avoid stepping on the bones littering the ground, which crackled under his weight. As he approached the sleeping sentry, his shambling steps caused the lone guard to stir, and eventually awake.
The kobold rapidly blinked its two yellow slit eyes as it instinctively stood up at attention. Its gaze immediately fell upon the rapidly advancing dragonborn, and he began to shout out in protest.
The stranger dashed forward, clearing the gap, and seized the disoriented kobold by the mouth, cutting off his words. With the forward momentum, he slammed the back of the kobold's head against the nearby stone wall, causing the creature's body to involuntarily jerk once before slumping over, unconscious.
He's fast, Chrovan observed and recorded his temporary companion's technique. Lacks finesse, though. He followed suit, scanning the environment for any remaining hazards or obstacles.
"My name is Chrovan, by the way. Chrovan Dakal." He introduced himself, attempting to alleviate some of the awkward tension between him and the stranger, who was taking point and illuminating the pathway with his sunstone's warm, iridescent glow. "What do I call you by?"
"Grelos," the dragonborn replied begrudgingly as they descended deeper into the cave.
At the end of the hallway, there appeared to be some faint light from distant torches. Chrovan could see the outlines of dancing shadows cast against the nearby cave walls. To conceal their advance, Grelos quickly extinguished the sunstone and returned it to his pocket. The two entered the inner sanctum, and beheld a bizarre ritual inside.
Below, in a wide circular area, there were fifteen kobolds dancing around a large pit which held a massive raging inferno. The lizard-like creatures were chanting some bizarre tribal indications as they erratically danced around the flames. One kobold stood solemnly, his hands reaching towards the heavens and eyes held tightly shut, as if in a prayer. This individual was adjourned with a highly decorative robe constructed from hide and decorated with various feathers, shells, and ornate rocks. The clothing obscured most of his body, but through the veil, Chrovan could discern that the priest was visibly taller than the others, had a noticeably bulkier build, and had black and red scales all across his body, peculiarly similar to Grelos. Behind them, at the far end of the room, there was a large stone statue carved in the visage of a red dragon's bust. Its fearsome mouth was stretched wide, as if prepared to unleash its flame breath, and it had two outstretched arms which held aloft a strange object. Upon a closer inspection, the object was a serpentine dragon carved out of smooth red stone.
There it is, Chrovan thought, glad that he had followed through with the investigation. Now, how do I get to you? He turned to his ally, who was also observing the ritual below. "I kill half, and you kill the other half?" He said jokingly.
"Leave the priest to me," Grelos demanded.
"Suit yourself," Chrovan agreed.
"Psst! Hey!" A third voice whispered to them.
Both Chrovan and Grelos spun around and pointed their weapons towards the call.
In the nearby wall, there was a rudimentary holding cell that had been carved into the rock, and reinforced with some crudely wrapped sticks. The shoddily constructed and cramped prison contained a lone figure clad in a stained green shirt and ragged black pants. He had long straight brown hair that almost reached his shoulders, his eyes were seated underneath fine eyebrows, and both sides of his face had sideburns, which met together at the chin into a short beard. "You mind helping me out here?" He whispered to them.
"Keep quiet," Grelos hushed the man coldly.
Chrovan spotted a pair of slightly pointed ears poking out from the matted hair, indicating the prisoner's half-elf heritage. It was most likely some hapless fellow whom the kobolds abducted and planned to make food out of later.
"I can help you fight," the man bargained.
Grelos and Chrovan exchanged a wordless look and shrugged. It would increase their odds of survival, and it was highly unlikely that this prisoner would aid his own captives who had intended to eat him. The two inspected the wooden bars of the haphazardly constructed prison, attempting to find a weak spot to pry the sticks loose. Chrovan attempted to bend a pair of the bundles, causing the wood to audibly creak.
"Easy," Grelos warned him.
In tandem, the two slowly and carefully pulled apart two wooden bars, creating a narrow opening for the prisoner to wiggle through.
The lone prisoner inched his way through the gap, taking great care to not further disturb the structure. He quickly made his way through to the other side, and scurried away from the bars.
Chrovan slowly released his grip on the bent bar. Unexpectedly, and the bar snapped in twain, causing the lower half to swing out rapidly, knocking an adjacent bundle out of alignment. With this, the unstable structure broke apart entirely, and collapsed over in a heap of stone and wood, making a loud rumble and kicking up dust.
The ritualistic chanting halted immediately, and the chamber was soon awash with the sounds of war cries and shuffling footsteps.
"I think they hear us," the prisoner said sarcastically.
"Damn it all," Chrovan retrieved the shield which had been slung on his back. He arose and was greeted by a squad of kobolds brandishing primitive flint spears. He turned around and realized that a separate party had also begin advancing on their backside, also visibly armed. Grelos gripped his sword tightly and held it aloft in defiance, guarding the rear.
"I could really use a weapon, guys." The prisoner remarked.
His words were ignored. "Let's see if you're as skilled as you let on," Chrovan challenged Grelos. He poised his shield towards the enemies before him and sprinted head-first into the crowd, shouting a triumphant battle cry.
Chrovan's shield smashed against the frontline and parted the wall of flesh with ease. The kobolds scattered in all directions, unable to contend with the force of his initial blow. He shifted his stance and dropped to one knee, holding the shield behind his head and swinging the mace with his right hand in a mighty arc.
The tough metal carapace of the kite shield deflected a sloppy strike with ease as his mace cleaved past two adjacent kobolds. The flanged head shattered through their primitive armor and crushed bone with little resistance, and they spun around before landing in the dirt, stone dead.
One of the creatures arose from the dirt, and leapt at him with claws and jowls barred, drooling like a rabid beast.
Chrovan repositioned his shield to match, and allowed the creature to land atop the steel barrier. And with a mighty thrust of only his left arm, he sent the foe flying off and over into the pit. The foe landed in a broken heap on the hard ground below.
Chrovan continued to repel his poorly trained and coordinated opponents, taking an occasional instant to check on his allies, to gauge their progress.
Grelos had cleaved through the first wave with ease, as evident by their motionless corpses which strewn the ground in his wake. The dragonborn was currently engaged in single combat with a particularly feral individual who wielded a pair of sickles.
Grelos swung his sword at his opponent, but the creature nimbly dodged backwards, one of his blades wrapping around Grelos' extended sword. With a single circular flourish, it forced the blade from Grelos' hand and into the dirt. It then bolted forward, bringing both sickles down around opposing sides of Grelos' neck.
Grelos took a step forward, and intercepted the creature, grasping both if his arms with his own claws. He then lifted the creature up off of its feet, and slammed his thick scaly brow directly into the center of the creature's face. The hapless kobold flew backwards, blood and broken teeth falling from of its open mouth.
One of the kobolds surrounding Chrovan managed to strike him with a dull sword at the back of the knee. Although it did not bypass the chainmail, the angle of the force caused his leg to involuntarily buckle, and he fell to one knee. Chrovan quickly shifted his weight towards his attacker, and slammed the shield downwards, simultaneously deflecting a potentially lethal head cut, and crushing his attacker's foot with the rim of the shield. His enemy shrieked in agony and lurched forward. Chrovan arose and swung his mace upward into the creature's jaw, sending its body flying backwards, and its separated head into the ceiling.
A few of the kobolds had managed to get past him, and were rushing towards the unarmed prisoner.
The prisoner began to retreat, but was quickly cornered by others who had gotten past Grelos on the other side. The prisoner frantically searched the nearby ground for a weapon, but to no avail.
A kobold lunged at him with a spear gripped in two hands. Chrovan realised that he would would not be able to clear the distance and assist the half-elf, and was forced to simply watch.
The spear was mere inches from piercing the prisoner's belly, when suddenly, in an unprecedented burst of speed, the half-elf turned his body to one side and dodged the spearhead. He then wrapped his arms around the wooden shaft, and spun his body, throwing the charging kobold wildly off-balance and disarming it.
A second kobold followed suit, brandishing a massive gnarled butcher's knife at the half-elf. The half-elf lifted the wooden shaft up to block the attack, and the heavy blade snapped the spear in half like a twig. As if he had anticipated it, the prisoner twirled both halves of the spear in a circular motion, and slammed both sticks in a cross pattern around the kobold's neck before he could even recover from the swing.
Chrovan unexpectedly felt a concussive force against his shield, immediately followed by intense heat. The magical attack forced him off his feet and he landed painfully against the nearby cave wall. He lowered the smoldering shield and beheld the head priest underneath, who was already preparing to launch another fireball. Chrovan looked to the other side, and saw that Grelos had already taken a direct hit earlier; the dragonborn was now lying on his back, barely lucid, with a large circular scorch mark on his chest where his leather chestpiece used to be. Chrovan turned around and begin sprinting away, but the earlier injury on his leg slowed him, and a second fireball exploded against the wall directly behind him. The blast scorched his back and shoved him into the dirt, causing him to drop the shield, which slid across the dirt and landed at the prisoner's feet.
The half-elf instinctively slid his foot underneath the shield and kicked it back to Chrovan.
Chrovan rolled sideways onto his back, dodging a downward stab from a nearby kobold, and caught the shield with both hands. He then raised it over his face and deflected a follow-up swing.
The half-elf threw the bladeless half of his broken spear at the kobold that was pinning down Chrovan. The blunt wooden stick contacted with the creature's back, staggering him. Before the enemy could reorient itself, the half-elf closed the distance and knocked the kobold out with a single clean kick to the jaw. He then ran back to Chrovan's side and reached down to help him back onto his feet.
Another fireball whizzed past their heads, singeing some of Chrovan's hair.
"He's not making this easy! Maybe if we ask him politely?" The half-elf was somehow able to make light of the situation, despite how dire it was. He did not realize that part of his head was still exposed to the priest at the lower level, who was still menacing them with powerful and destructive magic.
Chrovan quickly grabbed the half-elf at nape of his neck and dropped his weight, pulling him down to a lower stance, just as another ball of fire almost struck him directly in the face. Instead, it sailed past and struck more stone, scorching it.
"Wow, you're strong," the prisoner remarked as Chrovan kept a firm grip. The man's eyes suddenly lit up, as if he had an epiphany. "I've got an idea." He locked eyes with Chrovan, and they were filled with perverse joy. "Throw me."
"What?"
"I said, 'throw me!'" He repeated himself. "I can finish him off, if you can get me closer."
"Are you out of your mind?" Chrovan dismissed his preposterous suggestion. Perhaps this man is insane, after all.
"Do you have any other ideas?" The prisoner challenged.
Running out of options, and pinned down by constant bombardment, he complied. "Suit yourself," Chrovan warned as he slung the shield over his back to free up his other arm. He then secured the prisoner with both hands and held tightly. Finally, they ran out of cover towards the ledge in tandem, and Chrovan threw him with his all of his might as the man jumped off with both feet.
The paired forces sent him sailing through the air at great speed. The prisoner was now diving towards the draconic priest, his half-spear tightly gripped in both hands and poised towards the kobold's chest.
The priest countered by raising a single open hand, and green swirling energy burst forth from the palm and ensnared the rogue in mid-air. The fiend took a moment to revel in the half-elf's impending doom. "Did you really think that was going to work?" He laughed gutturally as he clenched his outstretched hand into a fist, causing more magical energy to materialize from from the ether and surround the helpless man. "The totem has blessed me with wondrous draconic magic! I will not be easily slain by vermin like you!"
The rogue struggled as the green tendrils of magical energy wrapped around and squeezed his malnourished and weakened frame. "Actually, I didn't." He let out between labored breaths. "I was just distracting you," he said with a slight chuckle.
Chrovan has managed to creep up to the draconic priest's flank, and was now grasping his mace with both hands. Without hesitation, Chrovan pounced towards his foe, his weapon held high. Chrovan then swung downwards with all his might, and his strike rang true.
The kobold's body crumbled forward as his head caved downwards with a spectacular splatter of blood and brain matter. The body twitched for a few seconds on the floor as blood collected in a pool around the destroyed head.
The instant the leader fell, the fire pit at the center of the room immediately extinguished itself, plunging the chamber into complete darkness.
A few seconds passed with the room entired shrouded in shadow. Chrovan could hear the sound of a footsteps dragging towards his position, but could not discern who or what it was. He took a defensive stance with his mace, prepared for another melee.
Grelos' sunstone emitted its soft orange glow and sundered the darkness. Grelos had recovered, and was now limping towards Chrovan using his longsword as a makeshift cane. His face, usually stoic, had been replaced with a look of genuine concern. He dropped the blade and rushed over to the slain priest's side. He grabbed the deceased enemy by the shoulder and flipped him over, to get a better look at the corpse.
The dragon priest's body was scaly and bulky, with lizard-like qualities accentuated by the snout and tail. Red and black scales covered the majority of his body. Although more muscular and noticeably taller than his kin, it was evident by the shape of the jawline and his sunken-in eyes that he was just another kobold, albeit a much more powerful and intelligent one.
Grelos' tenseness left his body, and he breathed an audible sigh of relief. "It's not him," Chrovan could hear him mutter under his breath.
"Who?" Chrovan inquired, somewhat intrigued by the sudden break in the dragonborn's stoic and uncaring resolve.
"Never mind," Grelos replied. He stood up and walked over to pick up the weapon he had discarded so carelessly. "What matters is that we're alive. Grab whatever you came for, and let's get out of here before any reinforcements show up."
"Way ahead of you." Chrovan began walking towards the red dragon statue, and the artifact that has been placed underneath it. To his surprise, he was greeted with a barren platform. He spun around, checking the ground surrounding the statue. Did it get knocked off during the fight? He frantically searched for the carved dragon artifact. I'm not going this far to leave empty handed. After several seconds of searching in vain, he turned around to ask his comrades for assistance. "Hey, did either of you-" He halted mid-sentence when he realized that, to his surprise, only Grelos remained in the room with him. The nameless half-elf had vanished with nary a trace.
"Did you see where the half-elf went?" Chrovan asked Grelos.
"Beats the hell out of me. Probably out of this hellhole, if he had any brains." He crossed his arms and tapped a single foot impatiently. "Are we done yet?"
"No!" Chrovan protested. "The dragon totem, have you seen it anywhere?" He widened his search to the area surrounding the fire pit. "Do you think the rogue could've taken it?"
"Why would he take it?" Grelos asked. "I doubt he had any reason to take it. He must've been in a hurry, though. Left without saying a word."
Goddamn thief. And a coward, to boot. I should've known. Chorvan let out an exasperated grunt of disgust and frustration. "If I ever get my hands on him again, I'm gonna break his arm," Chrovan fumed.
"Relax, would you?" Grelos gestured towards the dozen or so corpses that littered the ground in the aftermath of their skirmish. "Maybe one of these sorry bastards have something of use."
Chrovan rolled his eyes. It wouldn't be the priceless draconic totem he sought out, but it would be better than nothing. He knelt down beside the leader's corpse and patted its robes, in an attempt to rummage for anything of value. His hands fell upon a belt and some rope, which had been recently slashed. From the look of the strap design, it might've been attached to a coin purse. It appeared the the rogue, in the precious seconds that passed after the darkness fell, had managed to swipe both the totem and the priest's money before escaping their sight entirely. Chrovan grumbled again, and looked up to Grelos. "Correction. I'll break his arm, and his leg."
Much to his chagrin, Chrovan was forced to leave the cave without any treasures. As the two returned to the entrance and were greeted by a comforting evening breeze, they exchanged a long, wordless stare.
Chrovan was first to break the silence. "Grelos, was it? You're not a bad swordsman. Those were some impressive moves back there. That is, until you ate that fireball," he remarked jokingly.
"Lucky shot," Grelos scoffed. "You're a rather strong fellow yourself." He started to walk back down the way he had come from. "I best be off, now," he said with a backwards wave.
"Where are you going?" Chrovan asked.
"I don't know." Grelos shrugged uncaringly. "Fallcrest, maybe? I think it's less than a day and a half from here."
"All by yourself?" Chrovan continued. "With a sword hand like yours, I'm pretty sure I can find us a merchant who would pay us well to serve as escorts."
"We?" Grelos turned to face him with a cocked eyebrow.
"You watch my back, and I'll watch yours," Chrovan reasoned. "You'll live longer. Maybe you'll even find the person you're searching for."
Grelos looked away for a moment and mentally assessed his options. He let out an exasperated sigh and arrived at a decision. "Alright," he agreed. "Let's see where this goes."
