Note: I REGRET NOTHING!
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The little kobold had been softly plucking at the strings on his lute for some time now, solitary, seemingly pointless notes that rose into the cold air of the Underdark and were instantly swallowed. Striding before him, Dirk Deadly, Sourge of the Darkness and Ripper of a Thousand Bodices, waited to see wether or not the little fellow would offer up a piece of new music. He had been deep in thought for most of the day (or was it night? Hard to tell down here), which was most unlike the creature.
When the silence only spun out longer between them as they marched onward, broken by occasional notes, Dirk finally stopped. Putting on his most sympathetic and beatific expression, something he practised in his polished plate each morning, he went down on one knee solemnly. It was his duty to see to the needs of his henchpersons, especially the emotional ones.
Deekin stopped walking immediately, looking politely confused at the attention. His claws were still poised on the strings. "You wants something from Deekin, Boss?" he inquired, looking as nervous as was possible for his features. To the best of his recollection, the last time his Boss had used that expression on him, (which, in Deekin's silent opinion, looked as though the strips of dried Rothe meat he'd been eating had disagreed with him.) Deekin had been on the receiving end of an hours-long lecture on how to impress a lady that had only ended when the Drow assassin that had been following them for the last several hours had hurled herself at Dirk shrieking with frustration.
"Deekin, old chum," he said now, eyes glinting warmly, "you know you can always come to me for help, my little friend. Are you stuck for a melody? Perhaps I can help. I have listened to over five thousand ballads, you know . . . and seduced women by nearly all of them." he added with what he thought was a roguish grin; in reality, it only served to emphasize the rather large gap between his two front teeth.
"Um . . . " Deekin hesitated, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He seemed to be trying to look everywhere at once. "Well, maybe . . . maybe Deekin is tryings to write new song . . . only, um, Deekin is not beings sure if it be romantic enough . . . "
"Haha!" Drik bugled. He clapped the kobold on the back hard enough to send him stumbling forward and rose to his feet, grinning. "I knew it! Have your eyes set on some young kobold lass with supple scales and glinting teeth, do you?"
"Er, sorry, Boss, but Deekin not think Kobolds scaleses be very supple . . . and Kobolds teeths not glint very much on accounts of all the yellow . . . "
Dirk rolled over him as though he hadn't spoken; Dirk Deadly was a fine old talker, and frequently went on for hours at a time on any number of matters unless he was distracted by a suitably noble quest, or a suitably straining bodice. "Well, Deekin, old chum, you just let me have it! I'll see to it that we net you the girl of your dreams!"
If it was possible for scales to blush, Deekin's were managing admirably. "Ah . . . well, you sees, it not really be Kobold, Boss . . . Deekin was thinking . . . Deekin was thinking maybe he finds lonely dragoness, for a change. Deekin . . . Deekin wants someone very strong, 'cause Deekin only be real little, and sometimes falls in holes and cant gets out and stuff . . . "
Acting for all the world as though it were commonplace for Kobolds to stroll into dragon dens with poetry and flowers, Dirk propped his hands on his hips and beamed. "Well well! My little friend has high hopes! Why don't you let me hear this song of yours, and I'll tell you how you can improve it."
The little Kobold was silent for a moment. He looked miserably about the area, hoping for a distraction, but the large cavern remained stubbornly devoid of Beholders or Illithids. After a moment, he braced his claws along the appropriate strings, took a deep breath, and began to sing;
"Deekin like big rumps and he do not lie!
The other Kobolds can't deny!
That when a dragon struts into your smelly cave place
And drops a big rump in your face
You get -- squashed!
Got to get some fresh air
Really gotta get outta there!
Oooh rump o' scaled skin
Deekin's scales only be real thin!
Well protect him, protect him,
Things always trying to get him!
Even if you not good at dancin'
Deekin say to heck with romancin'!
Dragon got rump!"
Panting slightly with the effort of the fast-paced beat, Deekin propped his lute momentarily against his toes to flex his claws. He peered up at Dirk with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity. "So . . . so what dids you thinks? Deekin think it not be as good as Doom Song, maybe, but he think that not be romantic enough to stop big dragon from eating him."
Dirk was silent for a moment, his face oddly slack. Then, abruptly, he reached out, laid one large hand on Deekin's narrow shoulder, and said in a low voice, "We will never speak of this again." He spun on his heel and set off at a rather brisk pace, nearly stumbling over a patch of small rocks in the cavern floor.
Puzzled, Deekin stared after him for a moment, before shrugging and following along. Not everyone could appreciate romance, he supposed.