Unconcernedly plucking a few solitary notes on his lute as he lagged behind, Deekin shrugged. "That be's up to you, Valen. Only, Deekin is not lying. Old Master said to Deekin one day, 'Deekin, you musts never lie to Masters. They turn yous into kobolds pudding'."
"I'm not your master." the tiefling snapped over his shoulder as he yanked the harpy he was dragging forward over a large crop of rocks on the ground. The head thumped back down with a sickening thud, lolling limply about as it was jostled forwards, and it's wings scraped out behind it.
Apparently unperturbed by Valen's burden, the kobold deftly stepped around the dead harpy to walk at a fast clip by the tiefling's side. "Maybe not," Deekin said with a touch of reproach, "but you is not against kobold pudding either, Deekin thinks."
Despite himself, Valen snickered, but refused to budge on the topic of conversation. "Perhaps you aren't lying, then, nor are you quite as stupid as you look. However, that does not rule out the possibility of yourself simply being wrong."
"Could be." Deekin agreed, now doing a sort of skipping two-step to keep up with the larger man. "But Deekin is not beings wrong 'bout this."
Valen grunted by way of reply, lapsing into a pensive silence for several moments as he pondered the possible implications. On the one hand, it was likely to be complete nonsense. Kobolds were not known to be the most intelligent of creatures, and he sincerely doubted the capacity of one who had spent the last several years getting hurled around caverns and bashed in the head by everything from alcoholic hill giants to irritable medusae. On the other hand, however, that would mean that the woman he had found himself eyeing more and more during his travels was . . .
"Allright," he said peevishly, slinging the dead harpy over one shoulder with a scowl as he stomped up the next ridge, "let's pretend, just for a second, mind you, that you're not wrong. How would you come to know this? Surely you haven't . . . ?"
The kobold rolled his eyes comically, actually lolling his head backwards with the movement. "Now who is being ridiculous?" he snorted. "Deekin is not liking humans very much . . . much too soft and pink and not enough scaleses." He paused while an almost imperceptible shudder ran through his companion. "But Deekin just knows. He gots instincts, you know? And Deekin knows you have to trust your instincts. Like, one time, Deekin is having instinct that Old Master gonna roll over in his sleep, and Deekin is not listening to it. Next thing Deekin knows, he being picked out of the scales on Old Master's back!"
"Truly traumatic, I'm sure." Despite his cavalier attitude, Valen wasn't quite sure to be relieved or apprehensive when the glow from the campfire finally came into sight around the corner.
Deekin shrugged and ran a series of quick, melodic notes off his lute before slinging it over his shoulder in an imitation of Valen. "It okays if you nots believes Deekin. He not holds it against you. Why, Deekin heard 'bout one man, he fall in love with carrion crawler! You not be so bad by comparison, Deekin thinking."
"I am not in love with a . . . with anything!" Valen snarled, dropping his voice until it was a nearly inaudible hiss. His face was very pale now, save the twin spots of crimson colour that had risen in his cheeks like flags. "And I don't want to hear another word about this from you, about this or anything else tonight! One more word, and I swear, kobold, they'll still be picking your scales off of the walls by the time Elminster decides to shave that ridiculous beard of his off!"
Deekin regarded him with reproachful eyes, but said nothing as they rounded the corner, striding ahead briskly instead to the warm light of the fire and sitting himself down firmly on an ancient toadstool.
Seated on the other side of the fire, Mistress Raveyn Wyng immediately shot to her feet, a welcoming smile sliding into place of the brooding expression with which she had been studying the fire. "There you are," she said warmly, "I was beginning to wonder what was keeping you." Her dark eyes fell upon the birdlike creature as Valen swung it irritably to the ground at her feet with a grunt. Her ruby red lips twitched with a slight moue of disgust. " . . . and I see you were able to find food for the night as well."
"It was either this or a basket of Ettercap eyes." he snapped, dropping to one knee beside the carcass under the pretense of prodding for the best cuts of meat, but more to avoid her gaze. "I've had Ettercap eyes. They burst unpleasantly on the tongue. I thought we might prefer something slightly less juicy."
Absorbed as he was in his task, he missed the inquiring look Raveyn sent Deekin. Deekin, for his part, also happened to miss it, as he was currently absorbed in wondering wether or not the slimed and cracked stone walls would indeed hold kobold scales for any length of time.
Worried now, Raveyn crouched down next to Valen, the leather of her black skirt flexing tautly over her round buttocks (not that he noticed, of course). "Valen," she said quietly, "is something wrong? Only, you're acting a bit . . . odd."
Before he could stop himself, the tiefling had glanced over and gotten an eyeful of the bosom straining under her leather shirt, and he quickly dropped his gaze back to the ground. The kobold was full of it, obviously. Whatever lies he was spinning about her, Deekin clearly cared a great deal for the attention of his 'Master'; perhaps this newest tale was his way of assuring Valen didn't try to come between them?
However . . .
Valen chanced a glance again, this time at her throat, only to find himself thwarted by the ornately worked, massive silver and ruby collar she wore. Before he could make up his mind, she had reached out with one long-fingered, red nailed hand and tilted his chin up. "Valen," she said, this time with a slow smile, "why don't you tell me what's on your mind? Maybe we could work it out, together."
Even as Valen blanched at the suggestion, his mind raced. In the end, he decided, there was only one way to be certain. "Raveyn," he began after a deep intake of breath, "are you really . . .ah . . . " He caught Deekin's eye. " . . . oh, the Hells with it."
And, bracing himself, he reached out and grabbed her chest.
----------
"Well," Valen snarled, nursing the bruise that was blossoming around his right eye, "I hope you're happy, kobold. I'll have you know that the only thing preventing me from roasting you over that fire on a spit right now is the fact that she was gracious enough to forgive me."
Unconcerned, Deekin tore another strip of wrinkled, roasted harpy meat off of the slender bone he had been gnawing before favouring the tiefling with a broad, toothy grin. "You nots like kobold stew very much, anyway. Too many bits to get stucks in teeth, like popcorn."
Grunting, Valen scowled into the fire momentarily before glancing off in the direction of the small tent that had been erected at the opposite end of the campsite. No shadows moved within. He sighed abruptly, and found himself with a grudging smile on his face. However mortifying the evening had been, at least it had laid to rest any questions that idiot kobold had put in his head. He felt the fool, and was more than relieved to know she had been willing to forgive him his transgression. Raveyn was a remarkable woman, a fine WOMAN, and he was lucky enough to . . . to . . .
"Where are you going?" he snapped, eyeing Deekin angrily.
The kobold, who was halfway to the small cloth tent, paused and looked back, something white balled in one fist. "Deekin is just goings to give this back to Master," he said apologetically, raising the item, "she dropped it when she was beings coming back from the stream before beds, and he knows she needs it, and will miss it in the morning."
Squinting over the fire, Valen recognized the item as a tightly balled piece of white cloth. "What is it?"
"Oh," said Deekin off-handedly, "just Master's left breast."