NOX

The kettle's whistle pricks his elven ears. He smiles appreciatively and rises from his aged, but comfortable armchair. It's been so dry that Nox can smell the steam from here.

It's an incongruous home in its construction, but it suits his purposes. He has few requirements: a roof above his head and a place to brew his potions is more than sufficient. Over the last century, he's had to add to it as necessity dictates.

Originally it was a simple hut with a firepit in the centre for cooking and brewing. That became the kitchen when he added a study for his books and scrolls. When people began settling in nearby Bodrats, he was forced to quickly convert the study into a bedroom for guests and patients. Consequently, he made yet another study, which required a proper hallway to link the three rooms.

He pauses at a note on his wall he doesn't remember. It's one of his odder habits, he freely admits. When he was young in Shadowfell, paper and writing materials were hard to come by. Instead, he took to scrawling out his thoughts on walls with charred sticks from his fires.

Jilaotto ill. Prepare soup and brew-

Nox draws his pen and crosses out the note. That's been taken care of. It was little more than spring sniffles. All the child needed was some tamrof root soup and three sips of healing potion a day.

The kettle's whistle dies the moment it's plucked from the burner. In the distance he can see glow of the 'great' city of Kannak. It's too far away to see in daylight, but with a population of six million, its lights dominate the night sky.

He despises the place. He understands the illusion of safety that cities provide, but little else. How can one see the stars with all that light? Without them, how does one admire the sheer scale of the universe and how truly small they are? Yet, even Nox cannot help but appreciate the haunting beauty of its nocturnal aura.

His eyes drift to the other source of artificial light in view. It's a tiny, bright spot indicating the distant hut of Barus and Kirba. It's their daughter, Jilaotto, who was ill.

He sniffs at the unpleasant memory. The girl has no idea how close she came to living with him. He doubts she knows it was he who pulled her into the world, either. He's certainly never told her, and her parents likely have not, from shame.

He knew at once what was about to happen when her head began to emerge. Her skin was caramel, then he saw the tell-tale bumps on her forehead. They only meant one thing.

Jilaotto was a tiefling.

Predictably, her parents recoiled in horror at the sight. It was one of the few moments Nox had allowed his anger to get the better of him. He would not let Barus and Kirba give in to prejudice and misunderstanding. Not over something the innocent child had no say or control in.

Of course, had they not seen reason, he would have taken and raised Jilaotto himself. Fortunately that was not the case. In the meantime, they came to accept and love their silver-eyed, budding horned child as any proper mother and father should.

He still kept a close watch on them for Jilaotto's first few years, just in case. He cannot help but feel protective. As Shadar-kai, he knows a thing or two about the world's prejudices.

That said, Jilaotto would have found life with Nox tedious. When not away on expeditions, he spends most of his time brewing potions. Jilaotto, on the other hand, wishes to be an artificer, as her parents are. Nox knows she'll succeed.

She's been studying Nox's books on runic magic and progressing rapidly. This is particularly impressive, considering she is twelve. Regardless, she finds the deeply fascinating subject of the idiosyncratic properties of the continent's flora to be painfully dull.

He returns his attention to his tea, grinding the leaves in his mortar and pestle, releasing their juices. The faint aroma tingles his nose. He deposits the ground leaves into the teapot, pouring the still steaming water after. This fully brings out the scents, filling the kitchen.

It's his own personal blend of curibell, valsam, and palastra. The curibell clears the sinuses, easing breathing. This makes it easier for the valsam to do its work as a mild sedative when inhaled. The palastra is a hallucinogen, which aids the mind in dreaming when imbibed.

It's the only way he can truly rest any more. There are too many memories; particularly unpleasant ones. Not that he's ever been good at turning off his mind. His conscious would rather spend time resting to catch up on all the thinking he didn't have time to do when busy with other things.

He sets the teapot and a cup on a tray. The infused steam filling his nostrils is working already. There's a faint skitter behind him as he exits the kitchen, bringing a soft smile to his face.

While most consider mice a nuisance, the sound of life in his little home pleases him. Especially when the mice have been surprisingly quiet despite the mild drought, which usually means a sharp increase in the tiny rodents' numbers. Strange that he's not heard more of them.

He returns to his study. He closes his eyes in reverie of the combined scent of the tea and his books. This will be a pleasant rest.

Instead of his chair he heads to a brightly embroidered rug in a corner. He kneels reverently upon the rug, then sets down the tray. He exhales deeply, bowing low over the spout of the teapot, inhaling the steam slowly.

He rises again and reaches to a small stand nearby. A little wooden box sits upon it; a silver handle on its side, and an intricately engraved stone ring rests on a spindle atop it. He lifts a silver pick and lightly sets its point in one of the ring's carvings.

Satisfied, he winds the handle. As he stops, the stone ring begins to spin. He closes his eyes as a delicate chiming song fills the room. Enjoying the music, he blindly pours himself some tea with practised hands and raises the cup to his lips. He's waited the perfect amount of time; just the right temperature to enjoy.

His ears twitch, and his eyes open. There was another skittering; much closer. That's strange, the mice usually confine themselves to the kitchen. His sharp eyes scan the room, but he sees no movement, and his keen ears pick up no further sound.

He closes his eyes and prepares to take a sip at last. He focuses on the music and the scent of the tea. The palastra will dance with his mind and lull him into his trance in minutes.

Kikikiki.

His eyes pop open a second time. That was no mouse. What in the name of the Raven Queen is in his house?

He slowly lowers his lids; keeping them open a mere slit. He takes slow breaths, tuning his ears for any little sound. His eyes scan back and forth behind his barely open lids. The seconds ticking by in his mind.

Kikiki.

It came from the top of the farthest bookshelf. His eyes glow pale blue and faster than a blink, he is crouched on top of the book case. His body's become translucent, ghostly, faintly blue like his eyes, channelling the Raven Queen's blessing.

He stares in disbelief. There's nothing here. No, there is something: a hole in the wall, far too big for a mouse. Perhaps a rat? Interesting; he's never had rats before. They mostly moved out of the country for the easier living of city-life.

He shakes his head, and drops from the bookcase, resuming his corporeal form. Something's wrong. Not only have they moved to the city, but rats don't make such sounds.

He pads slowly to the doorway. There it is: a tiny skitter from the bedroom. He slinks over and peers inside. There is no movement, but there has been a disturbance. The blanket on the bed is ruffled slightly. He moves closer. Unless he's much mistaken, it's a tiny trail of footprints.

He sets the tip of his index finger in one little footprint, then his middle finger in another. Whatever's in his house is scarcely bigger than his hand. What's more it's bipedal.

He kneels, lining up the footprints. They cross the bed, running straight from the chest of drawers to the old wardrobe. He lowers himself flat to the floor.

Beneath the chest of drawers beside him he spots another hole. He looks under the bed, spying a third opening in the shadows below the wardrobe. It's a clever little thing, and a bit of a burrower.

It must have returned to the kitchen. Almost as soon as the thought enters his mind, there's the sound of his icebox door closing. What in Shadowfell?

Whatever he's after is perceptive, and knows his house as well as he does. How long has it been living in his walls? Judging by its size, he suddenly grows suspicious that this little intruder is behind the missing mice. Yet if it's so small, how did it open the icebox?

He rises and makes his way to the room's entrance. Instead of leaving, he sits in it. Now, if it tries to sneak back via the hole, or the kitchen door, he will spot it. He takes a deep breath, then begins humming softly and sweetly. It's an old lullaby the halflings sing to their young to help them sleep.

He keeps it up, his eyes darting between the kitchen door and the hole. Minutes pass, but he remains diligent and continues the soothing tones. He wishes it no harm; pure curiosity guides him now.

Movement in the hole. He can't quite make it out, but two dazzling little twinkles of light appear. He can see just well enough to tell it's grey with brilliant sapphire eyes.

He continues, hoping to coax the creature out. It keeps watching, seemingly just as interested in him. Is it sapient? He pauses his humming and slowly smiles.

The eyes vanish at once. His expression falls in disappointment. Very well then, he'll have to get more assertive. He picks up the heavy doorstop, and crosses to the wardrobe. He sets the toad-shaped, carved rock in front of the hole. It will at least slow the little sneak down.

Satisfied, he heads to the kitchen. Peering inside, he spies the wrappings from the fresh venison shanks he'd carved yesterday. A trail of blood leads to one of the cupboards. That must be where the other hole lies.

Alongside the meat's wrapping is a half-opened block of cheese. A noticeable bite has been taken, but judging by the off-white splatter beside it, the thief had not found it palatable. Nox scratches his chin in thought. Okay, so the little sneak doesn't like dairy. That rules out anything mammalian as far as he can tell. Then again, even he must admit nereberry-infused sevael cheese is an acquired taste. Jilaotto refuses to try it.

He notes the wrappings. They were picked open, not torn. His little interloper has hands and dextrous fingers. That might explain how it had accessed the icebox. The handle and the edge of the counter are about level with each other. It must have held onto the handle and pushed off the counter with its feet.

He slides inside as quietly as he can. The blood trail most likely leads to the hole in the kitchen. He listens, but can't hear any sound of the doorstop moving. So, the tiny intruder must be in here somewhere.

He scans the room as he fully enters. The only other thing out of place is a tin of frosted biscuits he keeps for when Jilaotto visits. One or two are nibbled, but as with the cheese they are not to the sneak's tastes. That must have been the first little sound he heard.

Curiouser and curiouser.

He does not launch a thorough search. Instead, he makes his way to the kitchen table, and gracefully sits in one of the chairs. He's nearly three-hundred; he has the patience, he can out wait the intruder. Minutes tick by. As they do, he grows grudgingly impressed. Whatever's in his house is fairly determined to not be found.

Something white moves swiftly across one of the counters. Ah-hah! He rises from his chair but stops halfway.

It's an onion. Out of the corner of his eye, a blur of grey and purple rounds the door frame and into the hallway. The vegetable was a distraction. Clever, little one. Very clever.

He leaps into the doorway. His frustration grows, not catching the sight of further movement. He was too slow.

He kneels, rubbing his chin, thinking. It makes the most sense for it to have headed back to the bedroom. Had it gone for the study, he's sure he would have reached the doorway in time to see it. That doesn't mean it isn't in the study. He only blocked the passage between the bedroom and the kitchen.

It's definitely sapient, that much he's sure of. It threw the onion to distract him before making its move. He rubs his head. He's starting to feel toyed with.

He twists his lips, pondering his options. He's about to rise, when something new catches his eye. The tassels of the hallway area rug are disturbed. It's possible it was him, yet it feels out of place.

He leans down, looking closely. There, barely perceptible, are three tiny scratches. In fact, just as the bedspread, there is a little trail of three-clawed tracks leading back to the kitchen.

So, the little sneak has claws, and appears to be three-toed. Definitely not mammalian. This keeps getting more interesting.

He returns his investigation to the rug. The trail turns sharply left there, heading straight for the wall. Above the wainscotting are four sets of tiny marks. Some are barely visible, with five punctures. The more noticeable sets have three, just like the floor.

They go straight up, all the way to the top. He furrows his brow. It had scaled the wall, and done so with blinding speed. He scans the ceiling, but there are no holes he can see.

Where in Shadowfell had it gone? His eyes drift to the hanging lamp. Sure enough, ever so slightly, it is swinging. Got you.

Nox raises two fingers and aims them at the lamp, twisting them in a little circle. It illuminates at once, and a tiny squeak emanates from the tinted shade. He catches a glimpse of a sprawled out silhouette, before it curls into an egg. The lamp starts swinging in earnest.

"Caught you, little sneak," Nox mutters, unable to help feeling a bit smug.

He senses no malice in the creature. If anything, he would judge its 'crime' as being far too successful a mouser. The little egg in the lamp doesn't respond to his words. The poor thing's terrified, and probably blinded. Nox raises his fingers again, twisting them the other way, dousing the rune's light.

"There now," he coos gently. "No more light... you're safe... I'm not going to hurt you."

The lamp keeps gently rocking. He can no longer see the silhouette, but he hears the barely audible clinks of the tiny claws on the glass.

"That's it..."

A pair of miniscule hands appear, gripping the edge of the lamp. They're five-fingered, and pale grey, with an off-white palm. At the end of each is a tiny claw, just long enough to facilitate climbing his walls. What's more, unless he's very much mistaken, they're scaled.

His heart aches to see the little hands shaking, clearly afraid.

"I promise... not going to hurt you..."

The sapphire eyes reappear. Inside them are vertical, cat-like slits. There are no whites that he can see. What he can see is a soft-grey head, with a faint purple stripe running from the tip of the nose to the forehead. The head is hairless and scaled as the hands are. A ring of tiny but perceptible bumps encircle the back of the head, clearly the start of what will become horns.

The tiny snout fully appears. Its flat nostrils twitch and flare rapidly, smelling him. Nox's heart sinks and pity overwhelms him.

"Oh, you poor little thing..."

Now he's sure it cannot understand him. He's never seen one outside the mountains of Sunosera's Maw. It's kind were driven out of these lands before Nox himself was born.

Nox raises his hands as slowly as he can. He clears his throat, making his voice a falsetto. If it can't understand his words, maybe it will appreciate his tone. It had responded positively to his humming earlier. He coos to it caringly and sadly.

It seems to work, and the little head fully emerges. It's unmistakable. It's a kobold hatchling. The child is still shaking slightly, but its curiosity is winning out. Judging by her flatter snout, he thinks this one's a female. By Queen Raven's glory, she can't be more than a foot fall, not including her tail.

He keeps cooing gently. He considers heading to the kitchen for more meat to entice her down, but he doesn't want to lose sight of her again. Maybe she'll respond to sign language?

Keeping one hand stretched out to her, he points to the kitchen. Her bright eyes follow the gesture. He raises the hand to this mouth, miming eating. Then, he pats his tummy. He repeats this a couple of times, making happy coos as he does. To his delight she emerges further.

Immediately, his confusion grows at the sight of frilly, if dirty, fabric draped over her shoulders. Stranger still, he's sure it's familiar.

"Come on, now..." he whispers, raising both hands again.

The child tilts her head side-to-side. She extends her little face, sniffing at his fingertips.

"Won't hurt you... you poor little thing..."

His heart raises again and swells. She puts one of her tiny hands on one of his fingertips. She's so light he can barely feel it.

He keeps as still as he can. She tests it, and gradually, but no longer trembling, climbs out onto his right hand. Just as he thought, she is wearing a doll's dress, and he does indeed recognise it. It belongs to one of Jilaotto's old dolls. It's utterly filthy and torn, most likely from her frequent scampering through the walls in search of mice.

He lets her sit on his hand. She keeps sniffing and looking at him. Queen Raven's mercy, is she even old enough to speak her own tongue?

He knows precious little about kobold's despite his forays through the Maw. Since being driven from their lands by humans, they completely mistrust anything humanoid. Clearly, the child is too young to know that, either.

The child slips a bit on his smooth skin. He just manages to catch her under each tiny arm. She squeaks and wriggles, kicking her three-toed feet and clawing at his skin with her hands. He winces but keeps the hold as she leaves long but shallow scratches on his hands and wrists.

After a moment she calms, realising he's not hurting her, and she's not falling. Again, she sniffs at his hands before looking up in his face. He's not sure why, but an affectionate compulsion causes him to raise a thumb and delicately tap the tip of her snout with it.

"Kikiki" the child titters, her tail swishing.

He takes the reaction as a positive one. He repeats the little tap, getting another titter from her. His smile's so broad his cheeks are hurting.

He ponders the tittering sound. He supposes it's laughter. He thinks back to the first time he heard it from the top of the bookshelf. She was playing with him, wasn't she? What's more, it sounds like 'ki', the source of his power. His mind's made up at once.

"'Ki' is it?" he smiles gently. "Alright then... Ki you are."