Our tale begins deep in the south-east of the Kingdom of Glas, near the human town of Whatzakt, but has little to do with either of those entities. What we're interested in is the mountain beyond the town, the Lone Peak, a towering summit separated from the expansive range known as Vor's Spine. There, deep in the labyrinthine caves and tunnels below lies our focus, the wide-reaching and sprawling home of the Emberscale clan of kobolds.
This particular clan of kobolds have deep, crimson red scales with black markings on their heads, hands, and feet as well as the scutes that run along their spines and tails. Within one of the caverns lies the Elders' Chambers, a place where the leaders of the clan congregate to discuss and plan. Like most places within the Emberscale Caverns, the Elders' Chambers is not particularly ornate or ostentatious. Bare-hewn walls and a floor smoothed by centuries of scaled feet, more a result of use than intent. It is however large and furnished with wood, something obtained from the surface folk through trade.
Here we find the Elder, Broodkeeper Korse, who is in charge of the hatcheries where all kobolds hatch and are cared for until adulthood. Currently Elder Korse is speaking with the chieftain of the clan, Spiritcaller Ortik. "Chief, I'm concerned." He says. "I've never had an egg take this long and the festival is nearly here. The thing should've cracked weeks ago."
With a somewhat pensive look, which only another kobold could really discern, the chief responds to his complaint, "Sure it's not rotten? I don't want that stink in my caves if it is."
"No, it's not rotten. What do you take me for, an apprentice?" His tone of voice offended at the implication. "This is my ninth clutch as a Master Broodkeeper, and there were dozens of clutches before that to get me here." Pausing to let his incredulity pass. "It's still a little warm, just like it should be, and hasn't started to smell yet, otherwise I'd have fed it to the cave slimes already. I've had to put the thing on my table to keep its siblings from smashing it."
"Well then, stop bothering me and do what you're supposed to; wait and let it do its thing." Ortik says dismissively. "I'm too busy getting everyone ready for the festival to worry about a single tardy egg."
Back in the hatchery, Korse returned to a lone black egg sitting on the stone table he usually works and eats at, nestled in a small ring of furs to keep it safe and off the cold stone. "Won't you just hatch already? Your brothers and sisters are already tottering around and getting into trouble, so hurry up and join 'em."
As the day of the Festival of Emberscale approaches; when they give thanks to Maladoxis Emberscale, the Garnet Tyrant, the great dragon for whom they are named. Spiritcaller Ortik has been becoming more and more agitated.
"My tail has been aching for 3 days straight at this point, that only happens when something big is coming. Ylst, Blonc, have your scouts found anything?"
Arcanist Ylst, the leader of the clan's sorcerers and mages and elder in charge of all things magic, looks to her counterpart before responding, "We haven't found anything, not hide nor hair of anything out of place." She shakes her head, "Especially no goblins or pesky adventurers anywhere near our tunnels."
This statement receives a nod from her fellow elder, the stoic Martial Blonc, the closest thing to a military leader that the relatively peaceful clan has. His warriors more likely to combat an incursion of badgers, a kobold's favorite treat, than launch an assault on anything.
"Well, something's amiss; my tail is never wrong" as he gives it an idle scratch "Send the scouts up to Whatzakt, ask them if anythin's goin on." He grumbles. "I'm going to commune with the spirits. Might take all night, but I'll be done before the feast starts tomorrow. I wanna know what this is before half your fighters are drunk and partying." He received a chuckle in response to the last from Blonc, they both knew it'd be well more than half.
Ylst gives a quick "Fine, fine, just don't use up all my slug ichor. I'm saving some for when my new apprentice, Kore, finishes figuring out how to inscribe a water rune." Her admonition falling on deaf ears, "I'd call you an old fool for putting so much stock in your tail if it hadn't predicted that collapse a few years back. Shame it didn't predict what happened to Korf a few weeks back..."
"Just the Culling at play. The miners had been looking forward to seeing what that one could do in his apprenticeship. Oh well" Ortik dismisses; a hint of disappointment in his tone, but no sadness to be found. "Now shoo, I want to get this over with." Gathering up animal bones, totems, a brazier and a large red-black chunk of garnet; seen as sacred amongst the clan for its likeness to the Tyrant's scales.
The night passes. Well into the next day just hours before the feast, a haze of smoke surrounding Ortik as he channels his abilities and skills. He calls upon the elemental spirits, the ancestors, and even some of the darker spirits of the world to seek answers. He finds many answers to many questions, but none of them his. An earth spirit delights in the coming of a major tremor half a world away. His ancestors decry the fall of a lesser clan far to the south. The dark spirits tell of a prophecy of the Harbinger of the Empty Grave. The one whose flesh is twice taken, once by choice and once by force. A prophecy they've been talking about for centuries and will probably continue going on about for centuries more.
His communion, fruitless in providing him any source of clarity for the present, ended abruptly. The pain within his tail spiking to break his concentration before fading to a dull memory. Quickly ending the ritual, Ortik hastily dispersed the called spirits before his lack of concentration could cause catastrophe. Musing that were he not careful, he could have caused the very disaster his omen portended. Rushing to find the other Elders to see if they had found anything, he unfortunately discovers that they had no answers either. Not even the humans, the constant worriers that they are, had any concerns to explain the appearance, or disappearance, of his omen.
"Maybe I really am just getting old..."
Several minutes prior in the Hatchery, Korse was becoming more excited. Finally, the last egg was beginning to hatch. Wobbling in its ring of furs, cracks starting to spiderweb across its glossy black shell. Korse began his preparations, bringing claw to a water rune above a stone basin to clean the soon to be newly hatched. The water trickling at a barely steady drip. The rune was near to failing and would need to be re-inscribed, though they never last very long. Several minutes pass as beads of fluid leak down the sides of the egg from the various cracks and fractures until a small red snout began to push its way through the shell and little black claws piercing the covering break apart the egg.
As the head is finally freed from the confines of its shell an unexpected sound cries out. A sound somewhere between the 'wraaahhh' whine of a newborn human and the 'Wraahh' sound a small child makes when imitating the roar of a dragon, echoes through the hatchery. The little bundle of ferocity may have meant it to be intimidating and prideful, but it came off more on the adorable side of things.
"My, my, aren't you a lively one for such a late sleeper. let's get a look at you!" He croons, lifting the hatchling from the remains of its egg, dislodging a small section stuck upon its head. "A girl, huh? and a bit on the small side. Looks like we found the runt." Giving himself a chuckle. "Let's get you into the basin and clean this gunk off before you start eating it." Clearly speaking from experience that such would definitely happen.
"Now then, what am I to do with you?" He asks, not expecting a response from his newly hatched companion. "I can't very well put you in with your siblings yet, otherwise the Culling will get its next victim fairly quick." He muses. "I guess no feast for me, I'll be staying here again tonight..." Clearly disappointed by the change in plans. "Come on then, I'll get you some cave moss to nibble on and if you're good maybe even a nice crunchy beetle."
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Like most reptiles, kobolds hatch relatively able to function. At least physically. They will begin crawling within the first few hours. They are however generally about as smart as the beetles they like to snack on for the first year or so; though some never grow out of it. Before long the little bundle is chasing a beetle across the rough stone floors. Korse did of course remove the wings to keep it a little easier for her.
"Hah, that should keep ya busy for a bit and tire you out." A bit of hope in his voice, "Maybe I will get to sneak off to the feast after all."
Arriving at the Elders chambers the following morning, Korse most definitely did not get to sneak off to the feast and his absence was noted.
"Korse, where were you last night? Drink yourself under a rock so early I missed you?" Having barely entered the Elders' chambers Korse already found himself the butt of his peers' jokes. Well, some of them; the others were all a little too bleary eyed and looking a slightly paler shade of red after the previous night's revelry.
"No, no, I didn't get a drop..." He complained, "That last damn egg finally decided to hatch just before the feast, little runt of a girl, barely twenty-four centimeters long." Gesturing with his hands to show the diminutive measure. "Couldn't leave her with the rest of the clutch or we'd be down another to the Culling by this morning."
"Why didn't you just have one of your minders sit with her then? That's what they're for;" Laughs Ylst
"They were all out helping with the feast, or had their own clutches to watch. It was easier than tryin to drag one of em back." He responds, "With that one finally cracked it makes a full sixty-three, not a single bad egg from the bunch. Though we're already down two. Still pretty good." Korse shakes his head while rubbing the top of his muzzle, "The little thing should have a pretty good shot, caught three beetles before I finally tired it out on the last one by leaving the wings..."
This finally got Blonc's attention, pulling him up from where his head had rested on the table in front of him. "A scrapper huh? Hope she makes it, so I get a shot at training her." His grin a bit on the mischievous side.
"I'm going to put her in with her siblings this morning and see how she does. You're welcome to come watch, but you know the rules, no betting on hatchling fights."
The Elders spent the next few hours going over the happenings of the festival, Ortik shares that his tail suddenly stopped aching in the middle of his ritual to commune just before the feast was to begin, so hopefully whatever ill omen has passed them by. This of course was met with several jibes about his age however he was quick to point out his much higher Racial level than the others, meaning that even at 50 years old he'd still probably outlive most of them.
Racial levels worked differently than classes or jobs, each day after your status was unveiled you would get a small portion of experience just for having survived. By luck of birth, some people get more while others get less. There are many ways to gain extra for a day or even permanently increase what you would receive for the rest of your life, but these opportunities were few and far between. These levels grant statistics the same as class levels, but also improved upon your longevity and moved you closer to an evolution of your race.
For a kobold, this means moving towards their draconic lineage, evolving from a Kobold to an Emberscale Kobold for this particular clan. These evolutions came with varying benefits, from higher gains in Ability Scores each level, to racial Abilities, Affinities, and more. Many of the Elders, save for the youngest few, had evolved their race and become Emberscale Kobolds.
Ortik was lucky in his youth to acquire and consume the core of a flame sprite, raising his level significantly, though it also nearly killed him. He still hopes he will make it all the way to 50 again and be the first Greater Emberscale Kobold in the clan in over a century.
With the meeting ended and little better to do, several of the elders followed Korse back to the Hatchery afterwards. They were always up for a bit of entertainment, even if Korse had eliminated the pastime of wagering upon the hatchlings. Though to be fair without the goading and encouragement to fight amongst themselves, the Culling's toll has lessened since the prohibition was put in place.
Korse, after arriving back at the Hatchery and retrieving the hatchling from the minder he'd left her with. She had apparently spent much of the morning chewing on her poor keeper's tail; Blonc barking out a laugh as he saw her hanging off the frustrated woman.
"Well little one, it's time for you to meet your brothers and sisters." Lifting her up and carrying her over to the enclosed and inset stone pen that functioned as a nursery; roughly 5 by 4 meters with one wall full of nooks and small caves for them to nap in and a small puddle just deep enough that they probably wouldn't drown. The pen teems with small red and black forms of the other sixty hatchlings of this clutch. Some crawling around chasing each other, others wrestling and gnawing on each other's scales, or splashing about in the puddle and others still napping their day away. "Now don't be too timid, they won't bite too hard."
As she's lowered down into the pen it becomes evident how much smaller she is than her kin, not only were they larger to begin with but have also had weeks to put on weight. none of them shorter than thirty-five cm and many of them nearing forty.
Most of the clutch appeared fascinated by the new addition, they'd spent weeks getting to know each other and suddenly someone new was here. An encounter that started as cooing and gurgling shifted quickly into one of the larger males scampering over on all 4 aggressively. He was apparently keen to display his dominance.
The larger hatchling quickly pounced on her, knocking her over and pressing her down with his superior size and weight. As she fell to her back, his attempt to bite her exposed belly he quickly finds himself in an unfortunate situation, a pair of claws stuck in his nostrils and yanking his head to the side away from her scales as he lets out a yowl of pain.
"Hah! she's got him now" bellows Blonc, "Never seen a youngling think of doin' that before!"
The scuffle continued, the larger male rolling from her reach to pull his muzzle away from her claws and a bit leerier of his target than before. Circling around her and looking for an opening as he tries to catch her tail with his teeth, only to have it pulled out from his reach then get slapped by the same appendage in the face. The scutes along her tail narrowly missing his eye.
"Oh, I like her!"
This continued on, the runt seeming ahead of her sibling every step of the way. Hooking legs with her tail, poking the thin membrane over the ears, head butting, at one point even tripping him then standing on his head. Eventually the male backed down, only to quickly get pounced by many of the other siblings, literally kicking him when he's down.
"She's going to be one to keep an eye on, haven't seen one like that since Korb. Damn those gobbos." Blonc spits as he says the last, "You think she'll be your pick of this lot, Korse?"
"She's definitely in the running," He nods, "I had thought it'd be that big one, but so far he's just big, not anything special yet."
The next few months proceed as much the same, the hatchlings grow at an impressive pace, though the little female lags steadily behind. Her siblings getting stronger and faster, but she still fights dirty. The others mostly let her be, knowing that they will just end up worse off than she will. Occasionally they still gang up on her, but planning like that is not exactly the hatchlings strong suit so it is not a common event.
Between fights getting out of hand or an unlucky escape attempt, there are already four less hatchlings than there were. Still doing quite well all things concerned. Korse has taken to the runt quite well, and she follows him like a little salamander whenever he takes her out of the pen. Something he should not be doing at this age, any of the others would likely wander off and get stepped on.
The hatchlings begin walking by around three months old and the next few months of their lives will likely be the most dangerous. It is much easier to topple and crack your skull while upright than at a crawl and they have a habit of trying to run before they learn to walk, or fall, properly.
The clan also saw a little upheaval in those months, a group of adventurers seeking "treasures beneath the mountains." For some reason the daft surface dwellers think that the clan must be hiding riches down here since there's all those traps. This sort of thing happens every few years, and every few years the chief has to send a group up to talk to the humans at Whatzakt. Usually sending along an elder or two, typically Ylst and sometimes Brewer Aldr. Never Blonc though, he'd declare war out of sheer boredom by the time they finished saying hello...
A few threats to stop selling the town their stone and ore and their mayor yelling at their so-called 'Adventurer's Guild' usually straightens things out soon enough. Either that or they get past the warning traps and Master Trapcrafter Bolst gets a few levels when they find the real ones. This was one of those years, half the group ended up doused in acidic slime while the rest tripped a pitfall when they retreated. They may have been able to survive the fall, but the stone spikes at the bottom were liberally coated with a particularly nasty paralytic from a centipede found deep in the caves below.
Overall Bolst was quite pleased with himself, all those times poisoning himself to level [Poison Resistance] proved well worth the effort.
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