Path to Villainy: An NPC Kobold's Tale

by S. L. Rowland

  Path to Villainy

  An NPC Kobold’s Tale

  S.L. Rowland

  Also by S.L. Rowland

  Sentenced to Troll

  Sentenced to Troll 2

  Sentenced to Troll 3

  Pangea Online: Death and Axes

  Pangea Online: Magic and Mayhem

  Vestiges: Portal to The Apocalypse

  Copyright © 2020 by S.L. Rowland

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  SLRowland.com

  Created with Vellum

  For Scotty, thanks for being a part of the process.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by S.L. Rowland

  Untitled

  Chapter One

  “Greetings, adventurers! How may I assist you today?” Witt stared at the three armored heroes standing in front of him along the path to the Forgotten Quarters Dungeon.

  A small gnome warrior stepped forward. He wasn’t much bigger than Witt. Behind him, a minotaur mage and a human paladin watched with interest. The heroes were explorers from other worlds that appeared on the planet to go on quests, slay monsters, and increase their power.

  The gnome was clad in shimmering mail that swallowed him whole. He had bright-green hair, and pointy ears. In one hand, he carried a sword as tall as he was. In the other, a small shield. “We would like to be buffed with one of your songs so that we may defeat the nearby dungeon.”

  Witt extended his hand. “Five silver.”

  After the gnome reached into his pouch and handed over the five silver coins, Witt took his lute and gently stroked the strings. Their tender melody filled the air, and a soft glow formed around the warrior and his party.

  Witt softly sang a tune.

  “It was a day, a normal day, when Scrabolt became aware,

  that deep within the mountain’s caves, there lived a mighty bear.

  The bear was strong and hardy, but Scrabolt was as well.

  He gathered all his weapons, his armor, and his potions.

  But all he really needed, was one divine emotion.

  He raged at the beast, and his skin grew hot,

  his eyes grew feral, and he lost all thought.

  And when the rage had ended, he once again became aware.

  Now, lying at his feet, was the defeated umber bear.”

  The musical notes became visible with each strum of his instrument. In vivid colors of purple and red, they jumped from the lute and dispersed into the bodies of the three adventurers standing before him as Witt recited the second verse of his song.

  He didn’t have a lovely voice. He wasn’t a bard capable of singing love songs to woo women, or captivating a crowd. No, he was a skald, a keeper of lore whose songs and poems had the power to send allies into a frenzied rage. The fact that he was a kobold, a reptilian race long believed to be the descendants of dragons, meant that his songs were not beautiful. Just like his voice, they were gruff. Oftentimes, they were angry. Every note he sang was rough and grating as it ripped through the air.

  When the song finished, the adventurers turned and left without so much as a second glance at Witt.

  The kobold took a seat on a nearby stump to wait until the next adventurer appeared. His post was along the path that led to the dungeon entrance. Tall, towering trees with skeletal limbs reached down from above. He had never been in the dungeon. He’d never been much of anywhere. For Witt, every day was the same. He woke, left his village of Murkwell, crossed the city of Skullheyden, and waited outside of the dungeon to sell his services to adventurers before they entered. At the end of the day, he’d go home, deposit his money into the village fund and wait for it all to start anew.

  As he sat there, he saw Schekt, a fellow kobold and bartender of The Merry Minotaur Inn, passing by.

  Witt waved to Schekt.

  Schekt stopped and turned to Witt. “Greetings, adventurer! Welcome to The Merry Minotaur, would you like a room or a drink?”

  Witt just shook his head. Every day, it was the same. Schekt walked by, said the same idiotic sentence, then carried on toward town. Schekt looked almost identical to Witt, with the same rust-colored scales, reptilian face, and ivory horns that protruded just behind his ears. Like all kobolds. Yet, he was the only kobold that behaved in this way. He must have been dropped on his head one too many times as a child. How he managed to run a bar, Witt had no idea.

  The day passed slowly before the next group of adventurers appeared. Witt watched the swaying branches of the trees, not thinking about anything in particular.

  He turned his head as a raucous party clamored their way over. A group of four dwarves laughed and bantered as they approached. A short stout dwarf carrying a warhammer smashed his weapon into the side of his party member. It clanked against the armor, dropping the dwarf’s health by a chunk. The other two dwarves howled with laughter.

  “Greetings, adventurers! How may I assist you today?” asked Witt.

  “Shut up, kobold.” The warhammer-wielding dwarf sneered, twisting his warhammer against his palm. He sported a thick red beard, braided intricately down his chest and adorned with silver clasps, and brown leather armor. “Give us your stupid buff.”

  The other three dwarves laughed even harder.

  Witt took a step back, unsure why the adventurer was treating him with such hostility.

  The bearded warrior stepped forward. “Buff, now,” he growled.

  Witt wasn’t looking for trouble. In fact, he wanted to get the song over with so that these buffoons could be on their way. He extended his hand. “Five silver.”

  The group laughed as the warrior handed Witt the coins. An uneasy feeling passed through Witt that he couldn’t quite explain. The scales on the back of his neck grew cold.

  He strummed his lute, casting the party in a golden glow, then he began to sing. The party nodded their heads vigorously to his music, letting their thick locks whip through the air.

  The entire experience had Witt on edge. Something was definitely off.

  When Witt finished his song, a devious smirk spread across the warrior’s face. A ring of purple energy swirled around each party member displaying that the buff had taken effect. The warrior laughed. It was icy, causing the patch of cold on Witt’s neck to spread even farther.

  “Thanks for the buff, kobold.” The warrior smiled. “I’ve got a tip for you.”

  The other dwarves laughed.

  Witt scrunched his nose; he’d never been given a tip before. Before he had time to understand what was happening, the warhammer connected with the side of his head. Witt’s vision blurred, darkening around the edges. He tried to focus, but all he could think about was the ringing in his ears. Above the dull drone, laughter reigned.

  A second blow brought Witt to his knees. He fought to stand, but it was no use. His world was darkness and laughter, then nothing at a
ll.

  Chapter Two

  Witt woke up in his bed. It was nothing spectacular, not like the fancy beds one might find at an inn in Skullheyden. This was nothing more than a collection of straw piled neatly in the burrow Witt shared with several other kobolds.

  The kobold tunnels spread far and wide underneath the city, but the living quarters were in Murkwell to the North.

  He stretched his arms overhead as he sat up and looked around, ready to start his day. Everyone else was gone. I must have overslept. Witt quickly threw on his clothing, grabbed his bag and his lute, and set off toward the dungeon entrance.

  The sun was high in the sky as he raced from Murkwell to Skullheyden. Many of his fellow kobolds were already at work mining or farming. It was rare for a kobold to have a magical class, even rarer to have one like Witt’s. Most kobolds who were blessed with magic were either assassins or rogues. But Witt loved his life, as strange as it may be. Helping heroes overcome dungeons was good work, and it kept the kingdom prospering. The money he made from each buff helped keep Murkwell prospering too.

  Witt left the murky depths of Murkwell as fast as his short reptilian legs would carry him. In the distance, the largest tower of Skullheyden castle stared down upon him. A massive stone skull with glowing pyres for eyes atop the tower comforted him in an ominous way.

  He passed through the giant stone arches of the city entrance, catching a few stares from the guards, but they said nothing. The market bustled with heroes and townsfolk buying and selling. Witt scurried through the crowd, barely noticeable as he only came up to the waist of most of them.

  Something bumped into Witt as he ran, knocking him off his feet.

  “Watch where you’re going!” a deep voice rumbled.

  Witt looked up to see a stocky green orc snarling at him. A jagged scar ran diagonally from one corner of the orc’s face to the other, and both of his tusks had been broken off, probably in battle.

  “Kobolds.” The orc shook his head. “Useless.”

  Witt ignored the remark. Kobolds had never gotten much respect, even though they took most of the jobs no one else wanted in the kingdom. Kobolds worked harder and longer than any other race, yet they were forced to live in burrows outside of the city.

  It suited Witt just fine. He’d rather have the company of his fellow kobolds, even Schekt, over the hoity toity city dwellers. Evenings spent by the fire eating roasted meat and drinking kobold brew were some of his fondest memories.

  After passing through the city, Witt followed the road to Cardamew Forest. After a mile, a haunting trail led into the depths of the forest where the famous Forgotten Quarters Dungeon awaited. A single adventurer stood at Witt’s post looking around. The human woman wore all black, with nearly a dozen daggers strapped across her chest and legs.

  When she spotted Witt, her blue eyes lit up. “There you are! I was wondering if you would be coming back today. Those guys are a bunch of jerks.”

  Witt cocked an eyebrow, uncertain of what she was talking about.

  “Greetings, adventurer! How may I assist you today?”

  “I’d like a buff, please.”

  Witt played his lute and sung his song, and soon she was on her way.

  He scratched his chin, his thick talons scraping over his tough scales. The sun was high overhead by this point. How did I manage to sleep so late? He’d always been an early riser as far back as he could remember. He shrugged and took a seat on the nearby stump. A moment later, the clank of plate armor announced a new arrival.

  A knight in golden armor accompanied by two scantily clad females came to a stop in front of Witt. The kobold had never understood the practicality of the outfits many female adventurers wore. How this knight could cover everything but his eye holes, and yet these two women might lose their clothing in a stiff breeze was baffling.

  Just one of the reasons that kobolds were far superior. One could hardly tell a female from a male based on clothing or appearance alone. Females might be smaller, but even then they didn’t look that different from a young adult male.

  The knight rested his massive shield on the ground and it sank into the earth several inches.

  “Greetings, adventurers! How may I assist you today?” asked Witt.

  The knight dropped to a knee. “We would like a buff before entering the dungeon.”

  “Five silver,” replied Witt.

  With payment exchanged, Witt strummed his lute and sang his song, casting them all in a glowing aura. Once finished, the knight stood, a purple ring of energy swirling around him and his companions. With a nod to Witt, they set off toward the dungeon.

  “Out of my way!” someone shouted from the entrance to the dungeon.

  Witt turned to see a group of three dwarves with dented armor, covered in blood and marching toward him. A red-bearded dwarf carrying a warhammer bumped into the knight without apology.

  “Kobold! What kind of buff was that?” The dwarf’s fingers flexed as he gripped his warhammer even tighter. “I thought you were supposed to make us invincible? One of our party died, and we barely made it out alive.”

  Witt looked on with confusion. He had never seen these three before in his life.

  “I think you are mistaken, sir.”

  The dwarf shook his head. “Stupid, stupid kobold. You’re going to pay for this. Give us the best buff you have and we’ll go easy on you.”

  An icy cool crept across Witt’s neck, putting him on edge. Why were these adventurers blaming him for their failure in the dungeon?

  He extended his hand. “Five silver.”

  The dwarf laughed. “If you think I’m going to pay you after everything we just went through, you are sadly mistaken.”

  Witt raised his hands, hoping to calm the angry dwarf. “I’m sorry, sir, but rules are rules. The money for my services goes straight to the village.”

  One of the other dwarves put his hand on Red-beard’s shoulder. “Come on, Stu, let’s just get out of here.”

  Stu shrugged him off. “No. Jerry was almost level six and he lost all of that XP. This pathetic excuse for an NPC is going to pay. Again.”

  Again? What was this dwarf talking about? Surely, he has me mistaken for someone else.

  “Come on, he’s a kobold,” the third dwarf chimed in. “They’re worth practically zero XP. And this one is an NPC, not a monster. If someone catches you killing him, you’ll have a bounty on your head. Is it really worth it?”

  Stu glared at his party members. “Watch the path and make sure no one else comes this way.”

  With an exasperated sigh, the other two dwarves left, leaving Stu and Witt alone together.

  The icy patch crept further down Witt’s spine, and he suddenly had the urge to run. His thoughts drifted briefly to the daggers strapped to his side before he quickly pushed them away.

  He was here to help the adventurers, not hurt them.

  Something rustled in the nearby bushes, drawing the dwarf’s attention. A kobold Witt recognized from a nearby burrow stepped onto the trail carrying a bundle of dead rabbits tied together with twine.

  “Cerent? What are you doing here?” asked Witt. Considering the ire of the dwarf before him, this was not a great place for the kobold to be.

  Cerent lifted the bundle of rabbits. “Heading to the market with my catch for the day.”

  Apparently, that was the end of the conversation for Cerent, because the kobold kept walking.

  “Not so fast.” Stu narrowed his eyes at Cerent, and then switched his focus to Witt. “I think it’s time we teach you a lesson. My party will be back here tomorrow. Remember what happened here today and have a better buff waiting for us, or we can make your life very miserable.”

  Witt instinctively took a step back, bumping into the stump he had been sitting on.

  Stu rushed forward and grabbed Cerent by the neck, lifting him off the ground. The kobold squeaked in shock, letting the rabbits fall to the ground.

  “Sir, please,” pleaded Witt. “Th
ere must be some mistake.”

  Stu then grabbed Cerent by the feet, letting the kobold dangle upside down in his grip. With a spin, Stu swung the body of the kobold and smashed it into Witt. Witt tumbled to the ground, dazed.

  He tried to crawl away, but Cerent’s skull crashed into his own.

  Cerent screamed in pain as Stu bludgeoned Witt again and again. Mad laughter echoed through the forest as Stu wielded the kobold like a whip. Witt’s vision grew dark around the edges with each subsequent hit. Eventually, Cerent’s screams faded. As Witt’s vision shrunk to a pin-prick of light, the last thing he heard was Stu’s icy voice.

  “Don’t forget.”

  Chapter Three

  Witt opened his eyes, surprised to find that it was evening. Even though he was underground, his internal clock always had accurate reading of the sun’s positioning. I must have been tired to sleep for so long. It was the first time he could remember sleeping an entire day and missing his shift outside of the dungeon.

  Outside of the burrow, many kobolds sat around a blazing fire. Others were scattered through the forest playing games and having fun. Nights in Murkwell were always filled with excitement. Once the drinks started flowing, anything was capable of happening.

  “Greetings, adventurer! Welcome to The Merry Minotaur, would you like a room or a drink?” Schekt stumbled over, a clay cup in both hands, and handed one to Witt. No matter how many drinks he had, Schekt never forgot his lines.

  “Thanks, Schekt.” Witt took a sip of the brown liquid, and it filled his belly with warmth.