Path to Villainy: An NPC Kobold's Tale

by S. L. Rowland

  There was a loud bang and Witt looked up to see a blaze of light shooting across the forest. A smile crept across his face. They were using the kobold cannon.

  Witt quickly chugged his drink and grabbed another. He’d need the liquid courage to take on the cannon.

  Kobolds cheered as another bang filled the air and a streak of flame soared from one end of the burrow to the other. Oohs and ahhs swished through the forest. Witt walked up to the massive contraption that resembled a giant crossbow. It was a true depiction of kobold ingenuity and recklessness.

  The kobold cannon had been one of the prized inventions of the kobold tinkerer Uggo. It was meant to launch kobolds over city walls so that they could wreak havoc during times of war. But it had been a while since the kobolds had gone to war, and now the cannon sat idle except for nights of revelry.

  Witt watched as a kobold climbed a ladder onto the cannon. The cannon had a barrel in the center where the kobold would sit. One of Murkwell’s tinkerers cranked a lever that pulled back the cables running from one bow iron to the other. Once it was cranked back far enough, the cables locked on a catch, and the weapon was ready to fire.

  A third kobold climbed the ladder and handed a torch to the kobold about to be launched away.

  The tinkerer then flipped a lever, launching the seated kobold into the air. The kobold screamed as he rocketed across the sky. The scream faded as he soared, and the light of the flame grew smaller before extinguishing entirely.

  “Who’s next?” asked Zirn, the tinkerer who had flipped the lever.

  Zirn wore giant goggles with lenses that made him look like he had bug eyes.

  “Me!” Witt raised his hand and rushed over.

  “Step on up.”

  Witt climbed the ladder and took his position in the barrel. His heart raced at the thought of what was to come. He’d ridden the cannon a few times, and it was always exhilarating. For a few moments, he experienced what it was like to fly.

  He took the torch in his hand, and waited as Zirn turned the crank. There was a loud click as the cable latched into place. A moment later, an enormous pressure surged into his back. His vision blurred as wind rushed against his eyes. The flames of the torch whipped like the sails of a ship at sea.

  Witt felt weightless as he watched the kobolds below him scurrying about like ants. This must be what it feels like to be a dragon. It was said that kobolds descended from dragons, and that a little bit of that draconic fire still resided inside all kobolds. In that moment, Witt believed it.

  A moment later, Witt’s ascent slowed and he began to fall toward the earth. He braced for impact as he landed in the cool water of the landing area. Icy water chilled him to his core and extinguished the flame from his torch.

  When Witt emerged from the pond, he couldn’t stop grinning. He had the urge to do it again, but refrained. Best to let the others have some fun.

  He returned to the fire and took a seat on a log. A wild boar roasted on a spit. Cerent, one of the kobolds from a neighboring burrow, rotated the boar so that it didn’t burn.

  “Howdy, Witt.” Cerent flashed him a smile. “Care for some meat?”

  “I’d love some. I haven’t eaten all day.” Witt still couldn’t believe he had slept through an entire day.

  Cerent pulled a knife from his belt and sliced off a hearty chunk of boar and handed it to Witt.

  Witt’s sharp teeth gnashed at the meat, ripping it apart. Juices trickled down his face and dripped onto his tunic.

  Nearby, a fight broke out between two young kobolds. They tumbled on the ground, growling and squealing until some of the elders broke them up. It wasn’t a party unless at least five fights broke out.

  “Are you going to play us some music, Witt?” a voice asked.

  Witt turned to see Kessy, a female kobold and one of his childhood friends, hovering next to him with glazed eyes. She had dark-black scales that faded to red around her snout, making her ivory horns stand out in the twilight. She took a sip of her drink.

  “You know how your music livens up any get-together.” She batted her eyes at him.

  Witt couldn’t argue with that. His songs had a profound effect on other kobolds, and he never turned down a request for a performance. He was the only skald in all of Murkwell after all.

  “Give me a second to go grab my lute.” Witt touched her on the arm and then disappeared back into the burrow.

  He hurried through the tunnels to his burrow. Past the hatchery, where all of the unhatched kobold eggs sat comfortably around a warm fire, and past the traproom, where the tinkerers created traps for the king’s dungeons. The entire underground was filled with rooms where kobold society thrived away from the city.

  Most people never understood the pivotal role that kobolds played in society, but they were the silent majority, always working.

  Witt found his lute propped against the dirt wall beside his bed. He grabbed it and rushed back to Kessy just in time to see another kobold blazing through the air overhead.

  Taking a seat on a log, he strummed his lute and the forest grew quiet. Kobolds loved music, but they loved Witt’s music above all. One by one, they gathered around the fire pit.

  As the notes dispersed from the lute, lighting the forest like fireflies, dozens and dozens of kobolds emerged. Their bickering and raucousness stopped for the moment, and they stared in awe.

  Witt placed his hand on the strings, and the music stopped. “This song goes out to kobolds one and all. You all know the words, so sing along.”

  A rapid stroke sent glowing musical notes erupting like a volcano to the cheers of the kobolds. Young kobolds reached out to grab the notes only to have them dissipate into their fingers.

  Witt cleared his throat, and the song poured out of his mouth in a low growl.

  “In ancient times, when lands were young,

  and dragons spoke the only tongue,

  they ruled the lands and skies above,

  and hoarded all the things they loved.

  But then came men and dwarves and elves,

  who wanted treasures for themselves.

  The dragons retreated into the highest mountains,

  where only the bravest heroes found them.

  It was in this time kobolds were born,

  to protect the dragons and their hoard.

  They fought with axes, spears, and knives,

  and made elaborate traps to hide.

  They caught the heroes unaware…”

  As Witt continued to sing, his words ripping at the very fabric of time and space, a change came over the kobolds listening. They joined him in song and their eyes, glazed from countless drinks of kobold brew, began to glow red. Their scales grew hot, and a frenzy snaked among them.

  As a skald, Witt’s songs had the power to enrage his people far beyond the buffs he could offer other races. In times of war, skalds were considered an integral part of kobold battle strategy, making their warriors stronger and tougher through the power of music.

  Witt jumped into the second verse and the tempo increased as he sang of the kobolds’ battles against great heroes, and eventual formation of their own society. By the time he finished, those surrounding him were foaming at the mouth.

  “Attack the troll!” Zirn raised his fist into the air.

  Hisses and growls answered his call as snarling kobolds rushed into the depths of the forest. The forest troll was a constant blight on Murkwell, and many kobolds had wandered into its lands to never return. Witt followed along with interest to see what might become of the raging kobolds.

  When enough kobolds were affected by his music, he’d seen them battle ogres and direwolves, but never a troll. This would be most interesting.

  Zirn led the charge. Next to him, Tigra directed a group of well-trained direweasels. Witt continued to play and sing, keeping the frenzy going as they marched through the forest.

  They came into a clearing of broken trees. The entire area had been flattened by the troll who lived he
re. Normally, kobolds avoided this area of the forest, but this wasn’t a normal night. This was a night for the kobolds to prove to themselves that they deserved respect.

  A slumbering troll lay in the center of the clearing, a half-eaten boar still gripped in its hand. The troll was a dull grey, with a bulbous nose and boils covering its shoulders and arms. Snot bubbles rose and fell as it snored thunderously. Its large, fat belly inflated with each breath. A dozen kobolds crawled on its body without waking it.

  The kobolds swarmed the monster before it had a chance to wake. Witt watched in respectful horror as several direweasels burrowed inside of the troll’s massive nostrils and attacked.

  The troll sat up in alarm, grabbing its nose and stomping kobolds left and right in a blind rage. The deaths didn’t bother the kobolds, for they believed that every death was a rebirth, and their essence would hatch again in a continuous cycle.

  Witt continued to strum and sing, invigorating the kobolds with righteous fury. A blast of fire soared over Witt’s shoulder and he turned to see Hux, the only kobold mage in Murkwell, with fiery red eyes as he cast fire from his staff.

  The fireball collided with the troll in an explosion, bursting boils to the sound of sizzling flesh. For every kobold that was stomped or tossed aside, another took its place. They bit and they stabbed, swarming like ants on the overwhelmed troll.

  Kessy climbed over her brothers and planted two daggers in the eyes of the troll. It screamed in pain, blindly grabbing her and thrusting her into a nearby tree. Her body crumpled to the ground at the impact.

  For a moment, his heart sank at the loss of his friend, but he knew she would be reborn in the hatchery. She might not be the Kessy he knew, but no kobold was ever truly gone.

  With the troll blinded, the kobolds quickly gained the upper hand. A final fireball to the face was all it took to send the monster into an eternal slumber.

  Chapter Four

  Witt wiped the sleep from his eyes, ready to start the day. He grabbed his pack and his lute and set off for the Forgotten Quarters dungeon.

  On his way, he passed Kessy by the hatchery.

  “Good luck out there today, Witt.” She winked at him before heading off to her own post in the nearby mountain where she mined for metals and precious jewels.

  Mining was by far the most common job for kobolds, followed by farming and hunting. Then there were those who worked in the city, like Schekt. Kobolds with classes like Witt’s or Hux’s, the mage, were extremely uncommon.

  The sun was only beginning to rise as Witt made his way across Skullheyden square. The vendors in the market were setting up their tables for the day, and the shopkeepers scurried in their shops making sure everything was in order.

  Soon, the heroes would be arriving to make their purchases for the day and setting out on their next adventure.

  A line of heroes waited for Witt when he arrived at his post outside of the dungeon. He sang his song, buffing a party of elves, and then a mixed party consisting of an orc, a dwarf, and a human.

  The day had just started and Witt had already made ten silver for the village. This is looking like a great day already.

  By noon, he had buffed nearly twenty parties before they entered the dungeon. During a brief respite, he sat on a tree stump and ate the lunch he had packed for the day. He ripped into a sliver of boar jerky and enjoyed the peppery goodness.

  “There he is,” a voice called from down the path. “Look at him eating, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.”

  Witt turned to see a party of four dwarves making their way toward him. He put away his food and grabbed his lute, ready to buff them with a song.

  The party consisted of a warrior with a braided red beard holding a warhammer, a brown-bearded mage wearing a blue robe and carrying a gnarled staff tipped with a sapphire, a grey-bearded paladin in white armor with a billowing cloak and carrying a massive shield engraved with a lightning emblem, and a black-bearded rogue wearing black leather armor and wielding a crossbow.

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

  “Greetings, adventurers! How may I assist you today?” The red-bearded warrior mocked him. “No matter what we do to you, you’re never going to remember.” He tilted his head back and laughed.

  Witt scrunched his eyes, unsure of what the dwarf was talking about.

  The others joined in, but the paladin wore an uncertain expression. “Why don’t you just give him a break for once, Stu?”

  “Come on, dude, lighten up. He’s a kobold. They were practically invented for our entertainment. They’re like goblins, only dumber.”

  “You’re like a goblin, but dumber.” The rogue smirked. “And you’re obsessed. What did this kobold ever do to you?”

  Witt took a step back. It was like they were having a conversation about him, but he’d never seen these four in his life. It was all a bit unsettling.

  “I’m sorry, sirs, but you must have me mistaken. I know we all look alike.” He tried to lighten the mood with a joke. “Would you like a buff so that you can be on your way?”

  The warrior dwarf, Stu, narrowed his eyes. “I’ll tell you when we’re ready for your stupid buff.” He looked to his party members.

  Witt stood in stunned silence. There was no need for this dwarf to be so rude to him. He contemplated leaving, but then that would mean less money for the village. No, he would deal with the awkwardness of the situation and then soon they would be gone.

  Witt nodded. “Whenever you are ready, sir.”

  Stu smiled. “That’s more like it. Maybe I’m getting through to you after all. Go ahead with the buff. We want the best one you’ve got.”

  Seething on the inside, Witt forced a smile as he stroked his lute. Little did the dwarves know that Witt was only capable of two buffs. The one he used on heroes to increase their Strength and Constitution, and the one he used on the kobolds to send them into a frenzy. So whatever these dwarves thought they might get from him in addition to the normal buff, they would be sorely disappointed.

  “Five silver.” He held out his hand.

  After the dwarf paid him, Witt softly sang.

  “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…”

  The notes from his lute dispersed with each strum, visibly shooting from the strings and drifting through the air before diffusing into the dwarves’ bodies.

  Witt watched the heroes, in particular the way the warrior stared at him with a mixture of amusement and annoyance, as he sang the words branded into his memory without thinking.

  He finished the song, leaving the party swirling in a purple aura, and waited for them to leave.

  Three of the dwarves turned to go, but Stu continued to stare at Witt.

  An icy patch formed on the back of his neck. The longer Stu stared, the more it spread.

  “Come on, Stu. Let’s go.” The mage grabbed Stu by the arm. “You’ve tortured him enough.”

  Stu pulled away. “Just one more.” He smirked. “For old time’s sake.”

  The paladin rolled his eyes. “Sorry, little dude.”

  Stu lifted his warhammer and gave it a spin.

  Witt couldn’t explain why, but he had the sudden urge to run. He gave into his instincts and took off toward the city. Before he had even made it two steps, something smashed into his back, knocking him to the ground.

  He rolled over just in time to see Stu’s warhammer flying through the air and returning to his hand.

  Don’t forget.

  The words flashed across Witt’s mind. He’d heard them somewhere before.

  Stu stalked toward Witt with his warhammer tossed over his shoulder. The purple aura Witt had buffed the dwarf with flared with energy.

  Don’t forget.

  Stu appeared in Witt’s mind. He held Cerent, using the kobold’s b
ody as a weapon, beating Witt over and over until both kobolds were dead.

  Witt didn’t move, still inside his own mind, as the warhammer hit him across the face. His vision went white and images flooded his mind. It was like a dam had broken, filling him with memories long lost.

  He screamed at the brutality that flashed before him, and for a moment, Stu stood frozen.

  Witt was lost to the world as he relived every death he had ever experienced at the hands of the so-called heroes.

  A minotaur gripped him around the throat before dropping him hundreds of feet into the infamous pit on the edge of Skullheyden.

  A barbarian had thought it funny to see how far he could toss the kobold. Witt had landed with enough force to crack his skull like a melon.

  He had been used as a weapon by a paladin in the same manner as Cerent until his eyes burst from his skull.

  “What’s he doing?” someone asked, but Witt was still blinded.

  He relived being eaten by a druid who had transformed into a bear. It had ripped his arm clean off.

  A tamer kidnapped him and took him into the forest to feed to a large spider. The clicking of the pincers echoed in his mind as his body sat trapped in a cocoon of silk.

  A fighter cut off his limbs one by one to test the sharpness of his blades.

  A ranger shot him with arrows as target practice.

  A mage burned him alive.

  One by one, the memories came flooding back and Witt relived every one. When the visions stopped, he opened his eyes.

  Stu took a step back. “What in the hell just happened?”

  Cold rage spread through Witt like morning frost. “I remember.”

  Witt snarled. Cold hatred pulsed in his veins. He launched himself at the dwarf without thinking, drawing his daggers and aiming for the neck. He would kill this dwarf that had caused him so much pain.

  Stu raised his warhammer, using it as a shield to block the attack. He parried Witt aside, but Witt wasn’t done. He wanted to make him pay. He wanted to make everyone pay.

  He charged again, but this time Stu was ready. His warhammer glowed red as it connected with Witt’s shoulder. Bones cracked and the small kobold crumpled to the ground.