Hux gazed out into the wilderness, lost in thought, when Witt had an idea.
“I can prove it to you.” Witt’s eyes flared with intensity and mischief.
Hux squinted one of his eyes. “How do you plan to do that?”
“Kill me.” He stood up straight. “Kill me, and then return to the burrow. You’ll find me there waking up in my own bed.”
Hux laughed. When he realized Witt was serious, the mage leaned in, taking a long sniff. “Isn’t it a bit early to be drinking kobold brew? What you’re talking about is insane.”
Witt didn’t have time to wait for Hux to come around. The mage was powerful, but he had a high regard for kobold life. He wouldn’t kill the only skald in Murkwell to test out a theory. Up until today, neither would Witt. But a lot had changed since morning. If he had any chance of winning Hux to his cause, then he would have to offer irrefutable evidence that he could respawn.
He needed to prove to the mage once and for all that he was telling the truth. Witt stepped to the edge of the path, kicking a rock and watching it tumble down the mountainside.
He had to act fast before Hux had a chance to try and stop him. Witt took a deep breath and gathered his resolve.
“Meet me at the burrow.” He winked at the mage and flung himself from the mountain.
Hux stared at him in wild wonder, jaw hanging open, as Witt descended toward pain and disfigurement.
For a brief moment, Witt felt weightless. It was like he was in the kobold cannon all over again, wind whipping against his eyes, the fire of the dragon burning within him.
And then gravity took hold with a vengeance. His shoulder shattered as he made impact with a boulder, scales splitting to reveal dark-red flesh underneath. Blackness coated the edges of his vision as he plunged down the mountain, rocks and tree stumps assaulting his body. Stars flashed before him as his entire body crunched and ripped apart.
He tumbled head over tail before striking another boulder that broke his leg, twisting it at an odd angle. His entire world was pain and dizziness. Witt rocketed high into the air again. He roared in agony and his screams echoed off the mountains.
Broken and defeated, Witt welcomed the final impact as everything turned black.
Chapter Eight
Witt grabbed his shoulder, but there was no pain. Still, the memories of his fall echoed in his mind. Would it be enough to convince Hux? He hoped so.
He sat up in the empty burrow and pulled his legs to his chin. It would be a while before Hux showed up. In the meantime, Witt would spend some time in Murkwell. He had never really explored the daily life of his fellow kobolds. His days had been spent in service of his community, helping heroes in exchange for gold. But as far as he was concerned, his time buffing heroes for the Forgotten Quarters Dungeon was over.
The time had come to forge a new path. He would make the heroes regret the day they had decided to toy with him.
Witt made his way down the tunnel, past the traproom and once again stopping in front of the hatchery. Hux did have a point. If all kobolds respawned, then what was the purpose for all of these eggs? He took a long glance at the eggs before shrugging and setting off for aboveground. There would be time for existential thought once he had convinced Hux to join his cause.
A loud crash stopped Witt in his tracks, followed by a mad cackle that echoed down the tunnel.
Carefully, Witt snuck back down the tunnel, coming to a stop outside of the traproom. The traproom was where the tinkerers tested out new inventions. He hadn’t noticed anyone inside after respawning, but peeking around the corner he found Zirn chuckling to himself as he swept up the debris of a crushed bloodmelon.
Several more bloodmelons lay in a pile against the wall. The melons had a pasty white exterior and a dark-red center. Their bitter taste made them practically inedible to most races. Minotaurs had a strange obsession with them, though.
In Murkwell, they were used widely to test the effectiveness of kobold traps since their innards did a good job of showcasing how the trap would affect a living creature. Plus, they were much easier to come by than living subjects. At least willing ones.
The traps they created protected the village, but more importantly, the king of Skullheyden paid top coin for new ways to guard the secret entrances into his kingdom.
Zirn stabbed his claw into a bit of the fleshy melon before tossing it into the fire pit against the back wall. There was a flash and a sizzle as the flames devoured the debris and smoke funneled up a small tunnel to the surface.
Witt stepped into the room. “Working on a new trap?”
Zirn glanced up, his goggles magnifying his dark-black eyes. They glittered with excitement. “Wait until you see this!”
The kobold tinkerer continued to talk as he worked his way around the room. “What we have here is a trap tile.” He pointed to the floor, where a stone tile rested on a set of springs. “It will be placed in the center of one of the old tunnels beneath the castle. Ohze will paint it up nicely so that it doesn’t look out of place.” Zirn crouched and pointed to the center of the springs, where a button attached to a wire that ran up the wall of the tunnel. The wire attached to an oddly shaped contraption mounted near the ceiling above both sides of the tile. “When enough weight steps on the tile, it will trigger this button.”
Above the tile, a tall piece of wood supported a bloodmelon at about the same height as a human head. Zirn pressed hard on the tile and then immediately backed out of the way. There was a quick whir as the button activated, tightening the wire and activating the trap. Two sharp projectiles launched from the ceiling, colliding with the melon and exploding the fruit from the inside out.
Witt instinctively took a step back as shrapnel and melon gore rained down around him. Zirn laughed even more maniacally as he swept up the carnage.
“What was that?” asked Witt.
Zirn smirked. “Glass projectiles.” He picked up a box off a nearby table and it rattled as he tilted it for Witt to see. “Even better than wood or metal, because they break off into shards inside of whatever they hit.”
Inside were dozens of glass spears the size of Witt’s forearm. The tips were incredibly pointy. No wonder they had impaled the melon so easily.
Zirn picked one out of the box and tapped his fingertip against the pointed end of the spear. “They’re sharp enough to impale bone, but when they hit one another—” He raised his brow suggestively. “—Well, you saw.”
An idea popped into his mind, igniting the patch of ice that had become a fixture on the back of his neck. What if I put one of these outside of the dungeon? His heart raced at the thought of glass exploding inside of Stu’s skull. How satisfying that would be.
“What other traps do you have?” Witt salivated for more ways to give back some of the pain he had endured so many times.
Zirn’s eyes lit up again. It must not be often that he had the chance to talk about his inventions. He ushered Witt over to a large shelving unit carved into the far wall.
“What don’t we have? The top row is projectiles. Arrows, poisoned darts, flesh-eating worms.” He pointed to two jars on the shelf below. “If you mix these two powders together, you get a nasty explosion. We’ve got caltrops, spikes, trip wires. But these are all just accessories. The key to any successful trap is in the execution. We test out the design here and then we build it custom to each location so that it is practically undetectable.”
Witt activated his analyze skill on the contents on the shelf.
Item: Poisoned Dart. Deals 1% poison damage per second.
Item: Boom Powder. This dangerous combustible creates intense heat when its core ingredients are combined. Inflicts burn damage.
Creature: Flesh-eating Worm. Invertebrates capable of devouring living flesh. Though not particularly fast, once burrowed beneath the skin, they can eat through both flesh and bone.
A grin spread across Witt’s face. He could definitely do some serious damage with these items.
“
If I needed a trap made, do you think you could help me out?” asked Witt.
Zirn furrowed his brow. “I don’t see why not, but what could a skald possibly be doing to have need of a trap?”
Witt smirked. “When I find out, I’ll let you know.”
He left Zirn to his inventions and pondered ideas for revenge as he strolled down the tunnel. The savory smell of stew caused his belly to rumble and Witt realized just how hungry he was. He was famished. Death really had a way of zapping his energy.
He followed his snout until he came to Knoma’s Stewery, where a continuous cauldron of stew was always boiling. It had been rumored that the same stew had been boiling since the kobolds first settled in Murkwell. Witt wasn’t sure how much truth there was to it, but he’d never found a stew so delicious anywhere outside of Murkwell.
Knoma leaned over the butcher’s block chopping pieces of rabbit and tossing them into the cauldron. She nodded at Witt as he entered.
Knoma was one of the older Kobolds. So old that her scales had begun to fade around her snout and her talons had turned gray. A tattered apron hung from her neck, stained from years of use. She wasn’t one for idle chit chat, but she made one hell of a stew.
Witt grabbed a clay bowl and scooped himself a healthy helping. The savory broth went down easy, and the hint of spice left his throat tingling with each gulp. He slurped every last drop and then ate the meat residing in the bottom of the bowl. With a full belly, Witt offered his thanks and left.
Aboveground, Murkwell was mostly empty. A few hunters traveled here and there and a handful of kobolds sat on the bank of the creek fishing. Most kobolds were either mining in Corvin Mountain, farming at a nearby village, or working menial jobs in Skullheyden.
Murkwell wasn’t a hot destination for heroes. There were trolls, ogres, and other creatures just outside of its boundaries, but there was very little for them to do in the village itself. Not to mention that the burrows underground were too small for most heroes to maneuver through comfortably.
Witt took some small solace in the fact that even though his people suffered at the hands of the heroes, their village had remained largely untouched.
A patter of feet caught Witt’s attention and he turned to see Tigra training her direweasels. She wore a fur shawl and leather bracers on both arms. The furry creatures raced back and forth on an obstacle course among the trees, jumping through hoops, climbing ropes, and honing their agility and teamwork. Three direweasels stood one on top of the other, grabbing a rock that was attached to a rope hanging from a tall limb.
“What are you doing out here?” Witt accepted the rock that the direweasel had brought him.
Tigra took her eyes off of her pets and turned to Witt. “Morning is for adventure, afternoon is for training. You never can be too prep—”
“You son of a banshee!” Hux stormed in their direction, his face contorted in anger. He threw his staff to the ground and grabbed Witt by the tunic, lifting him off the ground. “Explain yourself! I saw you die.”
Witt had never seen Hux so angry, but he didn’t fight back. This was part of the process. One didn’t simply discover that their entire existence was a fabrication and pretend like everything was fine.
As his brains rattled in his skull, Witt watched as realization dawned on Hux. His features twisted from anger to sadness, and then finally, an uncomfortable acceptance. Hux released Witt and he fell to the ground.
Witt dusted himself off, and looked Hux square in the eye. “Are you done? Because I need your help with a little vengeance.”
Chapter Nine
“And they did it for no other reason than because they could?” Hux’s stiff posture and intense gaze was new to Witt. “How many times has this happened to me? To all of us?” He slammed the butt of his staff against the ground. “They will pay dearly for this.”
Witt smiled. It felt good to have the most powerful kobold in Murkwell on his side. Together, they could finally show these heroes that kobolds were more than just entertainment.
They passed through Skullheyden and soon found themselves at Witt’s normal location on the path to the Forgotten Quarters Dungeon. A small crowd had formed, waiting for a chance to be buffed.
When Witt and Hux walked past the group without comment, an elven archer called out. “Hey, aren’t you going to buff us?”
Witt flashed them a rude gesture without glancing over his shoulder. “Get your own buffs.”
He held his head high, smirking as he imagined the looks on their faces.
The entrance to the Forgotten Quarters Dungeon was forgettable by most accounts. An unobtrusive archway made from stone that led underground. A single lantern hung outside the door above a wooden sign detailing the dungeon’s name.
Witt caught a glimpse of a piece of glittering platemail before it disappeared into the depths below. His neck grew cold as the hero vanished out of sight. The dwarves were likely long gone, but it didn’t matter. All heroes were the same. They only cared about themselves. He’d died at the hands of enough of them to know that Stu and the other dwarves weren’t outliers.
They were the norm.
Witt turned to Hux. “Ready?”
Hux’s normally black eyes burned red. “Ready.”
With that, they crossed the barrier and stepped into the dungeon. Witt wasn’t sure what to expect. In all his time buffing heroes outside the dungeon, he had never been inside. He knew that by taking this first step, his destiny was about to change.
When his foot touched the first stair, his new life began. With his lute slung across his back, he gripped his twin daggers tight.
Hux stepped through without pause. He didn’t seem nervous at all. Why would he be? He spent every day battling spiders on the mountain pass. He was no stranger to combat, but for Witt, dungeon diving was brand new. He wasn’t scared, but he didn’t know what to expect.
Torches adorned the walls as they descended deeper into the dungeon. Their flames gently cracked in the damp and musty air. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped methodically.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The kobolds’ claws clacked against the stone floor with each step.
The stairs emptied into three long corridors, with one to the left, center, and right. Torches once again lined the walls, but as far as Witt could tell, there was no real way of knowing which way they should head.
“Which way should we g—”
A scream and clash of metal down the hallway to the left cut off Witt’s words. Hux nodded and they both set off in the direction of the clamor. The closer they got, Witt could begin to make out voices.
“I need a heal.”
“I just freaking healed you. Can you stay alive for five seconds without me babysitting you?”
“It’s not my fault there’s toxic goo on everything in this room.”
“Will you two knock it off? Some of us are trying to—ugh—”
A stocky human wearing plate armor crashed against the wall about twenty meters ahead. The flames of the torches danced in the reflection of his armor as he sat there stunned. Blood trickled down from beneath his helm, painting his chestplate a dull red. A second later, a white light bathed him and the blood vanished. The knight crawled to his feet and disappeared back around the corner.
Witt activated his analyze skill and crept toward the corner. Hux followed close behind. They poked their heads into the room, careful not to be seen.
The first thing he noticed was the trail of ooze that covered the majority of the square room. The green gel glimmered in the torchlight.
When he spotted the source of the ooze, Witt took an involuntary step back, bumping into Hux. Panic flared through his chest and he jumped before realizing it was just the mage. He turned back to the monster.
Dire Snail
HP: 253/400
The creature standing before them was the stuff of nightmares, even for a kobold. The giant snail was taller than the knight that challenged it. It slid across the stone fl
oor like it was made of ice, wielding its barb-covered shell like a wrecking ball. The knight dove out of the way, his armor clanking against the stone.
Green sludge covered the gelatinous body of the snail, leaving a slimy trail everywhere it went. Bulbous eyes twitched like antennae at the end of two tentacles atop its head, each one staring off into different directions. Ridges and sharp barbs lined the gray spiraled shell that protected its vital organs.
When the knight slashed his sword, the snail retracted into the shell, gliding around, an unstoppable force of destruction.
The rest of the knight’s party consisted of an elven mage and a human rogue. The mage wore a long flowing gown and carried a crystal scepter. Her blonde hair and gown had an ethereal glow to it, like a constant breeze followed her every move. When she walked, it was more like hovering an inch above the ground. The rogue clung to the corners of the room, only emerging to attack when the snail faced away from her. If not for Witt’s darkvision, she would be hidden in the shadows. She was cloaked in black and armed with daggers that gleamed even in the low light.
The trio had whittled the snail’s health almost halfway down, but at a cost. The knight’s health was at fifty percent, even after the heal. The rogue had lost a third of her health despite hiding in the shadows. The mage was the only one not hurt, but judging by her health bar, a stiff wind could take her down.
The snail came to a stop against the wall with a gentle thud and emerged from its shell. The knight charged in, but this time the snail didn’t recoil. It raised its head high in the air, revealing a set of jagged teeth that hid underneath its belly.
An ear-splitting shriek poured from its mouth, freezing the knight in his tracks. As he stood there frozen, the room shook violently. Panels in the ceiling opened and giant globs of jelly fell into the room below, landing against the stone floor with a splat.
Path to Villainy: An NPC Kobold's Tale Page 4