Something moved in the shadows nearby. Witt focused on the blotch of darkness, but even with his darkvision, it remained hidden.
Witt’s pulse raced. Was it possible one of the heroes had tracked him down already? He’d only just became a villain. How would they know where to find him?
His hand slipped down to the dagger strapped to his leg. The cold steel was icy to the touch.
The shadow crept closer, and Witt gripped the dagger tighter. He readied Critical Strike and a rush of energy surged down his arm until the dagger vibrated beneath his touch.
The shadow pulsed and a dark figure leapt toward Witt. Witt raised his dagger and slashed in front of him.
The figure ducked, and then laughter echoed through the forest.
“I’m surprised you saw me.” The shadows faded, revealing a ruby-red kobold wearing a dark leather tunic. Red scales faded to black around his snout, making his teeth appear even more dangerous.
Witt let out a sigh of relief. He sheathed his weapon and flashed a smile. “Razul, you son of a dragon, I haven’t seen you around these parts in ages.”
Razul was a kobold rogue who spent most of his time living in the city. The quests he performed inside Skullheyden were another source of income for the village.
He climbed onto the boulder next to Witt, and slapped him on the back. “I just finished up a quest. Tomorrow I’ll be leaving with a caravan of heroes bound for New Hope Cove. I figured I would stop by and say goodbye to everyone. This one will be a difficult journey and I’ll be gone even longer than last time. How’s life at the dungeon?”
Heroes. Witt’s mind raced. This could be another opportunity to increase his notoriety. If he could somehow manage to kill an entire caravan, then he—
“Witt? You in there?” Razul poked him in the shoulder, interrupting his thoughts.
Witt turned to face Razul. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m no longer working at the dungeon. Let’s just say I’ve expanded my horizons. Tell me about this caravan.”
Razul cocked an eyebrow. “No longer working in the dungeon? Is young Witt moving up in the world?”
Witt grinned. “I’ll tell you my story, but first I want to hear about yours.”
Razul ran his tongue across one of his incisors. “Consider me intrigued. I’m a part of a crew hired to accompany a group of heroes to New Hope Cove. I don’t know all of the details, but apparently whatever is happening in the cove is more than the heroes can handle on their own. It should be a nice bit of coin for the village.” He leaned forward and placed a hand on Witt’s shoulder. “Now, tell me, what is young Witt up to these days?”
Witt explained the past several days to Razul, detailing his interactions with the heroes, the deaths at their hands, and his new quest to become a villain. When he was finished, he waited for the same shocked expression he had witnessed from Hux and Kessy.
Razul narrowed his eyes. “Those bastards, they will pay for this. I do not doubt that I have suffered egregiously at their hands myself.” His claws scraped against the boulder. “The fire from the first dragons burns within us all. Gods help any heroes who choose not to remember that.”
A cool sensation spread down Witt’s spine. This is it. I no longer have to convince them I am telling the truth.
He’d always liked Razul. Sure, he was crass and a bit rough around the edges, but it took a certain type of intelligence to be a rogue. Especially one that didn’t end up locked away beneath the castle.
Witt took a deep breath. “We need to destroy that caravan. Do you think you can delay them in the morning, so that we have time to set up a trap?”
Razul ran his tongue across his teeth. “It would be my pleasure, my treasure.”
The cool sensation turned to ice. “Excellent, now what do you say we have some fun?”
Witt stood atop the boulder and readied his lute. Tonight was the perfect time to test out his abilities now that he was truly a villain. Now that he could influence kobolds beyond just the songs themselves, he wanted to see just how far he could push his powers.
He started with Song of Swiftness, and the fluorescent blue notes darted across the forest.
“Hugnu the Fleet, the Swift, the Bold,
feared no man or beast, neither young nor old.
With lightning speed he roamed the land…”
The notes zoomed through the trees like they were shot from an arrow. They exploded as they made impact with each kobold, and the resulting fragments dispersed into their bodies.
As Witt serenaded his people with his gravelly voice, they all began to move with increased speed. Children zoomed from their parents around the fire. Even the elderly kobolds moved with vigor.
Razul leapt from the boulder and a cloud of smoke followed in his wake. “Oh, this is good,” he growled.
Witt finished the song and gazed at the village from atop the boulder. It was as if someone had sped up time as he watched kobolds scurry through the forest. His eyes followed Razul as he clung to the shadows of the trees. With Song of Swiftness buffing him, the rogue could be more deadly than ever. The last thing a hero would see would be a shadow of doom right before Razul stabbed them in the throat.
Cold glee spread through Witt’s chest at the thought.
He strummed his lute again, readying the next phase of his plan. As the notes of Inspired Frenzy dispersed among the village, heads turned in Witt’s direction. It was a tune they knew well, one that always captured their attention. Witt growled the words as he sang.
“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.”
The eyes of the kobolds watching took on an eerie glow. Dozens of red eyes stared back at him. They swayed to the sound of the music, the buff from Song of Swiftness making their movements faster than normal. Had Witt not known the cause of their actions, it would have been unsettling.
When the song ended, several kobolds screamed into the night. Then more joined in. A shrill whistle cut through the crowd, quieting them, then Zirn’s voice pierced the silence.
“Attack the troll!” he bellowed.
Snarls and growls answered the tinkerer’s call to action. The community turned in unison toward the edge of the forest. Rage danced through them all. They were ready to destroy. As their feet pattered away, Witt called out.
“Wait!”
The forest froze at his command.
Every kobold stopped at once and turned toward Witt.
His heart pounded. Each kobold touched by Inspired Frenzy faced him, watching and waiting. Ice flooded his veins, and in that moment, he felt powerful. He could have taken the kobold cannon, launched them over the walls to Skullheyden and torn the entire castle to the ground.
Witt unleashed a cold, maniacal laugh. “To the troll!”
The kobolds roared in response, and took off through the moonlit forest toward the slumbering troll. Witt hurried after them. He put his lute away and readied his daggers.
The group waited for Witt near the troll. Giant bubbles of snot expanded and retracted from the troll’s massive nostrils with each breath. Tigra stood nearby with her direweasels at the ready. Schekt held a cup in one hand and a small sword in the other as he swayed back and forth. Razul hid in the shadows of a nearby tree, almost invisible in the dim light. Gragar, the elder kobold, leaned on a gnarled staff.
As Witt watched the elder kobold with his faded scales and feeble body, an idea struck him. A thought that could benefit the entire village. In his old age, Gragar provided very little value to Murkwell. Knoma was elderly, but she still cooked the best stew within a day’s walk of the village. Truth be told, Witt wasn’t sure what Gragar did besides gossip.
His presence wouldn’t be missed. A new egg, on the other hand, held endless possibility.
Witt approached Gragar, and the elder’s glowing red eyes fell on Witt.
Witt placed a
hand on Gragar’s shoulder. “Gragar, you have served the village faithfully for many years. You will have the honor of dealing the first blow.” Witt unsheathed a dagger and placed it in Gragar’s frail hand.
The elder stepped forward. He nodded to Witt and shambled over to the troll. The elder kobold raised the dagger, and brought it down upon the belly of the troll. The blade dug deep, spilling blood and awakening the troll with a start.
The troll grabbed Gragar in its panic, and with a sickening crunch, the life faded from the elder’s eyes.
“Attack!” yelled Witt.
Kobolds descended on the troll, faster and stronger than ever before. Razul moved in an elegant dance of shadow and blood as he carved the troll from beneath. Tigra’s direweasels bit and clawed.
The troll swung its arms violently, but Song of Swiftness kept the kobolds from its reach. Witt readied Critical Strike and landed a few blows himself. By the time the troll fell, they had only lost two kobolds in addition to Gragar.
All around him, kobolds celebrated their victory over the troll. Witt found Gragar’s body and retrieved the dagger that the dead elder still held. He pried the weapon from Gragar’s stiff fingers that held a surprising grip in death.
“Tomorrow, you begin anew. For as I rise, Murkwell will also rise.”
Chapter Thirteen
Witt rushed out of his burrow the next morning, intent on catching Hux before he left for the day. He found the mage just as he emerged above ground.
“Witt, good fortune at the dungeon today.” He tipped his staff to Witt and made to leave.
“Actually, we’ve got bigger plans and I need your help.”
This time, when he informed Hux of his quest to become a villain and his interactions with the heroes, Hux accepted it without question.
“So you want to ambush the caravan?” Hux scratched his chin. “We can do it, but we’ll need help. Let’s go find Zirn.”
They found Zirn in the traproom. Bits of bloodmelon lay scattered around the room. The trap that Witt had witnessed the other day was gone and a new contraption sat in its place.
Zirn’s goggled eyes focused on Witt. “How can I help you?”
“We need traps, and we need them now.”
Zirn’s mouth curled into a smirk. “I like the sound of that.”
While Witt filled in Zirn on his plan to ambush the caravan, Hux went to find a wagon. He returned a few minutes later with Olah and her domesticated boar. She was one of the village traders, and would make deliveries of kobold goods to the castle or other cities in the area. The boar wore a harness around its chest that attached to a wooden wagon. Zirn loaded the wagon with all manner of traps, powders, and equipment.
Thanks to Razul, Witt knew the direction the caravan would be traveling as well as where they planned to camp for the night. There was only one major road leading from Skullheyden to New Hope Cove. If Razul was able to delay the group’s start, then they would be forced to camp in the open instead of reaching the inn. Song of Swiftness should give Witt and company enough of a boost to set up an ambush by nightfall.
As they set off down the tunnel, a commotion in the hatchery caught Witt’s attention. He peeked around the corner and saw three young kobolds playing in the remnants of their eggs. The young kobolds looked at the pink fragments with wonder.
Two of the hatchery mothers watched after the young as they played. It was too soon to tell if the children had a magical class or if they would become laborers. For now, they had unlimited potential. Even if they became miners or farmers, they would still provide more for the community than Gragar.
Witt had no regrets about his decision. Rebirth had always been the way of kobolds.
Once above ground, Witt played Song of Swiftness. Zirn, Hux, Olah, and Witt rode in the back of the wagon as the boar zoomed toward Skullheyden.
Witt wore a cowl over his head as they entered the city. Since he only had a hundred villain points, he wasn’t infamous enough to draw the attention of the guards. But he wasn’t ready to take any chances either. He’d made progress, but it could all be wiped out in quick order if he wasn’t careful. He wanted his infamy to grow behind the scenes. Once he was powerful enough, then he would take center stage.
Thanks to the speed buff, they passed through the city just as the market was opening. Shopkeepers and vendors scurried through the cobblestone streets. A portly woman unloaded crates of eggs nestled in straw. An elf stacked mounds of delicious fruits sorted by color that glimmered in the morning sun. A gnome organized an assortment of oddly shaped mushrooms. Past the market, the shops were opening for the day. The smell of fresh baked bread wafted into the streets. A candlemaker flipped the open sign that hung from her window.
Heroes spilled out from the inns, ready to start the day’s adventures. Witt caught a glimpse of Schekt as he entered the Merry Minotaur.
A large caravan waited outside of The Rusty Pickaxe Inn. The three-story inn had an actual pickaxe attached to the sign. A group of heroes crowded around the wagon in front of the inn, pointing and cursing.
“Someone sabotaged us!” A silver-haired elf in a flowing red gown pointed at a pile of wood littering the street around the wagon. “They broke the spokes on every wheel.”
The wagon sat on the cobblestone, all four wheels broken and lying to the side.
Razul stepped out from behind the wagon. “Don’t worry. I’ll get someone to fix it, and we’ll be on our way in a few hours. Go have a drink while I find someone to replace the wheels.”
The elf shook her head and sighed. “Fine. I want to be on the road ASAP. Let’s go grab a drink, boys.”
The rest of the heroes followed her back inside the inn. Razul winked at Witt as they drove past.
So far, so good. That should give us plenty of time to get set up.
The clop-clop of the boar’s hooves on the road sent Zirn off to sleep. His soft snores rumbled beside Witt.
They passed farms and forests as the countryside came to life, and Witt’s mind wandered as they traveled down the pressed dirt road. Up until this point, whenever a kobold was involved in an action with a hero, they had no memory of it the next day. He wondered if that would change now that he had become a villain. He could already convince kobolds to join him with ease now that he had one hundred villain points. His quest was their quest in a way, especially those he recruited. So if they participated in his quest, would they recall what happened on this trip in the morning?
Time would tell. For the moment, the priority was stopping this caravan. Witt had counted at least five heroes, maybe more that hadn’t been outside. There were also three non-heroes in their party. Razul, a gnome guide, and a minotaur warrior. If they killed all five heroes, that meant over a hundred villain points for Witt.
They would have to plan this carefully. Both Zirn and Hux were valuable members of Witt’s team going forward. He couldn’t afford to lose their skillsets. Sacrificing Gragar was one thing, losing a tinkerer or the only mage would be bad for Murkwell, not just Witt.
Hux leaned forward. “You’re in a rare position, you realize that, right?”
“What do you mean?” Witt’s situation was extraordinary, he knew that much, but he felt like Hux was getting at something deeper.
“You have an opportunity for greatness, to really elevate kobold society. Even if we have to play the villains to get there, our people deserve respect. I hope you do us proud.”
Witt understood the sentiment. Even before his memories had returned, he never felt respected. Kobolds were pushed around and treated like nothing. Hell, they were treated worse than goblins. Only those with power like Hux were given the smallest amount of recognition.
Witt dug his nails into the wooden railing of the wagon. He would make them respect him, and if he couldn’t do that, then he would make sure they feared him above all else.
The wind swept over them as Witt continually cast Song of Swiftness each time the buff expired. They received many astonished looks as th
ey sped past wagons pulled by horses and the occasional group traveling on foot.
Olah pulled on the reins, bringing the wagon to a stop. The sudden change in momentum woke Zirn, and his magnified eyes were even wider than normal.
“Do you see that copse of trees up ahead?” She pointed to a small collection of trees in the distance. It looked like a miniature forest in a sea of plains. “That is where we should set up. The road passes through there. The inn they had planned to stay at is still many miles on the other side, so this is our best spot for an ambush. The trees will conceal us and keep the caravan from bypassing our traps. If Razul times this right, then it’ll be dark when they pass through.”
Zirn lifted his goggles and wiped the sleep from his eyes. “Yes, that will do nicely.”
Witt agreed. There wasn’t a better spot to lay siege to the unsuspecting caravan.
Olah pulled the wagon to the side of the road once they were inside the wooded area. There were enough trees, bushes, and vegetation that they wouldn’t be seen until someone was already inside. Under cover of darkness, they likely wouldn’t be seen at all.
Witt kept his cowl on as he worked, the cloth hood concealing his features. The road to New Hope Cove wasn’t packed, but it still received a fair amount of traffic. He would need to keep his identity a secret for as long as possible.
Zirn let down the gate on the back of the wagon. “I’ll handle the traps. I don’t want any of you to accidentally kill yourselves by improperly loading a spring or a pulley. Witt, you and Olah can dig the pit in the road. That’ll be the last line of defense if they try to blindly run past us. One of you dig while the other directs traffic. If anyone asks questions, we’re on the king’s orders.” He handed Witt a small shovel. “Happy digging.”
Zirn turned to Hux. “Hux, take these containers of boom powder and I want you to layer it across the road like fresh snow. When the time comes, a well-placed fireball will ignite it. Don’t go blowing yourself up before we’re ready.”
Hux pulled a clay pot from the wagon and began spreading its contents across the road. Witt started digging. He wasn’t used to manual labor, so his muscles quickly began to ache. However, he found that if he used Critical Strike with the shovel, then he could dig further with each movement. Even though his digs were less precise, it was more productive.
Path to Villainy: An NPC Kobold's Tale Page 7