After a while he switched with Olah and took a break on the side of the road. After sending a knight in golden armor around their work zone, he took out his lute and played Inspired Frenzy. He gently stroked the chords and sang barely above a whisper.
Each note shot out from the lute, but they were weaker and slower than before. They swarmed Olah, dissipating into her body. Her eyes glowed red and she shoveled with increased vigor as a rage took over her body.
By playing softly, he could determine the range of the buff. The louder he played his music, the farther it would reach. While a rage was great for manual labor, Hux and Zirn needed their wits about them as they prepared the traps.
Olah dug furiously until the buff wore off, and then she switched with Witt. The day wore on. Occasionally, they navigated travelers around the pit they were digging. No one suspected them of foul play. Zirn had been right. Once they said that they were on the king’s orders, no one questioned them.
By late afternoon, the pit was deep enough that Witt couldn’t see the road above its edges.
“Excellent.” Zirn nodded in approval. “Now I need you to sharpen stakes and bury them in the bottom. They won’t be concealed, but the idea is that if the caravan tries to bolt past us, they won’t be looking at the road as they try to escape.”
An hour later, the pit was a death trap. The sun was nearly at the horizon. The time had almost come. Hux sat at the edge of the copse, watching the road for signs of the caravan.
Witt approached Zirn, who was up in a tree tying something to a branch. “What are you working on?”
The tinkerer’s eyes lit up. “I’d hate to spoil the surprise.” He made a few adjustments and then climbed down. “We test out traps all the time, but never on living subjects.” He rubbed his hands together. “I can’t wait to show these heroes some kobold ingenuity.”
“What now?” Witt focused on the contraption Zirn had just finished tweaking.
Item. Projectile Netting. When triggered, the trap will shoot a weighted net that entangles enemies.
“Now, we wait.” Zirn winked.
Zirn held onto a detonator that ran up the tree to the canister that held the weighted net. Witt noticed that there were nearly a dozen detonators strapped to Zirn’s belt. Each one connected to a line that disappeared into the nearby trees.
“Are you planning on using all of those?” Witt wondered how Zirn could keep track of them all.
His lip curled up in a smile. “Only if we’re lucky.”
Olah sat near the wagon, peeling a potato and tossing it to the boar. Soon, it would be nightfall. A coolness crept over Witt at the anticipation. They’d had plenty of time to prepare. If they did this right, he’d be a stronger villain by morning.
Witt called to the group. “Alright everyone, let’s go over the plan.”
Witt’s heart pounded when Hux gave the signal that the caravan was approaching. A chill crept across his shoulders, and the moon cast a silver glow over the covered wagon. Two large oxen pulled the massive caravan, and a gnome sat at the front holding the reins. He looked relaxed as they made their approach. There was no way to tell how many heroes hid behind the canvas covering.
From where Witt stood, he could see Hux and Zirn hiding in the depths of the bushes. His darkvision worked great in the moonlight. Olah was safe at the far end with her boar. She had served her purpose and there was no need to risk her life. The upcoming destruction would be best left to the professionals.
As the caravan entered the copse, Witt stepped from the trees and took his position in the center of the road. He strummed his lute and the strings glowed a vibrant white.
The gnome pulled on the reins, bringing the caravan to a stop. The oxen snorted and pawed at the earth for the sudden inconvenience.
“Out of the way, kobold!” the gnome shouted in a squeaky voice.
Witt took a slight bow. “As you wish. But could I interest you in a buff for your journey? Perhaps one to make your travels quicker?”
“What’s going on out there?” a female voice called from inside the caravan. Witt recognized the voice as the elf from earlier in the day.
The gnome peeled back the cloth flap to the inside of the caravan. “There’s a kobold out here blocking the way. He says he wants to give us a buff to help us travel faster.”
“This has been a miserable journey,” a gruff voice answered from inside. “Pay him whatever he wants. I didn’t sign up for a road trip. I’m ready for the adventuring.”
The gnome released the canvas flap and turned to Witt. “How much for the buff?”
“For a great band of heroes like you? No charge.” Witt smiled, the icy patch on his neck pulsing with ill intent.
“Very well. Get on with it.” The gnome placed the reins in his lap and sat back.
Witt strummed the lute again and it flared with white energy as he began to sing Song of Silence. With each note, the lute grew brighter as Witt’s words gained power.
“The world was dark and full of terror
for those who lived in the dragon era.
Blue, red, silver, and white,
no prey could hope to escape their might.
They burned castles and farms to the ground,
destroying families and razing towns.
And now the time has come again
for all to fear the dragon kin…”
As Witt continued to sing, the canvas flap parted and Razul climbed into the front of the wagon. In a fluid motion, he grabbed the gnome by the head and brought his dagger across his throat. Blood poured onto the gnome’s tunic, soaking it a dark red while Razul muffled the gnome’s screams. Just as quickly as he appeared, Razul vanished, letting the body slump over and leaving only a shadowy trail in his wake.
Witt finished the song, and with a final strum, the light that had built up inside of the lute exploded across the copse. It flared out like a saucer, expanding and then retreating back into the lute.
Startled shouts came from inside the caravan.
The female elf poked her head out. She screamed when she saw the body of the fallen gnome. “We’re under attack!”
Click. Zirn activated one of his traps and the weighted net shot from the trees. The net entangled the elf, its weighted edges curling around her and pinning her to the seat on top of the gnome’s dead body.
A dwarf and minotaur emerged from the back of the caravan. Click. Click. Two more traps activated. Poison darts zipped through the air from both sides of the road. Dozens of darts whizzed by. Cries of pain both inside and outside of the caravan echoed through the night.
“Enough of this!” The dwarf raised a metal staff into the air, pointing it in Witt’s direction. A look of confusion painted his face as he raised the staff again. “What the hell? I can’t cast my spells.”
“Me neither,” a voice echoed from inside.
“What’s happening?” someone screamed in panic.
Click. A glass orb soared through the air, launched by some sort of miniature trebuchet. It cracked on the ground next to the wagon and a blue smoke engulfed the area.
“Now!” Zirn shouted to Hux.
A fireball appeared in the depths of the trees and soared toward the caravan. It hit the ground beside the wagon, igniting the boom powder.
The explosion was deafening. A wave of heat and energy knocked Witt off his feet as the powder exploded. The concussive force launched the caravan into the air, igniting the canvas walls and wooden frame. Tortured screams pleaded for escape from inside. Soon, they faded and the only sound was the crackling of fire.
Witt picked himself up on the ground. He basked in the warmth of the flames, but his insides were ice cold.
Chapter Fourteen
After a few minutes, the charred remains of the heroes and their companions dissipated into the ether. They would be respawning somewhere, likely in Skullheyden, and they would be pissed.
Zirn’s eyes glowed menacingly in the night as his goggles reflected the burning
caravan. The canvas had erupted into flames, leaving nothing but a scorched wooden skeleton. The oxen pulling the wagon had died in the carnage, and Witt’s mouth watered at the smell of roasted meat.
He wondered if the heroes would know he was responsible for their deaths. None of them had spoken like they recognized him, and he hadn’t revealed himself. Hopefully, he could keep his anonymity for a little longer.
The kobold image floating in the corner of his vision pulsed. A cold calmness washed over Witt as he pulled up his notifications.
Notifications:
You have killed a level 8 hero.
You have killed a level 8 hero.
You have killed a level 9 hero.
You have killed a level 10 hero.
You have killed a level 9 hero.
You have been awarded 5000 XP.
You have leveled up. You are now level 8.
You have leveled up. You are now level 9.
You have learned the ability Scale Mail (Barbarian).
Scale Mail: Scales gain increased damage reduction.
You have learned the ability Song of Enlightenment (Bard).
Song of Enlightenment: Increases intelligence and mana regeneration of allies.
You have been awarded 125 Villain Points.
Quest Alert: You have reached 200 Villain Points. Kobolds within your party will now level up when participating in the Path to Villainy quest line. Your notoriety has also grown and the guards of Skullheyden will no longer grant you access to the city. Other cities remain unaffected.
Quest Alert: Due to your recent antics, you have also taken on the name The Cunning Kobold.
Witt paused a moment to process all of the information. He now had a total of two hundred and twenty-five villain points. He’d also had a stat point added to both Charisma and Intelligence from leveling up.
The Cunning Kobold. His new moniker had a nice ring to it. Truth be told, their plan had been executed to perfection. They’d destroyed the caravan without taking any damage. Hux and Zirn would be invaluable assets going forward, especially considering the fact that they could now level up alongside him. Not to mention his new ability Song of Enlightenment would likely benefit both of them. Scale Mail, on the other hand, meant Witt might actually be able to get his hands dirty.
He focused on Hux, who was scouring the rubble of the exploded caravan. He was still level eight. So the experience points gained from their current wave of terror had only gone to Witt.
Next time. A wave of icy pleasure coursed through Witt. Soon, the villain points and experience would be flowing like a waterfall.
The inability to enter Skullheyden might be a problem. However, the notification said that the guards wouldn’t grant him access to the city, not that they would kill him on sight. It was still possible he might be able to sneak in wearing his cowl.
That would be a problem for another time. The gates to the city were already closed at this point. They would be lucky to reach Murkwell by morning.
A shadowy figure moved through the bushes to Witt’s right. He reached for his dagger and activated all of his barbarian abilities. His body vibrated with the unspent energy. Was it possible one of the heroes had escaped? Could there have been more than five in the caravan, or had one of their companions evaded death?
“Boo!” Razul’s shroud faded, revealing his wild grin.
Witt jumped at the rogue’s sudden appearance, and Razul tilted his head back in raucous laughter.
The tension fled from his shoulders. “Razul, you’re a real piece of slime. You know that?” Witt couldn’t be mad at the rogue. It had been his efforts that allowed them to ambush the caravan in the first place.
“I’ve been called worse.” Razul shrugged. “That was quite the show. We should probably get going before anyone comes looking.”
Witt agreed. The flames were a giant beacon in the darkness. He called Olah to bring her wagon over. “Let’s take down these traps and load them in the wagon. We can talk once we’re back on the road.”
Since most of the traps had been used during the ambush, taking them down was a lot quicker than setting them up. Soon, they were on the road to Murkwell. He took one last glance at the dying embers of the caravan. This is just the beginning.
The night sky was clear and millions of stars sparkled overhead. For a moment, Witt sat in silence, listening to the crunch of dirt underneath the wagon. Today had been a great day. Razul sat to his right and Hux and Zirn sat across from him while Olah steered the wagon.
“Good job, everyone. We couldn’t have executed that more perfectly.” Witt leaned forward. “I have some good news. From this moment forward, for every hero we kill as a group, you will all grow stronger. Hux, you must have killed thousands of spiders in your days guarding the pass, and yet you’re still level eight. Now, your efforts will be rewarded. And Zirn, I have a feeling we’re going to need a lot more traps very soon.”
The glowing moon reflected in Zirn’s goggles. “More adventures like this, or are you planning something bigger?”
“I have big plans, but we must protect Murkwell from the heroes that will try to shut me down. The stronger I become, the greater the reward will be for killing me. We will need to keep our people safe, and the hatchery above all. It is our future.” If the eggs were destroyed, then there would be no more kobolds in Murkwell.
Zirn nodded. “Consider it done. I will make sure all of the other tinkerers return to Murkwell as well.”
“And Hux.” Witt turned to the mage. “If we want to do this, I mean really do this, then we are going to need to get stronger. And fast.”
Hux scratched his chin. “It is quite the predicament. The more heroes we kill, the more they will want you dead. How do we grow stronger without attracting attention?”
“Leave that to me.” Witt had a sprout of an idea growing. One that could level up his people right under everyone’s noses.
Razul used his claws to flake off specks of blood that stained his leather tunic. “I hope you will have use for me, now that I will most likely no longer be welcomed in Skullheyden.”
“We couldn’t have done this without you. Your talents will become extremely valuable in the coming days. Don’t you worry.” Witt smiled.
He pulled out his lute and began to sing Song of Swiftness. The notes jumped from the lute, igniting the night as a gentle breeze engulfed the wagon. They sped along the empty road. It was a rarity for people to travel the roads at night, with the towns and villages closing their gates at sunset. Only outlaws and ne’er-do-wells roamed the darkness.
And villains. Witt basked in his new title. He was well along the path to villainy, and nothing would stop him now. As the wagon bumped along, he and the others drifted off to sleep. In a few hours, someone would switch with Olah so that she could rest.
“Witt, wake up.” Olah’s voice was coated with urgency as she shoved Witt’s shoulder.
He wiped the sleep from his eyes. “Ungh. Is it my turn to drive?”
The wagon moved at a snail’s pace, the buff he had given long worn off. Hux, Zirn, and Razul lay fast asleep next to him. The moon had disappeared behind the clouds, and no longer cast the fields in a silver hue. The pressed dirt crunched underneath the wheels.
Something was wrong. They were barely moving at all.
Olah shook Witt again. “Wake the others. There is someone on the road ahead.”
She pointed ahead to a wagon that blocked the road in the distance. Ravines ran on both sides of the road, making it impossible to go around. Several dark figures stood to both sides of the wagon.
Witt hurriedly woke the others. “Guys, I think we have a problem.”
They stirred to consciousness. Hux and Zirn both looked worried. Razul cursed under his breath.
This was the exact reason no one traveled the roads after nightfall. Bandits were always searching for unsuspecting victims. You picked the wrong wagon to ambush.
“Stop the wagon,” Witt ordered Olah.
>
She did as commanded and the boar came to a halt about fifty yards from the blockade. There was no guarantee they could turn the wagon around before the bandits ambushed them. The only way out of this situation was to go through them.
“Do we have any active traps we can use?” Witt’s mind sprang into action. There was no way he was losing anyone to a group of bandits. He wasn’t sure if this would count as part of his quest or not, so there was no telling if the others would respawn if something happened to them. He wasn’t willing to risk any of their lives to find out.
Zirn shook his head. “The boom powder is all gone, and there’s no time to set up the other traps, not when they know we are here. We may be able to use the poisoned darts and throw them by hand. I didn’t use the ones coated with basilisk venom against the caravan.”
Witt sighed. “Okay, I’ll see if I can talk our way out of this.” He did have a seventeen in Charisma after all. “Razul, sneak out of the wagon while I distract them. If we are forced to fight, we’ll need the element of surprise.”
“Here, take this.” Zirn scrounged through one of the containers and handed Razul a handful of darts. “Be careful. The poison causes temporary paralysis.”
Witt moved to the front of the wagon and stood on the seat. He bowed to the bandits. “Greetings, travelers, are you broken down? We’re but a lowly group of kobolds, but perhaps we could offer assistance.”
Witt seethed as he said the words. He was a villain now, and groveling was beneath him. But if it got his people out of this safely, he would defer his fury for now. He doubted it would work, but at least he could say he tried. There was a reason the gates stayed locked at night.
A cloaked individual stepped forward. “It’s awfully late for a group of kobolds to be on the road. Shouldn’t you be tucked away in your burrow?”
Path to Villainy: An NPC Kobold's Tale Page 8