Chapter Nineteen
Branches scraped against Witt’s face and shoulders as he catapulted through the treetops toward the ground. Scale Mail kept the pain to a minimum, fortifying his scales with enough damage reduction to prevent the branches from tearing his skin. The pine trees were more forgiving than the oak, bending instead of breaking. When he collided with an oak limb thicker than he was, Witt found himself falling to the earth and gasping for breath.
The forest floor finished the job the limb had started. Witt croaked for air as he clawed at the earth.
He’d managed to escape the heroes, but it would only be a matter of time before they came looking for him. He hoped no more kobolds died in the process, though he had seen many fall even as he soared above the village. They’d lost too many already.
His notifications flashed, telling him that he had received seventy-five villain points for the three heroes who had died. He quickly pushed it away. They’d lost the battle, and if he didn’t get moving, they would certainly lose the war.
Breath slowly returned, allowing Witt to focus. There was only one place he would be safe from the heroes. One place where he could hide and formulate a new plan. If the dragon had overtaken Corvin Mountain, that’s the last place they would look for him.
Witt removed the twigs and leaves that had lodged in his lute. He played Song of Swiftness, and his legs moved in a blur as he bolted through the forest.
He passed the nearby forest troll and a moment later a boulder smashed into a tree. The troll pursued him for a moment before returning to its clearing.
He found the trail that led to the main road and followed it. The road from Skullheyden to Corvin Mountain was sparsely populated. With no kobolds going to work or heroes tackling the dungeon, only those bringing supplies up and down the mountain were about.
Regardless, Witt pulled his hood up, concealing his face. There could still be heroes heading to the pass. With Song of Swiftness buffing him, he passed by travelers before they ever had a chance to get a good look at him.
At Machmuller Pass, a group of gnomes ran in fear, chased by a pack of wolf spiders.
Witt smirked. Just one of the many ways that unappreciated kobolds added to society.
“It’s not worth it! It’s not worth it!” a gnome screamed.
“We were just trying to sell our goods across the mountain!” A second gnome tossed a trinket over his shoulder, but the spiders kept chasing.
Witt let them be. He had bigger problems to deal with at the moment.
The first thing he noticed as he made his way up the mountain was the gaping hole near the top of Corvin Mountain. The stone was smooth and glimmering in the sun, polished to perfection under fiery dragon breath. The surrounding trees and foliage were charred beyond saving. The dragon had literally melted its way through the mountain to take refuge.
A chill ran down Witt’s spine. To have that kind of power.
He clenched his fist. He might not have the power of a dragon, but he had its desire. He had the blood of its ancestors in his veins. The heroes would suffer soon enough. He just needed time to think and plan. The fear of the dragon would give him just that.
Witt bypassed the mines, and made his way further up the mountain. He’d never been to The Cursed Catacombs. The entrance was underwhelming, in spite of it being a higher-level dungeon, offering tougher opponents and greater loot than The Forgotten Quarters Dungeon. The entrance was nothing more than a small cave. It could have passed for a mine entrance if not for the wooden sign engraved with the dungeon’s name.
A scroll had been nailed over the sign. “Warning! Dragon inside. Certain death and dismemberment await anyone under level fifty who dares to enter.”
Level fifty! Just how powerful was this dragon?
Witt laughed to himself. A dragon commanded respect just by existing. If Witt wanted to be a truly great villain, then he needed that same kind of respect. More than that, he needed to be feared.
The fact that he had been attacked by so many heroes was proof that they thought he was an easy target. He sighed. Some things never changed.
Inside, the cave transformed into a tunnel which led to a majestic hall. Torches lined the walls of the dungeon. In spite of the lackluster appearance on the outside, the interior was magnificent. Stone columns, intricately carved, held up a ceiling painted with beautiful depictions of orcs battling monsters.
Witt knew the history of The Cursed Catacombs. Long before Skullheyden had risen to prominence, Corvin Mountain had been temporarily ruled by orcs. The orc chieftain, wanting to command the respect of the other races, declared himself king and forced goblins to mine a stronghold within the mountain. To display his power, he laid claim to the tallest mountain in the area.
But orcs were not meant to live in mountains. Unrest quickly spread among the citizens and a mutiny formed. The mutineers believed that orcs should not stoop to the level of humans and dwarves. Orcs ruled the forest and were one with the beasts within. They took advice from their chieftain, but were not his slaves.
Having a king defied all of that.
One night, a battle raged within the throne room, and when a berserker destroyed a column, the ceiling caved in, killing all those inside.
Witt knew more lore than he could ever hope to use. As a skald, his knowledge of history was what fueled his songs. Each song told a story. And if he ever found himself with a spell designed for orcs, perhaps The Cursed Catacombs would come into play.
“Young one…” a snakelike voice called.
Witt jumped at the sudden noise. He looked over his shoulder but there was no one there. The hallway was empty except for the crackling torches.
“No one is there, young one. All flee under my gaze… Or they suffer the flames.”
Witt pressed his back to the wall and armed himself with his daggers. Was it possible some hero still hid in the dungeon? His eyes darted from corner to corner, and inspecting the shadows of the columns.
“Of course. The young ones do not remember the ancient ways. They do not remember the call.”
“Who’s there?” Witt’s voice cracked.
He pointed his daggers into the room, but no one revealed themselves.
“Do not address me in the common tongue!” The walls of the dungeon shook. “Are you not the spawn of dragons?”
It was then that Witt realized that the voice was speaking to him in draconic. He knew the language, all kobolds did, but it wasn’t spoken often, not even in Murkwell.
“Who are you?” Witt asked in Draconic.
“Do you not know? Do you not feel my presence all around you?”
The icy patch on the back of his neck spread, creeping into his brain and down his spine.
“Are you the dragon?” The words were barely a whisper.
The voice laughed. “There we go. Some of our intelligence still resides in you yet. Many know me as Vang the Undying, though my true name has not been spoken in ages. Now, come to me, I wish to look upon your face.”
Witt shivered. Vang the Undying, the only dragon that he knew still existed, had just requested his presence. Most kobolds would kill for this opportunity. Maybe he could use this to his advantage.
“Are you speaking through my mind?” The words of the dragon didn’t sound like they were coming from one particular direction, but from everywhere.
“The connection between dragons and kobolds has existed since the days the first dragons pulled your lot from the fires. Have you not felt it burning within you? In your blood and bones?”
Witt froze. He had always known there was something there, something dying to break free. Many in Murkwell spoke of the dragon’s fire during nights of revelry.
“How do I find you?” He couldn’t explain it, but he needed to see the dragon, to lay his eyes on the most fearsome creature in existence. He needed inspiration.
The dungeon trembled and a moment later a gust of hot air washed over Witt.
“Follow the heat.”
Witt followed the hot air as a battle of fire and ice raged inside of him. The fire called to him from his very being, but the ice within him refused to melt. Was it possible to have both the cold cunning and the fiery rage?
The empty dungeon echoed with his every step. Even the monsters that protected the halls had fled from the dragon’s presence. Nothing but a hero was foolish enough to challenge such power.
He passed empty room after empty room as the air grew warmer. Up stairs and down hallways. When it was so hot that even he felt uncomfortable, Witt knew he was close. Rubble littered the hallway that led to the throne room.
It had been built in the heart of the mountain, far away from those who might attack. But dragons had no bounds. Not even the mountain could stop them from taking what was theirs.
Witt stepped into the throne room and a gust of hot air pushed him back. The open roof revealed blue skies overhead, and curled atop the rubble a golden dragon blew smoke from its nose.
If not for the penetrating red eyes that followed Witt as he entered the room, Vang could have been a statue. Its golden scales gleamed in the sunlight. Whether from the natural sheen or the heat that resided inside the monster, the air shimmered around it. The massive creature was bigger than any beast Witt had ever seen in the forest. If the gods were real, then they were certainly dragons.
Vang rose up, stretching its back and sending rubble scattering. Witt instinctively knelt before his ancestor.
“You are wise beyond your years.” Vang lifted its head, red eyes piercing into Witt. “What is it that brings a young one like yourself to my domain?”
“Safety,” Witt croaked. “We are being hunted and killed, all because I have power.”
Vang laughed and flames poured from its throat. “What power do you have?”
Witt stood up straight, some of the dragon within him granting him courage. “I am a skald. And I am a villain. I have the power to save my people.”
“And yet here you are and your people are not.”
The icy patch grew, putting the fire to rest. “I can save them!” In his heart, he knew it was true. An idea formed of just how that might happen.
Vang laughed again. “Do you know the difference between a dragon and a kobold, young one?” When Witt didn’t answer, the dragon continued. “A dragon only looks out for itself. I can see a great power in you, one that yearns to be set free. But you will never be great while you attach yourself to those around you. If you want power, you must take it. Do not wait for it to be thrust upon you.”
Witt’s mind raced. Dragons were no mere beast. They were smarter than most races, cunning and vile. If Vang discovered an inkling of what Witt intended, it would kill him in an instant.
Witt smiled. He no longer feared death. What he feared was a life without power. “May I play you a song?”
Vang curled back atop its pile of melted rubble. “Carry on.”
Witt strummed his lute, letting the notes bounce off of the throne room walls. He played Inspired Frenzy, an ode to dragons and the birth of kobolds. As he sang, his gravelly voice blending with the music of his lute, Vang’s eyes began to close. Next, he played Ballad of the Bold, but there were no heroes to benefit from its buff. He followed it with Song of Swiftness, and hot air swirled around his legs as the dragon’s eyes drooped lower and lower. Song of Silence reduced the dragon’s eyes to slits. By the time he finished Song of Enlightenment, gentle snores rocked the throne room.
In spite of the heat, a cool calmness coated Witt. He had lured Vang to sleep with his music, and now he would win it to his cause.
He plucked the strings slowly as he played Song of Seduction, and the words came out barely more than a whisper. With each pluck, red and pink smoke wafted out from the lute.
“The oldest songs, the oldest stories, they all detail one thing.
It’s not of gold or glory, but of love and loss and pain.
For loving leads to laughter, and laughter leads to pain.
In love lies the storm, and no one escapes the rain.”
As Witt continued to play, the colored smoke wafted out across the throne room, swirling and dancing with the music. It made its way to Vang and as it inhaled deeply in its slumber, the smoke disappeared in its fiery depths.
“Love has inspired kingdoms, and torn them to the ground.
It is a universal truth that happens all around.
Love has many faces, and also many truths.
Some love gold and power, and others love their youth.
Some love family, some love friends, some just love their self within.
But of all the ways to love, one stands above the rest.
The only way to truly love is—”
The throne room trembled as Vang shook. Smoke poured from its nostrils as it rose up, revealing the severity of its height. Its wings unfurled like giant sails flapping in the wind.
“Foolish kobold, do you think you can tame me with a spell meant for common beasts?” Vang roared, and fire poured forth like a furnace, melting the wall of the throne room. “Do I look common to you?”
Witt stepped back until his back hit the wall. “I—I uh—”
The dragon roared again, melting through the wall. The ceiling cracked and sagged where the wall had been, pieces of rubble crumbling to the ground.
Its jaws snapped shut and Vang cocked its head. “Most interesting.”
Witt wasn’t sure, but he thought the dragon’s lip curled up in a smile.
“It seems we have a visitor. Another young one.”
Witt’s stomach dropped. Kessy. It had to be her. But how had she gotten here so fast?
“Ah, so you know her.” Vang faced Witt, lowering its head until it was inches from his face. It took a deep sniff. “More than that, you care for her.”
Vang returned to its perch atop the rubble, saying nothing. Witt could only assume it was talking to Kessy the same way that it had spoken to him.
Minutes passed slowly, and the only sounds were Witt’s racing heart and the rumble of the dragon’s heavy breathing.
A clop-clop echoed from outside the throne room, and a moment later Kessy entered the room riding Olah’s boar. The boar fought to turn around, but Kessy urged it forward. She ignored Witt as her eyes fell upon the magnificent dragon.
Dragon and kobold gazed at one another, and Witt wondered what they could be saying.
Kessy climbed down from the boar and knelt in the same way Witt had. The boar snorted, and took off down the hallway.
Vang rolled its shoulders and lifted its head. Its eyes fell on Witt, and he had the sudden urge to run. He no longer felt safe in the dragon’s presence.
Kessy fell out of her trance and turned to Witt. “Oh Witt! I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“Kessy, you need to lea—“
“Silence!” The walls of the throne room shook and the sagging ceiling cracked further. “You thought you could control me?” Dark laughter echoed in Witt’s mind. “You want my power? It comes with a price.”
A chill coursed through Witt, but for once it wasn’t calming. He had tried to toy with a dragon, and now he would suffer the consequences.
Vang paced about the throne room before stopping in front of Witt. Its long, reptilian neck descended until its nostrils flared inches from Witt’s face. Heat radiated from its very being.
“You want to be a villain? You want true power? Then you must do what villains do.” Vang turned to Kessy, taking a long drawn-out sniff before returning to its perch.
The kobold in Witt’s vision pulsed.
“Witt, what’s going on?” Concern radiated from her eyes. “What does it want?” The color had faded from her scales and she stood there frozen in fear.
Witt focused on the kobold image and his notifications appeared.
Notifications:
Quest: Blood of the Dragon. As an emerging villain, you have dabbled with powers beyond your control. But the blood of the dragon runs through you, and a golden
dragon has taken an interest in your quest. An alliance with dragons does not come cheap. For the destructive power of draconic flame, the golden dragon requires a sacrifice.
Witt read the notification again and again. The dragon requires a sacrifice. What could that possibly mean?
“Witt,” Kessy called again. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t like this.”
He stepped toward her when Vang suddenly raised its head.
“Tell me, young one, would you sacrifice one to save many? Would you let go of what you hold most dear to achieve that which you most desire?”
Witt’s gaze fell upon Kessy. She had been his oldest friend, and his biggest supporter for as far back as he could remember. She had come all the way to the mountain just to find him.
He knew what Vang wanted, but there was no way he could sacrifice her.
And yet he had already sacrificed one of his own. He’d sacrificed the elder kobold so that a young kobold might take his place. He’d done it for the greater good. What was Kessy’s life compared to the power of a dragon?
Witt shook his head. No, she is my friend. If he sacrificed her, she would never respawn.
“Come on, Witt.” She extended her hand to him. “Let’s go.”
He reached for her, but then let his hand fall. If he walked out of the throne room, he would never have the power he dreamed of. He would be committing to a life of servitude, where eventually he would lose all his villain points and become what he had always been, a skald who buffed heroes. He would fight it, but ultimately he would fail. Hux, Razul, Zirn, they would all die by his side. And so would Kessy.
His shoulders grew cold. He could never go back to that life. Kessy’s essence would live on in the next kobold to hatch.
Witt strummed his lute and the colorful notes jumped toward Kessy.
Her face contorted. “Witt, what are you doing?”
She turned to run, but Witt started singing.
“In ancient times, when lands were young,
and dragons spoke the only tongue…”
A glaze overtook Kessy’s eyes as his influence took hold, soon they began to glow red. He finished the song and she stood there, her scales pulsing with rage. Witt had complete control over her actions as he slowly marched her toward the dragon.
Path to Villainy: An NPC Kobold's Tale Page 13
