Fog hung heavily about the forest, obscuring the top of trees as well as anything beyond a few yards out. There was a peculiar chill to the air, as well, that seemed uncharacteristic for the time of year. Kish pulled his robes about himself, craving what little warmth they brought him as he walked aimlessly. The ground began to harden, losing the compost from decades of fallen leaves and dead brush, giving way to a thin, winding path. It looked travelled, but not often, or not recently. A look around him revealed very little else could be seen to offer guidance, and in spite of not knowing where the path went, he found himself following it dutifully.

Slowly, the dark greens of the forest started to fade, color giving way to grays and blacks. The ground became more littered with leaves and dead twigs as the trees thinned out, and Kish paused as he emerged from the treeline without much warning, surrounded by the fog in what looked like a bleak, desolate wasteland of nothingness. Turning, he could see the forest he had come from, but the path was blocked by overgrowth, impassable. Ahead of him, the fog churned and rolled across the barren landscape; shadows which looked as though they belonged to horrid beings flitting about within the fog's concealment.

“Tir ti l'gra."

The voice was harsh, draconic, coming from nowhere but everywhere at once, and he turned to find its source. Nothing, though, entered his vision, save for a peculiar spot amidst the swirling fog that almost looked like eyes watching him. He felt compelled to walk towards them and did so, one foot moving ahead of the other with mild trepidation.

“Marfedelom geou ti pok wux."

His feet paused, a chilling sensation overtaking him as he looked around once more. Something was not right here. Not right at all. The fog began to part and ahead of him was a dragon, brilliant white in color, light radiating forth to drive back the fog. The dragon reared back, wings spreading wide as gold-amber eyes bore into his own.

“Tilsin di Shocraos, kepla'nas doutan."

A knock at the door startled Kish from his dream. He rolled from his hammock and reached for the robes he kept nearby, a book that had been resting on his chest as he slept falling to the floor with a thump. Another knock, with a bit more irritation and urgency behind it, sounded.

“Kish is coming," he yawned, “-is coming, wait!"

The knock repeated before the lock clicked, the tumbler turning, and the door opened. A human female stepped in, pulling her brown hair back to tie it up. She closed the door behind herself and sighed, shaking her head.

“You forgot again, didn't you?"

Kish frowned as he tied his robes and set to making tea. “Saren, I don't know what you're talking about. I've nothing worth remembering until tomorrow, when we go to-" he paused. “Wait...that's today, isn't it..."

Saren sighed and moved about the room, carefully putting the fallen book back into its spot on the shelves that adorned the walls. “You forgot."

The kobold sighed, watching as Saren straightened the room while he tended tea. She always found something to straighten when she visited, even if he cleaned beforehand. She was young, soon to hit her twenties, brown hair pulled back in a tail simply because it would otherwise fall in front of her green eyes. Saren had been a rarity in the town, someone that did not outright ignore him, walk past him, or regard him with disdain. She actually sought conversation, enjoyed the books in his library and stories he had to tell, and was quite possibly the only other person with a key to get through the door to where he lived. He poured the tea, setting a cup aside for her.

“I had that dream again."

She looked over at him and moved to the table, settling into a chair before blowing the steam from her cup and taking a sip. “That's not normal, Kish. What's that make it, two weeks? Three weeks?"

He grunted and took a seat as well. “Four. However, it was different. I didn't die this time."

“Ah. What happened this time?"

Kish eyed his tea warily before picking something out that was floating along the surface. Dust, most likely. “The dragon at the end said something, and then you knocked and woke me up." He took a sip of his tea, relaxing at the warmth it brought. “I still don't know what it means, if it means anything."

Saren chuckled and shrugged. “Must not have been important, then. Otherwise you'd remember."

“Oh," Kish slid down and made his way towards his shelves of books, pulling one down. “I remember it, I just don't know what it means. Different language. Old dialect, sounds draconic, though."

“Dammit, Kish," Saren sighed. “Quit sounding like some kind of talking library...you make us all look bad."

“Us all?" The kobold laughed and thumbed through a few pages. “As far as I know, there's only the two of us." He frowned, unable to find what he was looking for and shut the book, replacing it on the shelf. “Well, I suppose that's enough of that. Market?"

Saren nodded, finishing off her tea. “Market."

He made his way to the coat-hooks by his front door, pulling a hooded robe down and sliding it over his shoulders, the hood pulled low to keep the sunlight from his eyes. “You know what you are looking for this time, yes?"

“Of course I do." She opened the door and stepped out. “Something...interesting. I'll figure it out when I see it."

The market was its usual busy affair. Ever since legend of the nearby, deceased, Sphynx circulated, travellers and adventurers alike had flooded the poor town, most in search of treasures or to validate the rumors. The impact had been almost exponential, the inn had to expand, the market became larger, other merchants had moved in to try their luck at hawking wares. Even the new blacksmith had garnered a decent reputation for sharpening blades and mending armor.

Of course, it also helped there were other ruins nearby. Some were innocent enough, but there were a few crypts and even an old monastery that had yet to be fully explored. Most who entered never seemed to make it back to relive their tales over ale. The few who did never seemed to get too far before turning back, either lacking members of their party, or horribly scarred and battered.

Names and rumors spread, the most prominent involving a Lich clad in the ornate armors of a Paladin, Dalrak. No one had seen him, but somehow all of the stories ended up with at least a mention of the name. Of course, the dark and twisted tales of death to unwholesome machinations of the phantom-Lich did little to dissuade would-be heros. They came, they went, and the town's economy flourished.

That was, in truth, the unfortunate way Saren and Kish had crossed paths. She came as part of a group, passing through town on their way to a nearby crypt to scavenge for treasures and trinkets. Unfortunately, she returned alone. Kish had heard little about what truly happened, how she ended up broken and bloodied in the back-alley of the Inn and on his doorstep. He had not asked, though. It had taken a long while just to nurse her back to health, and longer still to finally see an end to the nightmares that plagued her sleep. He did not wish to bring them back.

“Hey, check this out."

Kish looked over to Saren, who was waving her hand to get his attention and holding up a book while the nearby merchant watched with cautious eyes. As with most open-air markets, there were numerous attempts by some less than honorable folk to try and snatch merchandise and run.

“It's a nice little book, talks about the devotees of Apsu," she said, offering the book over.

Kish furrowed his brow. Apsu was a deity, draconic by nature. Sure, it wasn't Kurtulmak, the patron deity most Kobolds swore to follow, but the draconic heritage made Apsu a very appealing subject. He thumbed through a few pages. Histories, beliefs, practices. “Looks like a reference from a temple."

He continued to turn through the pages until coming across one that bore an illustration. It was a black-ink sketch, aged on the parchment, and depicted a rather glorious looking dragon. Beneath, there was a simple title of “Apsu", but he knew that much. The book was, after all, dedicated to the draconic deity. It was the details, though, that held his attention. The sharp contrast, the scales, the patterns, everything was so vividly familiar. This was the dragon from his dreams.

“How much is this book?" He closed it hurriedly and looked up to the stall's owner.

“For you? I'll make a deal," the merchant reached behind the counter. “Got another one you might be interested in, sell them both together for a gold piece."

Kish took the second book and read the cover. Ornate penmanship provided a rudimentary title of what was contained inside. “Cursed Talismans," he read it out loud. “Why would I be interested in this?"

“Well, the other scaled fellow earlier was interested in it, figured you would be too. Well, was a couple of them, two, but the mage was the only one interested."

Kish looked up from the book. “Scaled mage? What did he look like?"

“Gold, tall, about this," the merchant indicated with a hand, roughly six-feet. “Wore dark robes, smelled like magic."

Kish looked back down at the book with a keener interest, thumbing through it carefully as he studied pages that appeared disturbed. One, where the spine creased naturally, stood out. It depicted a talisman shaped in the likeness of a red dragon. The description listed it as a Pendant of Draconic Rage, a cursed artifact that would turn its wearer into an avatar of a dragon. There were listed rumors and sightings of several, representing the spectrum of colors the dragon races had.

“Did he have a name?" Kish closed the book and fished through his pockets for the coin to pay the merchant.

“Nah, no name. But I think they went towards the tavern."

Kish hated the tavern. Inwardly, if Saren had not been standing by his side, he would never enter. It was crowded, noisy, and full of rowdy people and drunk adventurers. Some were quiet, listening in for rumors or informative tidbits that would give them a leg up, others were simply looking for a fight to bolster egos. All of them, save for the gnomes and dwarves, towered over Kish, and in truth he often felt like there was a severe risk of being crushed to death by pure accident.

It took all of but a few moments, though, to find the glint of scales. The other patrons were keeping clear of the two creatures, mostly thanks to the reputations garnered during the War. Draconians were renowned for being vicious, remorseless, and brutal in their dealings with anything deemed a threat or problem. No one ever wanted to test them.

One was a sleek, lanky coppery beast, wings folded in the fashion of a cloak over light leather armor. Kish could make out the few low-profile scabbards affixed to the leather vest that housed daggers. Research told him it was a Kapak, renowned for silence, stealth, and merciless assassins. The draconic heritage was all too evident in the facial structure, the long whip of a tail, the claws. The Kapak was drinking what appeared to be an ale from a stein, watching the tavern passively while conversing with his partner who was, much to Kish's delight, instantly recognizable.

“Well, well. What have we here?" The Aurek offered a toothy smile as he looked up from the hushed conversation he was having with the Kapak. “The Kobold. I figured you would have moved along by now, but rumors spread you were still in the area."

Kish twitched faintly. Rumors? He offered a sheepish shrug. “Just...living. Trying not to attract too much attention." He made his way closer, Saren lingered behind. “You're back?"

Ras'Dhin nodded slowly. “I am. Looking for something that may be hiding near here."

“The pendant?" Kish looked back towards Saren and motioned her over. “This is Saren, friend of mine."

She made her way over, a bit apprehensively, but offered a polite nod all the same as she was introduced. “A pleasure."

Ras'Dhin managed a wry smile that was sincere enough. “A Cleric, I assume? For whom?"

“Korada, Sir."

“Ah, good, good." The Aurek motioned to the draconian sitting opposite him. “This is K'resth. We served together during the war, very skilled with a blade. He and I have accompanied and worked with one another on various occasions."

Hands were shook all around before Saren pulled over chairs for herself and Kish.

“So, there is a reason I am here. A specific one," Ras'Dhin finally ended the small-talk, levelling his gaze at Kish. “I am looking for the pendant as mentioned before. But I need your help."

Kish straightened up slightly. “I'm not quite sure how I could help you with that."

“You're small, something that can be infinitely useful. But moreover, you know things about this area and the lore behind what we might encounter far better than I. I told you there were rumors, most involve your collection of books." The Aurek leaned in closer with a smirk. “I can only hope you've read them all."

Kish nodded slowly. “I have. Plenty of time to read."

“And there is something you are looking for as well, yes?" Ras'Dhin chuckled softly. “You and I, we are not too different in our motives. We know, and seek, ways to become closer to the great Dragons we hailed from. To serve them is one thing. To be them, that is the single most divine purpose we could hope for, yes?"

Kish nodded once. “Yes, but you already came from their eggs. We just...descended from the blood. You were already born by them."

“I said we were similar, not equals, Kish." Ras'Dhin ignored the pointed glare sent his way by Saren. “We strive to be as close to them as we can. It is in our blood to do so. For you, if I understood the merchants correctly, Dragon Disciple?" He smiles thinly. “For me, the pendant. But I do not have the same library of knowledge you have, Kish. Somehow, you've seen fit to make bards jealous with what you know. I want that knowledge, and I can offer you something in return."

Kish took in a slow breath. “What?"

“Training. Training in the arcane, in magic, in spell casting and disciplines. As well as everything I know inherently, what was bred into my own mind, about our lineage."

It was a few moments before Kish was able to digest the offer in full. In truth, he was surprised he didn't outright jump up and take it. A chance to learn from a dragon-born who was brought up specifically for that purpose. A master of the trade, in a sense. Instead, he found his gaze moving to Saren, who seemed a bit apprehensive.

“I, uh...will need to think about it," the kobold finally offered.

“Of course, Kish. Please do, we will most likely depart tomorrow evening which should offer enough time to consider the details and prepare." Ras'Dhin stood, K'resth standing silently as well. “I should note, we could also make good use of a Cleric, if you are interested," he let his gaze linger on Saren before turning to head for the door. “Think about it."

With that, Kish and Saren were left alone at the table.

“You don't have to come." Kish stood and smoothed out his robes. “I know you don't like it in those places."

Saren was silent, contemplative, a bit of concern showing before she finally shook her head. “I'll go. It's...not something I want to do, but someone's got to keep you safe." She offered the kobold a nervous smile. “We should get ready, though. They're leaving soon, right?"

Kish nodded before smiling as he started for the door, Saren by his side. “It won't be so bad. Ras'Dhin is a very skilled mage. I'm sure we'll be fine."

Morning came without incident, Kish shouldered his pack as he looked about his room, running through a checklist in his head. He had never left this place for long, and the last thing he wanted was to come back to a burnt out inn because some errant kobold left a candle lit in the wrong spot. But, the stove was out. The candles were out. The only light filtering into the room came from the open door.

His pack was almost regrettably light as he hefted it, though he had also gone through a few of the books and packed out accordingly, so his chance of missing something seemed, as he went through it item by item, seemed unlikely. He'd even packed his old staring box. Granted, it was rather plain, but he recalled a few useful times wherein it had distracted a would-be assailant long enough to gain the upper hand. It was almost a trap in itself. Also, he still enjoyed the relaxing, almost meditative state he gained by gazing into it.

He took one final breath and reached for the final piece, his old spear, and unwrapped the blood-stained leather wrapped about the tip, untying it and refastening it near the grip. A quick check proved the edges were still sharp, and he deftly shouldered it before stepping out into the street.

Saren was waiting, also carrying her old gear from the day their paths had first crossed, and Kish felt his gaze drawn towards the mace she kept by her side. Nothing was said as he fastened the lock to secure his door and set an advanced payment in the drop-box just in case things went long before letting out a slow breath and tugging his hood low over his head.

“Ready, then?"

Kish glanced back at Saren and offered a thin smile. “First time I'll have left here."

Saren offered an apprehensive chuckle. “Yeah, me too."

There was a moment where both of them stood silent, sharing a look. For Kish, it was the realization that he could very well not return at all. He was not quite certain what was on Saren's mind, though. Without a word, he gave her a curt nod and started down the road, his staff tapping along every other step he took.

Ras'Dhin was the first to notice their approach, giving the kobold and cleric a critical look before nodding his approval. Beside him stood others. Two humans, one wearing the armor and armament typical of the mercenaries in the area. Warrior, perhaps from an army or brigand unit no longer in service. He was about two and a half feet taller than Kish, and had his fair share of battle scars. The Equipment he had was relatively battle-worn, but well maintained, as well. Light armor, leather with metal studs, covered his torso while a battle-kilt with a chain-mesh layer underneath that hung down to about his ankles. Kish tried to place him. Northern regions, most likely, if the shoulder-length dirty-blond hair and blue eyes were any indication.

The other human was most likely from the desert regions. Darker complexion, black hair, brown eyes. He was dressed in a simple light leather jerkin and trousers, belted by a cord which had a few small utility pouches on it. His lanky build hinted to the trade of a scout of sorts.

Both humans turned to face the newest arrivals, and Kish felt slightly uneasy under their scrutinizing glare. It was not often that kobolds and human adventurers mingled under friendly terms. In fact, it was usually such meetings that ended in deaths. Still, once their appraising looks were finished, both offered a nod and shouldered their packs as Ras'Dhin ventured over to make proper introductions. It was a brief affair. The blonde fighter, Ulrikh, and the dark-skinned Rasheid, a tracker and tradesman. K'resth, he learned, had ventured off to attend to something else and would most likely meet with the group later, if time and circumstance permitted.

“Kish, Saren, so glad you two could come. Here, I've a quick meal waiting to start the day, and some older charts my brother put together while scouting the area. He was not able to get inside where we need to go, but certainly charted as much as he could outside." The draconian ventured over to a small pack, pulling out some dried, salted meat and handing a piece to Saren and Kish. “Of course, he was called upon to handle another task, so I have hired on the help you see here."

Taking a bite of the meat, Kish nodded slowly and pocketed the remainder for later. “So, how far are we looking to go before we get there?"

Ras'Dhin offered a dry chuckle. “All the way, of course. Come on, I do not care to waste any time."

The walk was a silent one, interspersed with idle conversation. The two mercenaries, Ulrikh in particular, tried to keep a conversation going with Saren, who obliged merely out of respect and to break the monotony. Kish kept by Ras'Dhin, who was likewise silent. It allowed him time to survey the landscape he had not seen in a long while.

The woods in the area had changed since he had last seen them. A vaguely familiar copse of trees brought back memories of travelling with the kobold war party, and even though it was long since overgrown, he could still visualize the image of his fellow kobolds, slain, their heads displayed atop their spears. It drew an involuntary shudder, especially when he recalled his part in betraying them.

Familiarity continued to strike as Ras'Dhin led them up along a road that showed signs of abandon. At one point, it had been a thoroughfare for adventurers and trade convoys alike, snaking through a cleft hewn into a low mountainside before arriving at the mouth of a cave. This was the sphinx's lair, he recalled. The walls were once ornate and decorated with illustrations that told stories, inlaid with gold and other fine metals. Now, they had been pillaged and destroyed. The back half of the cavernous lair was collapsed, he saw on passing, and another pang of regret set in.

His doing.

Kish sighed, taking some comfort in the fact that, at the very least, he had copied down the illustrations into a book before departing the area. At least they would remain preserved, even if their actual glorious state was no longer present in the world.

By now, the noon-day sun was overhead. They set up a hasty camp to fix a quick meal before carrying on. By now, everyone was quiet. The small talk that had occupied the first half of the day was done and gone. No one had anything they cared to say. Prior to breaking for their meal, they had left the old Sphinx road and entered the denser part of the forest. Kish saw the two humans seemed more on-guard. With the canopy filtering out a fair bit of the sunlight, Kish was able to pull his hood back without fear of being mostly blinded by the bright glare, taking a look about.

Ras'Dhin was silent, leading on without a word. Around him, the forest was just as quiet, rustling leaves overhead from a soft breeze being the only thing that offered a break from the monotonous silence. Something, a dank mildew smell, wafted by from upwind, catching his attention.

“You smell it, too?"

Kish looked back towards Ras'Dhin.

“There is something here that should not be here," the draconian smirked.

Kish frowned and looked back. The two mercenaries were looking about uneasily. Even Saren was already gripping her mace, muttering something under her breath. Perhaps a prayer?

“It's the noise," Ras'Dhin explained. “This forest should be vibrant, instead there is nothing, and the smell is telling. It reeks of death."

Kish took in the scent again, trying to place it. It felt familiar, like the smell of sand after rainfall, but there was something else beneath that, something almost carrion in nature.

“Stop."

Everyone halted in their tracks as Ras'Dhin surveyed the area around him, his eyes glowing with arcane energy. “It's masked itself from my vision. I do believe we are being hunted." There was a moment of silent concentration as he appeared to scry something.

It mattered little, whatever Ras'Dhin was doing. There was a sudden bellow of a roar that sent chills down Kish's spine. It was not so much that the noise was loud, or menacing, it was the noises that came with it, like screams of anguish of others. Beneath his scales, he felt the pinpricks of apprehension and unease as he gripped his spear and turned, with the rest of the party, towards the sound. Another roar, closer, echoed through the trees as the sound of crashing foliage soon followed.

Kish turned to see Saren, standing by his side with a look of grim determination on her face. Still, she turned to offer him a quick smile before the trees in front of them cracked and splintered, the monster charging through to get to them.

It was the head of a dragon. Or, rather, should have been a dragon. The body was serpentine, all bone, with sinew and rotten flesh hanging from it. The eyes had a chilling, icy glow coming from within the sockets as it focused on the warrior first.

The party scattered, Ulrikh sidestepping and bringing his blade crashing down on the bone skull with little effect. Some bone chipped off, but little else could be seen in the way of damage. The unearthly roar deafened Kish for just a moment as he watched the undead abomination whirl about. Teeth gnashed, there was a guttural scream and an explosion of blood as the draconic maw snapped down on the fighter. It happened so fast, Kish still had not fully processed everything until the sun-bleached skull was facing him, stained crimson where blood had painted bone, Ulrikh's limbs, and sword, dangling from the edges of its mouth.

He felt sick in that moment, bile threatening to rise as he heard someone shout his name to snap him out of the strange daze that had overcome him. The beast turned its attention away, roaring and dropping the mangled corpse from its mouth before getting slammed by a gout of fire.

Ras'Dhin had moved into action, holding the beast's attention as Saren and Rasheid worked to one side on something. The clarity of the world returned in that moment and he steeled himself into action. He'd stood his ground before, right? There was no way he would run from this creature now, not with friends at risk.

Right?

He traced a sigil in the air with his nail, muttering an incantation as the runic symbol of fire appeared before him. Pressing his hand against the floating sigil, a ball of fire burst forth, exploding against the beast's side. As it turned, Ras'Dhin followed suit with the same, keeping it preoccupied and confused as the two spell casters pulled its attention back and forth. Eventually, though, it tired of this, opting for the easier of the two threats and dove for Kish.

Kish was not quite sure what happened. There was a flash of light that actually left him stunned and blind as he watched the monstrous beast bear down on him, ignoring a sudden explosion of fire delivered by Ras'Dhin. In his mind, he had already braced himself for the inevitable fate that had found Ulrikh, but aside from a searing white light, there was no pain. Even as he felt himself falling back against the ground, thrown by some unseen force. Indeed, the light was so nauseating he felt the urge to vomit, but could not tell which way to turn. The meager contents of his stomach expelling themselves violently before he blacked out.

The light began to fade, but did not disperse. His eyes opened and he immediately regretted having done so. It was bright, painfully so. Still, no matter where he turned, his vision remained filled with the light. Closing his eyes, he pulled the hood of his robe low to shield his vision. He was still blinded, but at least could concentrate on his other senses, and he became aware of another presence with him.

It was the dull, leathery rustle of scales and wings that caught his attention first, and the sounds of the steady breathing of a large beast second. He turned towards the source, barely able to see the silhouetted dragon against the background of white light.

“Who are you?"

“Re wux ti tesantamaso? Wux jalla qe." The response resonated softly in the vast space.

“I can't understand you."

“Si mi relgra Apsu."

The name, at least, was familiar and registered in Kish's mind, causing him to pause. Was this the great dragon? An apparition of? Perhaps a different deity inquiring about his loyalties? He tried to think how best to respond, but the chance never arrived. The light suddenly grew brighter, burning his vision and forcing him to turn away.

“Si tepoha nadotic ihk wux, Kish."

His name? He strained to hear the echo of what had been said. Kish... he was sure of it. The great dragon knew his name. Kish...

Kish...

His mind replayed everything over again.

“Kish..."

A female's voice?

“Kish!"

Saren.

“Kish! Come on... I need you back here with us. Snap out of it, Kish. Breathe for me."

Kish coughed and took a healthy gulp of air as his senses returned in full. Saren was hovering over him, the glow of holy magic fading as she let out a quick exhale. There was genuine worry on her face, and as soon as his own mind recovered enough to respond properly, he gave her a fairly weak smile.

“You...you scared me. You're back, right?" She pressed her palm to his throat, checking his pulse. “My god, you scared me. You have no idea... I thought that thing had mangled you."

At least the pain from the light was gone. In fact, he hardly felt anything, as though he were floating on air. He carefully tested his joints, checking to make sure he was still in one piece. “What happened?"

“That...thing went after you. I tried to put up a shield, I thought it broke." Saren took a seat. “It... Ras'Dhin and Rasheid are hunting it down, they wounded it pretty bad and want to finish it off."

Arms, legs, tail...all accounted for.  Still feeling as though he were in a haze, he looked off to the side and saw Ulrikh's arm. The rest of the body was missing. He did not even need to ask what happened to the fighter, the evidence had made it fairly clear. “You're alright?"

Saren nodded slowly. “Spent. I think I'll need a good rest once the others get back."

“I didn't run," Kish stated, still in shock. “I'm tired."

He felt Saren's hand press against his chest, perhaps checking for internal injury. He didn't feel like there was any, but...still. His spear was on the ground almost a dozen yards from where he was now resting. How far had the beast flung him on impact? He just closed his eyes, trying to will the dizzying haze away. Instead, the world seemed to just go silent.

He startled awake. Night had fallen. Saren was still seated next to him, supporting him as he rested against her. Ras'Dhin was back, though he could not see Rasheid. The draconian was huddled around a small, smokeless fire that had been set up. By the calm breathing he could feel leaning against her, Saren was asleep.

“You live. I am impressed," Ras'Dhin offered, chuckling softly as his gaze never left the fire. “Come, warm up a little. I am sure that you are cold. The wind is blowing from the north, carrying a chill with it."

“Rasheid?"

“Tending to the dead."

Kish nodded slowly as he settled himself down by the fire, immediately grateful for the heat it put out. “What was that?"

“An abomination, created and animated by Dalrak."

Kish looked over at the draconian beside him for a moment, expecting further explanation. “How do you know?"

“I can smell it," Ras'Dhin hissed softly, reaching to his side to pick up something flat and round, tossing it onto the fire. “The magic which infused with that monster smelled foul, but familiar. I took some time to think on it while you were resting and I am convinced it is him."

Kish shuddered at the thought. Tales of the necromancer's influence in the area were all too often dismissed as farfetched. Experiencing it firsthand, though, he began to recall some of the more disturbing tales. “Why would it be here?"

Ras'Dhin shrugged. “Any number of reasons. It may be a guardian, it may be something he unleashed on a whim, it could be something he sent after one of us to settle a grudge. There is no true logical thought behind his actions. All he wants to bring about is death so he may then unleash chaos."

“And you made him mad?"

The draconian chuckled. “Yes. Disturbed one of his tombs and killed him. However, we were not able to destroy the phylactery, so he is most likely back."

There was another moment of silence as more fuel was placed on the fire. “What about Ulrikh?"

“Buried."

Kish looked over with a frown. “Will we replace him before going on?"

“No. No time. We are here so we may as well carry on."

For a moment, Kish was not sure how best to respond. He hardly knew the fighter, so it was no significant loss to him. Still, he felt like there was a void that had to be filled. “Are we-" he paused as something was passed to him. Dried meat. He took a bite, swallowing before continuing “Are we going to be alright without him?"

“I believe we will. We simply need to pick our fights and move carefully." Ras'Dhin motioned towards his own pack. “I have been studying a few spells that may help us out should we need brute force to overcome something, but I am certain that between us, we can use intelligence to think of a solution."

“I hope so," Kish muttered, looking towards the fire.

The remainder of the night went without interruption. Rasheid returned at one point, carrying Ulrikh's sword. The pack of supplies had been found, but the contents rendered unusable as the fighter had been wearing it when he'd been torn to pieces. Without much more to say, Kish took advantage of the fire's warmth to slip back to sleep.

The smell of smoke roused Kish from his sleep. The sun had not yet risen, but light was starting to fill the sky hinting it was not far below the horizon. Ras'Dhin was sitting motionless by the fire pit, which had been extinguished, while Rasheid gathered his belongings. Saren was up as well, preparing her gear, and for the briefest of moments Kish felt a little guilty for being the last one sleeping. Pushing himself to his feet, he began collecting his own belongings.

“Kish!" Saren broke away from her work to give him a quick hug, which came as a pleasant surprise. “It's good to see you...uh...up." She grinned sheepishly, relenting the embrace before turning to her work again.

“I think I overslept, though." Kish pushed himself to his feet and stretched before gathering his own belongings. Glancing over at the others, it took him a moment to recall Ulrikh was no longer with the group. “So, where are we going now?"

“The crypt is not far. In truth, I believe this is why we were attacked." Ras'Dhin motioned for the rest to follow. “It appears we were closer than I had initially believed."

Packs were gathered and the group fell in step as Ras'Dhin led them through the forest. Close by must have been relative, because Kish felt as though he was scurrying twice as fast to keep up, and that the trail they were following was both long and non-existent. Though, he could have easily attributed both perceptions to his size compared to theirs. Not that he minded in the slightest; there was a time when this sort of travel was customary. It had simply been a while, and this time his companions were twice his height.

Fortunately, Saren was keen to keep an eye on him, ensuring he did not fall behind. From time to time, he swore Ras'Dhin glanced back as well, but the mage was either very discreet or quick about his actions. Rasheid was the only one that seemed disinterested in the others. The human kept his eyes focused ahead, rarely glancing at anyone else within the group. Perhaps Ulrikh's demise had caught him off-guard, or simply rattled him into silence.

The night before and the moment of the creature attacking played in his head. It was not something he'd been accustomed to dealing with. Even when he was a part of the roving band of his brethren he'd never been so closely involved in conflicts. Nor was he often finding himself so useless. Holding out a hand, he conjured up a small spark of flame, watching it dance across his fingertips before a gust of wind blew it out. His own magic was weak...ineffective. He scowled at the thought and looked towards the front of the group where Ras'Dhin led.

A far more capable mage, Ras'Dhin looked far from exhausted after dealing with whatever that creature had been. Though, he could only assume there was a fair bit of time involved in getting that skilled. Still, there might have been other useful spells he was unaware of that might have worked better. He'd just need to research more.

The forest itself was not difficult to traverse through. While there was not a clear path, it became apparent that others had travelled through the area at one point in time, and the overgrowth was thin enough to act as a guide where a path once existed. By the time the treeline broke, the sun was overhead. Grassy knolls and rolling hillsides met the group, and Ras'Dhin raised a hand to halt their progress.

Kish stepped over to a half-exposed boulder, scrambling atop it to get a view of the scenery around him. There was, at a glance, what seemed to be an old village. Though, walls were collapsing, roofs were missing, and the place seemed generally abandoned and overgrown. He could see the outlines of what had once been fields, but even those were slowly being reclaimed and choked out by weeds.

“We should rest, eat, and then we will move forward," Ras'Dhin stepped up to the boulder, pointing towards one of the buildings. “That is where we will be going."

Turning his gaze towards the building indicated, Kish had to shudder. While most of the village was in a state of ruin, this building was still standing solid, showing little signs of wear outside of vines creeping up along the stone walls. The area around it was fenced off, with soft mounds rising to break the terrain. Several markers of stone littered the area, indicating graves would be found in abundance there.

“How do you know the pendant is in there?" Kish glanced over at the draconian.

Ras'Dhin just smiled thinly and tapped his head. “Dalrak was once a powerful spell caster and keeper of arcane artifacts. Rumors aside, every other source I have looked has either been cold, or left clues indicating he had once been there. Both in his current and former life."

“So," the kobold sighed softly, “you believe he has it in his collection?"

“I do."

There was silence for a moment as the two turned to look over the distant crypt. Even with the sun overhead and casting almost no shadows, and without a cloud in the sky, a strange and unnatural darkness hung over the place. It sent a chill through Kish, who tried to distract himself from it by turning away to look at the draconian once more.

“The amulet. I read about it. What will you do with it? It is cursed for a reason."

Ras'Dhin scowled. “I am not unfamiliar with the nature of the talisman, kobold. While I do understand the nature of what it does, there are a few things worth noting. I am not some petty human that will likely find the effects of such a curse distasteful. I have come to the conclusion that the rage induced by the process is partly caused by shock, resentment, and unwillingness to change, as well as being unfamiliar with the mind and body of the dragon itself. I do not have any of those qualms."

Kish nodded slowly and had nothing to follow save silence. As he looked back at the crypt, the encounter from the forest played through his mind and he was suddenly aware, once more, of how inadequate he had been during the conflict.

“Fire," Ras'Dhin stated bluntly, “is decent, but often times does not carry the same potential with the foes we are facing as one might like to think. With your own coloration, and the simple fact that most of the kobolds I have seen with blue scales carry draconic blood within them, I'd have assumed you would have fallen back on lightning as your desired element."

Kish snapped his gaze back at the draconian just as the other scaled creature was turning to rejoin the others in the group. Lightning? He'd not even considered that a viability. Most mages dealt specifically with arcane, or fire, and the rarer ones in ice. Still, perhaps the draconian had a point. He had dabbled in lightning before, but even then it was never terribly powerful. Moreover, as dragons went, each of the different types specialized in one of any number of skillsets, which included fire, frost, poison, and even lightning itself. A part of him, though, doubted that lightning would even have helped. He was, in the end, still his same, diminutive self.

He hopped down the stone and made his way to where Saren was sitting. The cleric was writing and making a light snack of dried fruits as she worked. He settled himself beside her and took a moment to just rest, not wanting to interrupt her work. She noticed, but likewise focused on her writing without interrupting. It was hardly a problem for him; he'd spent enough time around her to know not everything required conversation. When she finally closed the journal, she offered him a piece of the dried fruit and joined him in relaxing.

“Do you think this was a mistake?" He sniffed the fruit before taking a bite. It tasted like apricot. “I…am having doubts."

She sighed, pulling him in close to rest against her side. “Kish, it's fine. We're in this together, right? As long as we focus on that, we'll be fine. Don't worry, okay? I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Somehow, Kish found the remark to be a little less comforting than, perhaps, she had intended. He'd intended to keep her safe through whatever challenges might have been faced, but thus far it had been Saren keeping him from the maw of some undead beast. He swallowed back the fruit and stared at the crypt in the distance. He truthfully had no idea what to expect once they entered the dark, foreboding building in search of this talisman, but he did at least concede that, no matter what it might be, he needed to figure out how to handle it. Not just for his sake, but Saren's as well. She'd promised to not let him down. He just hoped he could do the same for her.

Resting was a short affair, and Kish woke up to Saren nudging him. The sun had barely moved, but he still felt rested. Standing, he gathered his belongings and glanced towards the others. Everyone seemed to be aware of what was ahead, and the mood was almost sullen. Though, Saren managed to shoot a supportive smile his way, which he was quick to return. Packs were gathered and, again with Ras'Dhin in the lead, they set off across the hillocks towards the crypt.

As the abandoned town grew closer, Kish had a chance to finally see what had caused the downfall to begin with. Walls had collapsed and, where the vines failed to cover stone, he could see clear indications that fire had scorched their surfaces. Even though the grass had grown to reclaim most of the area, there was an underlying smell of ash, and at one point he thought he could make out the rusty remnants of chains on the burnt remains of a door.

The thought of what that meant drew a shudder. The town had not been abandoned. The occupants had all been killed. He glanced towards Ras'Dhin, who met his gaze, then looked over at the ruined buildings.

“Dalrak found an efficient way to grow his forces," he said, without offering much more in the way of explanation. There was nothing more that truly needed to be said.

Kish frowned and pulled his robes about him with a shiver as the group approached the fence that separated the crypt and graveyard from the rest of the ruined town. A strange chill hung in the air and, as if to add to the dark nature of the place, the sun became obscured by storm clouds that had formed and rolled in. Thunderheads far in the distance rumbled ominously.

“Storm's coming. One, maybe two turns of the hourglass," Kish muttered. He found himself dreading the onset of the storm for some unknown reason. Perhaps knowledge that, even if he were to escape the crypt, there was still something dark waiting for him outside. He didn't want to attribute the convenience of the weather on their location, but logic and superstition were colliding and neither seemed to be gaining ground.

Rasheid checked the gate leading into the cemetery for anything out of odds before swinging it open. The rusty hinges protested loudly, and one of them even snapped from being rusted through, leaving the gate hanging at an awkward angle for a moment before the stress finally overwhelmed the second hinge, causing it to fall to the ground.

“Well, I suppose there is no risk of being locked in, now, is there," Ras'Dhin remarked dryly before stepping through.

Kish waited until the rest of the group had passed through before following, glancing nervously behind him at the village. If Dalrak had been able to devastate an entire village so easily, how quickly could he deal with the group?

He preferred not to think about it, trying to find distraction in looking around at the cemetery grounds. Numerous headstones and markers were littered across the grass, most fallen or overgrown, providing little indication of who might have taken up residence in the plot. Trinkets and tokens were strewn across some of the plots, but most seemed to be bare and empty, perhaps due to looters or scavengers who had come through already.

Nearer the main crypt were six mausoleums, each near identical to one another in design. Testament to the consistency of the craftsmen who built them, and the abandoned village's taste in design. He broke apart from the group, heading towards one to take a look at the marble decorating the entrance and the rusted iron door that kept it closed off. Curiously, no chains were securing the door, and with a rather loud noise of rusty hinges, it swung open.

The noise was chilling in a very strange way, and he glanced apprehensively at the darkness beyond before turning to look at the rest of the group. They'd moved ahead enough that they'd not heard. However, they were paying attention to one of the mausoleums further down the way. Kish hesitated, staring into the darkness for a few moments before stepping in.

Darkness was not difficult to become accustomed to. In truth, it was almost more comfortable than the daylight outside, and he actually found himself more at ease. He could deal with this. He took the time to study the walls around him, admiring the intricate designs that had been carved along the marble surfaces. They had faded with age and weathering, but the general lines were still present. He traced his fingers over one, following the creases in the stone while visualizing the art. It was, on inspection, peculiar. Eyes… Or, rather, an eye. Repeated. The design was the same in each occurrence, though the size varied drastically. Some he could cover with his palm, others were larger than his hand. One, he found, was seemingly the centerpiece of it all, easily the size of his head, if not larger.

Once he was able to tear his attention away from the multitude of eyes, he became immediately aware that something was missing within the mausoleum itself. Traditionally, the humans who sought to reside within crypts tended to do so with others in their family line. Coffins would line the walls, extending deep into the earth as more space was needed. Though, the vaults here were all empty, the remnants of burnt out candles littered throughout them. But even with the vast amount of space available on ground-level, the chamber had been extended deep into the ground. Curiosity was overriding caution, and he crouched to grip the top rung of the thin ladder leading down with his free hand. A testing tug was delivered, just to ensure the anchors would hold, and he felt the satisfying solidity of iron anchored in stone. With a deep breath to steel himself, he gripped his spear tightly and descended down into the depths a rung at a time.

Along the walls, the strange painted eyes and expended candles were in abundance, littering walls and empty vaults alike. The light, what little there was from above, had long since gone, but the heritage of his race was more than enough to compensate, and the details in the painted eyes was actually far more vivid without the light to distract his vision. Whoever had painted them had done so in terribly vivid detail, to the point of including the faint veins that lined the cornea. At times, he almost felt as though some were following his movement as he descended down, which only served to send a shiver down his spine.

When his feet finally reached the ground, he hopped off the ladder, clutching the spear for familiarity and comfort. Above him, whatever light that entered the crypt was long since gone, and darkness was thick in the air. In the center of the floor, not placed in any vault, was a single stone coffin surrounded by more candles. These, unlike the rest he had seen, were not burnt down at all and looked aged, but unused. He lowered his hand towards one, giving a light snap of his fingers to trigger a small incantation that lit the wick, casting a flickering light about the crypt's floor.

In the light, the eyes flickered and gleamed, and careful inspection showed flecks of metal within the paint. It was quite enthralling, but what caught his attention most was the slab that occupied the majority of the ground he now stood on. A tomb. Dust filled the crease in the stone, tracing a subtle outline that could have been otherwise missed. Kneeling, he dug his nails into the crease, pulling to lift the stone from its frame to nudge it aside just enough to peer into the darkness.

Oddly enough, it appeared to be empty. He reached an arm in and felt nothing more than dust, and a rough cloth that could have been burial wraps, but the formless state they were in still hinted at emptiness. Pushing the stone further to the side, he lowered the candle to look within. He almost jumped when a multitude of eyes looked back.

Cloth, adorned with thousands of eyes, lay bundled within the empty tomb. Pulling it out, he opened it to find they were robes, and a very keen magical essence radiated from it. Enchanted, most likely. He pulled them on and was suddenly accosted by the sight of everything around him. Not just what was in front of him, but behind, above, and any other direction he cared to think of. He closed his eyes, willing the sensation away, and upon reopening them his vision had cleared to what it normally ought to be. Looking down at himself, he noticed the eyes on the robe had also closed, but had not reopened. Moreover, the garment itself fit as though tailored for him.

“So, that's what you are…" He chuckled to himself. Enchanted artifacts were littered around the world, and this appeared to be one of them. He would have to research a bit more, but at least he knew they could be tempered and not simply override his senses.

His thoughts, though, were interrupted by a soft thump. The crypt shook, sending a shower of dust down on him. It was a familiar sensation, one Kobolds knew well from times when their caves collapsed, but at least it was not the crypt he was in. Or, rather, a moment of waiting for debris to cascade down on him and finding reality to not match expectation proved he was safe. But, that also meant someone else might be in trouble.

Thoughts immediately went to Saren, and he clambered up the ladder to make his way out of the crypt as quickly as he could. Stepping out into the daylight left him momentarily blind as the shift from darkness to light stabbed at his vision, but when it cleared he could only stare at the scene before him.

K'resth was on his back, laughing while Rasheid and Ras'Dhin just stared at him. What looked to be a harp was lying on the ground beside the copper-scaled Draconian while Saren stood over him yelling about immature pranks and stupid, senseless risks.

Steeling himself for whatever story would be told to him, Kish made his way over and sidled up alongside Ras'Dhin. “What happened?"

The Aurek just shook his head. “This buffoon touched something that was trapped. Clearly so. Seems he thought it a suitable prank."

Kish turned to look around. Nearby, a section of the cemetery was cratered from some large blast, several headstones toppled and cracked from the force of it. He scratched his head trying to piece everything together before realizing Ras'Dhin was staring down at him.

“You found something new."

Kish gave a nod, suddenly recalling the robes he was wearing. “Yeah, they were at the bottom of this chamber inside that mausoleum over there." He pointed to the one in question. “I was going to look it over and figure out what it was later on, but I know it's enchanted. It even resized itself to fit me."

“I see that." Ras'Dhin studied the pattern for a moment. “Be careful with it. If you'll excuse me, I need to go chastise by brother."

Saren, clearly exasperated, made her way over as Ras'Dhin swapped out in the effort to condemn K'resth's actions and Kish was able to piece together what had happened. Apparently, the group had found a solitary harp leaning against a headstone. Nothing spectacular, either, as Ras'Dhin's own appraisals of it indicated it was worthless. Rasheid had even warned that, in an area where most things were already looted and gone, a solitary item remaining indicated a clear trap which was being purposefully avoided. K'resth had made a bet that he could retrieve the silly item, trap or no, and even though no one took him up on it he'd decided to do so. The explosion that resulted was loud, impressive in scale, and had left the others rattled but unharmed.

K'resth found it terribly amusing. No one else did.

Still, the moment broke the solemnity of the day rather well, and the group decided to relocate to one of the abandoned homes in town to set up a camp for the night and rest. The one settled on was the one with the soundest structure. K'resth occupied himself with salvaging other buildings in the area for wood and supplies to board up holes, windows, and other doors while Rasheid and Ras'Dhin made their way into a room and laid out a map on the dilapidated remains of a table to study and converse.

Kish looked at the business and shuffled over to where Saren was busy checking her own supplies. “You're not going to be able to restock any time soon, what are you looking for?"

She sighed. “Not looking for anything, just making sure nothing's broken, damaged, or…well, you get the idea." She pulled an oil lamp and the sealed reservoir for it out of her pack, carefully putting the two together. “So, you think we'll find what we're looking for?"

“I'm hoping so. I really am. I mean, it'd be pretty boring if we didn't. Also, well, you know…Ulrikh." Kish couldn't help but frown deeply. “I guess it'd mean he died for something, you know? Even if he was just some mercenary."

Saren nodded her agreement. “I never could figure out how some people can just move on from things like that. Someone died. Your, uh…friends didn't even seem bothered by it."

“Oh! I was the same way once." Kish settled himself down and pulled out a book from his pack, opening it to a blank page. “The thing is, I guess I changed. They haven't. They were used to fight wars and probably saw things like that frequently."

There was a nod from his companion in understanding as she fell silent, the murmurs from the next room accompanied by the pounding of nails into wood as windows were barricaded up for the night filling the air. “It's quiet," she finally observed.

“It is, yeah. But this place has been dead for a while. I don't smell anything, either, so I don't think we'll get another…monster like we did in the forest." Kish pulled a few charcoal sticks out, carefully sharpening one to a fine point. “But that's also why K'resth is barricading up the place. One easy way in means we'll either hear if someone tries to sneak up on us, or they'll have to come past whoever's on guard."

“Makes sense." Saren shuffled a bit uneasily, hanging the lamp overhead but leaving it unlit. “If they need it, it's there."

Kish glanced up at the lamp. “I'll let them know. You should get some rest, though, while you can. I'll probably do the same. I imagine we'll have to rotate in to watch while the others rest."

Saren nodded slightly and settled herself down. “Was this a mistake?"

Kish pressed the tip of his writing instrument to the page, but the question caught him off-guard. He froze for a moment as he thought on his response. “No." He started to sketch out the multitude of eyes from his newly acquired robes. “It'll be an adventure. Only, this time I'll get to tell it with you and not to you."

There was a chuckle on her part. “True enough, I suppose. That works. Well, don't stay up scribbling too much. You should rest, too."

Kish looked over and flashed a grin. “Don't worry, I will."

He looked back down at his work, making notations in the margin on observations for later reference while she drifted off to sleep beside him.