The Hope of Ordym

As he raced down the tunnels on his dire weasel, Makka's heart raced. He had only recently been made chief of his clan, and even then, Makka cared about nothing more than their safety and prosperity. Their city lay next to some impressive mines, the source of ore they use for crafting and trading. But their diviners were struggling to find any ores within reach. The nearest deposit would take months, possibly years to reach. Makka knew that without ore, his clan could not participate in trade and would have to find a new location, potentially even splitting apart. This is what drove Makka to the Firkin.
The Firkin is a place where some of the worst denizens of Irrum Vath gather. Criminals go there to drink, and others would likely only ever go there if they were desperate to hire such an individual. For a kobold in such a position as Makka, news of his visiting this place could be catastrophic. His intentions, however, were more noble than those of most of the Firkin’s usual customers, and he knew his mission was worth risking going to the bar..
He left his weasel tied up at the bazaar. He pulled his hood over his face, following the narrow tunnels to the bar, hoping to find the one who he was looking for. The Firkin was dimly lit, and the air reeked of liquor. Small pieces of luimite dotted the ceiling, weakly illuminating a handful of patrons, but left their faces cloaked in shadow. He heard unintelligible whispers coming from the tables, and felt eyes darting towards him as he walked by.
Suddenly, the whispers were drowned out by cheers coming from the end of the bar. A crowd surrounded two kobolds, illuminated by a flaming sword, swiftly drinking large portions of the foul-smelling drink. The one closest to Makka was of average height, though fatter than most kobolds, and had a belt carrying numerous daggers around his waist. The other was taller, and lean. His musculature could be seen even from a distance, and he had a pack on the ground with numerous odd weapons sticking out of it, including a spear that seemed to be moving, and a hammer with no handle. As the kobold slammed his now empty mug on the table, Makka finally saw his face- his snout was more pointed than that of most kobolds, and looked almost wolflike; and atop his head a pair of goggles. As the other kobold angrily slammed down his mug, Makka leaned on a table a ways back and waited for the crowd to disperse.
As the fatter kobold angrily threw a handful of coins on the table and stormed away, Makka walked up to the goggle-wearing kobold. As the kobold sheathed the flaming sword and prepared to leave, Makka sat down across from him. The strange kobold looked at Makka and slurred, “If you want to challenge me, come back tomorrow.”
“I’ve heard stories about you,” Makka replied. “Luf, The lupine kobold who’s wandered the mountain for hundreds of years.”
“If you wanna hire me you’ll have to wait. I drank seven ales in an hour. I’ll be here t’morrow.” As he started to get up, Makka stopped him.
“No job. Just Information.”
The next morning, Makka was sitting on his weasel as it raced down the tunnels. The night before hadn’t been quite what he expected. While Luf gave him the information he paid for, he was expecting a very different interaction. Luf was a great hero, one who Makka had looked up to as a child, but he was shocked to find that Luf seemed almost… ordinary. From the stories about him, Luf seemed like a giant kobold with an unbreakable will, but at the Firkin, the creature he met was just a drunken kobold with a fancy sword. But in the end, none of that mattered. Luf had been alive since before kobolds even came to the mountain, and was one of the few living beings who could remember the location of a remnant archive, a ruin in the mountain lost to time. This particular ruin that he sought out was special. For a time, it had been home to Sparksteel, a lymantria who lived in the mountain, who he had met before becoming chief. She told him that when she started living in the mountain, she had found the ruin and turned it into a makeshift workshop, but had abandoned it long ago. Sparksteel, he remembered, created explosive weaponry. Her personal weapon, which she called the Aetheric Accelerator Cannon, shot out powerful explosive rounds, and the other tech she made followed suit. Unfortunately, after months of searching, he couldn’t figure out where to find her in the mountain. This is why he sought out the archive, hoping to find any technology she may have left behind.
As he arrived at the location Luf had given him, Makka was confronted with a pile of rubble. He felt a strong sadness well up deep inside him. He had thought that Luf may have misled him by mistake, but he had gone too far to move on. It took him almost an hour, but he finally broke through the rubble. He crawled through the hole he made, and entered a buried temple he hoped had been Sparksteel’s workshop. As he walked through the temple, he saw walls, floors and ceilings infused with lines of ore. Intricate patterns were carved into the walls, and at the back of the temple was an enormous statue. Because it was half destroyed from time passing, Makka could barely make out what it was. But as he walked to the back of the statue, he saw what he was looking for. Shelves carved into the back of the statue, filled with strange technology, the types of which he had never seen. As he gazed upon this, he breathed a sigh of relief. His quest, which held the fate of his clan in its hands, was over. And he felt hope.