Khûm – Chapter 17
“Spring of 68. Snowperch.As his companions escorted the struggling kobold to Snowperch, Griffon arranged a secret rendezvous with Kothia – once known as Stirge – to convince her to betray Yorgos of Nyre and inform on the Iron Word for him. Meeting at a snowy stream near the Iron Word's camp, Griffon's argument was persuasive but ultimately unsuccessful, Kothia owing Yorgos too much to ever betray him. The Iron Word took its leave the following morning, dashing Griffon's hopes of converting her. Once safely stashed in an empty dwarven dwelling, the fearsome gnashing kobold officially made Mouse's acquaintance. Their name was Xerk, it turned out, and they were fiercely loyal to their marux – their mother – and told stories about how the dragonkiller army would be defeated by the kobold's cunning traps. Mouse did their best to leave an impression on the feral kobold, even showing them their egg, but Xerk remained unconvinced. While Beholder stood his watch upon the parapets of Snowperch, he was approached by Remorhaz, looking to reminisce about old times. Beholder was somewhat cold to these feelings, insisting that the past stay in the past but, if Remorhaz needed to talk about those times, that he come to him and not to burden the Commander with dark business from younger days. Hanging over all was the realization that, come the morrow, they would be striking their first blow in the war against Zhoraska the Red Matron – sending a message across the Firewood to entice her into battle against Dûnya Dragonbane and their assembled Menagerie forces.
There’s a calm that comes before a battle. Perhaps calm ain’t precisely the right word. Quiet might be closer. Nobody’s actually calm, of course. Nobody’s at ease with the prospect of steel or spell in some punk’s hand waiting to end you. In our case, that unease takes the form of a thousand year old dragon, fattened on a thousand screaming dwarves and fueled by the fiery vengeance of a mother thrice grieved.
So, instead of calm, there’s nerves and anxiety. Swords are sharpened, oaths are sworn and assurances are made, all in the mind, that today, it’ll happen to somebody else. Not you. Not this time.
This dragon job? With the queen and the Commander’s Tent taking point on the wyrmling, this whole contract’s felt like one long extended quiet as we wait for that winged fierceness to stoop down, turn her ire on us.
Only a matter of time. Only a matter of time.”
– Beholder's Log, 57th of Hemson, Year 68 of Ondûn's Second Age
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