because one of my platoon was distracting the fat guy. Way I figure, that entitles us to half.”
Gork shrugged. “Can’t give you half, can I? It wouldn’t be worth nearly as much broken.”
“Exactly. So you give it to me. I’ll sell it, and then I’ll find you and give you your cut.”
Dragonshit
, Gork thought. What he said, however, was, “Why not let me sell it, and I’ll find you and give you
your
half? I’ve done this before, so I’ll get a better price.”
“I’ll
get a better price, because I’m human. People around here don’t wanna deal with bugs like you.” The frown, by this point, had deteriorated even further, bordering now on a full-fledged snarl. “Give me the crystal, you little…”
The man was already leaning down, fingers outstretched toward Gork’s throat—whether to shake him up or actually choke him, Gork couldn’t tell, and didn’t plan to find out. With a vicious little growl, the kobold thrust out his snout and clamped down with his powerful jaws. Then, not waiting to see if the soldier’s scream would draw other guards running, he spit the man’s pinkie finger onto the ground and darted back into the crowd.
With a furious roar, the soldier came after him, shoving citizens and shopkeepers from his path; but for every pedestrian he was forced to manhandle, the lithe and tiny kobold gained precious seconds. A series of quick turns, a jump to the left here, a step to the right there, and it was done. By the time the enraged mercenary finally broke into the open, Gork knew that the man couldn’t possibly see him. The human, cradling his bleeding hand, cast his glance over the constantly shifting crowds, seeking, searching…
All to no avail. With a last, frustrated curse, he made his way, somewhat more gently, back through the crowd, apparently only now thinking to return to the barracks and seek attention for his injured hand. Despite the open hostility burning in the expressions of many whom he had shoved, the crowd parted to let him pass. It was a scene that could, in other circumstances, have gotten very ugly in a very small amount of time.
But not here. Nobody in Timas Khoreth—nobody in Kirol Syrreth—would dare stand in the way of a soldier of King Morthûl.
From beneath the shadowed corner of a merchant’s fruit stand, Gork tracked the soldier’s progress. He let loose with a heartfelt sigh of relief, one that came all the way from his toenails—followed abruptly by a chuckle of sheer contempt. Were humans stupid, or what?
On the other hand, they were also really big, they carried lots of pointy objects, and there were a damn
lot
of them in this city. It would, the kobold decided reluctantly, be better for all concerned if he were to simply vanish from Timas Khoreth for a good long while.
Oh, well. The clan, camped in the browned grasslands outside the city, had been making noises about moving on anyway. None of the diminutive creatures enjoyed staying so near the Northern Steppes, not with the chilly nights and the ever-more-frigid winds. Gork would just have to talk to Hrark, the clan patriarch, and convince him that it was, indeed, time to be on their way….
And thus were his thoughts occupied as he made his way from the hustle and bustle of the marketplace, sauntering between the looming watchtowers that flanked the south gates. He could feel the derisive glare of the guards on his back and head as he passed, and shrugged it off. Gork knew that whatever scorn the humans might heap upon him, he could easily return tenfold and still retain enough to choke a griffin.
Hrark’s clan was encamped some miles to the west, and Gork happily occupied his mind on the long walk back by creating, listing, and categorizing all the reasons why humans were lower than dog shit. It kept him moderately amused, as well as oblivious to the weary miles, until he finally came within sight of the camp. Gork stiffened, senses straining, whimsy gone from his mind.
Many
Gork shrugged. “Can’t give you half, can I? It wouldn’t be worth nearly as much broken.”
“Exactly. So you give it to me. I’ll sell it, and then I’ll find you and give you your cut.”
Dragonshit
, Gork thought. What he said, however, was, “Why not let me sell it, and I’ll find you and give you
your
half? I’ve done this before, so I’ll get a better price.”
“I’ll
get a better price, because I’m human. People around here don’t wanna deal with bugs like you.” The frown, by this point, had deteriorated even further, bordering now on a full-fledged snarl. “Give me the crystal, you little…”
The man was already leaning down, fingers outstretched toward Gork’s throat—whether to shake him up or actually choke him, Gork couldn’t tell, and didn’t plan to find out. With a vicious little growl, the kobold thrust out his snout and clamped down with his powerful jaws. Then, not waiting to see if the soldier’s scream would draw other guards running, he spit the man’s pinkie finger onto the ground and darted back into the crowd.
With a furious roar, the soldier came after him, shoving citizens and shopkeepers from his path; but for every pedestrian he was forced to manhandle, the lithe and tiny kobold gained precious seconds. A series of quick turns, a jump to the left here, a step to the right there, and it was done. By the time the enraged mercenary finally broke into the open, Gork knew that the man couldn’t possibly see him. The human, cradling his bleeding hand, cast his glance over the constantly shifting crowds, seeking, searching…
All to no avail. With a last, frustrated curse, he made his way, somewhat more gently, back through the crowd, apparently only now thinking to return to the barracks and seek attention for his injured hand. Despite the open hostility burning in the expressions of many whom he had shoved, the crowd parted to let him pass. It was a scene that could, in other circumstances, have gotten very ugly in a very small amount of time.
But not here. Nobody in Timas Khoreth—nobody in Kirol Syrreth—would dare stand in the way of a soldier of King Morthûl.
From beneath the shadowed corner of a merchant’s fruit stand, Gork tracked the soldier’s progress. He let loose with a heartfelt sigh of relief, one that came all the way from his toenails—followed abruptly by a chuckle of sheer contempt. Were humans stupid, or what?
On the other hand, they were also really big, they carried lots of pointy objects, and there were a damn
lot
of them in this city. It would, the kobold decided reluctantly, be better for all concerned if he were to simply vanish from Timas Khoreth for a good long while.
Oh, well. The clan, camped in the browned grasslands outside the city, had been making noises about moving on anyway. None of the diminutive creatures enjoyed staying so near the Northern Steppes, not with the chilly nights and the ever-more-frigid winds. Gork would just have to talk to Hrark, the clan patriarch, and convince him that it was, indeed, time to be on their way….
And thus were his thoughts occupied as he made his way from the hustle and bustle of the marketplace, sauntering between the looming watchtowers that flanked the south gates. He could feel the derisive glare of the guards on his back and head as he passed, and shrugged it off. Gork knew that whatever scorn the humans might heap upon him, he could easily return tenfold and still retain enough to choke a griffin.
Hrark’s clan was encamped some miles to the west, and Gork happily occupied his mind on the long walk back by creating, listing, and categorizing all the reasons why humans were lower than dog shit. It kept him moderately amused, as well as oblivious to the weary miles, until he finally came within sight of the camp. Gork stiffened, senses straining, whimsy gone from his mind.
Many
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