Maybe We WERE Being a Bit Loud

"I think that's about the end for boars," you remark as you toss the cleaned bone into the fire pit, "They won't get us any higher than Level Eight."

Gero sighs at that, rubbing her muscled stomach in contentment. "But they taste so goood..."

"We can still hunt them, we just need to find some other source of experience. Or is this enough? Do we head back?"

The big female considers that, glancing over to where Momo is sitting in deep concentration. "What do you think?"

The busty little cleric waves Gero off. "I'm trying to pick my new spells; gimme a minute!"

Groaning, the warrior rises up in an deep stretch. "Pick an attack spell already! Holy flames! Lighting from the sky! Some other sort of God-y thing!"

Momo sticks her tongue out at Gero. "I can't pick anything like that yet. And I don't want attacks anyway! I told you, only want healing and buffs!

As your two companions bicker over Momo's potential arsenal of godly devastation, you decide to see to your own leveling decision. Still no boost in Ranged...which makes sense, seeing as you aren't really attacking anything. You've considered throwing rocks at the boars, but when Gero can kill them in one buffed hit, it seems a bit self-indulgent. You're going to get on that soon though; it couldn't be too hard to make a sling or something when time is less of a factor. You're more annoyed that Tactician is still at Rank One. Are you being penalized for using the same strategy over and over? That's stupid. Ff something works it works. It doesn't have to be interesting.

The world, apparently, disagrees.

Still, Leadership is going well, having reach Level Three when you hit Level Eight. 'Inspirational' was boosted but continues to leave you uninspired, now giving a minor healing effect while in battle as well as its still unimpressive but admittedly slightly larger experience increase. Meh. You don't have the sort of time right now to make increasing ten boar experience to eleven boar experience stack up. Fortunately, you also get to pick from a few other, more promising auras.

Lessee. There's 'Keen', 'Patient' and, uh, 'Merciless'? That's a weird mix...if these choices are really determined by how you behave as a leader, what does this list say about you? It's true that your boar-slaughter hasn't been exactly merciful, but...still. You can admit it bothers you.

"So hey: do we like 'Keen', or do we like 'Patient'?" You call out to the others, Momo having settled on a longer range heal and an upgraded version of her Blessing spell.

Gero groans loudly in response, running her hands through her short blonde hair. "Why are you two so boring?! 'Patient', seriously? When are you going to get 'Unstoppable'? Or 'Bloodthirsty'?!"

"That's a vote for 'Keen' then, I suppose"

Gero groans again as Momo chimes in. "What does that one do!"

You mentally select it as you experimentally turn the aura on. "A pretty big boost to accuracy in combat, mostly. Also some benefits when we aren't fighting, like...um..."

You don't finish saying it further boosts your perception as the Keen Aura settles in on you and the other kobolds, your trio taking simultaneous sniffs at the air. It's cleverly masked, no doubt. So cleverly masked that you didn't notice before, even with your naturally boosted senses. But you all smell it now. Someone is nearby, in the trees. Watching you.

And by the way that scent has settled, they've been there all day.

You quietly tilt your head to one side, catching Gero's eyes. The big female looks back behind a cold mask, giving you a slight nod when you dart your eyes down to one of the round stones you had gathered for boar hunts. She nonchalantly picks up her club as you stand and stretch, Momo doing her best to not look worried. You bend over, deftly palming one of the sturdy stones, then jerk yourself around and whip the makeshift projectile into the trees, hoping you won't be punished for neglecting your Ranged Proficiency. You're grateful when you're answered by a solid thunk, immediately followed by a strangled cry, and then the sound of a body toppling through branches to land with a thud on the soft loam.

The spy is slowly trying to struggle to his hands and knees when the three of you come upon it, groaning in pain as he feebly gropes toward the pile of gear that apparently came down with him. He gives that up almost immediately, however, when Gero settles a foot on his back and almost casually presses the head of her massive club against his skull, effortlessly pinning him face-first into the dirt. Okay. Who is this person?

Well it's an elf, for one. You've never seen an elf, but you've no doubt regardless. Pointy ears, androgynously pretty face, slight build. That's an elf. He's clearly prepared to hide among the boughs that fill the area, his clothing made from a cunning mix of greens and browns to blend into the dense forest. He's also terrified, you'd know that from his smell even if it wasn't written all over his face. Judging by the severe line he tries to **** his quivering mouth into, though, he's still trying to project 'haughty'. Fascinating.

"Let me go, you, y-you...you beasts!" The elf spits, his angry tone undercut by the way he remains as still as possible to avoid provoking Gero into crushing his skull. "You will all die a thousand deaths for this indignity to a proud Oaken Elf ranger!"

He's either very brave, or very full of himself. "So you're a wood elf, then." That makes sense? You're in some woods, after all. And it could be a problem; wood elves are a major power in parts of the world. You'd had thought the nearest Kingdom was human, and that it was good ways away at that, but in all fairness you're only going on the freebie knowledge that was dumped into your head when you became a kobold. You could easily be wrong.

The elf seems to be incensed by your remark, however, trying to scrabble back to his feet only to have Gero push him back down with a bit of pressure from her club. "Not a wood elf, you idiot, an OAKEN ELF! The wisest, the bravest, the most virtuous of elves, so much that our NOBLE forebears cast aside previous ties and--" Oh gross, he's going to give you his people's whole history. You've already got the jist; he's from some minor subspecies of forest elf, not the actual kingdom-level power that the wood elves are. That's a relief; it's like thinking a hulking brute wants to fight you, only to find out it's a six year old with a similar name instead.

The elf is still waxing pointlessly on the grand legacy of his boring people when you start snooping through his gear. "--And it was AFTER the War Among Leaves when we CLAIMED the oh hey, hey! Those are MINE you sluts! Keep your stinky paws OFF!"

Uh, did he just call you sluts? You ignore him as you shift through the assortment of survival gear over the elf's embittered protests, eventually spying a sheathed sword. You pick the weapon up, drawing it from its ornate leather sheath to reveal a silvery blade.

The elf sniffs haughtily, "You obviously haven't seen one of those before, because you're still smashing things with big sticks. That is a sword, you inbred mutt."

"Oh, is it now."

You pass the blade over to a less-than-impressed Gero as the elf somehow takes on an even more superior look. "Obviously it is; the Oaken Elves are the MASTERS of metalcraft! Forged by the High Smith Teldran, that sword has, um..."

The elf trails off as Gero forces the point of the sword into a nearby tree, leaving it stuck there and wobbling. "Er, passed down through the generations, this blade is the epitome of elven......"

Gero lifts her club from the elf just long enough to lift her weapon overhead and slam it down into the sword, the steel blade snapping in half without the slightest amount of resistance.

"...craftsmanship?" You finish for the elf after a long silence, the former spy now prisoner having fallen into a sullen silence as Gero smirks down at him.

Having been silent this entire time, Momo finally speaks up, her hands clasped before her. "Why were you watching us?"

"It is my duty to scout these woods for any threat," the elf sneers, eyeing the little kobold with scornful eyes, "AND all of those unworthy of our to share our lands. After a full day of watching you monsters gorge yourself on boar and, and, and FORNICATE, I can say without question I have never met a more disgusting race. What ARE you?!"

Momo responds, her tone not unkind but possessing a quiet strength you've never heard before. "We're kobolds. And we don't want to be your enemies."

The elf stares up at Momo, then at all three of you as this information sinks in. Now that he's been told what you are, it seems that world is connecting the dots, because he is soon busting out in wheezing laughter. "Kobolds! Kobolds, she says! You're nothing but up-jumped Mongrels!! We know you, you worthless little hamsters! Oh Gods, it will be a delight when my people come and slaughter you all!"

You make a noise at that, picking up something from the elf's supplies. "It's not just you?"

"Not a CHANCE, you idiots! When I don't send my report tonight, the captain of the waystation will send the rest of the rangers out to hunt you beasts down. You think one Oaken Ranger is frightening?" You don't. "Just wait until a HALF-DOZEN are after your hides!"

The elf stares up at you with hateful pleasure in his eyes, his expression turning ridiculing as he notices what you've picked up. "That's not a stick, Fido; that's a longbow. It throws SPECIAL sticks! Give it to me and I'll use it to throw a stick right through your head!"

"I think I've got it." The elf's mocking laughter dies in his throat as you effortlessly string his bow, slinging it over a shoulder to pick up his quiver and begin gathering the arrows scattered about the forest floor. "Wasn't I just saying that was about the end for boars, Gero?"

The big warrior nods, giving the increasingly pale elf a toothy grin as Momo looks on in resolved silence. "You sure were."

"It's a good thing our new friend just pointed us towards our next batch of experience, isn't it?"

Gero leans her head closer to the now whimpering elf. "It sure is."

You hadn't planned for this, but it all works out quite well. The **** your prisoner has described is smaller than the one you're up against back in your valley. Getting in some practice and more experience can't hurt. And if you three die, well, then at least you'll learn that you weren't up to this without getting the others killed.

You spare the stricken elf a final cold glance before Gero knocks him out with a blow from her foot, Momo binding him with the rope from his gear. Oaken Elves? You like your odds.