The Kobold Kennels

The kennels were much like the Lucky Star Party remembered them from all those years ago. The air was noticeably colder here, and the ever-present hum was muted. The huge stalls lined the walls, rusted chains sprawled on the floor. But the far end was the kobolds' domain.

It was a pitiful sight compared to years past. The tribe had numbered over two dozen then, a scrappy, noisy pack. Now, only a dozen remained, and they looked ragged. Their scales were dull, some missing in patches, showing pinkish-grey skin beneath. The pups—three of them—were scrawny, huddled close to their mothers. Makeshift nests of filthy straw and torn cloth were scattered around a small, guttering fire pit.

The alpha, Grikk, was instantly recognizable, though age and hardship had taken their toll. He was larger than the others, but his chipped horn was now broken off entirely, and a nasty scar ran from his brow ridge down to his jaw, pulling one eye into a permanent squint. He stood as they approached, a rusted shortsword held in a wary grip.

His yellow, slitted eyes narrowed as he took them in. The scent of spider blood and cold stone clung to them. His nostrils flared, and then his gaze fixed on Gabriella. A low, guttural chitter escaped him.

"You," he rasped, his voice like stones grinding together. He spoke in heavily accented, broken Common. "Luck-man. Smell different... now luck-woman."

Gabriella stopped a respectful distance away, sheathing her sword to show non-aggression. The others held their positions. "Grikk," she said, nodding. "We remember you."

"Remember you too," Grikk said, his eyes flicking to Aika's katana, Inch's knives. "You take my weapons. Come to take again?" He hefted his own rusty blade defensively.

"No," Gabriella said quickly. "We're not here for the weapons. We're hunting. A dangerous intruder. A tiefling woman. Shadow-walker. Have you seen her?"

Grikk's tail gave a slow, thoughtful lash. "Shadow-that-smells-of-smoke-and-anger. Yes. She pass. Quick-quiet. Not see us. We hide." He gestured with his free hand at his diminished tribe. "Many gone. Sickness in the wet walls. Big rats with poison teeth. Rival pack from deep-dark tunnels. We fight. We lose." He shrugged, a gesture of weary, reptilian fatalism. "Life in the low-stones. Harsh."

Inch, feeling a pang of sympathy for the creatures they had once stolen from, spoke up. "We're sorry, Grikk."

Grikk snorted. "Sorry no fill bellies. Sorry no mend scales." He eyed their packs. "You hunt. You have food-rations? Good meat? Not rotten scraps from high-place kitchens."

Sterling, ever practical, nodded. She unslung her pack and pulled out several wrapped bundles of travel rations—dried meat, hard cheese, waybread. She held them out. "Information for food. The shadow-woman. Which way did she go?"

Grikk's eyes gleamed with a hungry intelligence. He didn't snatch the food. He was a chieftain, negotiating. "You owe," he stated firmly. "From before. You take good weapons. You keep, but you owe. This," he pointed at the rations, "is pay-debt. For old weapons. Then we talk of shadow-walker."

Gabriella almost smiled. Some things never changed. "Fair enough, Grikk. Consider the debt for the weapons paid."

Satisfied, Grikk gestured sharply. Two younger kobolds scurried forward and took the rations from Sterling's hands, retreating to distribute them among the tribe. The soft, eager chitters that followed were a sad sound.

"Now," Grikk said, licking his lips as if already tasting the cheese. "Shadow-walker. She go to the old metal-guts. The place that hums. But not the big-hum. The small-hum, behind the wall." He pointed a clawed finger towards a dark, narrow opening in the chamber's far wall—a maintenance shaft, its grate hanging loose. "That way. Leads to the little veins. The… the pipes. The wires. She go there. Fast. Like she knows the map in her head."

That was it. The direct path to the engineering access tunnels, bypassing the main secured corridors. Nyxa had the schematics.

"Thank you, Grikk," Gabriella said sincerely.

Grikk gave a grunt, already turning back to his tribe, who were devouring the food. "Thank you, luck-woman. Hope your luck is better-smell now than before. Before smell like storm. Now smell like… safe cave. Still strange."

With a final nod to the old kobold chieftain, the hunting party moved towards the open maintenance shaft. As they ducked into the tight, dark tunnel, the last thing they heard was the sound of the kobolds eating, and Grikk's raspy voice muttering, "Debt paid. Good."

The shaft was cramped, forcing them to move in single file, Lumen using her dark-seeing stone to light the way. The air was thick with dust and the smell of ozone and hot metal. The deep thrum of the fortress was now a palpable vibration in the walls around them. They were in its arteries, closing in on its heart.

And somewhere ahead, in the labyrinth of pipes and conduits, Nyxa was doing the same.