T'Krosh's Page

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The witchdoctor again bumps into the larger kobold marching in front of him. T'Krosh's steel helmet is too big for his young head, and with each step it falls onto his snout, blocking his vision. The warrior in front of him grunts, annoyed. Lucidly, T'Krosh thinks (Not again... they will be coming soon. I need to warn them!) His band of 100 kobolds march through the forest with their longspears and light armor; reinforcements for the war against the fey. T'Krosh remembers the all-watcher calling up dozens of strong-arms to fulfill his troop commitment - including the very young witchdoctor.

T'Krosh attempts to shout (Arm yourselves! We are under attack!), but no sound emits from his mouth. A few seconds of frustration later, an alarmed voice at the front of the column shouts "The faeries are upon us!" T'Krosh turns his head to the each side, trying to find the attackers amidst the trees, but the helmet restricts his sight to the ground immediately in front of him. However, his easily hears the "whooshes" of arrows falling nearby. And then screams of pain. (To the hells with this helmet!) T'Krosh seizes the headpiece and throws it to the ground. He sees it land on the now-dead kobold warrior who was marching in front of him. In fact, there are only about a dozen other dragonkin still standing. Four-legged creatures he does not recognize, a cross between a man and a horse, are hacking down the survivors with their battleaxes. T'Krosh tries to ready his longspear for use, but his right arm does not respond. He dimly realizes that this is because an arrow is sticking into it.

Somehow, without any sort of transition, the young witchdoctor is lying on the ground amidst the corpses. Despite the overwhelming pain in his arm, he struggles not to make any movement or noise - not even to breathe. The fey creatures are walking amidst the dead, periodically stabbing at those showing any signs of life. But why don't they don't see the enormous kobold - a full six-feet tall - that is walking slowly to T'Krosh? An acid-tipped stinger at the end of the large-one tail's scrapes along the dirt ground, making an ominous hissing noise that steadily grows louder as he nears T'Krosh. Still, the horse-creatures do not react.

The gloriously tall kobold now stands right next to the young survivor. He speaks, and his booming voice shakes the very ground. "That is good, T'Krosh of the Obulus. Hide amongst the dead. Live to fight another day. By my power, these centaur will pass you by as they finish off the wounded. But remember this: there will be a time, many years from now, that I will call on you for a service. You are my child, and I will forever expect your obedience."

T'Krosh feels an overpowering weariness come over him, and his eyes begin to close before he can answer the large kobold. The booming voice speaks once more. "Sleep now, wyrmling. Awaken in your homeland." T'Krosh falls asleep within his dream, the memory having concluded.