FH: Headquarters

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 5 AM – The Waterworks]

> However, they were here on a diplomatic mission, and the signs so far
> had all indicated that they should trust the Foreman. And that meant
> trusting his agents, like the kobold dispatched to meet them. So it
> was a wary crew that followed along in the direction that the Abbot,
> Lomi, and Laurelin could identify by dead reckoning led directly
> towards the interior of the prison camp. Some may have expected the
> tunnel to lead to another simple ladder leading up into the ramshackle
> barracks where many had previously visited the Foreman.

All, however, were surprised when the tunnel opened up into a large,
“open plan” area with other underground corridors leading off in a
variety of directions. And in the open area were groups of kobolds, all
busy. And unlike the guards above, these kobolds actually seemed to be
productively employed. Some were gathered around tables holding maps
that were constantly being updated based on a seemingly never ending
stream of “messenger kobolds” running into and out of the space from all
directions.

Little tokens or figurines were being slid around on the maps using long
shafted tools at least a few of the adventurers might have called a
croupier stick. When one of the kobolds keeping the table updated saw
them enter, he slid a tiny dark blue figure holding aloft a prominent
golden lightning bolt from one spot on the map representing the
Godcarver camp to what was recognizably the location of this ‘prison camp’.

After examining the delegation for a moment, he selected another tiny
figure with prominent silver hair and slid it out to stand beside the
first, along with a few others not so easily recognizable. While the
Abbot’s people looked around curiously taking in all the unexpected
activity, one or two of them noticed a kobold intently looking at them
as he sketched and made notes.

Others were attentively updated lists of names, numbers, and locations
carefully charted on tall slateboards, often helped by others pushing
along wheeled ladders so that the little creatures could reach wherever
they needed. All, of course, written in the strange script Tramma and
Erin had identified days before as the Iokharic script used by kobolds.
And others were carefully maintaining tables that held a startling
variety and quantity of deadly, if kobold sized, weapons.

Their escort led them directly to one slateboard in particular, where
the Foreman was reviewing what was obviously a carefully chalked chart
or table, a series of carefully marked boxes, many of which contained
the obscure characters of that draconic script that Tramma had only been
able to identify, not read without magic. And a surprising number of the
hieroglyphs, particularly those at the top of the list, each had a
single, neat line drawn through them.

“They’re… proper names,” Tramma gasped. “My best guess, anyway.”

“They are,” the Foreman barked happily. And curiously, even those
without the benefit of a Tongues spell could readily understand the
scaly leader. Clearly he was no longer reticent about revealing that it
was not only the “Tall Folks” who had access to Tongues spells. “The
list of your handiwork from last night!” he continued cheerfully.

Lacking the audience reaction he’d perhaps been hoping for, the Foreman
sighed. “That’s right. Tall people with Tongues spells can SPEAK
draconic, but cannot READ it. If any have Comprehend Languages
available, you may touch slateboard to be able to read it.”

Finfin raised one eyebrow. He, and perhaps a few others, did indeed have
a Permanent Comprehend Languages always available, and the Foreman’s
understanding of this simple Arcane, Divine, or even Bardic magic was
entirely correct – contact with the written surface was required. The
elven officer, and perhaps a few others, silently accepted the offer,
and reached out to touch the board.

“It is indeed a list of names, and ranks,” Finfin observed. “Most of the
ranks are, I believe, ecclesiastical, but some are military, and one or
two are… wizards?”

The Foreman nodded happily. “All divided up into columns of confirmed
dead. Probably dead. And presumed missing, hopefully dead. Way too many
of the last,” the leader continued, glancing at the Tall People. “Your
magics last night did not always leave much left to identify.”

“I’m sorry…?” Laquendi replied. “Though not very sorry?”

High Priestess Jeyshann, however, had a more pressing concern. “And the
Evil High Priest Kobold?” she asked directly. “Is he confirmed dead?”

One of the kobold staffers holding a long pointer tapped out one
particular set of crossed out hieroglyphs at the top of the chart. “He
IS!” the Foreman exclaimed happily. “And a number of his acolytes.” The
staffer with the pointer tapped out a number of other adjacent boxes on
the chart, all also holding crossed out lettering. “A few of his items
survived the cataclysm to give positive ID, and things were so confused
some of our people even had eyeballs on the scene.”

“Good,” the Cat Priestess replied with a fierce nod. A nod she shared
with Galdis Laurelin. “We priestesses had a bone to pick with him.”

The Foreman chortled. “Very few bones left TO pick. Mostly bleached,
blasted, and carved in two by HUGE Mikhailene Sword.” A noticeable
murmur of approval sounded throughout the busy room, but this particular
band of kobolds seemed more focused and disciplined than many of the
others they had encountered, and kept their appreciation to quick scaly
grins, nods, or an exuberant thumbs up as they scurried from one task to
another.

“And the names that are not crossed out?” Finfin asked.

“The Hit List!” the Foreman replied, a gleam in his reptilian eyes.
“Sorted by priority, along with notes on where last seen. And if
available, where we can expect to find, and when.”

“This,” Finfin breathed, “is fantastic intel.”

The Foreman rubbed his scaly claws together. “Don’t you know it, fancy
elf! Upwinders have informants everywhere.” Vaguely, he gestured off
towards a number of the surrounding tables holding maps, charts, and
lists of their own, with updates almost continuously flowing in from the
never ending stream of messenger-kobolds.

“There is much…” the Foreman observed, “MUCH that Upwinders can help
those who casually toss around spells like last night’s!” However, he
held up one claw. “But can only help if Tall People willing to help for
the long haul; this is not simple, day or two “kick over kobold homes
and take their things” expedition. This requires commitment for many
days, or even a few weeks to help.”

He peered intently at each and every member of the Away Team, settling
his reptilian gaze finally on Abbot Kenobi. “Are Tall People willing to
invest that effort into helping Upwinders be free of Social Justice
Engineers, and help end Social Justice Engineer plague on land? Or at
least hearing our story, and then deciding?”

All eyes fell on Abbot Kenobi, who seemed oddly silent. After an awkward
moment, Tramma stepped forward and diplomatically interjected, “May we
defer the question about investing into the effort, and for a moment
focus more on learning more about the effort? As a professional bard
acknowledged by Stone House and Forest People alike, I know it would
most certainly help me if I could hear more of your story first.”