Introducing Mother

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 6 afternoon – The Upwinder HQ]

> Laquendi couldn’t resist. “Besides, your kind are not that tasty,” she
> mused in a deadpan tone.
>
> "Well, good! Kobolds not want to taste good, they want to have good
> taste," the kobold in question protested with a toothy grin. Wonder of
> wonders, he seemed to realize Laquendi was joking, and responded with
> one of his own.

Finfin, observing this exchange of culinary notions, was rather more
intrigued with something mentioned earlier. He glanced over at the still
unintroduced kindly kobold to whom even the usually flippant Foreman
seemed to always show deference, and saw said kobold looking right back
at him, almost as if it expected him to say or ask something.

And so Finfin did. “Sir?” he asked politely. “Can you tell me more about
the Prophecy, and the Silver Dragon of the Night Sky? The more we know,
the easier it may be for our diplomatic efforts with the Forest People
to succeed in getting permission from the locals for your new home.
Particularly if their Medicine Lodge, when they ask their Great Spirits
for guidance, get similar direction.”

There was a collective gasp of mingled horror and outrage from at least
most of the rank and file kobolds, but the kindly old kobold just
chuckled, and waved the rest back. The Foreman more urgently held up one
clawed hand in a warning gesture to his troops. The settler party was
left with the distinct impression Finfin had come very close to being
buried in outraged Upwinders.

“That would be ma’am,” the kobold chuckled almost fondly. “I know what I
have read that the eggheads call “sexual dimorphic features” are a lot
more obvious among you mammalian creatures, poor things. I suppose you
have no way of understanding our customs of decoration and haven’t the
sense of smell to notice that way, either. Call me 'Mother', that is
what everyone has called me for many long years now.”

“My sincere apologies, ma’…” Finfin began contritely, and then corrected
himself. “Mother.”

“An honest and innocent mistake, freely forgiven.” 'Mother' blinked at
him thoughtfully, and mused, “we have much the same problem, you all
look much the same to us, until kobolds learn to look at things like the
color of the fur on your heads we tell you apart by smell.”

“You ran afoul of a respectful custom I *wish* I dared overrule, but
they love it so. None of them will speak to me unless I speak to them
first.” The kindly kobold smiled fondly, and explained, “most of these
younger kobolds have never heard my real name, for generations now they
have been appalled if I ask them to use it. Had I not taken care to
remember the name I used when I was younger I suppose I might well have
forgotten it by now. I suspect I must be older than most of you Tall
Folk, other than perhaps you three with the pointed ears which I think
mean you are immortal elvenkind who might think even my centuries young.
I am one of the handful of kobolds left who remember the terrible Time
of Being Hunted when we were trapped in the mountains of the dwarves to
the east.”

Finfin raised an eyebrow, concerned he had a hunch about what she had meant.

“I had about decided that mammalian humanoids HAVE no natural curiosity
at all,” Mother commented with a chuckle to remove any sting. “Which
doesn’t at all match what I’ve read. But for all my years, I never had a
lot of dealings with any but those dwarves, and that mainly dodging them
when they came out for ‘training’ and ‘entertainment’. Ghastly brutes a
lot of them, nothing but a buncha killkiddies or murderhobos to use the
terms I ran across in some castaway books we found that seem QUITE fitting.”

The elven officer grimaced, even as he nodded his understanding. His
concern had been confirmed. For the benefit of those in the Away Team
who might not know, he asked a simple question. “Con Permiso?”

At Mother’s gracious nod, Finfin explained, “Many societies have their
faults, and the Dwarves in the neighbouring county of Brandon are no
exception. One of theirs is their habit of ignoring all that happens on
the surface above their delvings… except to use it as a free-fire zone,
where they cheerfully slaughter the various orc and goblinoid – and,
apparently, kobold – denizens for sport and training. The past summer’s
unpleasantness in the backwoods of Yeltanar was, I believe, a side
effect of this policy.”

The kobold known as “Mother” nodded slowly. “I wondered at times if you
lot were more of the same, but it became clear to me that even if that
were true you WERE the means to or perhaps I should say the trigger of
the time of mingled change, terror, and promise foretold so long ago. No
stranger than those dwarves who by accident provided us the key to a
chance at a better life, I suppose.”

She poked a stubby claw at Finfin. “Odd you should speak of what the
Horse Riders call the Medicine Lodge,” she said. “For I lead our
equivalent institution among my people. Or, well, the smaller, and I
humbly submit better, portion of the spiritual guides provided for
kobolds that believes in the minority view of peaceful coexistence and
freedom for our people and chooses to celebrate our own gifts rather
than resent what others have achieved.”

“The ‘Medicine Lodge’ that I belong to have very similar beliefs,” the
Abbot solemnly assured the virtuous old kobold woman. She favored Ben
with a dazzling toothy smile.

“You’ve already met the others who adhere to the more traditional kobold
values of hatred, envy, and violence,” ‘Mother’ observed dryly. “So far
as I know (and hope) none still live who remember me, especially after
your visit. Any of those who might have ever even heard of me I am
fairly sure thought I died long ago. Should I have been wrong about any
of that, your recent calamitous decapitation strike on the foul
promoters of traditional kobold wanton evil conclusively ended all doubt
along with their mortal existence.”

“Hatred, envy and violence alas are not just a kobold trait,” the elven
high priestess Laurelin observed somberly.

“That reminds me,” the kindly old kobold smiled at Ben. ”I want to
personally thank you for performing that service to all folk of good
will in such an emphatically spectacular and public fashion. The sword
was a WONDERFUL touch that every kobold in the whole valley can see and
feel all the way in their bones. My own teachings tell me I should
intellectually deplore the need for such violence, but to my slight
shame I found it profoundly emotionally satisfying bearing witness to
the final end of those bastards who delighted in inflicting so much pain
and suffering misguiding our kobold brothers for so many long years.
Wrong of me, I know that, but despite the reverence of my ‘children’, I
am all too kobold when you get right down to it.” She shook her head
regretfully.

“That was definitely meant as a message,” Ben assured her firmly. “We
all have emotions we struggle with, for me my work is to recognize these
emotions. Not to give in to the CHAOS that they might cause.”

“The message was certainly received! From some of the comments I have
heard some of you make,” ‘Mother’ observed thoughtfully. “I gather
you’ve met other kobolds on occasion, and know a bit about them. So I
think you must have some idea how demoralizing it was for those who
follow the teachings of the Social Justice Engineers to see their temple
devastated and nearly all their clergy obliterated. That may well give
us an opening to convince more kobolds to join us in sincerely rejecting
the past. Clearly we Upwinders have chosen to make ourselves a little
different, inspired by our newfound faith and more enlightened way of
being.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lomi agreed. “That much is apparent.” She, like the other
members of the combined Ice Station Omega project, had more experience
with the nastier form of kobolds than she might have wished. “I like
your way a lot better than that of the Green Death tribe.”

“Sound like typical savages like so many of our cousins,” 'Mother'
sighed. “Or those ghastly dwarves, for that matter, though I do have to
admit that I *did* later personally experience some of those dwarves who
made quite an effort to encourage and even support the change in our
basic philosophy, but,” she waved one clawed hand dismissively. “I am
getting ahead of properly telling what happened. D- er, Beekin will be
so disappointed if I muddle the account.”

She quirked a fond grin toward the kobold appointed as the Upwinder’s
envoy, then resumed her tale. “I began training as one of our tribal
shamans long, long ago. But something almost miraculous happened early
in my studies. Among many other books we salvaged that way, I ran across
a very holy book, tattered and worn out, discarded among the other
rubbish by the dwarves. I still have it, fragile, even more tattered,
but very precious to me. That book changed not only my life but the very
course of our history, and the copies we made since added together with
all the other teachings I have been able to glean or devise form the
core of our entire religion.”

“Abbot Kenobi, *THIS* is definitely more your wheelhouse than mine,”
Laquendi called out to the cleric.

“I am quite interested in this Tome,” Laurelin interjected, possibly by
nature of her Faith’s Patron not wanting to take a “rear pew” to a
Belmakian.

“May I be entrusted to see one of these copies,” the Abbot asked politely?

The question initially caused a bit of an angry stir among the more
hotheaded of the kobolds. Apparently several were now willing to accept
just about ANYTHING that the two males of the Tall People said as an
insult, given their past behaviour. However, calmer minds prevailed,
especially when “Mother” nodded to one of HER minions, waving one clawed
hand toward the two clerics, and a well thumbed large book with a
profusion of recognizable symbols on the cover arranged around a
crescent was reverently carried out and placed on a stand in front of
the pair of ranking Tellics.

The writing within was in the strange script they had seen before and
written in the yipyap dialect of draconic spoken by kobolds, but that
was no impediment with the prayers they both had available. As they
began to read, 'Mother' explained, “I can only guess, but I think my
original book might have been a primer, meant to teach good little
hatchlings among your peoples about the Spirits. But some of the pages
were missing, and a lot of what I read I only half understood so long
ago. I made a lot of mistakes, some of which I corrected (or tried to)
over the years. Others I am sure I still have not discovered, or the
Spirits decided they do not matter. For as my own connection with those
Spirits grew I learned and understood more - and found that the
important parts, at least, I got right enough for them.”

“The Iotian Syndrome!” Tramma exclaimed, awe in her voice. Blank looks
from kobold and Big People alike surrounded her. “You know,” she added a
bit weakly, “like one day they’ll come for a Piece of OUR Action?”

Both the kobolds and her friends all gave her astonished and
uncomprehending bewildered looks. The clarification left none any the
wiser. Clearly, the depths of Tramma’s Obscure Dramatic Lore knew no
bounds. Of all present, however, Lomi was the one most used to her long
time friend’s oddly eclectic academic ways. “Please forgive my friend,
'Mother',” she said respectfully to the revered kobold. “And please do
go on.”

“Not at all,” the kindly old kobold priestess smiled, inspecting Tramma
with evident interest. “I think your silver haired friend and I may have
a lot to talk about later. For now, though I suppose I should confess
that, in a way, I was responsible for everything that has happened
since. The creation of both the Social Justice Engineers and the
Upwinders came about because of the Prophecy of the Time of Travel, and
I was the one chosen to reveal it. Yet to this day, I am not entirely
sure what that vision really was telling us.”

“Tramma,” The Drow started with a questioning tone, “I need to rely on
your obscure knowledge. When is the next comet expected to be viewed in
the night sky?”

“You need only ask! Not all comets are predictable, of course,” Tramma
shrugged. “If I recall correctly-”

“And you nearly always do,” Lomi smirked.

“As I was saying before the peanut gallery put in their overpriced two
copper’s worth,” the bard continued loftily, smiling at the
interjection, “not for several years. Just keep in mind that new comets
pop up occasionally, when the Telar need them to according to some
theories.”

Tramma shook her head in bemusement as she explained, “though there are
*other* dreadfully mechanistic theories involving lots of math and
physics and big frozen clouds or something being pushed around in
squashed circles somehow by these huge planets so far away they look
like stars. I could never wrap my head around any of that, I always
found the whole Rube Goldberg arrangement kinda boring, dramatically
unsatisfying, and a bit fantastical. Besides, math is hard unless it has
to do with music.”