Introducing Beekin

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 6 afternoon – The Upwinder HQ]

> “Am I right that you bargained for those bolts from a travelling
> Hakawa salesman,” Tramma asked curiously?
>
> “Huh, how did you know,” Sergeant Aumuhzahn asked guardedly. “We ARE a
> clandestine operation, ya know, and there’s not that many people who
> we can trust enough to keep it on the down low. I may have to check
> regulations, we might have to (reluctantly) kill ya or something
> because you know that. Though I’ve begun to suspect that shyster
> ripped me off, so maybe I can overlook that and we can work something
> out on the prices of the rest of whatcha want.”
>
> “Let’s call it a lucky guess,” Lomi smirked. “Is there ANYBODY on
> these plains those guys haven’t ripped off?”

Once the negotiations were completed with the kobold quartermaster, the
Foreman reassured the Away Team, “You will be hearing from us in a
couple of days with NEW target. Will be plenty of things needing
killing, which should please Big People a LOT.”

Again, Tramma quickly interceded to smooth over what might have been an
awkward moment had the Big People reflected about the implications –
accurate or not – about their priorities. “Thank you, Foreman,” she said
quickly. “A couple of days of downtime will be important for us. Not
just to rest and recover, but to begin the diplomatic initiative with
the Forest People about bringing in some new neighbours to replace that
awful Green Death tribe.”

The Foreman nodded. “Good plan. And kobolds can help that plan.” He
snapped his claws as he pointed toward a rank of his senior minions. One
kobold in particular stepped forward. Unlike all his peers, this kobold
was wearing a rather well tailored headband, and had a lute slung over
his back.

“Pleased to meet you,” the new kobold stated in barely accented Common
as it gave a courtly bow. “I am best named… Beekin.”

The Foreman chortled. “Beekin can return with you, and travel to this
Forest People site to see if this Green Death tribe home can work for
Upwinders.” He gave a somewhat sinister chortle as he added, “Once Green
Death zombie lovers are… dealt with, of course.”

“I can help with that,” Laurelin offered.

One of the kobolds watching shook its head sadly, and the Foreman seemed
to notice and corrected a little grudgingly, “We, of course, hafta first
offer them the chance to see the error of their ways, that is the right
thing to do. I freely admit I will be surprised if they take the
opportunity, but stranger things have happened, like a buncha Tall
People showing up as the answer to our ancient Prophecy.”

“Still,” the Foreman, however, shook his head. “Best that Upwinders
themselves deal with what will be Upwinder problem. Best for Upwinders,
as they will then feel that they have earned their new home, and best
for Big People neighbours who can see that Upwinders do not LIKE zombie
loving cousins, and are quite willing to see them turned into plant food.”

Finfin, however, could see a problem. “I am pleased to meet you,
Beekin,” he replied, returning the kobold’s bow. “But getting you back
with us might pose a minor logistical problem. We travelled here with
Wind Walk spells, and intend to return that same way. And I am afraid,
you were not present at their casting. Nor were you present when I cast
a quick return spell for our team.”

“Getaway?” Beekin asked curiously. If the kobold had eyebrows, they
would have been raised. “Beekin is impressed.”

As was Finfin, once again reminded that these were an entirely different
power level of kobold.

“Quite,” he replied. “Now, I could use my teleport equivalent…”

“Please don’t, Fin,” Tramma interrupted. At the elf’s curious look, she
explained, “If you’re willing, I’d kinda like for you, Mithi, and me to
pop into town. You can hand over poor Crumble to the zoological gardens,
and I can pick up a few supplies for something I’d like to do tonight.”

The elven officer nodded. The Forlorn Rust Monster, now a Forlorn
polymorphed turtle, was (he hoped) still being looked after by one of
the Cat Mob scouts. Getting the creature safely in the hands of people
who could handle it so that it was no longer a concern and a potential
threat most certainly WOULD be convenient.

But saving his Teleport for the zoo trip would mean someone else from
the Away Team would need to provide one of their own. And once again,
Laurelin stepped forward.

“I can help with that, too,” Laurelin repeated.

The Foreman, however, had some rather clear preferences on the matter.
“No Teleports!” he barked. “Not unless absolutely needed! Damn SJE
wizards might be able to detect and track them.” He glowered at the Away
Team as he added, “Big People DO know that Teleports CAN be tracked?”

“We do,” Finfin confirmed.

“You guys are like MY guys, always best to be sure,” the Foreman nodded
in relief. “Then you can see why we NEVER teleport in or out of our top
secret base.” He paused a second looking at them with a chagrined
expression, and asked cautiously. “We DID tell you this place is Top
Secret Eyes only die before revealing, right? It was in the briefing for
all of us, we MUST have remembered to say something.” He shook his head
in bemusement, and concluded, “well, you know for sure now.”

“It will not be a problem,” the kobold representative added urbanely,
immediately showing that he was just as adept at smoothing over rough
spots in the conversation as Tramma.. “Beekin can easily travel to the
Godcarver camp and meet you there tomorrow.”

Lomi looked curiously at the kobold. “You DO know that just at the
moment, both the Godcarvers and Jeyshann’s Army are out looking for
kobolds trying to sneak in?”

“I know invisibility, and the Sacred Song of Sneaking.” The kobold
gave an eloquent shrug. “Beekin is not worried.” Tramma chuckled,
sharing what was obviously a bardic “in joke”.

Lomi looked consideringly at the creature. “No… you are not,” she agreed
at last. “But I would rather avoid any mishaps with OUR scouts. How
about you and I arrange a rendez-vous some distance out from the
Godcarver camp, and I or someone can arrange safe passage in?”

“That also gives us time to warn our people we have an ally from the
Upwinder kobolds coming in,” Tramma pointed out. “Seems a good notion
both diplomatically and for morale purposes.”

Beekin considered the notion and nodded thoughtful agreement. “That
would work.” The kobold and scout retired to one of the map tables to
arrange the specifics, while the Foreman concluded the little business
they had remaining. “So expect us to call in a few days,” he reminded
the Away People. “And the information kobolds will have about SJE
leadership concentrations has short shelf life. Goes bad faster than
ripe rat in hot sun.”

“Nothing worse than wasting good rat,” lamented one of his staff kobolds
sotto voce.

Finfin frowned. “We will need some advanced notice to optimize a strike
team for the selected target,” he warned. “We cannot simply remain in
one place, fully stacked with spells for all contingencies, doing
nothing else. Two days advanced notice would be best.”

“ONE day,” the Foreman barked. “That is the best we can manage. We are
good, but there ARE limits, alas.”

Finfin frowned. “Be ready to respond with a fully prepared strike team,
after potentially returning from any Stone House or Forest People
business, a single day and spell cycle after receiving a call about a
new SJE target?”

“That’s the plan, pretty boy!” the Foreman chortled. “Kobolds are sure
Tall People are up for it. Kobolds can hold up THEIR end of the bargain,
after all. We’ll be sure to call if anything comes up you need to know
about. We gotta stay inside the SJE’s OODA loop, and they’re in a panic
and off their butts for a change.”

Finfin looked impressed. OODA training was a part of HIS curriculum back
at Dorie’s OCS. Some other members of the Away Team, however, looked a
bit puzzled. The elven officer stepped forward, about to proudly
explain… when the Foreman cut him off by barking a command. An underling
rushed forward to one of the many large status boards, and used a large
pointer to point to the four letters in turn that had been arranged
around a simple star.

The kobold subleader rapped the pointer on the first ‘O’.
“OooooLookitdat,” all the kobolds in the room shouted enthusiastically,
peering around watchfully.

The pointer moved briskly to the second ‘O’. “OooohShiny,” all the
kobolds exclaimed reverently.

Now it was the ‘D’ which was being speared by the pointer. “DuhNowWhat,”
all the kobolds said, scratching their heads and very obviously thinking
furiously.

Finally, the pointer poked so hard at the last letter ‘A’ that it bowed
a bit from the pressure. “Ack!DoanJusSTANDTHERE,” all the kobolds
shouted together and waved their hands enthusiastically or put hands on
their weapons.

“Took me years to teach ‘em that much,” the Foreman sighed. “But they
understand it better than Tall People words, see?”

“And they especially like the drawing,” Beekin put in with a smile.
“Anything with the Holy Star in it is ALWAYS worth paying attention to.”

“D- er, Beekin is too modest to say it,” the kindly kobold to whom all
the others often seemed to defer but had still never been introduced
interjected mildly. “But suggesting we add the star and the translation
was largely his work, the Silver Dragon of the Night Sky bless him.”

All the kobolds within hearing reverently bowed their heads, and many of
them touched one clawed finger to their chests and moved it down then up
again in a pair of curving arcs, or made zigzagging motions, or raised
one hand to make a clawing motion, or a bewildering array of several
other signs familiar to one or another of the ‘Tall People’.

Once again they were seeing echoes of their own faith among these
strange kobolds, perhaps the strangest thing of all about the whole
situation. Just like the strange jumbled shrine they had seen in their
first meeting with the Upwinders, it seemed as if the kobolds honored a
diverse selection of something that if you squinted hard enough might be
devotion to recognizably Tellic spirits. They had already seen one
‘religious debate’ among their scaly allies of convenience, but when you
really thought about it, that was true among the actual Tellic church,
too. Debates among the clergy might not (usually) be as vigorously
physical but were waged every bit as eagerly.

“It was all there in the original manual we found,” the Foreman sighed
as he muttered a quiet explanation to Finfin, pointing to the diagram
which Fin could see was heavily modelled on one he had seen in his own
training. “Got my hands on it years ago… well, never mind the story,
doesn’t matter. But, yeah, not a lot of us can read or understand Tall
People writing. Ya work with the troops ya got, not the ones ya wish ya
had. Great bunch, doan get me wrong, finest kobolds I have ever
commanded, but… some of ‘em…” He shrugged as his voice trailed into
silence, Finfin had a strong impression of mingled pride and
exasperation from the usually cocky kobold’s fond tone, though
interpreting such things was hardly his strong suite even with the sort
of people he was used to dealing with, let alone the short, scaly, and
hyperactive kobolds.

“You have my sympathies,” Finfin agreed.

The Foreman shot a sly knowing look toward Finfin’s companions and left
it at that.

“Mr. Foreman?” Laurelin added. “I have a different coin to offer, free
of any obligation, that I believe you might find more useful than the
Abbot’s gold piece.”

“I’m interested,” the kobold leader replied.

The elven priestess repeated a warning from earlier. “Those with
sensitive eyes might wish to look away.” The warning given, she produced
her modest copper coin, complete with its entirely UNmodest Celestial
Brilliance, bringing full daylight to their immediate surroundings.

“It should last a couple of weeks,” she mused, and offered the intensely
glowing coin to the Foreman. “It may help with underground plants.”

This led to an engaging discussion about hydroponics, subterranean
farming, and whether any crop really could be brought from seed to
harvest in only two weeks. The choices available to the kobolds did not
look encouraging, but interest was renewed when the priestess offered to
renew it from time to time, as it seemed likely that she would be in the
area for a while. From some of the comments by the kobold specialists,
it appeared they already used magical grow lights from their own spells,
but none of them had anything so powerful, large, and long lasting as
Laurelin’s.

This in turn led to more discussion about supplies, and Laquendi’s
observation about the large amount of goat meat they had contributed the
previous day. And, of course, the MegaMillipede Meat. From what the
kobolds said, they really appreciated the Megapede meat, with lots of
cheerful exclamations of, “Kobold families eat fresh bug tonight!”

The adventurers overheard some discussion of a work party to try to
salvage lightning roasted ant, which according to some of the kobolds
was especially tasty with the right spices. Others turned up their nose
at the thought, but even kobolds drew the line at trying to eat the
demon spider Ecru. One cook summed up their opinion, exclaiming
fervently, ‘kobolds fear no food - except spiders.”

This met with fervent nods from the rest of the minions, with one
lamenting, “Kobold get kinda tired of stolen trail rations and rabbit
food from the hydroponics wing.”

“Sustainable food sucks,” Laurelin observed. “You can live on it, but it
tastes like…” She did not need to complete the simile.

“Rice, beans, a tortilla, hot sauce, spices,” Laquendi pointed out, “I
could survive.”

"Yeah, exactly," one of the kobolds lamented, nodding to Laurelin. The
kobold looked around, and whispered conspiratorially to the two elven
women, "Not everybody buys into this whole Silver Dragon of the Night
Sky mumbo-jumbo, but every single kobold here will do whatever they say
for a good steak."

"Personally, and speaking only for myself,” Laquendi countered, “I would
rather be an outcast than an apostate."

"Could be a lot worse, though,” the fatalistic kobold observed with an
indifferent shrug. “The kobolds working for the SJE eat a lot of this
green glop one of their mad wizards came up with that's made from worn
out kobold zombies. Waste not, want not; skeletons don’t need the meat
anyway and work just as hard as zombies, just not as strong."

"Soylent green is kobolds?" Laquendi asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Yah, and none of 'em will believe us," the kobold sighed. "Ya'd think
the color and smell would give it away. The salad doesn't seem so bad
when you remember what THAT stuff tastes like... and what (or who) it's
made outta." The little reptilian shuddered at the memory.

"Captain FinFinFin?” Laquendi asked. “Perhaps you could, on your sojourn
to give Crumble a new home, pick up spices for the clan?"

"Aww, man, not you, too," the kobold they’d been talking to lamented.
"Every creature we run into thinks kobolds are good eatin' with the
right spices."

"For you to add to YOUR food,” Laquendi observed with a smirk. “Not for
you to become OUR food."

“Well, thatsa relief,” the kobold announced.

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.