RP:They Who Hunger

Mathollak recruits Prathohm after reading his ad in the Kelay Tavern. Together, they travel to Rynvale and track down the kobolds blamed for the kidnapping of children and pets from Rynvale’s people. What they find is a clan of kobolds enslaved, perhaps psychically, by a terrifying subterranean monster. They barely escape with their lives, joined by a dozen surviving kobolds.

Message is etched into scrap leather and pinned to the board with a tooth of some sort: Hunter of big beasts, crafter of fine leather goods, tanner of some ability and fighter when the need arises is offering my skill and will to those with coin or the proper needs. You can leave letter with mesthak to contact me. - signed with what looks to be a brand, Prathohm.

The envelope is sealed with a wax imprint of an axe over a heart. It's written in common, and the depth of the scrawl and boldness of the ink implies a heavy and forceful hand. Prathohm If I believe your claims, then you are a man of action. That is good. If you can also listen and speak well, then I have a lucrative proposition for you. Reply with a time, and we will meet here.

Mathollak, The Axe of Love

A formal letter addressed to Matholak sealed with cheap candle wax, matching the candles in the Kelay tavern, a piece of branded leather floated in the seal only the Pr fit of his orginal mark, and pressed while hot instead of a stamp;

Hello Mathollak, Indeed I have never been one to sit Idle, you can find me before the sun rises, five chimes past the midnight toll. {5 am hollow time 9 PM mountain time) Look for the dwarf with a crossbow as tall as he is to discuss the offer. Prathohm Silverfeet

A little after 5 am, a man in a crisp crimson suit almost crashes through the doors, accompanied by a magical aura of what seems to be...exhuberance? Everyone he walks by, he says hello to, shakes their hand, claps their back, shares a joke, or something else. One table he gets singing sea shanties with, and they continue croaking as he trots past! His eye is sifting patrons the entire time, until he spots the dwarf with the super crossbow. He loops into the bar and plops a pale hand down on it, with one finger nail black and bruised from beneath. “Mesthak-pal,” he says, instantly getting his attention (Mathollak, when he came, generated a lot of revenue. “Mesthak, two of your finest, and have Nancy bring ‘em this way.” He leads her to Prathohm, and by the time he sits, Nancy has the drinks in front of them, and Mathollak’s pulling out two top-tier dwarven cigars. Pure coincidence, definitely, he offers the dwarf one of them. He looks at Prathohm, sizing him up seemingly, and seems almost ready to say something. Instead, he lets out a guffaw. “I must admit, mate, I’ve never been on this side of the table before. It’s a bit weird. Well I’ll- I’ll ask--. “ He waves his hand, dismissing his fumbling. “I’m Mathollak,” he says, and with a self deprecating eye-roll, he adds, “The so-called ‘Axe of Love’-how do you do?” He lodges the cigar between his lips and reaches across the table to shake Prathohm’s hand.

Prathohm was sitting near the open center of the room, and as described a crossbow nearly as tall as the sitting dwarf leaned against the table he sat at, and it seemed to be the closest thing to a blastia a person could shoot, and the four foot dwarf was just a hair shorter then it. but the crossbow was not the only weapon adorning the man. a short bow was slung over his seat's arm at the moment and a few handles of other various tools or weapons jaunted out here or there. The dwarf himself was clad in a heavily patched set of leather armor despite the various colors and leathers that made his armor it was not poor in make or quality, with a similarly patched cloak thrown over it, shaved head and a tightly braided black beard, upon a stony face. His dull blue eyes regarded his coffee as what sounded like a parade entered the early morning tavern and it soon sounded like a late night party. The hunter sighed softly sipping his coffee, deeply and if the change in the tavern was any sign, the dwarf thought, then this was like animals fleeing a predator, was a similar thing. Then perhaps the axe of love has arrived as he hoped no normal man would call himself the axe of love. His hunch proved correct when a tall man rounded around his table, ordering drinks for the pair and sat proper. An amicable smile bloomed on the hunters face as eye contact is made and Mathollak's offered hand is shook. The smile became a grin as he noticed the cigar. The dwarf pulled off his heavy leather gloves to take it, briefly considering if the animals would smell him down wind, but the thought was shuffled away as the solution answered his internal question. All this was shown as a brief hesitation on the dwarfs face before taking the cigar, using a quick gesture; a knife is drawn and used to clip the end off and sticking the unlit cigar between his teeth placing the knife on the table, handle to Mathollak in an unspoken offer. He gnawed the cigar to the other side of his mouth holding it for a moment as he replied, " Prathohm Silverfeet, Pleasure. " as he himself pulled out a metal match striking it upon the table to light it then his cigar before the flame is offered to Mathollak as he asked, " How does one get an instrument of war named for affection?" His voice low and gravely from disuse this early in the morning.

Mathollak rapped the table roughly and bared his teeth in a dangerous and knowing smile. “I’m glad you asked,” he said pointing a finger directly at the dwarf. “An instrument of war gets a moniker of affection such as this because. I am the Ax and I fight for love. As is my Mother’s bidding.” Clearly he was trying to entice further curiosity with this coyness. But a savvy traveler might know that when a person of taste and crimson clothes refers to the Mother in this way, they are of course referring to the Goddess, Delisha. “Now you,” he said to Prathohm, before tilting up his stein and draining it halfway down. “You’ve the look of a huntsman. Probably haven’t been home for a long, long time.” Then he turns his face and looks only with his eyes, in a sly conspiratory way. “Not an exile, I hope…?”

Prathohm raised an eyebrow at this energy Mathollak had while he stuffed the metal match into it's snuffing sleeve. The hunter was trying to get a bearing on the man, just being around him feels exhausting at the same time he found himself grinning in response to the animal like smile the man bared, his own being easy, and light but his voice likes stones answering, " Fighting for love seems," a pause as he dragged on the cigar bringing the ember bright, replying with smoke in the word " Vague." the dwarf now with a toss finished his coffee ,"How do you know when you win?" At Mathollak's question his smile ceased for a moment before his lips pursed in thought, " Exile sounds much better then a forge accident," him making a gesture like an explosion adding, "My family was never big or numerous, or gifted with plenty of sons or daughters. So I'm afraid I'm the only one of any close relation. There might be some silverfeet in other parts of the world, But I have no interest in them and they none in me." Then he inhaled as if being pulled back to their conversation," This mother or yours, is it in a..." his hand wavered as if trying to find the word in the air ," a literal sense , or am I talking to a zealot?" then he realized what he must sound like. Prathohm hoping to fill the hole before he dug himself into it, "No offense of course; plenty of my friends are Zealots. "

Mathollak doesn't argue the mysteries of fighting for love. It was almost entirely marketing his brand. He just shrugs happily, not used to being questioned about his mysteries. "Well I know those Craughmoyle fellas they take their craftsmanship to daring levels. Admirable really, but those methods do tend to have mercurial results, don't they? It seems in the case of the Silverfeets at least. I mean who uses a trapped fire elemental as a heatsource am i right? Bold! Worth it though, eh?" Mathollak could appreciate the dedication, and the occassional misfire that comes with such dedication. He had it as well. Did that make him a zealot? Maybe, but for him it was impossible to say, so he lets out a guffaw. "A zealot! Haha you can't just go around asking people if their zealots! It's...what. Impolite?" He waves his hand, dismissing the thought. He wasn't offended. "I gotta give it to you pal, you're funny. You might be right about me, but I'm justt in it for the sensations, ya know? All of 'em." He ashes the cigar over to his left and takes another sip, then taps the table. "Well it's a yes from me, man, so what a ya say? You wanna go take care of this kobold thing in Rynvale? Good gold in it if you say yes. And hey! if it goes alright I'll hire you for the next one too."

Prathohm nodded dutifully at what the human said, puffing the cigar in thought musing over the details on the accident as before he had none talking more to himself then the warrior," You're correct fire elements be bad business in the wrong hands, my father must have thought he was ready. " He laughed to himself putting out the cigar on the blade he left on the table earlier responding, " A Zealot for humans is called inspired by us dwarves, as a singular religious zeal is needed for most great works of art and for tools to be of proper use. " he then added as he picked up his knife and slide it back into place , " But yes kobold skin is fine as any I s'pose, and gold is always needed. where are we too meet, or are we too venture forth together ? "

“Cheers to that, bub. Passion is what it’s all about.” He sucks down the rest of his brew and rises to his feet, victorious. The interview had been conquered. “Just be ready to board in Cenril by 6pm.” He turns to leave but stops, forgetting something crucial. “Oh! And the boat’s called the Mangy Taint.”

At around 5:30, Mathollak is getting the ship loaded with commodities from both Gualon and Cenril. Barrels of booze and spices, crates of clothes and native delicacies. Materials difficult or impossible to find in Rynvale. The captain of this rough looking galleon, Admiral Storm, spoke to Mathollak directly before letting anything actually be put in the cargo bay. He wore a dated and dingy naval jacket, with the seams torn in the shoulders. They shared a few words, then Mathollak filled a stein from a barrel. The ‘admiral’ made a sour face, swallowed, then spat in his hand. Mathollak completed the ritual by spitting in his own hand and embracing the admiral’s. Their journey is secure, so Mathollak finally sleeps.

In Rynvale’s port there was a similar story. Mathollak sees someone he knows, shines up their pockets, and unloads some cargo. Then he returns to Prathohm as if nothing shady whatsoever had taken place. “Alright lookit this,” he says to Prathohm, and shows him the request for aid, “Says the little turd burglars are in a cave near Gamorg. I took you for the outdoorsy type. Think you can find their trail or should we hire a local?”

Prathohm was grumpy from the trip and so was his Dire star nosed mole but asked a direct question when he was so long out of his field of expertise. The Hunter replied with the affirmative," Does a Bugbear fart in his sleep?" and with little more besides a gesture to follow off the dwarf went towards the swamps. Vazz, his mount happily followed. Before long and not too long after the mud started to suck at the boots of the heroes' He stops and looks at Mathollak, You have something for your scent? Kobolds are clever, sneaky with a sharp nose and we are getting close. I just found a fresh trail, and we've been crossing old ones for ages now and trails don't last long in this mud, " With this the dwarf himself pulled out a small corked glass bottle from the side of Vazz and he put a little in his hands and patted to his neck like cologne, but from the ghastly smell it and how it burned the nose it was the furthest from a wanted scent as could be. The dwarf was not done with himself he also applied a generous amount of this liquid to the Mole before placing it back in his saddle bag saying, " if you have nothing feel free to use that, might leave a rash if you're a cleaner fellow." Then he scent a small spark of magic from him to Mathollak and the mole, it was a simple spell, to hide natural scents but it wouldn't hide the scents that might be on them like ashes from the city or dried sea water. Then the dwarf added, " We will find them about an half hour south west, if their lookouts don't see us first, but I'll let you lead as you seem to better suited to close quarters then myself. "With this he gestured to his short bow as the great cross bow earlier was put up on the Mole itself, Vazz the mole thought this was a great time to burrow into the ground and to disappear for the moment until called.

“BOY, do they,” said Mathollak regarding a bugbear’s midnight song. His face soured at some nearly forgotten night. Not nearly enough. Just before embarking, Mathollak traded out his night clothes for a full outfit of mithril plate colored crimson. If he caught Prathohm looking (and eventually even if he didn’t), he’d exclaim proudly. “That’s right, bub, top shelf mithril, dwarven-forged.” Hung on a loop bolted to his backplate was a massive battle axe of seemingly pure gold. Of course, it couldn’t be gold, that would be silly. He was truly lucky to have found Prathohm, he was making this mission. “Now, THAT is a savvy concoction, good going, man don’t mind if I do.” Heedless of any concern about a rash, he spritzes himself and takes point as suggested by the hunter. In no time, they find tracks. Apparently. “Haha alright Hawkeye no need to show off. It just looks like mud to me but if you say you see them I believe ya.” Which meant that it was now quiet time, didn’t it. Soon they found tracks even Mathollak could spot. Food scraps, cuts of cloth, rusting armaments embedded in the mud...a small shoe. Mathollak’s footprints suddenly became further apart. And deeper. He unlooped his axe. Then just ahead, they spot their quarry. A slender, scaly snout fitted with two beady black eyes, pops out of the dirt like a meerkat in the savannah. Instantly it pops back down. “There! I saw the little twerp right there!” Mathollak dashes forward, apparently unencumbered by the plate he wears. He charges! Right into a trap. An unseen wire, tripped, and from some spot hidden just in front of him, comes a massive log full of sharpened wooden stakes. It sends him tumbling backward through the mud. He gets back up but...he’s definitely shook. By the time he can see straight, there’s a little squad of four reptilian gremlins nearly surrounding them. “Only two!” screeches one excited little idiot. “We feed to the Hungry God!”

Prathohm was indeed pleased that the man was geared well even if the artist in him lamented on any piece of fine work that was brought into this swamp. Prathohm mentally noted that his compatriot might be a little slower due to the armor and the muck. All doubts, and perhaps hopes of this were dashed when the man bounded forward when one of the scaly things was seen, and before the dwarf could even hope to warn of a trap, and as Mathollak rushed in he was sent back just as hard. A string of dwarf curses that would've have made a Coughmoyle noble blush bled from Prathohm as the he pulled a fist full of arrows out, stringing them in rapid succession moving the arrows from limp in his hand to twanging against bow string; five arrows were flung in blinding speed. Out of five hasty arrows three hit, two in the chest of one kobold sending him sprawling to hopefully die in the muck and the last hit in the leg of one of the scaly creatures pinned for the moment. The two arrows that missed with a wave of the dwarf's hand bulged and exploded in tight pops to keep the rest away as moved to support the man. the two that stood unharmed now were a bit more hesitant of attacking, with the third screaming like he was a stuck kobold, as he struggled to free his leg from the arrow shaft. The dwarf pulled another fist full of arrows out readying himself saying to Mathollak as he ensured no kobold could get behind them " Be careful for every one you see count three."

Two kobolds had avoided pain thus far, expecting with their numbers they’d be able to overwhelm their supposed prey. It had worked before. Evidently they were wrong; as one communicates to the other with a look. But they steel each other’s resolve, and line up their crossbows quickly. Originally both aim at Prathohm, smartly opting to remove their quick and deadly opponent. But the stars have left Mathollak’s eyes and he’s lumbering after them again. A bolt clinks off his red helmet, twitching his head but not altering his course. The axe falls, a kobold dies. The other fires at Prathohm, the muzzle placed accurately. Its up to the dwarf to avoid the blow. And then? That surviving kobold proves his shrewdness. It spins on its heels and attempts to scurry away, back down its hole, which is most assuredly leaden with alarms and traps for the careless enemy. The fury of the small showed up in such little ingenuities. “Don’t let ‘em escape!” says Mathollak, who can’t pull his heavy axe out of his enemy quick enough. Then he’d turn an inquisitor’s eye on the kobold who remained. Taking off his helmet and staring directly into his eyes. “You will take us to the boss,” he says in a voice that is strangely, or even magically, persuasive. “Won’t you?”

Prathohm was ready for the shot bringing his arm down hard to catch the bolt not with his hand but with the armor itself. The tactic proved fruitful, if panful and tomorrow's bruise. In the same motion the dwarf whistled and from somewhere underneath the mole burrows out of the muck like a sea predator in front of the fleeing kobold and between his escape. it was little more then a bluff from the mole, who was a coward but the scale brain wouldn't know. The kobold hesitated and with two more quick arrows the dwarf made a corpse, the last one was overkill but with hearing the question Mathollak asked theatrics were needed. so the last arrows were planted to hold the bodies of the kobold's friend at attention. The dwarf snatched the first kobold off the arrow. Then while the body still twitching he starting skinning it with the cold efficiency of business as only a hunter could. Then he started on the next body and in mere minutes all three of the kobold's friends were skinless muscle visible, and hung to dry next to their skins. all in view of the kobold, as he didn't know of any magic compulsion and seeing as he was both not the target and naturally resistant to most subtle magic he had no clue of his friend's magic. hopefully fear helped and didn't hurt whatever effect he was doing. the mole already disappeared again and Prathohm didn't expect to see her again in this muck.

The kobold was frightened, but it was also angry! It reaches for a small crusty dagger lodged in a pilfered leather belt. Mathollak lets the twerp yank it from its sheath, only to backhand it away like a child’s toy. He wraps a mithril claw around the back of the kobold’s neck and yanks it off his feet, shoving his face toward Prathohm’s direction, like a dog’s nose in its own mess. “You think I’m bad for what I did to your friend? Look at what he’ll do to YOU if you don’t work with us! And we won’t even let you die first.” The kobold’s hands go up in the air as he sobs. Mathollak continues, “This is all you deserve for killing children! You’ll be lucky if we don’t slaughter every one in your whole family! Take us to your boss, NOW! ” He drops the twerp face first in the mud, where he comes to his knees, “Okay,” it squeaks. “Okay! But don’t hurt my kin! We know not steal kids. But He makes us...He makes us!” Mathollak’s finished with him. He directs him callously with the sharp point of his finger. Then he turns to Prathohm, and takes off his helmet to scratch his head and silently inquire if this makes any sense? True, he thought kobolds usually kept to themselves and didn’t bother much with the fairer races unless they got too close to their territory. Which was usually far off and in the realm of dragons. But these ones were already enigmatic. It could be another trap, leading them into an ambush. But he seemed sincere… Mathollak puts his helmet back on snug, and descends into the cave. Mathollak thinks nothing of it, but this cave is easily wide enough for a human, or even something much larger. Fine. But! It was dug! On the sides of the main tunnel were support beams built to prevent a cave-in, and some kind of weird mortar or shellac plastered on the walls and ceiling. It gave the cave a strange smell. Extra strange, were the tiny tributary tunnels that branched off. They were clearly designed exclusively for kobolds, and in fact, one pops its head out. True to his oath, apparently, their kobold shoos him away. The tiny head disappears into its hovel. The main path descends further underground, and the light from outside dims. Eventually its utter darkness, and Mathollak whispers a prayer to his goddess. “Hey babe it’s a little to dark for me, and I know how you like to watch. Maybe a little candlelight to set the mood?” He taps his heart shaped amulet hung around his neck by a gold chain, and light blooms like a dozen flickering candles. Then they come to an enormous wooden door, barred shut. From their side. Something was being kept in. Mathollak turns around and sees at least a dozen pairs of glowing eyes behind him, little tiny kobold eyes spying from their tunnels. The kobold whispers, “He’s in there!”

Prathohm was a dwarf and thus duty was a strong contender for one of his hardest to resist urges right under breathing. So the dwarf followed the human into the cave that seemed to be more and more a trap, but kobolds have been known to be under the employ of larger more terrifying things. Bringing the crossbow might have been a good bet. This thought rang true as the door slammed shut behind them. "This is going to be so much fun, I'll have to write a letter home. " The dwarf said dryly out loud, internally he was hoping it was not a dragon even thought his whole body told him it was a lesser kin but he might be thrown off it might just be the kobolds itself he is smelling either way bow is still drawn waiting for whatever to happen to happen.

/ turns around as the door shuts and the latch closes. “Haha we’re dead, pal.” Might as well die from something they can see. Mathollak pushes his hand out in front of him and the flickering candlelights spread out like dandelion puffs in a breeze, illuminating the sides of the cavern. Gouged out as if with an ice cream scooper the size of a carriage. The walls spiral downward until they end in a pit. Out of the corner of Mathollak’s eye Mathollak spots something glinting in the mud, the candlelights reflecting off it. It a flabby piece of hide, pale green, and extremely dense and tough. “Damn it is a dragon,” he laments as he tosses the thick floppy slab to the side. “Not...a dragon.” Mathollak looks at Prathohm, then all around him as he unhooks his axe and readies it. “Would you like to see...,” taunts the voice almost seductively. Mathollak finds himself unable to speak, enchanted by the same magic he used against the kobold. Maybe the same magic this being used against the kobolds. “ Why don’t you come down here?” Mathollak takes a step forward, pulling his metal boot up from some sticky green substance. He makes it to the edge of the abyss, when the hole in the floor starts to fill up with a shimmering chartreuse, almost fluid looking thing. As Mathollak leans over the edge, almost ready to fall, a seam appears in the monsters face, and it peels back its leathery lips to reveal several rows of teeth, each one the size of a dagger and dripping with sticky goo. One second later it snaps like a spring to take Mathollak, extending its...neck(?) upward like a humpback whale breaching the waves, then attempting to flop its girth down on Prathohm to crush him like a grub.

Prathohm had to internally tell himself to relax as his instincts told him he might as well be dead and in this mental monolog the magic voice was missed in the mantra. But his friend stepping forward in all his clankiness was not. Four arrows drawn and all shot all at once in a near outline of Mathollak, all arrows charged with explosive power of his families Boom touch, made to explode ore for smiting, instead being applied to bone arrow shafts and even if they missed hopefully shrapnel did not, and nearly as quick as the arrows a hand was on Mathollak's armored collar pulling him back from the snapping jaw, and in one motion hopefully became an over the shoulder carry, and jumped out of the way of the falling bulk with his friend in safety. But the jump nor the carry was not graceful and it ended up with Prathohm's arrow supply askew across the muck strew floor but got both of them out of immediate danger but now prathohm was on the floor himself trying hard to to shamble to his feet in the goop.

Mathollak came to his senses on Prathohm’s shoulder at the sound of the arrows’ pops. “Get em!” He shouts, “Get em!” The explosion blinded him with a flash, and for a second, he couldn’t see where the monster was. But then they took a little tumble and got stuck in the muck. “Delisha, hunny, we can’t be tied down like this! We gotta be free, ya know?” She heard the words, and the muck disintegrated under Prathohm and Mathollak wherever they touched it, burning away with a sick odor. The voice of the monster echoes in their heads again, but without its mystical quality. Now it just sounds screechy and oppressive, not forming any actual words that they understand. While it recoils itself back from another strike, Mathollak sees where his friend’s flak slammed into its sickly green skin. They were sticking in, but only seemed to evoke small trickles of blood. Three quick steps brought Mathollak to the creature’s tubular body and he easily slams his axe into a side. It wedges in tightly, sunk in a few inches, but the monster struggles on, and flails its massive body, taking Mathollak with it. Jerking him up down and all around until finally it throws Mathollak right into the door of its cage. It busts into splinters, and now it has Prathohm all to itself. “Run Prathohm! Run!” But he won’t get away without a fight. The beast looms over him, and yes it looks threatening. But behind it, coils of its enormous form fold over themselves. It springs forward yet again, intending to not just kill Prathohm, but to drag him straight to Hell.

Prathohm scrambled to his feet and as much as he hated to leave a job undone, but no or hard to reach arrows, no crossbow, with only his his knife and a hatchet just did not seem like enough to handle it and its kobold army The screeching in the the back of his mind hurt and was a foreign feeling for the dwarf as a creature with an innate resistance to magic this feeling was not something he wanted to repeat or endure. The hunter garbed a fist full of muck charging the goop with his explosive power and with this hand of mud having more weight to it then his arrow would provide a considerably more powerful explosion, and lobbing it at the thing as he bound out of the room. Hopefully pull Mathollak to his feet on the way out of the whole muck infested cave.

The creature buried its face in the rocky ground and nearly burrowed a secondary abyss into the earth. Its body just kept coming. As Prathohm bolts out the door, he can see Mathollak and a small army of kobolds running away ahead of him. Behind him, the explosion triggers a cave in, rocks fall in on the creature as its endless body continues to spin endlessly into the dirt. “You made it!” Exclaims Mathollak. But there’s no time for celebration, the cave is rapidly decaying, yard by yard the supports give out under the earth above them, but they can see the light ahead of them. They get nearer to the surface, the dirt gets looser, falling away quicker, until grains start raining down on them. Then, all at once, the cave system fails. Mathollak, Prathohm, and the kobolds are buried.

Prathohm wiggled his toes. They wiggled. Good talking toes. Then he tested his fingers. Everything responded painfully. What happened? He was following the red fellow then big oily thing then he threw a charged goop. His father always told him don't use that on unknown materials. here he was disobeying his father's rules again and it caused a cave in? What kind of dwarf was he? Now he tried to sit up. He could, couldn't see even for a dwarf darkness could happen it had to be near true darkness. but it could happen. As his eyes tried to adjust to the new world he tired to take account for he had, his bow was missing, all arrows too, hatchet and knife secure. he reached in the dark, bow was found with broken string in the dust.But he stayed quited he hadn't been too far from that thing when it happened didn't mean he didn't get shifted close to in the cave in, and who knew how long they sifted on uneven earth before now.

Mathollak opened his eyes, but saw nothing. When he moved his arms, they pushed against loose dirt that just shifted and fell around him. For several moments he started digging up, but couldn’t tell if he was making any progress or just moving mud. How far was he from the surface? Which way was up? He decided to wait. Just sit and think, until some kind of insight instructed him on a wiser course of action. Prathohm would know what to do, he would be at home in such a place. “Pratho--” as soon as he opened his mouth dirt poured in. So he continued waiting. Thinking. A moment of silence passed before it occurred to him. How long would he have to breathe? In the darkness he thought he heard something, or felt something, a rumbling through the dirt and mud. And then a squeal! “No, no, no--!” The voice was muffled. It happened again, the monster was picking out its victims one by one!

Prathohm heard the wiggling, then a memory hit the dwarf like a carriage he enchanted Big Red earlier and he could sniff his own magic. That’s the way he described the sensation at least, it tugged at the mind like a smell and he followed it slowly gingerly in contracting and moving his body to make use of the small space he had but with a few hard pulls and a few tugs he had a large imposing arm freed. Then he heard it, a muffled scream. The dwarf smiled in the dark, the hunt was on. it was looking for them, in the dark the magic and kobold urine they used earlier would hide them better then the darkness ever could from this creature, if it was as cave dwelling as he thought it might be so they be in the advantage and every time he heard a scream he yanked on mathollak attempting to hide the sounds of him getting the human out to try and get him out of his coffin and into this slightly larger space and he cast another small spell this one would filter air into breathable air; in caves it was a life saver as it would allow them to starve verses suffocate in the case they couldn't get out and if they lived long enough to make the bet. If the voices were any indicator there was still a main chamber that survived near by.

Mathollak was practically in a state of shock by the time he was transferred to a slightly larger casket. He could only recognize the man by feel, clumsily running his metal fingers into the beard. “Prathohm?” He breathes a little easier, believing he was saved. It was then he realized something he hadn’t before: that he could be afraid. In battle he was never afraid, but the prospect of dying alone, in the dark, slowly terrified him. It was a battle he couldn’t win. Unless he had help. Much of his bravado had dissipated, and with it so it seemed, did his command of his faith. The best he could do was shrink himself as much as possible and try not to move. He looked to Prathohm for answers. “What now?” He whispered.

Prathohm sighed in the dark as he heard the man. his eyes now expanded as only a deep creature could and he could see just the faintest out line of the human but to an surface dweller he might look demonic with his pupils expanded into his irises. With that he was pleased with the darkness keeping from what the shaky voice sounded like from seeing him it might have been too much at the moment but Prathohm replied the smile touching his voice, "We hunt, we are hidden by magic and smell it will think we are easy prey. It is in the darkness with us not the other way around, " he let his voice be a bit rougher and more commanding. Duty was required of the human, if not to his god then to Pratham. Who now handed the man his axe as like he was gifting Mathollak, then he pulled his own knife for his off hand and hatchet for his own main reading himself by simply crouching against a wall, "Rest, wait be ready."

The vibrations in the mud stop suddenly, and then suddenly reverberate in spurts, like between breaths. The beast was laughing at them. “Yes! Stay still, stay perfectly still.” But it isn’t Mathollak’s voice, or Prathohms. Then the shaking resumes, and it isn’t mere reverberations now, its full-on tremors, or an earthquake, like a ravine rapidly opening up below them as the monster rips through the earth to get to them. There’s nothing to do but to wait for it to come. When it does, it doesn’t come from their feet like they expected. And it isn’t a gaping maw filled with hundreds of pike-sized teeth, it’s ten magnificent claws and a nest of tendrilous nosey grabbers. Vazz plunged into their secret hole, felt them up with its nose, and decided they were worthy of saving. Then it scooped them up with its...face...and disappeared them up and away. A split second later the cave was engulfed by the spiky abyssal gullet of their enemy. In seconds they met the surface and the sunlight, and their savior. “Vazz!” Mathollak exclaimed, graciously. All around them, they saw kobolds growing out of the earth like some weird garden, clawed hands and feet hauling up tiny reptilian bodies and tails. Mathollak noticed that some of them were climbing trees, and he opted to do that too, the clawed ends of his mithril gauntlets aiding him. After missing a strike, the monster breached the surface of the mud, revealing its pale green hide, limbless torso, eyeless maw. But as soon as the sunlight graced its flabby skin, even while so heavily filtered by the trees, it started to sizzle and scream! Not just in the world, but in their minds. A mind-shattering scream that made Mathollak think he would rather die than endure it for another second. But soon the sound perished, the monstrous creature buried itself back in the sunken cavern, and all that was left of its brief visit on the surface was a sickening stench and some smoke.

Prathohm was prepared for the worst, and after hearing the voice in his cursed outwardly again. But they had little do to. Then a pink nosed thing blasted into their little hole scooping them up and Prathohm laughed out loud grabbing out to his mole, happily being dragged to the surface as fighting in light was by far a better choice. Once they got to the surface the tree looked like they were infested with kobolds, but when in Rynvale as they say and the dwarf leaped burying a hasty axe into a tree hoisting himself up as the ground exploded with their stalker hitting the sun and with the painful scream the nearly brought the dwarf off the tree itself with the pain it was gone. and the fight was over. He laughed softly with relief that it was actually over and he didn't even have to kill that thing. The dwarf being the hunter and confused by what it was wanted to figure it out before he marked this off as a complete success. but with what looked like a freed local kobal populace and all team members alive. Close enough was a thing a hunter could live by. as life and limb were often the bet and to not lose the ante was a win in itself. Prathohm padded his mole giving her a honeycomb from her own saddle bag as a reward. Then he turned to Mathollak yelling " Are you whole?"

Mathollak again followed the cues of the kobolds, and decided it was time to disembark the tree. Now, some people seem to think that it’s much harder getting down than getting up. Not Mathollak. He lets go of his branch and thumps the dirt with his whole body, encased in a sturdy red shell. “I am,” he says to Prathohm, as he rises to his feet. He doesn’t linger. “I don’t know that whatever that thing was is dead. Might just be, ya know, convalescing. So we should go.” He does, assuming Prathohm has no further business here. While nonchalantly speed walking back east, they hear a strange echoing to their footsteps. Mathollak turns around. Just a bunch of trees. Dumb trees. “Hm.” He slides close to Prathohm and whispers something he probably noticed already. “Something’s following us…”

Prathohm replied with a grin," Good, you being tall and all is useful." Then he followed suit of the kobolds, and the mole followed behind squeaking as it got to get off the massive tree it's claws were stuck in to ploping, ungracefully had to sit on the ground belly up for a moment in recovery before jumping up on the ground it's nose tendrils feeling at the ground as it followed, once it caught up to the dwarf he easily gripped a leather ring hoisted himself up on to the back of the mole. A few minutes later the dwarf sighed loudly as he realized the echo just as Mathollak, the tall human was now able to not lean all the way over to whisper, just a slight lean. after the info Prathohm said," One of these days I'ma charge you to learn dwarf cave talk," referring to what felt like the humans inability to whisper but maybe he was just talking over the badly hidden kobolds who thought they were incredibly sneaky.

Mathollak guffaws a little at Prathohm’s offer to teach him a little subtlety. “Aha! You think I can be quieter. Well then sir what I say to you is-” He interrupts himself by suddenly spinning around and slamming his axe into a tree behind him. A less than subtle kobold stumbles back from it afraid, tripping over his own feet. Mathollak gets deep into his personal space. “What a you think you’re doing, huh!? Trying to sneak up on us? Thinkin’ about slidin’ a little knife between that dwarf’s meaty ribs!?” The kobold trembles, crabwalks away from the vermillion vandal...and to his credit (!) manages to eek out a response. “No! You two break our home! Now we follow you! You saved us!” Well that tickles Mathollak, and he straightens up. He’s got mixed feelings about this. Yes they did save the kobolds from weird servitude, maybe. Yes, they did partly cause the caving in of their little tunnel-home. “Why you slitherin’ around like that?” He looks away from this tiny sniveling creature toward the rest of the trees. Another kobold hides its face quickly. “Come out! All of you!” After all have been accounted for, there’s only a dozen kobolds left when they must’ve numbered at least three times that many. “Hmm. What a you think Prathohm?”

Prathohm internally nearly rejected the thought altogether but before he could voice it, his mind kicked in warm bodies could be used to do a lot of things, kobolds were small and stubborn but capable of magic. in the silence his mole squeaked softly doing a small spin as it didn't want to stop moving but was told to so so. Still the dwarf debated a few things in his mind saying out loud with a smile ," I could use warm bodies for some,...personal projects, at a later date. "The mole stopped spinning as the dwarf found his mental direction. Then he looked at his friend clad in red, "Do you have a place they could stay, I think having a small group of sticky fingers would be good, just scales and tails tends to attract guards." The business man already working out how much coin a week he could get this small group pulling in, but being Mathollak's job it was his choice of what to do with this unexpected loot.

Mathollak puts his hands on his hips and points his nose high above them. “If you stay with me I’ll make sure you have a home and eat every single day. But you MUST obey me. I am your leader now.” Kobolds, of course, were very accustomed to being dominated by someone stronger than them. They’d never gotten such splendid benefits before though? Meals? A home? Usually as with that monster, they were slaves. They’d feed their master, and in return, their master would not eat them. So they agree, needless to say. “First order: Stay in a group. How many of you are there? Twelve? Good. Don’t stray from my sight, and don’t touch anything that doesn’t belong to you...until I say.” Thus a dozen frisky kobolds joined the party.