While the world around us was quite possibly ending, Bambina and I made our way through the bowels of World’s Hope, each of us dispatching messengers and issuing summons to our peers in service to the other flights. All the demigods had left our world in a hurry, and one peculiar demigod had entered our world at the same time. Chooka had been attacked on the road, and with Montezuma still waiting in queue to resurrect, we had limited intel on this new cult that colluded with the enemy. It is in such dire times that one must take drastic measures, but before that, there is a critical step that cannot be overlooked: a costume change!
As the leader of the entire troop in service to the Crossroad Wayfinders, it is only appropriate that I have the best costumes. Obviously, I need a capotain complete with a fancy buckle. I need a longcoat that has plenty of buttons that are never used. A spiffy vest underneath will give some prestige. Leather for the gloves and the boots are a must if I want to keep the blood off of my person. Slap on a few belts, plenty of relics and other religious knickknacks, and equip a hand crossbow and a serrated saber, and I fit the part for a good old-fashioned witch hunt.
“What do you think, toots, should I also use the eye patch?” I ask my lovely Bambina as I hold up said fashion accessory, one complete with a golden dragon embroidered upon it.
“Mmm,” she contemplates as she pauses dressing herself. “It would be a bit much right now. Perhaps save it for later if you get wounded in a fight. Hopefully, nothing mars that dashing face of yours,” she finishes her assessment as she flicks her blue tongue over her bottom lip in a clear display of approval at my fetching outfit.
“An excellent idea!” I reply as I help her finish putting on her costume. Hers has more bits of leather to act as armor, or to at least appear as such. Her hat is also flatter, wider, and has a feather. Collectively, we adhere to a color palette with a black primary and a yellow secondary to show off the colors of our Emperor. “What would I ever do without you?”
“Probably die in a ditch somewhere, alone and forgotten,” she remarks without a moment’s hesitation as she grabs her own weapons, a whip and branding iron.
“Too true, my love. Let’s go see if we can’t make someone else do the dying. I don’t believe we are Scripted to die today.”
With a bit of banter to help us get in character, we departed with our cohort of Support Actors, none of which were nearly as fancily dressed as us, naturally. I had called for an emergency meeting, and with luck, the other kobold leaders would heed my invitation. It took us nearly an hour to get to our destination, especially with all the tripping hazards scattered about in the forms of wounded combatants and severed limbs. A bit crass of them to clog the hallways, but good help is hard to find these days.
“Well, well, well! Looks like the slant finally decided to show up.”
That was not the greeting I expected when I arrived at my own meeting, on time mind you, but perhaps this particular kobold was supposed to be an arrogant prick. I honestly don’t know what his Role is today, but I have a feeling I won’t like him very much. With one deft motion, I use my tail to hold Bambina back lest she tear his throat out for such an insult.
“Show Gambino more respect or I will have you on the rack screaming for forgiveness before day’s end, you cur!”
My sweet Bambina’s temper had been so easily stoked, but it was not fitting for her Role to back down from such provocation. To be fair, those were fighting words that this chap had dared to utter towards me, and with the gauntlet thrown down, I would have to prove him wrong in his assessment of my linguistic abilities.
“Friends, kobolds familiar and new. Let us not cause trouble to brew,” I start my performance as I raise my hands placatingly in a gesture of peace. “The enemy is at the gate, let infighting not be our fate.”
“You sent out your heralds to have us gather. Pray tell, I hope it was not to hear you blather,” my insulter replied in kind. I would guess he is one of those Bloods judging by his red scales, an older one at that if his scales have taken on the color of his flight.
I continue talking as I take my seat at a round table, Bambina sitting by my side. There were eight spots at the octagonal table, two seats per side for the leader of a troupe and his or her second. Someone up above manned the lighting to ensure they caught my good side as I spoke my lines.
“I only speak of matters dire, for many demigods did retire. Yet one unknown has come forth to judge, perhaps even, to give our story a nudge. I hope that in our goal of survival we are aligned, for there is something we can do with our powers combined.”
“You aim to have The Script summoned forth!” another kobold with gray scales announced with overly pronounced surprise for the sake of drama. “Behold, there do I see my swarth!”
“A nice attempt to steal my thunder. I would not see us blown asunder. I believe the Dramatis Personae will suffice, even if the secrets within are imprecise. We could discover more about friend and foe, for we know so little of our new demigod and his Divine Portfolio.”
“I imagine he has something to do with The Abyss,” chimed in someone’s second, “unless there is something I missed.”
Without hesitation, I drew my hand crossbow and fired it right into his chest. My bolt sunk into him amid a flurry of knives and other ranged implements that everyone else gathered at the table had likewise shot at the poor bastard. Even his own troupe leader shanked him mercilessly at such a faux pas. ‘Abyss’ and ‘missed’ do not properly rhyme, but it would have worked if he had used ‘miss’ or perhaps ‘amiss’.
“Hey you,” called a green-scaled [Fashionista], no doubt the leader of the Eternal Pretenders given her clearly evident draconic features that we all remained secretly envious of. She sported horns and wings, and unless it was a trick of the light, her scales looked more draconic than those of a lowly lizard. “Get this slant out of here,” she directed a nearby attendant as she pointed to the corpse of our erstwhile ally. This meeting doubled as a sacred ritual, and we had no tolerance for those who messed it up. “Sorry to interrupt, please continue dear,” she concluded as she addressed me and prompted that the show must go on.
“The die is cast, we must take a vote. It must be unanimous, lest the ayes find themselves smote. The nays will inherit all from each remaining troupe. I hope we collaborate with no intention to dupe.”
Indeed, summoning forth The Script would most likely kill us all permanently, but it would allow our successors to see The Story of this world and how it plays out, at least from a certain point of view. That would give us kobolds invaluable knowledge of things to come and it would help ensure the survival of our race. If there was ever a time to call upon The Script and see it in full instead of glimpses of it, this would probably be the time.
However, there are safer theatrical manuscripts that we could summon forth, the Dramatis Personae being one of them. It likewise requires the leaders of the kobold troupes for the eight Emperors to gather and vote. However, not everyone needs to die to summon it. Between the ayes and the nays, whichever side has the majority dies, leaving their troupes ripe for plundering by the survivors. A tie results in everyone dying. A majority vote of aye is needed for the summoning to succeed. This voting system creates a prisoner’s dilemma where personal greed weighs against the good of everyone. The only safe outcome is a unanimous vote, in which case everyone lives, but obviously the summoning fails if everyone votes nay. A single nay could kill off all of one’s rivals and leave untold riches and talent to be collected from the weakened troupes, which is a tempting proposition.
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Furtive glances were directed around the room from the leaders of each troupe as we eyed each other over. While an attendant walked around to hand us each a white stone for aye and a black stone for nay, we each made claims to vote aye or supporting arguments to why this was necessary, each of us maintaining our flawless pattern of rhymes lest we have to murder someone again. After a few minutes, all hands were beneath the table as we each decided which stone to place upon the table when votes were called.
My peer to my right had a bead of nervous sweat upon his brow, an impressive Ability considering we kobolds do not sweat. I would have to find out how he did it since his technique appeared to be more sophisticated than my own. He also gulped audibly as his eyes widened in wild apprehension as he cast critical glances at each of us. He was really selling his bit, or perhaps he was actually nervous. It doesn’t have those telltale signs of him using [Stage Fright], with how insincere it can come across to the trained eye, so perhaps he has a bit of practice at this particular Role. I would normally use my own Skills to tremble in fear, which my former draconic masters appreciated, but such cowardice was unbefitting my current Role and apparel. Instead I steeled my resolve, taking one hard look at Bambina, who nodded once to me, and I readied my vote.
Slowly, each of us brought one hand above the table, not one of us showing our vote until everyone was ready. As the one who called forth the meeting, I was first to show my vote. I opened my hand, and a white stone fell out of it and onto the table.
Around the table we went, a hand opening as a white stone fell out. Yet, the closer we got to the end, the slower each was to reveal his or her vote. Some choir in the background played stressful music on stringed instruments to add to the suspense, a fitting touch given the circumstances. The last remaining hand belonged to the one who insulted me when I entered. I don’t know his name, not that most kobolds actually have names beyond what their current Role allots to them. Given that he is a leader of a troupe , he probably has one, but it is not a certain thing.
I glared at him, my steely gaze watching for any sign of foul play. If his vote came up nay, I could possibly kill him before I found myself struck dead by forces supernatural in origin. Carefully, with full awareness that an errant twitch could spook us all into killing him before he could reveal his vote, he turned over his hand, opening it discreetly so that his stone lay flat on the table but remained obfuscated by his palm upon it. Slowly, almost teasingly, he withdrew his hand, and with it, an audible chorus of exhales followed as a glistening white stone greeted us in turn.
A small victory tune eased the tension as our musicians livened up the atmosphere for a few moments. Directly following that, the notes shifted to a tune of wonder and mystery, one that enhanced our curiosity as something happened, a feeling that manifested in each of us or perhaps a thickening of the air. As the music reached its crescendo and suddenly stopped, a magical book popped into existence in the middle of the table, with said book spinning as it slowly floated to rest flat upon it.
The book, the one and only Dramatis Personae, gets bigger as I hop onto the table and approach it, since I cannot reach it from a sitting position and no one bothered to bring a long pole to shove it towards us. Nearly as big as I am, I lug it to my side of the table where I can read it. The gathered leaders and their seconds gathered round behind me, each of us eager to have answers revealed to us.
“Remember,” I remind everyone as I keep the book closed, ”We each get to ask one question of the book. Asking for a name gives a description, or giving a description gives you a name. It even provides a picture if you want to take a look. Let’s coordinate so none of our questions are the same.” I take a baton handed to me by an attendant and hand it off to another leader, as I want to ask the final question.
“Who is Sanagba Imuru, He-Who-Saw-The-Abyss?” asked the leader who held the baton before he too passed it off. Obviously, everyone in the world heard the description when this demigod entered our universe, but we want to know more about him in the context of The Story.
The book flips open to reveal a picture of the demigod. His beard is a series of straight braids, each in metallic cylinders that add flair and prestige, a style reminiscent of ancient dwarves. He wears some sort of skirt or loincloth. A fringed shawl covered a tunic, with a belt helping to keep everything together. The entire outfit had geometric patterns to accentuate his esteem. In one hand, he held a stone tablet, and in the other, a spyglass. The text below the picture was the real moneymaker.
Sanagba Imuru, He-Who-Saw-The-Abyss - The demigod sent to this universe to judge The True Main Character and to find him worthy of becoming a new demigod, The Dragon of Roads. Sanagba Imuru mostly observes, but he is responsible for instigating a few key events to offer appropriate trials for the aspiring demigod.
All eyes turned between me and the book. “The True Main Character” was thought to be a myth, the one being for whom this universe was created, the center of The Story from which all tales and fables are spawned. And the moniker, “The Dragon of Roads”, certainly leaves little room for mystery, as only one current dragon is known to have a penchant for roads.
“Who is or could become The Dragon of Roads?”
Good choice, good choice. The book flips through its infinite pages to finally stop. In the picture, I clearly see the mortal and draconic forms of my own Master. Around the edges, each looking and reaching inward towards him, I saw myself and Bambina as a pair, but also Skull, Chooka, It-Has-Pockets, Torborg, Bellwright, Nabonidus, Alterez, Jericho, and some blurry elf. The resemblance to us as his companions was uncanny, and there remained no doubt as to exactly who The Main Character could be.
“The Dragon of Roads - Also known as The Main Character, the Emperor of the Crossroad Wayfinders, the Outlier, Papa, Big E, and a slew of other monikers, is the whole reason you are reading me to begin with. This is his final mortal life before apotheosis as a demigod, assuming he does not Go Off Script and perish before the fulfillment of The Story. His companions assist him in achieving this feat, often without his knowledge or consent, for most are involved in the cult that helps him attain divinity.”
Dragon worship is no oddity among kobolds. I can only imagine that each of us adores our respective Emperor to the point of reverence. However, the prospect of one Emperor attaining divinity is certainly grounds for conflicted loyalty. Everyone wants on that gravy train that will allegedly aid us in metamorphosing into something more draconic than our feeble lizard bodies. As angels are to human, oni are to orcs, succubi and incubi are to remnimi, wererats are to riccen, and so forth, so too are dragons the perfect forms of kobolds, and this revelation from the Dramatis Personae would change everything.
“So, uh,” one of the kobolds near me inquires with a bit of awkwardness. “About this cult of yours. That is led by Alterez, ya? Do we need to submit a form for membership or…,” he let the rest of his question hang. The expression on everyone's faces asked much the same, even if they did not give voice to it.
This is a valid break in character, so no stabbing commences. I likewise answer in kind. “No, Alterez, the [Cult Leader], can initiate you. We do have matching robes, since that is pretty key to any cult. We can have an emergency indoctrination session with him if you all want to join.”
An eager chorus of approval and thanks greeted me. I did not notice a single one of them not interested in joining. Kobold loyalty is a myth, for we only serve the strongest, which typically is an Emperor. However, an Emperor that is also a demigod stands head and shoulders above his peers, and so we would all feel the pull to serve. This will undoubtedly cause a lot of bad fallout and drama with the other flights when they find out that their kobolds are leaving in droves, but that’s showbiz for ya.
Inquiries about the war and the survival of our planet were quickly forgotten as we continued asking questions in the same vein that would help ensure we knew the Major Characters in helping my Master achieve divinity. Attendants were already dispatched to gather torches, pitchforks, and volunteers to play the part of an angry mob for my little witch hunt, one that was a collaboration between all troupes. In the meantime, we finally got around to my final question.
“Who is the elf that will become the companion of The Dragon of Roads?”
The pages flipped and stopped once more, and there in the pages I saw the pictures and descriptions of each of the three contenders, all of whom have been introduced in The Story thus far. No, not Guildmaster Taro, for the elf is clearly a woman and he was a Throwaway Character anyway. You know the ones.
Anyway, unexpectedly, The Story pulled me, forcing my hand to pick which one would become his companion. One seemed to be a bargain bin version of Jericho, so she seemed redundant, if still entirely competent. Another was rather pleasant most of the time, but crazy and murderous the rest. The final choice was cute as a button, but also unremarkable for any useful contributions. None of them seemed like a great choice, but with a quill in hand, I made a revision of the text to determine my Master’s elven companion. May he forgive me of my choice if it offends him, for I did not predict that I would be the one to help write The Story.
