KOBOLDS ... in a pub. Open tavern thread.

[Yvonne]

Yvonne smiled upon her handiwork in afterthought, a hint of smugness to her expression. She'd swiftly concocted another drink specifically for him, with the biggest glass she could find (a punch bowl). It was everything the kobold commander had demanded. Well, truth be told there might have been an ingredient or two he wasn't expecting, but - in her defence - Gru'Hal hadn't asked for a specific kind of drink. That meant the half-dwarven bartender was allowed complete creative licence over what passed down his scaly croaker. Let's face it, he'd put anything in his mouth she wanted at this point, especially with heady froth at the surface ever so inviting.

A sleeping potion potent enough ta bed an ogre, laced with honey whiskey. Lavender, passionflower, crushed valerian sprigs and powdered verdant root, tha herbs masked with whiskey, tha whiskey softened with honey.

"Here ye be, Gru'Hal honey! I've made ye a drink worthy of yer impending conquest! Only tha most mighty of kobolds could handle this drink, but I bet ye'll chug this one down like it was lolly water! Go ahead! Impress yer friends." Yvonne gently placed the punch-bowl in front of him, grinning up to him encouragingly. "Impress me," she challenged him provocatively, batting her eyelashes.

"Gru'Hal show you what it means to be the mightiest kobold of all," he bragged, grabbing the punch bowl with both hands and lifting the drink high over his head. His minions roared their shrieking excitement in unison, proud of their commander. When he looked to her one last time to make certain she was watching, Yvonne nodded her approval, her expression wide-eyed enthusiasm, plain as day.

Gru'Hal took a deep breath and guzzled down the entire bowl, taking copious gulps one after another. His thirty kobold minions cheered him on, squealing drink, drink, drink in time, like a heartbeat. He had the attention of the whole room. The world was his oyster.

Yvonne turned away, concealing the fact that she was rolling her eyes and snickering to herself. They'd done very well. Storm Veritas had distracted the little beasts admirably while she concentrated her full efforts on creating the knockout potion. They'd each played their unscrupulous part and would reap the rewards. A comatose general and a wasted army was no threat at all. They'd bought Ettermire some time, at least from this regiment.

A sip of that would put me ta sleep. A punch bowl? I'd probably never wake up again! Should knock tha brute into tha land of forty winks for tha night and those minions of his won't know what ta do next. One thing I do know about war - ye cut off tha head of tha snake, tha rest of tha problem will die right off.

Gru'Hal was snoring before he hit the floor, still in his chair it clattered to the floorboards with him. The punch bowl bounced and rolled away, remaining in tact. Maybe a bruised noggin in the morning but he'd be fine. He was sleeping soundly, his snoring rather loud.

"What happen to General?" a kobold questioned, looking down at him.

"Don't know," another kobold replied, sipping his honey whiskey contently.

"What we do now?!" a third kobold cried out, starting to freak out.

"Have more drinkss from nice lady," a fourth kobold decided for him, calm and collected.

"That'ss good idea," the third kobold agreed, settling down.