Moderated Quest: Diplomacy with Hodekin

General Griff Gru'Hal looked over the street he had recently conquered; the single avenue in a city that was supposedly filling with many of his kin, who's aim was solely to take what land they could and declare themselves the new masters. Ettermire had proved a difficult place, with darkened alleyways and factories that billowed too much smoke. It was something that the underground-dwelling kobold race had not been expecting, nor been used to, when their king - Hodekin the Desirous - had bestowed unto them the glory of his great, ambitious plan. Gru'Hal could remember the words of the king being spoken as if it were only yesterday, and not a month ago of a dark, other world ...

"We are going above," the gnarled voice of the kobold king finally spoke; deep and unchanging, a tone that was marvellous to every ear hole in that vicinity. Eyes suddenly lifted from the floor - six and twenty pairs to be precise - that affixed on their ultimate lord. No words, or gasps rang out, only gazes dedicated to obey every word that he said.

"We are going above," he repeated, "To conquer what was long denied to us. To take what is ours. We are going ... to conquer the surface."

Gru'Hal had been given a group of thirty fine, multi-hued warriors, their scaled, reptilian bodies ranging from a murky khaki to a bold sapphire. He himself was of emerald design, and hoisted a cutlass to his possession. Others in his troupe had crossbows (ten of them), some had wicked spears (a further ten) and some crooked swords (the remaining ten). They gave him their full attention and fealty, acting on his words when they had first come out of the sewers, and found an empty street with a loud, raucous pub.

That street he had decided not to begin his attack upon. Instead, after a well-deserved drink for himself and his thirty comrades (after all, gaining to the surface from the world of below, and adjusting to the brightness of the sky of the above was tremendously arduous), he had set them on discovering somewhere more sufficient to declare an invasion upon. Now they understood more of the town - information having been gleaned from the pub's occupants at the time - and they had found a place with one of these factories. Quickly, and with raised voices, the kobolds had taken it, establishing Gru'Hal as the leader of their sublime new tiny empire.

Swiftly had the rumours flown, on wings of nervous disposition. They had reached the ears of the city guard, who had come, but whom Gru'Hal had shaken his head, telling them of what Hodekin desired. Various foul words had been tossed either side, and barricades had been built. Now the general stood on the flat roof of his factory, overlooking what had become of his kingdom, and wondering if they should have striven to take more. He stared out, longing to hear if any other generals had been successful in their quest, and meanwhile held out.

He tapped his clawed foot lightly on the stonework beneath him and huffed a few times as he folded his arms. He could see the newest contingent of city guard approaching his hastily made wall, where five of his greatest warriors stood. No death had come yet between him and the guards, but Gru'Hal honestly knew it was only time. Oh yes, he had let the dark elves go who had been working in this factory - well the ones who wanted to. Others had told him something about, "needing money," whatever money was, and he had let them stay. Though they seemed like hostages, he was firm to let it be known that they were not. All he wanted, after all, was for the people of this city to know that soon Hodekin would arise from the sewers himself and come to claim the land.

The land that had once been their own.

"Gru'Hal, Mister General sir!"

Grunting, Gru'Hal tilted down his crocodilian head to angle an ear hole behind and down, but he never removed his eyes from the approaching guard. What was curious, was that some of them were not dressed in the livery of the city. That was odd. What was more was that -

"Sir, a contingent of mixed race are ... coming sir. To parlay with you."

"To parlay?" Gru'Hal questioned, his hairless brow furrowing.

The small spear-kobold, called Harr'Gar, and who had now established himself as the messenger for Gru'Hal's small occupancy huffed. But nodded. "Yes sir ... a group of um ... them," a small blue hand poked into Gru'Hal's vision and flourished at the city guard (plus others) approaching. "They shouted something about ... you being reasonable?"

"Bah," Gru'Hal straightened again. "I am not reasonable. I am a kobold."

"Yes sir," Harr'Gar agreed, "But apparently we are the only invasion contingent who got drunk on their first night and um ... haven't killed anyone yet."

Ettermire had surpassed expectations in all fashions but one. A Coronian by nature, Storm Veritas had expected the Dark Elves to be far less civil with humans. The rumor of their incredibly aloof and arrogant airs had turned to be a bit overstated. As things turn, with enough Crowns in your pocket, Dark Elves could be more than welcoming. The streets and technology were certainly as advertised – better lit, more clean, and more forward. The food and drink here was superb, and the company was prevalent and generous.

A few more human whores and this place would be paradise, save the Kobolds.

The Kobolds had arrived in a nearby pub, and save the grace and patience of the alluring Philomel, Storm would have caused an outright riot. The little lizard-looking people had come in chirping of “invasion”, and he had tested the limits of Gru’Hal. Gru’Hal had proven a touch more sensible than some of the other amphibian atrocities, but the bar started quite low – physically and metaphorically.

No more. Ettermire has become MINE; these little frog people aren’t taking shit.

Storm had found himself silently perched on a flat top roof, squatting atop the cement and steel structure with his silhouette cutting virtually no signal against the dark night sky. At eye level, three buildings away, perched a sizable contingent of the warriors. They wore the same battle armor that he had seen them drinking in. His eyes were taut slits as he stared at them, chewing slowly on a mouthful of an Alerarian strain of tobacco that kept his pulse slow and temper at bay.

From this range, he could possibly end the whole damned insurrection before it began. Surrounded by steel, wielding metal weapons, the kobolds could likely share a large, shattering arc of lightning that would pulse through them and pop them like so many bubbles of soap. Still, this would be a wildly risky move, likely killing innocents, and turning the entirety of the city against him. Given that Storm had grown fond of dark beers and warm beds, he wasn’t ready to be rushed out of town so quickly.

Patience, I suppose. Sit and wait on them to spread. Pick a few at a time. They have at least a few dozen there; no reason to create unnecessary risk here.

They were planning something, no doubt; looking to expand the pitiful empire and take down Ettermire. Each factory presented reasonable incremental power; owning distribution of the goods throughout the city would grant the little scaled monsters increased influence. How they were taking them was no mystery – they brutally stormed the offices, killing those that would resist, and assumed control. Pushback would come from the police, but they were ill-equipped to combat a militia this size. Such heavy lifting was better left for the gifted.

Such waste management was best left for the wicked.

Yvonne sat high in the saddle of Mead, her chestnut palfrey with a redhead's mane. She rode at the front of a substantial gathering, leading the way at a trot with a city guard entourage. Strangely she had been sought out by city officials, selected to deal with their political mess. Word of her rapport with the kobolds had spread over the last month - she had a cordial relationship with one regiment in over five hundred regiments, but apparently that made her the kobold-whisperer. The grey dwarf tied her hair into a loose, low bun, allowing wispy black bangs to fall from her fringe. The style spoke volumes of how she felt, if you knew a thing or two about dwarven women.

Many significant people she met at The Greyhound were gathering to sort through this kobold-invasion business, the likes of Philomel and Storm Veritas nearby. It was war, there was no denying it and wars rapidly escalate out of hand. A month of people killing each other, far too long a time already. To think wars could drag on for years, the thought twisted her insides into knots of grief and contempt. The death count was rising. There were so many needlessly deceased. How many sons and daughters have we buried? How many mother's and father's hearts need breaking?

The regiment of kobold warriors she was familiar with had besieged an Ettermire factory, disrupting the production chain of incredibly vital airship parts. The Aleraran officials were not overly concerned with kobolds building airships for themselves, but these attacks had ground production to a halt. Evidence suggested their species wasn't intelligent enough to coordinate construction of one, and many more factories would need to be claimed for the threat to become real. Nevertheless it was best to never underestimate your enemies, and to keep in mind Alerar opposed other nations that would use this invasion as an opportunity to sow chaos. Spies undoubtedly lurked in the capital.

It seemed Gru'Hal had been busy fortifying his position, ordering his minions to build barricades which would keep them from storming the building. That was fine. Yvonne had no intention of storming the building. She didn't want to fight with her single-handed friend, or his cohorts. Never did. Her crossbow was strapped to her back of course - it would be folly to participate in a war weaponless, but she would give a great deal to avoid using it. She had to present herself with a measure of strength as strength earned respect from many of these creatures. Alerar building airships and achieving air superiority was a similar show of strength. Building airships prevented wars before they even began. Nobody wants to fight with a more dangerous opponent.

Yvonne brought Mead to a stop near the five kobolds on the wall with a low, elongated "Whoa." She gave his neck a comforting rub as he was tense - as were the city guard, many of them directing their guns at the great kobolds, at the building windows and the rooftop where kobold activity had been spotted during their approach. The dwarf hybrid sighed. Ye lot be making tha situation worse. She gestured at them to lower their guns, annoyed. Some of them did. Others ignored her. Still atop Mead she searched the rooftop, looking for the one in charge of this tiny empire. She wondered whether he would hear her if she spoke loudly enough.

"Gru'Hal, honey? We need ta talk dear," Yvonne hollered, easing into the conversation, watching his five greatest warriors for any sudden movements.
"I not be here ta stir up trouble. Ye know I have yer best interests at heart."
Her silver elven eyes yet scanned the building, fairly confident he was up there within earshot.
"I can leave these guards down here, we trust each other. We'll have a chat, ye and I," she offered, making her request.

His deep green eyes, something similar to the deepest corners of a forest, where the shadows lie awaiting the return of the great mother of all, Nature, surveyed his new empire. That tiny space that he had conquered, that he had held for himself. It had been a good few days so far, with few complaints aside from the city guards. Mostly he had just caused some upset in the general production of something that people called 'hair-ships' - or at least that was how it had been reported to Gru'Hal. He himself had not heard any of the angry comments shouted over the barricades, because he had spent his time up here on the roof.

And this little roof was his palace. It was well decorated, at least in terms of what a kobold needed. A large, wooden chair, similar to something that an aristocrat would lounge in in their afternoon garden took up pride and place. He also had a hastily made standard, made with a few skulls, what they could get of at short notice. That meant rats and a single already dead dog that his kobold warriors had found in the streets, placed against a couple of branches and coloured with some paints they had found in the factory back offices. There was lastly a table made from an upturned crate and filled with all sorts of foods that the kobolds had found to feed their general. Gru'Hal had so far found himself not particularly liking of the pastries and fruits, but the meats at least were good. Especially salted pork. He stood there, listening to his underlings words that a team had come to parlay, and truly hoped that they had brought some salted pork alongside.

"Eh sir, one of 'em is ... says she knows you?"

Gru'Hal turned to see a second kobold, this one a muddy brown, almost black, armed with a crossbow and running onto the rooftop with his chest heaving. Deeply he frowned, having not noticed anyone he recognised in the small group that had now arrived at the barricade.

"What are you talking about?" he growled. "I know of no humans personally here."

"Well she ain't exactly 'uman, sir."

Now that was not a surprise. Because Alerar after all was filled with dark elves, also known as drow. Gru'Hal had done his research recently on the type of culture that they had, with their rich industry - something Hodekin had never really mentioned, and kobolds had only vaguely known about. Now that Gru'Hal was in a factory he had hoped to learn a little more about these 'technologies' and this 'science' but so far it had all been to avail. Neither Hodekin would learn anything, nor Gru'Hal himself. Yet.

"Well, that is not strange here."

"No, sir, but she is insistent. And there are - they eh-"

"They brought bang-sticks, sir," said the first kobold. "Those things that explode and loud and so on."

Gru'Hal scowled deeply, his eyes growing darker as he thought. Certainly if anything was to go by he was not going to go down himself. Those who wished to parlay could come to him. He stared at the crowd that had come had one amongst them who he saw was leaning forwards on a horse, eyes looking up to the rooftop where he was. From this distance Gru'Hal could make out that she was moving her mouth, but no sound was coming up here. It was far too high here, and there were too many things to do. Like sit on a chair and survey his land ... until Hodekin came and truly took it.

Sigh.

"Have her brought up. Her and all the ones who want to talk," he said quietly. "Weapons will not be allowed. Those are my conditions."

"Sir!" The two kobolds squeaked before bowing. Then they glanced each other before scurrying away.

Yvonne hadn’t reeled in the response she’d been fishing for. She’d managed to convey her messages with a booming volume and a gentle manner, but perchance Gru’Hal wasn’t to be found on the building roof where she had first presumed him to be. Her shimmering silver eyes narrowed inquisitively - her craning neck and head thrown back to direct her voice upward began descending down and returning to a normal, comfortable position. Her objective remained the same but she was going to need to overcome the obstacles in her way, like anyone else on this side of the wall would. Her gaze leveled out upon the five elite kobold warriors barring the way before her.

Gru’Hal be ignoring me. That hurts a wee bit. I thought we had something, something special. Mayhap tha power be going ta his head and he be too big for tha likes of little me nowadays. Mayhap he figured out I be tha one who drugged him, on that fateful night we first met. Now he be holding a grudge and won’t talk with me, though I doubt his underlings be so clever as ta piece it all together and explain their theory ta him. It must be tha guns. I wouldn’t be sticking me snout out in front of them either. These city guardsmen and women look nervous and trigger-happy ta me.

The drow-dwarf hybrid brought her right leg over the top of Mead’s neck and saddle, bringing her legs together and hopping the long way down his left side. Always dismount a horse from the left side, Abel’s voice advised her from the memory in her mind. She landed and absorbed the ground’s impact with a squat, pushing off the ground with her hand and arising to a standing position. Yvonne, now looking up at these five elite kobolds guarding the wall, lifted her chin to appear more imperious. They looked glorious overhead, like gargoyles perched menacingly on the eaves at a foreboding cathedral.

“Which one of ye be interested in a promotion?” Yvonne asked, her silver eyes taking each of the beautiful reptiles in one at a time, flicking between each of them, searching for the most eager among them.

“You have no authority over uss, puny one,” the kobold elite standing in the middle of the other four stated conclusively, snorting, identifying himself as an officer of some sort.

“Yer a smart lad, very true. I wouldn’t dream of bossing about tha fearsome kobold race. Quite tha opposite dear,” the black-skinned dwarf lied.

“What do you intend to do, soft-skin?” the kobold officer questioned suspiciously, glancing to his right at another kobold, seeking some kind of reassurance.

“Why, turn meself in of course! It be too dangerous ta oppose yer mighty armies out here, and I be offering ye the opportunity ta capture a war criminal, for tha glory of Gru’Hal! He will surely look favourably upon ye if ye bring me ta him in chains. Yer certain ta rise through tha ranks!” Yvonne encouraged, feigning how scared she was being stuck out here where there could possibly be a kobold patrol soon, fidgeting and looking about.

“I don’t know, little one…” the officer hesitated.

“Oh, that be alright. One of yer fellows beside ye would like a promotion. Mayhap he’ll supercede ye of yer own position!” Yvonne explained, moving on and looking to the others. A few of them were indeed looking around for rope or chains.

“Sstop! To your posts, guards! Our duty is to protect the wall!” the officer commanded, dragging the other two back to their positions. A pity the remaining two kobold elite had the same idea, one of them taking up the chains and the other brandishing the rope. The officer kept half of his men in line but the last two were out of his reach at the edges of the wall. They each leaped down to ground below, with even more grace than Yvonne had exhibited from her horse, each of them scuffling with each other over who was going to bind the little soft-skin and gift her to Gru’Hal.

“Ye can both seize me together,” Yvonne suggested, trying to keep the smile from her features.

The kobold with chains and the kobold with rope looked at each other for a moment, both nodding in agreement. They were rather rough as they bound the surrendering crossbreed, knocking her down to tie her feet and hands, securing her so she could scarcely even wriggle about. There would be no escape unless the kobolds willed it. One of them hauled her up over their shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried her inside the building.

Yvonne gave Philomel a secretive thumbs up as she was taken captive. Philomel looked to the foot-soldiers beside her, shocked. She’d been taken by surprise and momentarily didn’t know what her next course of action was.

As two of the five elites hauled her inside, two new kobolds stepped outside - one a muddy brown-black and the other a hue of blue - exchanged confused glances with the kobold officer on duty and with each other. They had quickly realized the little black-skinned woman, the one who knew Gru’Hal, had been tied up and was about to be brought before their General as a hostage. Gru’Hal didn’t like the concept of hostages. Oh bother, the emerald commander would be cranky about that. What’s more, the useless guards had bound her up with her crossbow still on her person!

“Wait! You foolss!” the brown-black scaled creature shouted back at the duo and their captive, but in the disarray and disorder they were well on their way up the building’s levels. He palmed a clawed, rubbery hand over his shadowing face. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening.

“Gru’Hal will not be pleassed,” the shimmering blue Harr’Gar expressed, sneering at the officer elite. The elite held his snout high and lofty, paying Harr’Gar no mind, ever dutiful in manning the wall.

“We need to ssalvage this situation. Let us bring the others in, without weapons! You imbeciles can handle that much, can’t you? General Gru’Hal will speak to those who have something to ssay! You will leave all bang-sticks on the ground and sstep away. That or no audience will be forthcoming with our Overlord of Gru’Halcyon!” the brown-black kobold asserted irritably.

A few minutes later Yvonne was unceremoniously dumped at the feet of the largest kobold in the building, the scaled reptilian feet of the General in complete control of this contingent and empire. He turned his crocodilian head to the side and eyeballed the miniscule hybrid as best he could, squinting dangerously, noticing the crossbow still attached to her back beneath the bindings.

“What is the meaning of thiss?” Gru’Hal questioned, probing his two elite subordinates for answers.

“We captured a war criminal General! We brought her to you, for your glory,” the most eager kobold elite explained.

“Fools, you have been duped. This is Yvonne, sservant of sweet-drinks,” Gru’Hal chastised, sneering at his minions. “Take this crossbow from her and then get back to the wall, idiotss!”

The kobolds unchained and untied the drow-dwarf mage, one unstrapping the crossbow while the other removed her quiver of bolts. They made themselves scarce, very swiftly after that, leaving Gru’Hal to shake his head in disappointment. He continued to eye the little tribute before him, hissing a sigh and rubbing his scaly forehead in frustration. Before long the others among the entourage would be brought up to the building roof as well, the Overlord’s domain, his palace.

“It be lovely ta see yer smiling face again, Gru’Hal dear. I wish this be a pleasant social call, however we have much ta discuss. Ye have done so well in yer efforts ta carve out a piece of Ettermire for yerself. It be deserving of praise, tha way ye honourably claimed this factory. Be that a throne for ye ta sit in and admire yer kingdom? Ooh, and that be yer battle banner! It be charming! Ye have done well for yerself haven't ye?” Yvonne began diplomatically, eyeing the skulls with wide-eyed wonder.

“However I fear tha element of surprise be on yer side no longer, Gru’Hal honey. Ye must feel it too, feel it in yer bones. This be one factory of many. Ettermire be a vast city, a metropolis-- that be a big word I know, it means really, really big city, that be all,” Yvonne explained for him, caring genuinely for his education, continuing, “--full of dark elves which haven’t been fighting ye. No, not so much. Ye must be beginning ta see it now. These soft-skins don’t fight with honour like yer kobold brethren do! I worry about ye Gru’Hal. I worry about all tha kobolds,” the hybrid paused a moment, letting him process some of the concepts she was laying down for him.