The shattered glass of the observatory dome crunches beneath Moonsprout Beandirt's soft, deliberate steps as he approaches the trio of kobold warriors.
The air crackles faintly with residual lightning magic, a testament to the wyrmling Sparkrender's presence. The kobolds brandish their weapons warily, their scaled faces twisting between fear and fervent loyalty to their draconic master. Moonsprout pauses, his lute slung across his back, and raises both hands in a gesture of peace, his fingers fluttering as if plucking invisible strings.
"You're brave, no doubt about it," he says, his voice light as a summer breeze yet carrying an undeniable gravity.
"But bravery without purpose? Now that's a tale that ends in tragedy. Tell me, does Sparkrender sing songs of your courage? Does he cherish your loyalty as you spill your blood in his name?"
The kobolds blink at him, their reptilian eyes darting toward each other, then back to the halfling. The smallest of the trio hisses uncertainly, but none make a move to attack.
Moonsprout, sensing the hook has caught, steps closer, lowering his voice as though sharing a secret meant only for their ears.
"He doesn't care about you. Not truly. You're expendable to him, just like all the others. But you're more than that, aren't you? You've got dreams, stories to tell. Lives to live."
From within his travel-worn pack, Moonsprout produces a trenchcoat with a theatrical flourish, shaking out its dust as if it were a banner of freedom. The kobolds' eyes widen, their scaly necks craning to take in the garment.
"A chance, my friends," Moonsprout whispers, his tone conspiratorial.
"To leave this ruin, this futile fight, and start anew. The world may question three kobolds, but one towering stranger? They'll let you pass without so much as a second glance."
The tallest kobold snorts, skeptical.
"What's stopping Sparkrender from frying us when he finds out?"
Moonsprout grins, his teeth gleaming in the faint moonlight.
"It won't matter if we end him. But by the time he'd notice your absence, you'll be far from here, free to write your own story. Isn't that worth a gamble?"
The kobolds hesitate only a moment longer before their resolve crumbles. They nod to one another, then to Moonsprout. Together, they scramble into position, the smallest clambering onto the largest's shoulders while the middle one struggles to pull the trenchcoat up and over their scaly forms. With a bit of fumbling and Moonsprout's deft assistance, the disguise is complete—a towering, if somewhat lumpy, figure wrapped in an oversized coat.
As they attempt to move away, sensing an attack of opportunity Aims'orreh barrels forward from the shadow, his greataxe raised high, his face a mask of righteous fury. His booming voice echoes in the ruined observatory, but his battle cry falters as his crimson eyes lock onto the "stranger" in the trenchcoat. The half-orc halts mid-stride, his brow furrowing in puzzlement.
"Uh… apologies," Aims'orreh rumbles, lowering his weapon awkwardly. His hulking frame shifts uncomfortably as he peers at the towering figure. "Didn't mean to block your path there, sir. Strange to see someone out here. Carry on."
The kobolds, precariously balanced under the trenchcoat, manage a collective grunt of acknowledgment and shuffle past with the awkward gait of an ill-constructed golem. Aims'orreh steps aside, his broad shoulders slumping as the immediate tension bleeds away. He glances around the observatory, his confusion deepening.
"Where'd those kobolds run off to?" he mutters, gripping the haft of his greataxe and scanning the room.
Moonsprout, leaning casually against a crumbled pillar, strums a playful chord on his lute.
"Oh, I'm sure they saw the error of their ways. Went to write their own destinies, as it were."
Somewhere in the distance, a trio of kobolds wobble into the distance, whispering excitedly about opening a pie shop.
You're up.
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glad you didn't crit though.))
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