As they moved into the mine Jumah’s claustrophobia began to settle in on him. He forced his apprehension into the back of his mind and focused on the road ahead. The small party worked their way deeper into the mine with startling efficiency considering, or perhaps because of, their small stature.  The entire time they were moving through the dark cavern, lit by the half-dozen small glow-stones hanging from their equipment, Gimbobble was carrying on about how she expected to find the lost Dwarven capital city of Kal’ek T’nal that had been buried since the great ware eons ago.

She went into great, GREAT detail on the architecture and craftsmanship of the capital building and how it had been carved by the first royal family and then added on to when the original structure could no longer sustain their ever-increasing progeny, thus beginning the tradition of the ruling family adding their own wing to the building as soon as they took over the running of things.

She swore that by the time the city disappeared from the world, the capital building would have been easily the size of every other structure in the city combined. Then she started talking about the foundries, smithies (as if every person in Kalijor didn’t already know that Dwarves made all the best gear), and taverns (they also made by FAR the best ale).

Finally Jumah had just stopped listening to her squeaky little voice as it droned on and on in animated fashion about Dwarven this and Dwarven that. Which is why it took him a moment to realize that she had stopped. Looking over his shoulder to where the trio of Gnomes stood stock-still he raised an eyebrow at them as they stared in his direction with looks of horror on their faces.

Briefly he felt a surge of panic run through his body but he quickly forced it back and looked forward again to try and makes sense of what was bugging the Gnomes. Looking into the darkness ahead of him he focused all of his senses and shortly realized that he must have had his head in a bucket not to hear what was bugging the group. Rolling down the tunnel like a tidal wave was the very distinct sound of mining equipment being used to scrape away chunks of rock and stone. The sounds of wheels turning and boulders tumbling. And underlying it all was the sound of… “Singing?” he whispered to himself. Not just any singing either. No, this was singing in a foreign tongue with raspy, squeaky voices that could only be produced by one particular, ornery, fork-tongued creature. “Kobolds..” he finished to himself.

“M…m…..maybe we should t….t….turn b…back…..” One of the porters barely managed through his suddenly chattering teeth.

“N…no… we must….. press on….Right Master Wataru?” Gimbobble tried to sound as stoic as she could from behind the heavy equipment skiff the porters had been carrying. Her unkempt shock of grease-streaked hair and grey eyes all that was visible over the top of the equipment as she hunkered down behind it.

Unseen by the group, a small, scaly creature crept toward them in the dark shadows of the mine. Its wicked dagger held at the ready as its perfectly adapted eyes saw its adversaries standing about deciding what to do with themselves. The creature’s clawed feet seemed perfectly adapted to the rocky terrain as it crept noiselessly toward the group. It was sure this would be the one, this would be the time that it could prove to its elders that it was ready, ready to hunt, ready to sire a family. All it needed to do was bring back one of the little Gnomes, bloody and broken, for them to see… Positioning itself perfectly for the attack it crouched down low, rustled its leathery wings and, gathering its strength, pounced…

Jumah offered the terrified Gnomes a devilish grin, this was his area of expertise. “It’s your coin. If you want to press on, then we press on.” Jumah said as he nonchalantly snatched the leaping Kobold out of the air without looking. The diminutive creature howled and screamed, flapping its tiny bat-like wings uselessly as it scratched at Jumah’s arms and stabbed his flesh repeatedly with its wicked dagger. Jumah held the creature closer to his face, just out of its weapon’s reach and eyed it with his blue eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness.

The Kobold, seemingly realizing that any wounds it actually inflicted on its captor apparently instantly healed themselves, stopped stabbing and scratching and looked him in the eyes. Its narrow, forked tongue darting out to taste the air silently before disappearing back into its pointy face.

Jumah looked at the thing calmly and spoke in a calm, even tone. “How would you like to do me a favor?”