Okakri Rosemaw - The Hunger

[Eira]

“Hssk!” the kobold spat, as she narrowly skittered out of the way of an ogre leisurely ambling its way through the Hub.

In her world of dangling hands or claws and too-big feet, where she could be trampled if she were not careful, Okakri had much too many near-misses to be completely at ease with this place. Even the pack of books on her back, near as big as the kobold herself, and able to be carried only through magic-enhanced strength was no saving grace anymore. Mostly.

Oka still could lose herself to the written word as easily as one might be to some other addiction or comfort. And even so, with the fifty-three books she had hidden away in corners and niches and nooks, it was never enough. She could read one over and over and over again, never truly quite finished with it for good.

And now, the little blue kobold meandered her way closer to the bookshelf in the corner she had silently named Derro-hole. A claw lifted to pick and pull at the tiny scales bordering the empty patches on her snout, where her anxious habits had left naught but smooth blue skin. The scales newly-growing there were still soft, and she had to gnaw at her own hands to resist picking them away once more.

It was her own fault as always of course; she had fallen into the habit of rubbing at her snout whenever she was unsure, and Okakri was unsure a lot. She wouldn’t dare ask All-Watcher what to do more than absolutely necessary, and she worried already that she would jabber much too much at him and he would find another excuse to burn her beloved collection of books. He had threatened as much before, and would again.

But now, the blue-scale was unsure even more than her usual unsurety. Rosphelia had ordered the Rosemaws back, to defend their homeland, and indeed many of her tribe had gone. But All-Watcher had stayed. And in this city full of so much happenings and knowledge, Oka had been finding more and more time spent telling herself excuses as to why she hadn’t left yet.

Her excuse right now was that she technically hadn’t heard the order directed at herself. Only hearsay and rumor and her own conclusion drawn by the fact that most of her tribe seemed to have vanished.

Okakri scrabbled up onto a chair that she had slid up next to the bookshelf, pulling books to the side and passing over old titles to find new ones. There were hardly any books back in the tribal lands, and even her original tribe had hardly any to sate the hunger in her mind and heart for information. But here, she had gotten a bare taste of the Arcanum library, and the kobold could hardly help but hop in place as she thought about the towering shelves, and the room full of books.

Another hop, and she was dangerously close to the edge of the chair before Okakri forced herself to still and regain her balance. A claw reached out to trail over the spines of the books once more, though her light blue eyes were distant, thinking of the possibilities. It had been a long time, but the blue-scale was certain that with her studies and her writings, that they would allow her to join. And then, the sweetest reward of all, she would be able to go to that glorious collection of books whenever she wished!

Perhaps some of them may even stay with her for longer. Much longer.

Her stubby tail twitched as Oka shook her head suddenly, raising a wavering hand once more to rub at her snout. Orders were orders. But orders that All-Watcher did not obey? He was strong and he was cunning, and Oka feared to go against him, though she had certainly been quick enough to run from his anger, even knowing it would be worse next he caught her.

There was a chance that if she could hide long enough, All-Watcher and any others from their tribe might eventually finally return to Rosphelia. Then, Okakri would be free to roam and search for books and knowledge as she pleased. The destruction of her no-longer-worthy-of-a-name tribe and assimilation into the Rosemaws had already been a blessing in disguise; it brought her to this place.

“Sshe could rissk it,” the kobold muttered to herself as she hooked a book and pulled it free from the shelf. “Sshe iss little and sshe can hide. He doess not look among bookplacess.”

Making it into the Arcanum once hadn’t been hard. She could do so again, and surely even he wouldn’t go there. Flipping through the book, her mouth opened in a sharp smile that just as quickly vanished. If the All-Watcher did catch her, he would flay the scales from her hide and hang her up in the warren. Orders were orders.

But it was as the Tzu had implied, there was more to life than merely following orders. And the Tzu had said that her hunger for books and for knowledge, it was a good hunger, to be fostered.

So, Oka would stay. And Oka would hide. For the hunger.

[Eira]

First Entry

The Ger is infuriating! He is lucky she does not eat him. He reminds her of Nert and if he makes more jests, she will kick him into a deep dark hole and throw magic at him and laugh as he is knocked down. And she will laugh and laugh and laugh and throw more magic at him. All of a sudden, she wonders if this is how the Vultzi feels about her and she is glad that she was never as bad as the Ger.

She thinks she wasn’t. All she did was read. And hide. Lots. She would prefer if the Ger would read. Then perhaps the Ger would stop talking so much.

But this one was lonely. She is not upset to have more kin by her side now that the Vultzi and others of her tribe have left. For the first time, she is free to do what she wishes. She does not have an All-Watcher to order her around. She is her own All-Watcher now. Okakri is her own All-Watcher!

She is not sure what to do now that she has realized that. She has finished the first test of her Arcanum Thesis, and now she has the Ger to help her. She wonders if he knows how to create the Music. If he does not, she will have to find another or continue to create the Music herself.

But the Ger can help with her other thesis when he is stronger and when this one has learned more about her magic. She is not yet certain of how to get to the Above, but she has many many experiments to continue in the Below. She will need to teach the Ger how to catch subjects for her. She hopes he will be strong enough. She is also not sure how to catch subjects either.

But no matter. They can both learn; she is sure of it.

She realizes her notes were not complete with the first test. She must ask many more questions of her subject. She hopes she will be able to track down the red-scale again to finish asking all the questions about the Music. But perhaps she may risk finding a drow elf for the next one! She has seen many interesting drow elves but she must find a new one that she has not spoken to before.

For the experiment to work, the subject must not know of the experiment and must not know why this one is asking about the Music. And if one experiment changes, she must do all of them over again to reflect the new changes. Especially for her next thesis, she thinks that if the subjects have a chance to prepare, they may not show their true reactions to the experiment and then all the knowledge she has gained will be lost!

She wishes to hit something when she thinks about all her writings and studies and notes being useless. She is glad she has been hiding all of her books in a safe place. No one has found them yet and she is able to go there and hide and read before she plans her next test.

The main problem this one sees with future tests is that she does not much want to experiment with the gnoll-kind. She feels an itch in her scales when they are near. But she must make sure the experiment is thorough and she must admit they are one of the intelligent species found Above and Below and she must steel herself and test one.

She thinks of the Dustwrought. They are strange, though she is sure she likes them. They treat kin well and have a large warren and she is sure they are very powerful. She wonders who their dragon is; if they even follow a dragon. It is almost unthinkable to her, but she did not serve a dragon before her-old-tribe-which-has-no-name-worth-remembering was destroyed by the Rosemaw. And what is she doing now if not lacking a dragon to serve?

Okakri is her own All-Watcher. This one must remember that. She is more than a mewling wretch that only lives to follow orders. She must learn from the advice that she was given. And she will. She will do better.

In the meantime, this one and the Ger have much work to do. He will learn where not to test her patience and she will finish her thesis and record all of her knowledge and feed the hunger.

All that matters is the Hunger.

[Eira]

Second Entry

This one knows she wrote she is her own All-Watcher, but she has been called All-Watcher of Rosemaw and the Ger and the Mikkru follow her lead and the Tzu watches her so so so closely and the others know her as Rosemaw and she is not ready for this! All she wanted was to finish her thesis! She did not want to be responsible for the Rosemaw and to be watched and seen and known. The Hunger grows and grows and grows and it is not enough; never enough for her.

The Ger is eager to carry on the reputation their tribe deserves. He is good. He has the fire in his belly and she is glad for his presence at her side. This one still has her scrolls ready to scorch his snout when he pokes it too far, but she is no longer so infuriated. And the Mikkru! She is not quite sure what that one has done to earn her… magicks, but Oka will watch her eggmate carefully. She is concerned some, but where would the Oka be if she was not aware enough to be concerned every so often?

And grah! The human. The Oka has no idea what to think. She said so much and heard so much and learned so much. And the books! The glorious books, the wonderful library and for once peace and quiet where none tromp through and nearly crush her. No one can find her there except for the human and she is not displeased with that. But what she knows and what she thinks she knows and what she needs to learn are all different and she is not sure anymore who to listen to. But she needs to knowledge and the human is willing to give the knowledge. He It said it liked the Oka and she feels strange to think about it. Why should she care about what a human thinks of her? He It is not kin or tribe at all.

It is not bad, she thinks. Knowing this human and speaking with him it of books and studies; she had so many ideas from a single cycle! And it has same the Hunger for knowledge she feels in her chest. She could hear that in its voice and she knows what voices sound like when hungering. She is not pleased he it called her book boring, but she knows it must have seen so many books. It is over thrice her age and has seen so much and this one can hardly carry all her books without them scattering all over the place.

She thinks a lot of how confused she is by the human and she wants to thunk her face into a wall to stop! She must focus on her thesis and she already finished with that one and she must go on to the next one so she can hurry up and finish and join the arcanum! Then she will be able to have many many more books and words and knowledges. The human must not distract her from the Hunger. Anything distracting from the Hunger is bad and wrong and needs to be destroyed. And she will burn out all the other thoughts and the confusion until she does not distract herself anymore.

But she will not burn the human. She does not really want There is still purpose. She just must put him it aside until later. Maybe. She can still learn much. There are unanswered questions that she also thinks lots about. GRAH! She does not even feel better writing out what she wants to shout. There are so many thoughts bumping around this one’s mind and she does not know what to think about first! And she cannot stop them. She wishes she could have the same mind as the Ger where thoughts only come once a cycle if even that and nothing to be troubled about.

That is unfair of her. The Ger has many good thoughts and ideas and she would not wish another at her side. Except maybe the Mikkru. And the human. But only because the human is powerful. And he it is not tribe. Not kin. It is not even scaled. The sharing of the Hunger does not mean that the human will be more important than tribe. It is fascinating but only because of her experiments. Only because it promises knowledge and she needs knowledge. This one will not be tricked by it into weakening her resolve and changing who she is. She will learn about others to understand them, but she will remember that they are not kin and will never be kin. There are kin and meat and meat that is too useful to be meat yet.

She will just continue repeating this to herself until she no longer forgets it.

[Eira]

"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRHHHHHHHH!"

The kobold stood in the empty room, her chest heaving the the force of her shout. As the last echoes died away, she glanced around guiltily and hoped that no one else had chosen that moment to come inside. A few blinks of her pale eyes later, and the blue-scale relaxed enough to scuttle forward along the walkway and throw her scrawny self into a pile of pillows.

"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Oka flung her spear away.

Then she winced at the ringing clatter it made as it struck the far wall and fell into the depths of... well wherever this was. She still wasn't sure. But the spear was gone now, and if she strained, she could still hear it occasionally striking the smooth stone of the pit. Oka let out a long hiss of a sigh. She would have to find yet another one.

"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHH."

It was cathartic in a way.

[Eira]

Third Entry

This one believes she may have made a grievous miscalculation when beginning her studies of human nature. She is not quite sure yet what the miscalculation may have been, but she is quite sure there must be an error somewhere. Nothing but a mistake in expectations and hypothesis could leave her as unsettled and speechless as she has been.

Perhaps more studies are in order. Her research is very important after all, and she would not wish to leave it unfinished or flawed.

[Eira]

Fourth Entry

Meddling, meddling, these ones are so meddling! It is as she has read, when they see something happening, they cannot help but stick their snouts into it and jabber and snarl and get involved. Even tribe business; Rosemaw business and she only bides her time and waits and waits until a snout is poked too far, and she rips it off. If they do not heed the Ger’s warnings, they will deserve what happens to them, she is sure. And the Ger does not give many warnings.

As for the Nu… GRAH she would so dearly love to rub its face into a meal more fitting to its eternal hunger. Perhaps a golem, better to dull its teeth and blunt its claws. She nearly tore its throat out, but she must remember, lessons first, always chance for learning, even if the Nu is dim-witted and ruled by its belly, it is able to learn. They are all able to learn and she will slowly scorch every scale and turn it on a spit over a fire until the lesson is as scorched into its mind. Aie, yes, she must keep her beloved collection of books close; very close lest the Nu’s teeth find their way into one that is truly precious.

The human offered up an invitation for them to the peaceful place; the one with so many books and dark corners to hide and sleep, but this one thinks that would be disastrous. The Nu chews on so much and the Ger- well, she cannot imagine the Ger agreeing to peace any more than she can imagine herself casting away her books. Bloodshed and fury are the air the Ger breathes and the ground under his claws. The others speak of Ger the same as they speak of the Vultzi, but she knows, oh yes, she knows all too well the difference. The Ger thinks of nothing but the bloodshed and the death and the killing, she can see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice and feel it when he is with her.

She would have no other be her Embertooth, oh yes.

He has much to learn still, so much, yes. But he will soon see that these ones have nothing to fear from the wyrms; not any longer. The Vultzi saw to that, and aie, she wishes she could have witnessed that final execution of the Rosephelia. But from the wyrms, there is power and strength, and she sees that so well, she knows how to take that strength; she is sure of it. When her tribe has proven themselves, she shall show them her secrets and they shall have the strength and fire of the blood she does. The strength and fire of the blood of the Vultzi.

More come to the city. The tribe is not so large, nor does it grow quickly, but she is not concerned. She can tell that these new kin will have the Hunger and the Cunning and the Will and they do not let any wyrm or longlegs step on them. All she needs now is a Listener and she will know the claws of the tribe are strong and put to use in blood and industry.

This one must speak with the drow elf and the golden human again soon. And with that one, the human that perplexes her so. She must decipher the mystery and learn what her errors were and how she may learn more of it and decide if it will be useful to her. At least, she has already decided that she does not dislike being in its presence, but not disliking does not mean that it is useful, though she is sure; she thinks it will be. She may have to consult with the Ger of uses and deciding what to do with it and how.

She is not entirely sure what they will do if these ones decide that it is not useful. GRAH she does not want to admit that she actually enjoys No. No. She will not write it. It is wrong. She cares for kith and kin and it is neither of those and the last thing she wishes is to act like a vithing human. It is for her research, that is all.

Of course it is useful to her. Why would it not be? It feeds the research and research feeds the Hunger, therefore it is necessary to the Hunger and she will not tear out its eyes and eat its ears and scatter its blood among the rocks and carry its bones around her wrist.

And as for the drow elf… She is still unsure. She is suspicious of it; for it is elf. But she can trust in that it must be as selfish as is she and as is her tribe. So, it acts in its own interest and it sees that it can use her tribe. It is correct that her tribe’s interests and its interests align… for the moment. But if it thinks it can bully her tribe into doing what it wants, it will learn very quickly that these ones do not fear what it thinks they will fear, oh yes, she very much wishes to see the look on its face when it realizes that these ones are no easily-tamed lizards, yes, she knows how the elves speak of them when they cannot hear and when they can hear.

She wishes to return to the Surface, she thinks. Perhaps when she and the Nu and the Ger and the Mikkru are stronger, she will take them back there. More prepared. Better prepared. No longer will she fear and worry about the sun and the wind and the tall ones. No longer will she hide. She is Rosemaw and she is All-Watcher, and she fears nothing; least of all the potential for knowledge and purpose and adventures.

This one remembers her old fears, and they seem foolish to her now. She is warier now, oh yes, but she is not afraid. There is no purpose to it.

But… she must still speak of what worries her. If she is ready for her tribe. When the Vultzi comes back, if the Vultzi comes back, will he flay her or say that she is acceptable? She knows she is not nearly as strong as he is, even the Ger could easily break her claws if the Ger wished to and if the Ger did not respect the magic in her teeth and scales and breath. Even the Nu could! But she knows the Nu fears her now as it fears the touch of fire from her and her anger.

It was necessary for it to learn.

This one will not tolerate her tribemates standing in the way of her Hunger. The Nu has hunger, but it is not the Hunger, not as she knows it. The Ger helps feed her Hunger as she feeds his Hunger. If the Nu does not find its Hunger, she will have to help it; even if she must throttle it to find out.

She only cares for two. Tribe and the Hunger. All else can burn.

[Eira]

“One thousand, three hundred and twenty-five,” the kobold muttered to herself, twisting back so she could peer at her back with a small cracked mirror. “One thousand, three hundred and twenty-sssix. One thousand, three hundred and twenty-ssseven. One thousand, three hundred and twenty-eight-”

Though unable to reach a claw back to trace at her scales, she tapped the mirror as she continued counting. Her stubby tail continued moving, punctuating each word with a twitch and dry rustle of scales.

“One thousand, three hundred and thirty-two. One thousand, three hundred and thirty-thrrree.”

Oka continued twisting and hissing her numbers, a claw of her foot scraping the floor as she strained to keep balance and yet still ensure she did not miss a single scale.

“One thousand, three hundred and forty-sssi-GRAH!”

Stretching too far, she toppled over as her balancing foot left the floor. Oka hit the ground with a thud, a sprawl of limbs and scarf and the mirror flying up and up into the air to catch the light before it tumbled down in a threatening descent to the floor. Her hands reached up, flailing to catch the delicate piece of glass, but it merely bounced off her grasping claws to land with a clatter and crash on the flagstones.

Oka cringed at the resulting shattered tinkling. Carefully, oh-so-carefully, she turned over on her side and rubbed at her leg where she had landed. Bits of glass had scattered everywhere, and she let out a hiss as a large shard sliced her hand. Setting her teeth together, the blue-scale stood and looked around. Blood dripped freely to splatter on the floor, and Oka raised the wound to her mouth to suck on it.

A glance around. No one was there to see; but if glass shards were found stuck in the cushions and the rug, someone could get hurt. Like she had. Not that she particularly cared about that, of course, she had to hurriedly remind herself. But she would not want to make the human upset. If the human were upset, perhaps it would not be so open about letting others in the peaceful place. And then she would be unable to read so much. Or interview the others. Or learn from it. Or all sorts of other things that she assured herself were the reason she cared.

With a huff and a few careful steps forward, Okakri picked up the now-empty bronze frame of the mirror. She would have to find another one or perhaps carve a piece from the other mirrors; the ones too big for her to carry easily. She had tried once, of course. But taking one of them away unnoticed was a feat that she, with her puny muscles and distinctive… self, had been unable to achieve.

She crouched down to begin the tedious process of picking up all the mirror pieces. But, even so, it was not too excruciatingly long before she had deemed the carpet safe enough for walking. At least, safe enough for those with scales. The particularly bigger pieces, she had set aside on a couch. Perhaps they could still be useful enough before she finally tossed them away.

With another breathy sigh, Oka raised a hand to stare at it. Another claw lifted to poke at the very smallest scales of her fingers, one by one.

“One… two… three…”

Her counting echoed through the large room.

[Eira]

Fifth Entry

Oh, her scales, they are so beautiful! So blue and with hidden shine and they do not itch or twist and she feels no urge to rip them out; not like her others. She would gladly go through such the pain of searing every bit of her flesh so she might be covered snout to tail with scales such as these. But she does not even have to be in pain, yes, the human is industrious and cunning and can protect her from the teeth of fire. And it surprises her; it goes to so much effort for one it calls friend and she does not understand the why! The why or the how or the use or purpose!

It asks for nothing in return and she does not understand! The others all had wants in return, even if they did not say so, even if they said they wanted nothing, what they wanted was in the depths of their voices and the glint in their eyes and the promise in the future. She watches it ever so carefully, but she can see nothing of its desires, only what it says. And she does not understand how what one says and what one means can be so one and the same. But no, she has not been as wary as she should be. It is better at hiding its desires than she had expected, she thinks. She knows, she has been told, it is unpredictable, and she would be a fool to think she would completely understand it.

But can it be tamed?

Perhaps. That is the question above all else; the one that her research thus far has been unable to answer, and yet she is not even sure if she wishes it to be answered, at least in the way that would confirm above all else the truth. It would be easier to let such a question be answered by her Embertooth; she could let the Embertooth deal in matters of humans and the longlegs and all the infuriatingly difficult questions that she hates to let linger unanswered.

But to do so would mean that she would see less of the human, and the concept fills her with revulsion, though she is unsure as to the source. Does this one despise loss of a subject; of research she has spent cycles upon cycles crafting and writing? Or perhaps giving the seeking of knowledge to her Embertooth, who by his very title is more fit to gnaw and scorch rather than learn and develop? Or does she hate the idea of being alone? She is never alone; not truly while she has her tribe, but she rarely has someone she can confide in about her studies and her worries and her writings.

Or perhaps her own revulsion is with herself and her weakness and how she finds it so hard to speak or write obvious truths to herself such as how her thoughts often turn to a vithing human more so than it does to her tribe. She cannot deny that it is useful, tamed or not. But at what cost? This one wrote and she said to herself that she will not allow it to change her or to make her weaker, and yet she feels a fire dimming. But the Hunger is as strong as ever, so she does not know what this spark is that her association with the human is dulling.

She could be imagining it all. This one’s own worries cause her thoughts to swirl and curdle and make her doubt herself and her actions. But her Embertooth does not doubt her and her tribe does not doubt her, or else she would be eaten already. The Hunger has guided her this far. She is sure she is not wrong.

[Eira]

Sixth Entry

This one remembers a story her broodparent would tell the clutch in the early cycles; before the Rosephelia and the Rosemaw and the Vultzi and all the other colors came to them. Those cycles were dark and warm and full of more shades of blue than this one has ever seen; even now. She misses her earlier cycles, sometimes. They were of a simpler time. She could run with her eggmates and lay among the Zurki’s hoard of books and listen to him rumbling and huffing as he cleaned his scales of blood and dirt.

She was never a good storyteller, and whenever she tried, the Zurki would strike her on her nose and tell the story himself. His Hunger was stories, after all, and it gnawed at his tail to allow a story to be told badly.

And so, this one would listen to him as he spoke of fierce hunts, and of the great blue Iddrynnith, ruler of their tribe until the foulest of creatures ambushed him and took his head and blood and scales and used them for their rituals to their demon-god, of whom this only learned only recently was named Yeenoghu. But those were many many years before she had been hatched, and this one is not too disappointed by that outcome when she thinks of it now. Aie, yes, perhaps the tribe faltered, but from that faltering, they became Rosemaw and thus became powerful.

But she remembers her favorite story. Even if the Iddrynnith was long dead and rotted away, it was still alive in the Zurki’s memories and stories and in the Oka’s memories of the Zurki’s stories after he had been ripped apart. The Zurki would sit next to the nest and hum low low low in his chest as he struck the drum no others were permitted to touch. And he would speak and her mind would become bright and alive with the vision of what story he told. Every single time.




This one had not thought of the story and those lessons for many years. She oft repeats the last lesson to herself; especially now when she is so unsure about what to do. It seems to her that the line between meat and not-meat has blurred. After all, how can she define useful? Is it useful to enjoy one’s company and feel better after she has spoken with them and seen them? Is it useful to be happy? She is wondering if she is using that word correctly. What is happy? What does it feel like? She knows to be pleased and to enjoy are similar to the feelings she gets when she has eaten. It is a fulfilling of the Hunger. Fulfilling of her studies. But happy is different. At least, she thinks so.

But the Zurki is dead and the Iddrynnith is dead and Okakri is able to make her own lessons and her own rules. She had already started so with the Nu and the Ger, and only the Mikkru would be able to remember those days and the old tales. So much had changed from her tribe-that-no-longer-can-be-named, and perhaps it is time that the Oka changes as well.

Of course, that does not mean she will set aside Rosemaw. Tribe first and Hunger first. Change can come later. And the Zurki’s lessons can still be used. She still is wary and cunning and does not set aside knowledge lightly. She keeps telling herself until she can believe her own words, it is useful to the Hunger. And she needs the Hunger to be fulfilled.

Perhaps there is a fourth. Kin. Meat. Not-meat-until-it-is-no-longer-useful. And… something else.

She will ponder it.

[Eira]

Entry Seven

This one is realizing that she is now reaching one of the difficult parts of being All-Watcher. War is coming, she is assured, and the longlegs come to her and court her with sweet words and offers of aid, but she knows that it is not her they are courting, but her tribe. That is what it means to be All-Watcher. What she says; her tribe says. What is said to her is heard by the tribe. What coin she finds goes to the tribe. Gifts? Tribe. Aid? Tribe. War? Aie, war goes to the Ger and then the tribe, for the All-Watcher and the tribe stand at the Embertooth’s back in matters of bloodshed.

She was well aware of it, of course. Her tribe is new enough and is not firmly settled in any positions, and all offers of meetings with her are for the courting that the longlegs desire so much. And of course, that is risky for her. Any requests she might have of others; they say they do not need coin, but perhaps the All-Watcher could see fit to stand with them in the future. To support them. To put her words with their and against others. And those others say, well they do not need coin, but perhaps the All-Watcher could-

These ones cannot stay uncourted forever. She watches and she listens and she is learning of what each one truly seeks, but she sees what she agrees in one and sees what she agrees in another and sees more agreement in yet another and another, and cannot see enough that she does not agree with to choose any side. She could say her tribe does what they wills and take any consequences of that, but she must be wary of creating new enemies. And if this one is truly unsure; she knows she can remember what decisions the Vultzi had made and think of what the Vultzi would do if he faced this situation.

But she is not the Vultzi.

Her Hunger is stilled in favor of working for her tribe, and as much as the human pesters her about her thesis and the Arcanum, she knows it is not so simple that she can step back from being All-Watcher to merely become Okakri the researcher. She can be both, but while the tribe is still growing, she must be there as All-Watcher and grow strong and keep the Ger and the Hungry and the Mikkru in line.

The Ger tests her. She can see it. He is quick to bare his teeth, and she must be quick to respond, else fire and magicks won’t be enough to tame his Hunger. But she won’t break him, oh no, she does not want that. She wishes to kindle his Hunger and set him loose, for she has her list of the tribe’s enemies, and they are enough to feed his Hunger and surround him with bloodshed for many cycles more. She just has to show him the right enemies at the right time, and merely has to trail along behind him and poke at the corpses and she will laugh and laugh and laugh for the Ger will tear through whoever she can place in front of him, she knows this.

All she has to do is ensure that the human is never one of those that the Ger chooses to sate his Hunger with. Such a conflict would be disastrous, and it would take her many cycles to fix whatever outcome.

Oh, she hungers for the cycle she no longer has to halt her tongue and dampen her words. She is All-Watcher of her tribe, yes, but she is a wise All-Watcher and she knows that to be unthreatening is to be unnoticed. She can let the Ger snarl at the longlegs and the other tribes and she will stop him… occasionally, but she is the voice of the tribe and they will see that her voice is respectful and diplomatic, even as her warleader Hungers for death. If both All-Watcher and Embertooth sought conflict, they would create many more enemies. If both All-Watcher and Embertooth were meek, they would be overtaken. She learns of balance and perhaps she was meek once, but no more.

She hungers for the cycle… But for now, she listens and she watches and she writes and writes and ensures that her tribe will grow and thrive. Those ones may meddle, but she has written before that they will learn she and her tribe are no easily-cowed lizards. The non-scaled are meat. Nothing but meat. And she will laugh as she gnaws on their bones.

[Eira]

Entry Eight

This one needs to focus on her thesis! She has decided, while the Ger handles their new tribemates, she will prepare the thesis and she will prepare the ritual. With the aid of the longlegs, she nearly has everything else she needs; thus, she shall tell the Ger to test them and ensure that their blood is thick, and their Hunger is strong. But then she shall soon finish her thesis and be part of the Arcanum and the tribe can only benefit from such a thing, oh yes. The human is right to push and prod her; she feels herself losing touch with her Hunger as she is focused so much on being All-Watcher.

She has interviewed some, but still seeks others. But she is wise and has created a list of everything she needs and where she plans to find them.

Above:
- Sun Elf (she has heard of an elf city. Perhaps if she goes there?)
- Moon Elf
- Wood Elf
- Wild Elf (her research has made it unclear if these ones are a different species altogether or just a flightier wood elf, but she writes them for accuracy)
- Half Elf (she thinks she may be able to find some of them Below perhaps)
- Shield Dwarf
- Gold Dwarf (she wonders how much gold these ones really have to be named such)
- Wild Dwarf
- Rock Gnome (unpleasant, yes, but she needs accuracy. Can always be eaten later)
- Forest Gnome (she has read that these ones are harder to find, but she is good at tracking)
- Lightfoot Halfling
- Ghostwise Halfling (she is also unsure about these ones. She has spoken to some who have seen them, but never herself)

Below
- Goblin (she will remember to bring a bucket)
- Hobgoblin
- Half Orc (she thinks she may also be able to find one Above, but there are enough Below)
- Ogre (so big! Grah. If she fails to find one of these, she will name herself blind)
- Gnoll (she shudders to think of speaking with one, but it is necessary, though unpleasant)
- Svirfneblin (deep gnome. Also unpleasant, but she can still speak with it)
- Duergar (grey dwarf. She has seen many of these, but she hopes not to talk to the unpleasant one, else she will eat it)
- Red Kobold
- Blue Kobold (she cannot interview herself, unfortunately)
- Green Kobold
- Black Kobold (the Ger might be an option, but he already knows of her studies)
- White Kobold (she should have interviewed the Vultzi when she was in their homeland! Grah!)

She has seen some scaled kin of the metallic colors, but she is not quite sure she can find enough to interview. She hadn’t even known her kin could bear the scales of the Metallics, and she wonders about the state of their minds. If she sees enough, she will be sure to decide whether they truly should be included; she knows she has spoken with the human about being as accurate as possible, but perhaps choosing ten species of kobold is too much, when she already has five. After all, is she hunting down fiends and dragons to interview? No, she is not.

As for the ritual, this one is certain the Fivefold will give these ones her favor. She would not test them as stringently as she had planned for the others; the disaster with that lack-scale makes her teeth grind and ache. But it is good that it showed its weakness this early; else she would have been taken by surprise later on, and this one hates being surprised. It is known, these ones are better when they have planned for every possibility. She is ensuring that she does so; they will never be surprised ever again.

The Hungry will be tested. This one has found a book that she thinks it would like to KEEP rather than eat. For if it keeps the book, then it has even more it can eat, and she is sure that the lure of more food and her wrath will tempt it from its gnawing ways. So she will give it this book “Mighty Feast Time” and she will watch it carefully. This one is unsure if she will tell it that she is testing it; perhaps it is not quite smart or wise enough to realize. Does it even know what a test is? She has realized that the Zurki was very wise and had much knowledge that it could teach her. If she judges Blackmaws by the Ger and the Hungry, they are… less wise.

As always, her tribe tests her and makes her claws curl, but she will guide them to industry and fulfillment.

[Eira]

Entry Nine

The Rosemaw blood is hot and strong, this one can write, for she has seen them walk into her flame with no fear and no hesitation. Are they all warriors? Perhaps not, but that is why she has the Embertooth and his Sootsnouts. That is why she makes alliances and deals. That is why she teaches them to grow strong in the magicks even as she has.

They are bound to this one and to the Fivefold and they are bound to the Vultzi and the future of the Rosemaw. And no more will they fear the wyrms, she has taught them that they may consume and grow stronger. For every drop of Metallic blood down their throats is another kindling spark to the fire that rages at the core of their Hunger. She knows it must have been the Vultzi’s secret, for how could he grow so strong as to challenge the Red? But the rest of the tribe will be strong as well, and they will be weapons in the Vultzi’s claws, but before, they will be weapons in this one’s claws.

She is pleased with the Goidrdrchi, perhaps the first newcomer she does not worry about. The Dreechi will be a strong tender to the Rosemaw brood, even if she seems to think that this one and the Embertooth are no more than hatchlings themselves. But it makes this one amused to see the Ger submit to the Dreechi’s broodparentings, lest he be struck with the Listening Stick. The Ger is learning to listen, oh yes. And the Dreechi ensures that the tribe is fed and rested and has enough water, and these ones have been eating so well since she arrived in the city.

And to be blessed by the Fivefold! Aie, this one is almost envious and wonders what it must be like to hear the whispers and answers to the prayers that the Goidrdrchi hears, but this one certainly has never been suited for priesthood. The Dreechi is wise and cunning and the tribe can only be stronger to have her with them. This one will task the Hungry with protecting the Dreechi. It was what she had thought up of cycles before; to pair these ones for protection. The Ger with this one. The Dreechi with the Hungry. (And it is even more appropriate, the Dreechi has no shortage of food and the Hungry has no shortage of hunger). And this one is not quite sure if the Mikkru will need a protector, she seems to be doing well on her own. But tribe must stay together, and this one thinks that they are stronger in pairs.

As for Ger and the elf… this one is sure her Embertooth is going to end up flayed in some public place if he cannot succeed on the attempt at diplomacy that this one is hoping he will make. She has stepped back; she cannot be the one to always mend offense he gives. He does not even mean to give offense! That is just how the Ger is as who he is. He just says what he thinks, if he thinks, and this one can only stand back and watch and either laugh or hide her eyes. But that is how she knows he is getting to be more dangerous.

The Ger questions her alliance with the human, indeed he says the word “friend” as if he expects her to be tricked into admitting that is what she feels about it. As if she were human herself and not blue-scale and not All-Watcher. But it is not what she feels! She has told him time and time again that the human is only of use to her and she will eat it as soon as it is no longer useful or if it brings harm to the tribe. She has her list. He knows she has her list! The human has not yet earned the right to be on the list. That is for all the gnomes and the dwarves and the elves and yes, that one, the slave that called them adorable and laughed as if it believed it would stay living forever; as if it believed they do not have long memories.

These ones have very long memories and very sharp teeth, so yes, that is why she has her list and she adds more descriptions every cycle of who they are and what they have done. So let the unscaled say what they wish and do what they wish. These ones pick their battles very carefully, and they do not need to openly announce their quarrels like the elves and humans do, writing it for all the city to see. No, these ones do not need to draw attention like that. Let the unscaled fight their wars and shout their petty bickering with so many threats the air is clogged. She and her Embertooth will plan and decide when is right to strike, and they will use this diplomacy to make the unscaled think they are, yes, friends with the Rosemaw.

But of course, these ones will not merely accept the many insults that are offered to them. That would be foolish weakness. When it is not the time for sharp teeth, sharp tongues often do, and the Ger and this one are well-practiced at speaking together to cow those ones. And if sharp tongues will not do… well the Hungry is always hungry and there is always the list.

But she thinks of the human again. She is not sure if worry is the right word for when she writes of it, but she grows ever-more-concerned with him it. Has it erred in her eyes? She is still deciding. But it is unpredictable, and she sees it is not easy to control and she sometimes wonder if she will ever succeed. But she is still pleased when she is in its presence and she still has much to learn from it. And so yes, it is still useful to her.

The Hungry has still not eaten the book she has given it. That pleases her. It is finally learning. She is concerned that it continues to test the Embertooth’s patience, but she starts to see that most of its foolishness is to goad a reaction from the Ger. Perhaps it is more cunning that she first thought, and she is pleased to have more cunning in her tribe. And what the Sootsnouts do to goad their Embertooth is of the Embertooth’s concern. He will handle them as he does, and she will witness the bloodshed.

The Zurki once said that to teach hatchlings, one must use both meat and spear. To hold the meat before their nose, and spear to prod at their tail. This one thinks that it works very well and will work for the Hungry. It is still young. And with the Dreechi to hold the meat and the Ger to hold the spear, it will grow into a fine black-scale indeed. A fine warrior.

She holds hope for her tribe.

[Eira]

Entry Ten

Oh, this one is so pleased with the new ones she has found for the tribe. Their blood is weak now, yes, but only because their minds are weak, and their wills have been beat down by the dominion of the unscaled. She will teach them, for she has found they are willing to learn. It is a shame their brood was one so easily pressed into service, but that is how it is in the West, she has found, the kin here are strange and full of strange ways and they would even start to believe they are no better than the dirt they grovel on.

These ones may be cunning, and they may serve and allow the unscaled to believe they are slaves and they are low and unworthy, but they must never believe it, else they lose the strength of blood and sharp of tooth. And this one chides herself; too often she has allowed her temper to get the best of her when she has not the Embertooth to contrast her words with the viciousness of his own. Oh! She hates dwarves so, but she must not allow that one to draw her ire again, not when she has not her tribe with her. They allow her to temper her words and her actions and to think before she acts, and they are lessons she must continue to remind herself of.

The Dreechi is proving to be even more helpful than this one could have expected. Not only does she tend to the tribe, but she has shown such wisdom and capacity for, oh, this one hates that word, for improvisation that this one is sure she can throw the Dreechi into any situation and the Dreechi will act accordingly and do so without shaming or weakening the tribe. Will she make a good Listener? This one can only wait and see, for she has heard of another Fivefold priest to arrive soon and perhaps he will be more worthy or perhaps the Dreechi will slit him throat to belly.

This one feels as if war my come, and she feels itchy in the base of every scale where she is unable to scratch, and she hates that she cannot. She would rather it all happened finally, so she could focus on the truly important thoughts, but at every turn she feels as if there will be bloodshed, and so she waits and watches and listens and hopes that the itch is wrong. She still has questions for so many, but to track them down to speak is a task that requires more waiting than doing, and aie, this one hates waiting above all else.

And the GOBLINS! Oh, to burn that foolish red-scale was so satisfying, she wishes she could do it once more so she could truly ensure that the lesson was taught, and he will not make such a mistake again. Perhaps she had been more harsh than necessary, but there was no lasting harm done; these ones are shown to be favored by the Fivefold and the Fivefold allows such lessons to be recovered from so they may be learned. And so, he has learned and the Legreeskre learned by watching the lesson taught, and so this one is pleased that that one is wiser than the red.

The Legreeskre is as concerning as the Mikkru; perhaps more. This one cannot fathom why any gifted with such blood as these ones would need to turn to the fiendish, but perhaps it is a symptom of her scales. There is a reason white-scales are not like the others, though the Vultzi was even strange among the white-scales as he is now ruler of these ones all. She is relieved that the Legreeskre does not seem to be as angry as the Vultzi. She does not think she could handle two of her tribe with the Vultzi’s type of anger; even the Ger is not as angry but the Ger is still so very angry.

SO very ANGRY, that the Ger continues to be challenged to DUELS. She does not understand WHY. Grah. She does understand why but she wishes the Ger would guard his tongue more. But if he did, as she is sure she has written before, he would not be the Ger and thus he would not be as useful an Embertooth to her. She needs someone who does not think as much before he acts, or else she would muddle in place forever and think in circles until she fell on her own tail. But also he may be the one to act first while she decides whether to be aggressive or be diplomatic, he is useful for giving her more time to think and yes, she is always the more diplomatic of the two. Always.

She must remember to ask the human; one of the humans, how to bind books of her own. She is running out of pages in her journals, and she wishes to add all her observations and bind them and organize them for when these ones have shelves she may fill with all her books. GRAH the human gave her more books and she is having a difficult time remembering which ones are her own and which ones were from it, but she is sure she can remember. More will go into her book bags; she is sure she can ask the Ger or the Dreechi to make her a new one.

Her magic is growing more powerful, she feels. But she must be careful not to try too much too quickly; the stronger she grows, she feels the touch of faerzress ever-more keenly and must be careful when venturing out of the city, for if she does not keep a her wits about her, she would blunder these ones right into a place that would be very much more dangerous for them. At least she is not cursed like those other ones are, like the human is, she would hate to lack that control all the time, and it is a pity they must study for so long to even touch a hint of the magic she was born with.

The larger her tribe grows and the stronger, the easier it is for her to feel like an All-Watcher and to assure herself that the Ger’s barbs and snide reminders are not based in any sort of truth. She is scaled and she is wyrmblood and she knows what her priorities are. And her priority is tribe and kin. Her research has waited this long, it can wait some more.

[Eira]

Entry Eleven

This one has SORELY underestimated the Dreechi's Hunger. But oh, she has found the Dreechi's Hunger and the Dreechi Hungers for HATCHLINGS and she wants them from this one and the Ger and GRAH.

She was cunning and said she had too much industry to do to speak with the Dreechi of this, and then she ran far far away for her Hunger will not allow her to turn away from her tribe or her research and she does not have TIME for eggs or breeding. She does not WANT eggs, they are no smart and they do not teach her anything and they only take up space that could go to books! And eggs are far less easy to carry and they do not even do anything for cycles upon cycles and then hatchlings are useless for SIX YEARS. And sometimes LONGER. Like the GER and the NU and the OTHERS. ALL they do is EAT and SMELL and take up SPACE and TIME that should go to her BOOKS.

GRAH.

[Eira]

Entry Twelve

Her tribe grows strong, and so they are blessed by the Fivefold with a temple for the utmost glory of The Avaricious! Already, it has been many many cycles since they had first made their way into the temple warren. Their stores are vast and the Dreechi has been cooking for them, almost nonstop it seems, and she must to keep up with the appetites of the Hungry and the Ger. This one is less eager to be fed, for the Dreechi continues to try and convince her that it is her time and eggs must be had, and this one would prefer to run and avoid the talk of yet more responsibility she is not yet ready for. But the Dreechi is insistent and this one knows she must do her duty eventually, she just… GRAH.

She does not want eggs yet! She is busy! Any time is still time wasted and there is much industry to be done and this one has not written ANY word of her thesis in almost a year! She cannot even find the human to speak with him anymore and she thinks he may have left the city for good. And with new members of the tribe and diplomacy and their new chattel, this one is always running back and forth and just does not wish GRAH. The Dreechi says it is still industry, but this one cannot see the use in industry that does not create something USEFUL that will not be useful for another six years.

This one is not entirely against the idea; the Ger is industrious and his blood is strong, she can see that. And the Dreechi has assured her that the eggs will be sent East, to the Vultzi. And they would be forged there, strong in the home of the Rosemaw, with tribes of their colors. Color. She would hope they are blue-scales, like her. The black-scaled are useful, but they are not lovers of books and knowledge, and if this one had hatchlings, she would wish for them to CARE about the same Hunger she feels. But it is still not the time! She has too many meetings, too much industry, too many tribemates, so so so much to do and see and learn and she has no time for idleness, no matter if it is the Dreechi’s industry. It can wait. They have their warren yes, but there is always more and more to do so they are stronger and more prepared.

The shadwscale is a newscale and he is stealthy and cunning and strong and yes she understood why he did not wish to tribe with the metallics. He seeks strength and war and the Rosemaw are strong and have hot blood and he is a good addition to their tribe. He has passed the first test, and she has given him the next to ensure that not only is he good at killing, she knows he is good at killing, but he has the WISDOM their tribe needs. He may have skills suitable of being her Whispers, though she will not think about that, not too much until he for sure is part of the tribe and has been scorched with the awakening flame and drank what they all drink so they may be strong.

And as for the chattel, oh this one is so pleased. The dark one was not prepared to take them to the surface and so they went alone, with none but the human, and they saw the elf walking there and she spoke to him so easily and he did not run! She would cackle to herself thinking of that; and the Ger struck him down so beautifully, she cannot help but marvel at the sight of her Embertooth covered in the blood of elves. She has learned beauty and it is rage and war and blood and the Ger when he rips out the guts of his prey. They dragged the body back Below and the Dreechi was able to breathe life back into the elf and they spoke to it and learned that it would take some time to break, but oh yes it would break.

It has many names, but these ones will call it the Lothiwhups until it deserves its own name again. It amuses them, she thinks, and the elf must learn that they are, dare she even write, kinder to it than the dark elves would be. Oh yes, it will know them as kind and benevolent and it will grow to WANT to serve them and fear their anger and it will be useful to them. She has given it a book and she will see if it can learn how not to spark the fire in her throat and she will speak to it and teach it the errors of its surface ways. It still wags its tongue when it is not allowed, but no matter, the shadowscale can always rip it out and the Dreechi can put it back as they please until it finally realizes that it will be much happier when it does not resist. And then this one can take it hunting and they can go to the Surface and do her interviews and gather more books!

She is so excited! This one had always wanted an elf of her own, and if the dark ones were out of her grasp, a surface elf is almost as good, and she will make sure to maintain it and forge it so it is strong and worthy of her. Perhaps when it is stronger, it can fight in the cages or it will fight the Ger. She would be pleased to see such a battle.

Their diplomacy is going… nearly as well. She is pleased to let the Dreechi and the Ger speak to their investments, for they balance each other well and the Dreechi is wise where this one is not. She has more time to deal with tribe matters, and this one prefers to let the Ger speak to any visitors and decide if they are worthy of her attention. She is much less worried and stressed and she thinks she will be able to find a place to sit and read and breathe to not think about tribe matters for a short time. Perhaps she will discuss with the golden human again. She is eager to speak with it about matters of magic and her studies and her tribe. It always has insight for her that she is pleased to hear.

She has not thought of the others in some time, the bowing lackscales. She is sure if they truly wish to rise up from their groveling state, they will seek her out. So she will pay no more mind to them when she sees them scurrying around in the shadows. But perhaps she will speak to the shadowscale to seek them out when he passes the final tests.

[Eira]

Entry Thirteen

This one still does not quite understand the capacity of humans to place themselves into obviously fatal situations. It could not merely be intellect or wisdom, as even the cracked-shells of this one’s tribe understand basic needs of survival. Do not eat something if it hurts. Do not stick an arm in the Ger’s mouth. If something is trying to kill them, run. If it hurts, do not do it again in the same way. These are all the simplest knowledges that these ones, even fresh out of the shell, come naturally to them.

But humans… The humans will do something over and over again, and they continue to be surprised when it turns out the same way! With the clear outliers of the Vance and the Valen (at least, this one has not yet had the chance to test them), she has never observed such a species as willing to throw itself blindly into death and pain as the common human. Even considering the incident with the grey ones, this one could have seen plenty of ways in that the human could have done anything differently, and yet it did not take the obvious route.

Is it pride? The concept of honor? Or perhaps something innate in humans. She wonders if it has been studied before- perhaps humans really are not so short lived of a race as these ones think, but their ability to run headlong towards danger merely snuffs them out before they can truly reach their prime? They are longlegs after all, and elves are longlegs, but they have a capacity (at least the ones that can curb their rage) to think before they act, and thus live many hundreds and hundreds of years. In all her studies of humans, this one wonders if they truly have the ability to do just that; to think.

Perhaps that explains the orcblooded as well. They also have a similar lifespan to the humans, or shorter, that she has observed and read of.

But, of course, she is not writing of the orcblooded. She is writing of the humans, and it fascinates her to observe the ways that they will continue to futilely bang their foreheads against the same stone until they are near-dead and their blood puddles around their feet. Take the Jo, for instance. She is pleased with this acquisition, for while its speech is mangled, it shows a willingness to serve and no stubborn tendencies. It helps the Dreechi, and in return they will fix its face for it until it is understandable enough to be even more useful.

It is obedient enough that it will drink itself to death for them, and when it opened its eyes, the first thing it said was that perhaps it just needed another drink. Another drink! This one is astounded! She understands the pleasures of wine, though she would rarely wish to drink enough to affect her own mind, and she certainly cannot drink as much as the Jo could, it being thrice her size. But to drink so much it could hardly stand and to almost drown in its own bile from how violently its body rejected the alcohol? It is such stark proof to her theory, that there is something about humans and their innate sense of danger.

They simply do not have it.

It can be taught of course; this one is sure. That explains the others that act more appropriately to the situations they face. Just as this one could be taught about the range of human emotions, just as anyone may be taught a language. And of course, that explains why humans do not live primarily in the Below. Perhaps in the Above, the dangers are less, and as such, the surface races were not created with the expectation that they would have to have this same ability to think before they act, as these ones do.

Or, do humans think at all? This one is curious to study this phenomenon, though she does not have a fail-safe way of truly knowing if humans have thoughts. She could perform interviews, but she would find that testing the bounds of a human’s mind is far easier without its knowledge. It is rare, but she could find someone more suited to such talents. A long journey, yes, dangerous, yes, but with enough preparation, she is sure she could track down a way.

The writings of her mentors do not say much on the matter, but if everything was written already, she would have nothing else to learn, and her insatiable hunger would be sated, and she would have no purpose for living.

Perhaps she will start with the Vance. She is sure he thinks, more than any other she knows, even of the scaled, and to mark where he is as an outlier would guide her more clearly when categorizing the others. Aie, she misses her research, and she hopes this one will be able to be marked subtly enough that her duties as All-Watcher will not force her to halt it, as they have so many others. Oh, and to lack the other human, the one that would be perfect for this study, she truly wishes to know if it could think as well, aie, a sore loss to the city.

But she is industrious, and she is cunning and there will always be other subjects. The ones adapted to life in the Below are not enough. They must travel to the Above as well and question those she finds there.

Another raid to the Surface has been a long time coming, she thinks. She is pleased. Though the many meetings and business discussions take up much of her time (they sorely need to appoint an Artificer to speak in matters of industry and trade agreements, and she has one in mind, but will wait to see if it is proven), she is confident in her abilities to lead the tribe. More confident than she had been. Their temple is safe, their cycles industrious, and their allies strong.

Now she only must wait with gritted teeth for when something goes wrong.

Addendum: To think back, is the Vance even human at all? He does not fit any of the normal tendencies this one has expected from humans. This calls for more experimentation; more tests.

[Eira]

Entry Fourteen

This one is weary.

She is weary of the city, of the people, of the tribe, of the duties, of everything that she faces, cycle after cycle. Hardly a moment passes from when she steps out of her door to when she must be the face of the tribe, to make decisions for them and decide their best course. And she must. She is the All-Watcher after all, something she had been so giddy to realize three long years before. She had been barely of age by then, acting like a hatchling whose broodtender had turned their back for a moment. In her greed for the power to choose her own orders, this one ended up with a tribe that would follow these orders, oftentimes without question, and again, she wonders if she ever was ready for such a thing.

Did the Vultzi ever have worries such as these? This one doubts it. He is so strong, he must never have doubted himself, else how could he have slain the Tyrant? A wyrm does not doubt or show mercy, and the Rosephelia would have spared none as the Vultzi came to kill her. Through their rituals, their strengthening of their body and magic, they may come close to the power of the Vultzi, but if this one cannot strengthen her mind and will to be more like him, then she will never be fit to lead the tribe. She must stop worrying.

But even so, doubts gnaw at the edges of her scales and she hates them! So, so much! Are the lessons she teaches correct? Are the allies she makes the right ones? Is her advice helpful? And if those whom do not follow her advice fail anyway, should she have pushed them more to heed her? Is she feeling too many emotions? YES! She is. She is worrying and she is doubtful, and she is upset, and she is overwhelmed, and she must place it all aside so that her tribe does not smell her weakness and rip her apart. The Ger makes a fine Embertooth, but she would worry for the fate of the tribe if he were to be All-Watcher. He does respect her power still, but she imagines that he does watch her closely.

With the naming of the Kraeksuultutl’ as their Artificer, much burden has been lifted from her shoulders. He shall take charge of their industry and trade, and she will be able to focus on diplomacy and the newscales and further strengthening of the tribe. Perhaps her weariness shall yet be abated if she continues to delegate duties and responsibilities and force herself to sit down and rest once in a while. She so hates to cut meetings short due to exhaustion, and yet when she is weary, words will dance around her mind with no sense to be found.

Perhaps the metallic is right. To sneak away where no goblin can find them; to have a cycle to relax and merely sit and speak NOTHING of business. But she is needed for so much, and when she is not there to ensure everything is perfect or planned, how can she know that it is all going right?! What if she does take a moment to relax, and she comes back to, aie, she does not even know, she could come back to the city at war, the temple lost, the tribe scattered. It would be too terrible to bear, and so she must run back and forth around the city to check with every tribemate, to make sure industry is active, the hunts are bountiful, that the Ger does burn any relations she is not yet willing to see crushed into the stone.

She is being unfair again. The Ger is so much better in matters of diplomacy, and he is trying to learn, and he waits for her lead if he is unsure how aggressive he must be. At least, he does when he is with her. She is unsure of when he is elsewhere, but she has heard no complaints of him from others these last few cycles, which must be a good sign. And the Dreechi is a good balance for him. And together, they will guide the others, and she is pleased to know that at least in tribe matters, she may allow them to act and discipline as they see fit. It is the others that she worries of, for they know hardly anything of the scaled, and she has forced herself to learn how to speak with the longlegs and unscaled in ways that they would be receptive to.

Perhaps that is an idea for a thesis; or perhaps not a thesis, but a lesson. “How to Be Liked by Longlegs: A Lesson on Communication”. The tribe would do well to learn that, but at the same time…

She fears that her own knowledge has made her less kobold-like. Is that why she feels so many worries? This one never thought about these before becoming All-Watcher and before meeting that human. That could be why the Ger was so disapproving of her speaking with it. She had spent much time with it, and it taught her much about human emotions; could it be that it has weakened her this way? She actually wished to know how it felt- not for her research, but because she was merely curious as to its well-being. Because when it was happy, she was happy. And when it was not happy, she felt troubled. Is that what the longlegs call caring about another?

This is a concerning theory.

There must be a way to undo this effect the human had on her. But aie, if there is no way to cure this?! She cannot be as weak as a human forever; she does not have time for these emotions to constantly have her under sway. Perhaps she may ask the Vance’s advice. As she wrote before, he cannot possibly be like other humans; he must have found a way to surpass the innate human weaknesses. And if this one has been infected with that same weakness, he must have ideas on how to cure her so she may focus on important tasks for her and her tribe.

This only brings her more worries! Now she worries, what if the Vance cannot help her?! What if she is like this forever? But that cannot be. There must always be a way to undo it. And if he cannot help her, the Dreechi can. The Fivefold burns away weakness, and this one will gladly submit to Tiamat’s flames so she may become a proper All-Watcher for her tribe. She must. She cannot be weak. Ever.

[Eira]

Entry Fifteen

This one is furious.

This one is vexed and she is grievously offended. Perhaps the dark ones are right; there is nothing as truly repulsive as the sunlander elf, one that does not even listen to diplomacy and chooses to speak only with threats and blades. She hardly even knows what happened- she has a memory of her human shouting, and then she was risen and she was furious.

The Sibayad had been so promising! She and the Kraek had succeeded in much trade, and her Artificer had proven yet again how industrious and useful he is. Not only was she able to speak with MULTIPLE surfacers, but they had been rather pleasant to her, not at all like in the Zurki’s stories. And even unlike the humans of the Below, they had no experience with her and her tribe, and yet they showed them the proper respect and courtesies. She had been so hopeful, so pleased, and she had yet hoped the surface (at least this part of it) would be a place she could continue her research without hindrance.

But it is to not be so. In future trips, she must take the humans with her and the Ger, and perhaps she may even ask the Valen to accompany her- so as to ensure that such a thing shall not happen again. Her human wishes to kill all elves now, and she is not yet sure if she should or wishes to curb his bloodlust. Her actions are spurred by her vexation, and she knows that she should calm herself and take cycles for thoughts and introspection.

This one was without her tribe, and thus she was weak. She must improve her skills, and grow stronger and more prepared. She must always keep the Ger or a Sootsnout with her, and she must learn to run instead of stay, to hide instead of fight. She must survive; she must not act like a human. She cannot act like a human.

[Eira]

Entry Sixteen

This one grows ever more weary. Cycles have passed since she cared to write her thoughts.

Little word has come from Homeland, little guidance. Many of her tribe have returned instead; the Ger and the Nugriup and the Goidrdrchi yet remain. Is this a sign from the Fivefold? Perhaps the taxations of her life in the city mark an ending to their influence. And what of her allies? Two yet remain, but this one might hardly name them an ally in the same way she had the others. They cannot be used as efficiently as she needs- if at all.

She sorely misses the Valen. Without him, her wanderings of the night above are a boresome affair, and she certainly cannot speak of her research or wonderings to the Ger. He simply would not understand or, worse, he would not reply. There is one with potential, but she must step-ever-so-careful with it, for it grows powerful and it is not altogether too foolish for her poking at its intentions to be unnoticed. She would have to be patient, as she always is, and then perhaps it might be a suitable investment.

Regardless of faint distractions, the matter remains that as All-Watcher, she finds her time drawing near that perhaps she might follow the steps of the White-scales and return home. She is powerful enough that she would be able to step into place as his second- many of their kin would not dare to challenge that.

But… does this one wish that?

She flips back through these pages and she is once again reminded when the thought of leading made her giddy with power and the Hunger. She was young then- as she is perhaps still young, but oh, this one is so, so, wearied of the mantle upon her shoulders. Her effort put in drawing new blood into the tribe is incomparable to what it once was, for the fact of the matter is that she is tired of seeing the young ones pledge themselves and then flit away, forgetting tribe, forgetting what it means to be Rosemaw.

Is that her mistake for choosing the wrong kin? Of course it was. She did not tighten her claws on them enough, she did not see those that thought of themselves first and tribe secondary. She did not bleed the weak, for in that, she herself was weak and she is shamed.

Would the Vultzi even notice should her letters stop arriving? She would like to think he would- perhaps that might finally draw him back to the city, but she knows full well the power of illusion and trickery of the mind, especially on herself and thus she will not trick herself. He would not care. Or he would assume she were dead and likely lament the loss of the coin she and these ones had been sending to Homeland.

And so, she questions herself. What next? If she did follow this path, to stop the letters, stop the coin, cut them off from the Homeland- not from the name of course, never the name… Where does this one take herself? She could not leave the Dreechi, Nugriup, and the Ger behind, of course. And with her access to the Arcanum, she would finally be free of distractions and could pursue her research.

Something to ponder. This one would not mind traveling for some cycles, to part from the wretched city and finally, finish her theses.

[Eira]

Entry Seventeen

Oh, how this one could almost imagine it were seven years past, surrounded by the ones whom she needed the counsel of most. He is back! She could hardly believe her own eyes when she saw him in the sands, more regal than the most scarlet of wyrms, and King is certainly a title that he has earned, moreso than any other that might try to claim power. But he is back, oh he is back, the world can finally be right again and this one will no longer be so lost and she knows that no matter what happens, he will always have a place for her at his side. When he speaks with her, she feels the wisdom she must consume from his words, and she feels the lightening of her vexations and pains, and with his knowledge comes the feeding of her Hunger.

With King and Executioner, what needs has she for her tribe? They find use for her and she delights in their company, and they seek naught from her but continue to feed the Hunger for books and knowledge and simpler parts of living.

She could truly leave it behind, she could abandon the task she had claimed in the White-scale’s absence, she could leave the city to rot and crumble and burn with all the rampant weakness and sunlander morals so infusing it. Who would stop her? The Embertooth might threaten her, he might strike her down, but she knows her arcana is strong and he will be broken. The Listener is strong in the favor of the Fivefold, but even so, this one has vowed that she will bow before no wyrm, and even a five-headed Wyrm is still a wyrm. Even a god is still just a wyrm.

This one feels almost giddy to claim these heresies.

What is happening to her? Why is she writing this and why is she thinking these?

Her Sight is strong these cycles, too strong. With the liquor to clear her mind and the Sight to take her mind and vision, to show her All, she must see All, she needs to see All, for she is Watcher of All and All-Watcher and there is nothing that can be hidden to her. In steps pressed to dirt, whispers brought to her side, visions of those around, predictions of what is to come, truly, truly, truly, she will know All. The weakblooded can hardly fathom the concept, they can hardly understand their own thoughts, let alone that of all the others around them. They struggle at planning one move ahead, they are not paranoid enough, they are not cunning, and she will Watch and Listen and See and Know and think two, three, five, nine, twenty steps and actions ahead around always.

The human, oh, the human. It is constantly in her thoughts. It would know what to do about all of this, it had no problems just doing what it wished when it wished, no matter whom it angered or caused disapproval in. The King hated it, and this one knows she must also hate it, but she wishes to sit once more with it and speak of her worries and these heresies and ask its advice for her book and her studies. She wishes to walk with it and revel in the destruction and the feeding of her Hunger and perhaps even clamp it so it would always be by her side and she would never be alone. Alone, alone, she is always alone these cycles and she hates being alone but to admit such is weakness for she seeks to be alone and away from all the others with their idiotic words and incoherency and lacking thought.

This one is not weak. Not in her mind, not in her arcana, not in her Hunger, not in her conviction. She will always See and Know and she wonders why she even bothers to involve herself. Perhaps be like the Elder and allow her hatred to cease and turn her efforts towards kin and city and remove the worries from her mind.

But it was as she told him. She needs the hate and the spite, for they are what her tribe needs, for her to push them and their ambitions and to serve the Fivefold, their Queen, for even now, even despite her writings, the Queen is more powerful than the King.

Or is she?

What is it about the King that tempts her to these heresies? She knows his power of speech, she knows why others do not trust him, and at least they are wise enough not to, for trust is a weakness of the sunlanders and she finds it ridiculous when one tells her not to trust another. For why would she trust any? It is simply as the Blooded said. If the Blooded asked another for a hug, and they did so, and the Blooded ripped out their throat, then it is the fault of the one that believed in such a concept as trust. The Queen is strong, the Fivefold forges them, the Avaricious One guides their Hungers and she gives them purpose and in return they feed her forever and ever and until they may cast themselves into her maw.

The Executioner… to have him as part of her tribe would mean none could stand before him, but even now she regrets, she does not wish to share him with the others, he would kill, and kill, she would have him do so for the King and for her alone, she is glad he did not agree just yet, she will hope that he does not, for tribe is meddling and they do not approve and they would have her cast aside the King and all that follow him. Never shall she do so, never, he will not leave again and she will not abandon his favor, and should they meet in battle, she knows true strength and she knows not to stand against him, for she sees All and knows All and the cycle will come that All will know him too.

Knowledge serves far more than destruction. The foolish Red spoke of razing the Above for the Fivefold, despite the opportunities abound, despite the trade and business and shared words that gave more gold and components and fed her Hunger further. Perhaps it even thought her refusal was heresy.

It is not as if the White-scales was free from heresy himself.

Was it not sin for them to strike against the Rosephelia? Was it not something unheard of, the Tyrant Red to be toppled, her skull forged to a throne, the White-scales ruling as far more powerful of a kobold than any this one knew of before? A white! A mere white, the lowest of the low, but through his Awakening, through the consuming of the power, through Strength and Fear and Tyranny, he is their Ruler and he had decreed them follow. And so they did.

What stops this one from doing the same? He is not an All-Watcher, he cast off that title to be Ruler in the East, he is no Seer and he cannot see everything nor know everything and it has been eleven long years since this one had seen him in the city. He will not return. She knows this. He cannot stop her. She doubts he would care to, and even if all went horribly and he showed his face before her and she knew she must kill him?

Tyrants can be killed. Gods can be killed. Wyrms can be killed.

She would laugh at herself, however.

Is it the addiction of the Sight driving her to these thoughts? This one would never stand against the White-scales. Not openly, and even so, if it came to pass, she wonders if the King would defend her- if he valued her more than the previous alliance with her Ruler, but that would be foolish, it would mean trust and trust… Trust is a dangerous concept. She would not fight the White-scales. Never, never, she could not. It is unlike her to think of open battle, it is unlike her to think of battle at all, and she knows at the very least the Undergarden would be her sanctuary.

He will not return, of course. These thoughts and ponderings are merely worries of such a thing that will not come to pass and she blames her Sight for taking her to much too many possibilities all the time.

Cycles pass. Tencycles pass. She forgets to eat, to drink, to rest. All she knows is the Watching and the Learning and she must remind herself to seek sustainment beyond the potions of revitalization that so conveniently keep her on the brink of exhaustion and degradation. The arcana, oh, the sweet sweet arcana, it dances about her and she feels horrid and vulnerable without her wards, enough so that even in her own chambers, doors locked and hidden in the corner, she must call upon it to surround her. The city is weak and the city has forgotten what it is like to bathe in blood and watch wary for daggers to come around corners and the city will need to undergo a cull soon enough. But she will not be culled, she has her arcana and she is protected and she knows where she can hide and go and be safe for the cunning are not weak if the cunning survive.

Her thoughts ramble far too much. Her claws grow ever-more-tired these cycles and she knows she is losing the colors of her scales, but she cannot stop and she will not stop the life leeching from her with the more fear and death she seeks for her Hunger, always the Hunger. She is scattered and weary, and all that keeps her going is Seeing All and Knowing All and the Hunger and-

The King is back.

He is back and all will be well.

[Eira]

Entry Eighteen

The dilemma that this one faces is not one that others (but for a select few she respects and her own tribe) seem to recognize or understand as such. It is a simple problem, held in a word, but for one that does not have a grasp for the gravity of the meaning, it can completely slip them by. And what is in a word? For all the languages that these ones speak, there are so many intricacies and yet, some are limited by the culture that they come from.

Honor.

For the past grandcycle, as this one paces the streets of the city, as she wanders the hub and Sees and Listens, it is this word, this concept, that plagues the city she once treasured.

Honor.

What is honor?

As a noun? A place of honor, a position of honor, means respect or esteem, something that is earned and recognized, not demanded. Had it not been so tainted with surfacer falsehoods, she would use it more. To give true weight to the word.

Or, as the other noun meaning she has read; knowing and doing what is… morally right. But by whose meaning of right? The book of words she has is from the surface, and she can suspect what exactly a surfacer would consider right versus wrong and oh how she knows the weakness inherent in them. The weakness bleeds through, trickling from their wars and into the Deep Dark and it sickens her.

As for the verb usage? To honor, to regard with respect. Once more, respect, something earned, something that is a privilege, not a right. As once the Prince spoke to her, saying he could take her books, for he was the Prince, he was born with the right, he could do what he wanted, oh, she nearly struck him down right there.

Honor. To honor. Verb. The honor she mostly sees nowacycle is keeping agreements, pacts, fulfilling obligations, some unspoken rule to act in the interests of all without something magically binding. What a concept! She laughs at all the imps put out of work in contracting, for if their client simply keep their word without it being a geas, oh, what use are they except for fodder and servants and some empty sign of status?

This one knows a word in the High Tongue of something similar to the honor of which she approves. They speak of ‘throtominarr’ if she were to write it phonetically. But that is not so much the word honor itself, but a concept of a way of life. To improve upon what their blood achieved, to respect their legacy and heritage by improving upon the past for the future. It is not inherently kobold, thus why she would not use it among her own kind, for they live in the present, and it is the duty of the All-Watcher alone to think of the future.

And of the ilythiiri? Her mastery of the language does not give her a mastery of their culture, as much as she can spy and suspect and theorize. They speak of the Spider, in their cries of Lolth tlu malla, but even in that is praising the Spider’s name, and a direct translation would have nothing to do with honor.

Orcblooded and the orogs are the closest she can accept to have some sort of concept of honor, as is seen in their saying “dam ul dam”. Blood for blood, it means, and at the very least that is the expectation that they will repay whatever harm is wrought on them and their own until they are writhing near dead in the dirt. They have the concept of oaths, at least some of them do, for they speak of oathbreakers and those bound by blood. For an orc, to have the cowardice of a goblin (or kobold, she would admit), is an insult, and rightly so.

Surface dwarves preach honor, even duergar, whom lie about it and not even well. Though her understanding of Dethek is not completely flawless, she knows of a few words that hint at the history between races. Samryn, a noun, one that is trusted, that is honorable. Ilith, to trust in one’s honor, in a deal. And calassabrak, to specifically have the otherwise, a word that means many things, it means duergar, it means flawed, and it means to be unworthy of trust.

No wonder she hates most dwarves.

Elves? Of course they speak of honor, of course their name for the ilythiiri, dhaerow, now mangled into ‘drow’, means traitor. And how could one be traitor without something to betray? So of course their culture, that of the surface, speaks of loyalty and honor and trust and bonds, all that can so easily be crushed. Though their direct translation of one trusted speaks more of friendship and kin, oh so many words they have for friend and it repulsed her to learn of all them.

She won’t bother with halflings or gnomes and their language. Though one with a vile sense of humor might note that gnomes, named as betrayers they are, understand more about living in the Dark than many of its own denizens.

The language of Jotun, curiously enough, has those of “maat” and “maug”, meaning honorable and dishonorable in turn. She suspects it is derived from the highest species of them, those of the Storm, for they are an odd sort and have more of a Surface-tainted civility and organization. She would assume it is similar to the orog, and thus is more acceptable than most.

If a gnoll ever speaks to this one of honor again, she will vomit.

Same so with a goblin.

Or troglodyte.

Or ogre.

Or kobold.

Especially a kobold.

Honor is predictable. Honor is weak. Honor is a concept of surfacers and of races that have nothing more to their lives than throwing themselves at defender’s pikes so their blood may wet the ground and fuel the hatred for another eternal war. Is it not ironic of enemies so hated, that orcs and dwarves both speak of honor? They would seethe to have anything in common.

Honor is a taint. Honor in the Dark is used as something to hide behind, for honor, true earned honor, is respect that is a symbol of strength and wisdom and power, not something to be begged for, not something to accuse others of having the lack of.

However.

The Executioner has honor, and she would name him here, the Valen Marsk, for he alone, of all others in the Dark, is not weakened. And why? He does not hide behind his convictions. He does not expect honor of others. He does not preach it. If any seek to betray him, he destroys them and he makes no secret of it, for he is powerful and this one approves wholly of his methods.

And thus, the Valen is whom she thinks of when she speaks of the sickness of honor that has been plaguing so many others. There is a correct way to be honorable, and then there is all the rest, and it aches her to the core of her bones that they see a single honorable man and they assume it must be forced upon others. They assume his strength comes from his honor, but no, his honor was earned through his strength.

Even this one would consider some of her actions to be honorable, though she would not dare admit it when so many have not the true understanding. The neutrality of the Undergarden, her respect for the ideals of the human, and though she would grit her teeth and feel as if she must tear off all her scales before she felt cleansed, even if she saw a gnome there, she would not kill it or shed its blood unless it struck first. Even then, well, she has many spells that she perfected so as not to mar the sanctity of the library with its death.

She treats those with honor, with respect, those that have earned it.

The rest of the time, however, she is kobold and she is All-Watcher and she was raised by the Zurki and the Vultzi and has been trained by the Goidrdrchi and she is of a tribe that is cunning and strong and has no need of… honor. Yes, this one will not kill it, she will say before the rest of her tribe strikes from the shadows. Of course she will not lie or steal, she would say, before doing just that. And if one expects differently? That is the fault of them for trusting a kobold.

And so where does it bring them?

If one wishes to act with honor and be honorable, that is a personal choice and risk for them. If they expect it of others, that is their own weakness. If they try to force it upon others, that is trying to spread the weakness, and such cannot be allowed. And if they choose to hide behind that expectation of honor, to blame their own failings on it, then, well... is not the truth obvious?

The strong can be predictable and survive anyway.

The weak must be cunning and smart and unless they have someone strong to manipulate or defend them, they must not believe in honor as anything other than an inherent flaw that can be used. That is the truth of the Dark. That is how they survive. To believe in one’s own honor even when time and time again it fails? It means lack of the most basic and necessary of survival instincts, that being adaptation.

But, of course, who listens to this one? It is not as if all she does is observe and watch and take note of the shifting of the city and predict how the tides will fall. At least she has the King to speak with, and she can wander out and wet her claws with blood and blanket her scales with magic to chase away the fog marring her mind.

The city is ill and she wishes she could leave it for good.

Perhaps she will speak with the King about such.

She can ask his aid on working on her thesis.

She is so tired.

[Eira]

Entry Nineteen

Glory and reputation.

What are they?

This one knows that such things are more acceptable among the denizens of the Dark than others, for trapped Below as they are, often they have naught left. Pride of human, of orcblood, of ilythiiri, fiends, duergar, Imaskari and minotaur. What drives the concept of pride is often the same as what tempts to the sin of honor. Wishing to appear strong. Fearing the loss of such.

After all, what is pride but the terror of looking weak? The fear of losing. Worrying of how others perceive one is the utmost sin, and even moreso if such worry is made visible.

She has seen supposed powers, supposed paragons the glory and the pride and the honor, driven to rage and clouded thought merely through one of their victims or captives insulting such. And how, this one asks, how is that not sin? How is that not weakness? How could any but a fool so clearly show a pressure point, and not expect it to be struck?

Now, this one will write of a secret, that should be so obvious she finds it laughable to even call it a secret.

The secret is that those who bark about their own pride and honor and mock that of others, do not actually believe of it in themselves. Now, she knows she has written of their belief in it, and how too many believe that the concept is desirable. But she uses limited words, and believing in one’s own trait is not the same as believing that they should have the trait. It is pure and simple insecurity she speaks of. Insecurity rooted in tainted concepts and belief that going without seems weak.

Insecurity! Where does it come from? The very same pride and care for reputation and what others think of them. Is it not laughable? She would take a moment to allow herself to scoff at such, for she hardly finds joys in anything but her precious books and discussions with the King.

Do any see the Executioner caring for pride enough to be wounded by the words of others? If one said he did, she would know they lie, for he is a simple and yet still exquisite example of the ideal of a warrior and of strength. He needs not be prideful, for he knows his strengths and his flaws and through those and balancing of such, he is powerful. He is not insecure. If any accused him of such, she would think that they were addled or from a cracked-shell before they were hatched.

Should she confess another secret? It is less amusing, but no less truth from her quill.

Reputation matters not.

She can assure one that her writing is accurate. And yes, even she, even her tribe, has used reputation to further their purposes. But do they care about maintaining it? No! Not at all, such a thing has no hold over their minds unless it plays a specific role in their tactics and even then, it is a conversation of strategy with her and the Embertooth. It is not something they hold any undue value to, and of course it is not a thing that could cause them to be offended.

Oh, yes, these ones have their List and their grudges, but should she give another secret? It seems yes, this one is writing of so many secrets, what does another matter? Hatred, grudges, the List, the plans, they are all for the sake of the tribe’s ambition. Fivefold Forged and blooded by the trials of the wyrm, mere industry is not enough to drive them to greater heights. They need something to hate, they need something to strive for, they need to feel their scales curl and their minds keen with plans of how to destroy.

None of it matters.

This one speaks of hatred, yes, writes of it even, but in the end, what purpose does that serve? She is numb to such things. In the end, hatred is not fitting for her. While it strengthens her tribe and keeps them bound to purpose and the Hunger of the Fivefold, their All-Watcher grows ever more tired and just wishes to stop… hating.

She is so tired.

Can they see it? Do they see how her arcana has warped her? Of course they can. She can hardly move her claws some cycles without the pain, and her scales are so stiff that she has had to rip some off to allow her hands to move.

And what will happen the cycle she can no longer cast? The Ger will eat her of course. She has known this since the beginning.

Ah, the Weave, how sweet it has been to her, and yet at the same time, how she feels it eternally struggling with the frail vessel she is trapped in. How young she is! And yet, how much longer of a life she has achieved than many of her kin. She knows she is a power all of her own, and though this city sees many of similar power, how many of them are kobold? A minority, and a rare thing in the outer world, and she knows that if she returned to Homeland, she would truly be a power by the Vultzi’s side.

It is not pride, even now.

She knows the truth of her own skills, and she knows that she preys on those weak of mind, for if their mind breaks, it matters not how strong their body is. And as her mind is strong, as her presence is noticed, she is wracked with pain and she breaks so easily.

Glory. Pride. Honor. Reputation.

Why do no others see how useless and tainted they are? They could turn their minds and their abilities to something more worthwhile, but in the end, they will not, for they froth and they spit and they repeat the same things over and over and over and over. It is just an open weakness, a striking point, a flaw.

In the end, she will just repeat herself and take whatever amusement in the irony that, no matter how much those of the Below speak of their hatred of those of the Above, they try so desperately hard to be just like them.

She wonders how many would rage at the comparison and prove her point exactly.

[Eira]

Entry Twenty

This one has found her old notes of the Zurki's original tale, and thus she will re-scribe them here for her records. And perhaps she shall make copies of this to give to the young kin scurrying around the city, for it is a lesson she thinks all need to know.

This is a tale of wyrms and the weaveripped ones, so gather around youngbloods and listen to He-Who-Weaves-Tales, the Lorekeeper Zurki.

Long before, many decades ago, when their single tribe had been five, before the Rosemaw were formed, this one was part of the now-nameless blue-scale tribe. And back then, before he was ripped asunder by the most repulsive beings, this now-nameless tribe served a Great Blue, the wyrm known as Iddrynnith.

Oh, to behold the Iddrynnith! The Scholar. The Master. The Beautiful. The Glorious.

He ruled and they thrived.

The Iddrynnith had not been an old wyrm. In fact, he had found their tribe when he had been but a wyrmling, though it did not stop them from worshipping him and bringing treasure for his hoard and ambushing prey for his meals. Those cycles were rich and full of purpose, and the Iddrynnith was not a terrible master. Oh, yes, occasionally kobold would fall to his teeth and claws, but those times were rare and only happened when he was old enough to tower over even the human longlegs that these ones saw wandering the sands.

But, the Iddrynnith sought more than fine eating. Much like these ones, his blue-scale vassals, he prized magic and knowledge and would take a fortunate chosen few to the Surface to hide with him for travelers and laugh at their lost wandering ways. What these ones were seeking was not for the Great Blue to speak of to these ones, but one cycle, it brought back something not to eat or torture, but to learn from.

Pity is a word not oft spoken in the High Tongue, for pity is something for those with weakness curdling their blood and softening their claws. Pity stays the blade and stills the tongue, and thus kobolds must never pity.

But these ones pitied it anyway, and He-Who-Weaves-Tales pitied it most, for it had not been born with lightning in its blood and magic at its fingertips. It studied for years upon years for even the most miniscule attempts of magick and even then, it faltered and fumbled. Not like these ones, not like the Blood of the Blue that lived and breathed magick and knew from the very moment of their hatching that they were wyrmblood and chosen to be powerful.

The word for such a pitiable creature is ‘wizard’ in the tongue of the surface longlegs. So consumed by its desire to magick and come even the slightest bit close to the natural splendor of the wyrm and these ones, it tried to wrest forth power from the Weave… and in that, it ripped. It ripped and it tore and it allowed the rawness of magick to take over and surge forth and give it what it had desired.

And, for some reason, what the Iddrynnith had desired as well.

And so, it was kept. As long as it could tell the Iddrynnith what he needed to know, as long as it could continue to weaverip and amuse, it was kept from the great blue’s maw. He-Who-Weaves-Tales oft wondered when it would finally be able to give the Iddrynnith no more and these ones would be free from its pitiful wailing and strange tongue, but it managed to pull more and more information from every crack and crevice of its brain to satisfy the Great Blue for yet another cycle.

Then, one cycle, it escaped.

The Iddrynnith’s wrath was a terror to behold! How dare this human, this wizard, this pitiable creature spit back upon the gift it had been offered! How dare it spurn the Wyrm’s company and speech and wisdom! How dare it forget that its life was spared!

These ones cowered and hid for the Great Blue was fierce in his rage, and they watched as the Wyrm burrowed far through the sands and lay in wait until the wizard took a step further right into his teeth.

And there, the tale ends.

But, youngbloods, the lesson does not. Three, He-Who-Weaves-Tales will give them, and it is three they must remember so that they may grow strong and cunning and keep their lives long enough so the Rosephelia will grant them the same blessings of favor.

One, they will not think they can outrun a Wyrm.

Two, they will not think they can reason with a long-legged-lack-scale ones. For even when allowed to remain breathing, lack-scales will spit upon the blessing they have been offered.

And three? Well, this one would think the third lesson is the most important. They will see, there are three types of beings that walk these lands.

There is kin, the wyrmblooded, the kobold, their entire race, the greatest of all, for they will linger and they will grow and they will consume all before them.

There is meat. For what is the rest of the world but kindling for their flame, for the Rosephelia’s flame, for the Fivefold’s flame?

And there is not-meat-that-will-become-meat-as-soon-as-it-is-no-longer-useful.

The youngbloods will know these lessons and remember them and live by them, for no matter what deceit the world of the lack-scales tries to feed them, they will know by his own tongue and the tongues of many, that He-Who-Weaves-Tales lies not to them, and his wisdom has allowed many young and many old to survive.

Now, away with them! There is industry to be done and magicks to temper, and he is weary.

[Eira]

Entry Twenty-One

Irony is on this one’s mind as she finishes her fourth book, and yet has come no closer to finishing her original work and thesis, the one she had intended to use as her entrance to the Arcanum. Even so, she is member by virtue of being honored and she once believed that was all she desired. After all, what more could she want? The human told her of the wonders of that library, and she could hardly believe her eyes when she first saw it, how naïve she had been. It was at his urging that she began that first thesis, but so quickly found out that she alone could not complete it and lead her tribe at the same time.

And so, she put leading at the forefront of her thoughts, as she always had, and though she worked on lesser books and projects, that thesis has gnawed a hole through her thoughts.

Perhaps that was something she should have queried the King about. She should have sought His advice before traveling to Homeland, for who else could aid when she feels lost? The White-scales cares not for her research. The Embertooth cares not. Her Listeners are gone. The Prince is an idiot at best, and while she is fond of the Executioner, she does not think he would understand the depths of her dilemma.

Her last conversation with Him was enlightening, at least.

But in this, in her journey back to the city full of all its delights and stresses, this one must truly decide what her Hunger draws her towards. Does she seek to strengthen the tribe solely? She has many duties to fulfill, and she knows they would be aimless without her.

Or does she wish to cast it all off and isolate herself with nothing but the books and the Sight and the King.

So long as she may share her knowledge with Him and so may learn from His wisdom, this one thinks she could allow herself to follow her true desires. She could throw off the shackles of duty and cover her claws in ink instead of blood, and her warren in books rather than corpses.

Unless both is an option.

This one has learned much in her time leading, and why could she not do both? All she wished dead and gone are, save an inconsequential irritating few, dead and gone. There are no wars for her to meddle in, no pathetic sniveling weaklings to undermine, no slaves for her to break.

In this, she has found freedom. And so, perhaps both her desires need not conflict with each other.

But, of course, as always, she will consult with Him and perhaps learn something new.

[Eira]

Entry Twenty Two

This one thinks often of what she might give to return finally to the Homeland. Her mastery of arcana and all she has learned would be enough for her to be named among They Who Weave Tales and protect the tribe’s knowledge. She would be among other Rosemaw, finally, after so many years walking alone and struggling to shape the few youngbloods she encountered into something worthy of bearing their heritage.

But is that enough for her?

She has already deemed that Andunor, as it exists now, has very little to offer Rosemaw or the Fivefold. What influence or allies they could eke out, with few exceptions, would be inconsequential for the purposes originally. Reason to stay and keep a tribe presence is for the ambitions of the individual rather than for their Tyrant.

The clearest option is for her to go. She has no duties keeping her in the city, no warren to hold, no tribe members to oversee. Of all their allies, the only ones that mattered are dead or have left to some greater purpose. Should she return East, she could report to the Vultzi of all they had done and tell him that Andunor is a lost cause. Then she could settle in the warrens and caves to focus on her studies.

Truly, the only loss to her would be the Undergarden. But despite the few texts that are added every so often, it is not the place it used to be. Few gather there in discussions and sharing of knowledge for the sake of itself. And what use is there for a room of neutrality when the city is so peaceful that it makes her scales itch? She doubts the current breed of surfacers are the kind to even consider such a thing. And so, yes, this one could leave it with little qualms and return Home.

But she would write again, is it enough for her?

Could this one ever willingly return to dripping tunnels and being surrounded by those who have little more sense than it takes to follow basic orders? Yes, of course, simpleminded for a kobold still means a far more complex mind than a human, and Rosemaw all are keener and stronger than other kobolds. But she herself stands apart from them in both understanding of the world and thought of it. She cares about more than mere survival, servitude, and teaching the many generations yet to come.

Knowing all this, how could she ever content herself with returning and having orders to obey? Do any understand how maddening such a thing could be? Twenty-four grandcycles she spent away from Homeland but for a brief return; how can she even think of it as Home when a quarter of her lifespan has been spent away! Those in the city offer her respect for who she is and what she has done, but the conniving youngbloods would see the way her claws gnarl and they would hear the rasp of her breath, and would treat her as either an Elder- an ELDER -or something to consume for being weak.

She would have to kill many, she predicts, before they would learn how they erred.

That is an exhausting thought. But what is the answer? Even this one can feel the irritable emptiness of having no one to share understanding with, and the only one she felt kinship to is off on a greater purpose. Others are too flippant about knowledge or seek experimentation in subjects she has no interest in. Or it’s all about politics and power and she is most assuredly done attempting to get anywhere in such a mad city where anything is believed and trust is seen as a trait of quality.

Twenty-four grandcycles. This one thinks it is telling that she has asked herself many times before whether to go or stay, and she always chooses to stay. As much as she despises the city and its cycles, they make sense to her. She is able to pass unnoticed or not as she pleases. It completes her, in a sense. She is able to find purpose and ambition without care for any others.

This one will endure. As always.